Maline wrapped the heavy mage robes around her body tighter. The new year had arrived and winter was hitting it hard. She hated it.

“Go with Ms. Adler now,” Maline said gently to Dunore and Mira. “Time for class.”

She watched her twins walk away with Synette Adler, the order’s current teacher. Her children’s hair shone with a deep raven black in the sunlight.

Just like his hair.

Maline searched herself for any hint of love for them.

Still nothing.

A gust of cold wind rushed her, shoving strands of her own raven black hair across her face. She tucked them behind her ear as the children entered the school building, which sat behind the tower, near the back of the order’s property.

Aunt Tara’s property.

Maline headed towards the tower, then stopped. The wind tossed her hair again.

There was a better place to go.

Maline turned and headed into the woods that ran along the back of the property.

For all the cold, there’d been little snow. Small patches of it mixed with dead grass as she made her way into the thicket. She felt at peace immediately. Sounds from the school became a low hum. The remaining leaves winter had not yet wrestled off their branches rustled as the wind cut through them. She didn’t hear any birds. She looked around, saw a rabbit hop away, several meters from her. Otherwise, she was alone.

She walked to her favorite tree, an aspen nestled among a gathering of beech trees.

Maline pulled in a deep breath, letting the cold air numb her.

Why couldn’t she feel numb all the time?

She pulled her robes tight again and looked back towards the school. No one was following her.

Time to check on her progress.

She walked northwest, pushing branches away from her face as she passed. The ground was firm, with little snow on top of it. She wasn’t leaving footsteps behind, just knocking snow and dead leaves around. No one would know she was headed to this corner of the woods.

The trek took her fifteen minutes. She’d thought her aunt would’ve cleared more land for farming, but she’d left these woods intact. Perhaps to keep views of the property hidden from anyone traveling nearby. Perhaps because Lysona liked the woods and had begged them not to be touched.

The road leading to Stonehelm, the nearest city, ran closest at this corner of the woods.

Not that she’d take the road when she escaped. That would be too obvious. No, Maline wouldn’t get on the road until closer to Stonehelm, if she could help it.

Rivenspire was full of hard rock, marshes, and fields suitable for farming. She wasn’t sure what was past the cliff that framed these woods. She wouldn’t know until she climbed it.

Maline went over the plan.

She’d leave soon, perhaps next month. She needed to steal more gold coins so she could stay at inns and feed herself until she found work to earn money. Would people hire a mage to perform tasks? Perhaps she could work at an alchemy shop. She did know how to make simple potions and poisons. Lysona had taught her well. She’d already made and stored several healing potions and a couple of poisons for the trip.

Regardless of what work she found, that would wait until she was in Skyrim. She needed to be out of High Rock to begin to feel safe from her aunt. Skyrim was closest, but also not the land she’d be expected to travel to. Hammerfell was friendlier to Bretons than Skyrim’s Nords.

When she left she’d do as she had today. Drop the twins off for class, then take a walk in the woods. If there was more snow on the ground, she’d walk east a bit, leave footprints to mislead people, then turn northwest, and hide those footprints as best she could.

Once to this spot, she’d climb the cliff. She guessed the cliff was about nine meters tall. Along its face, rocks jutted out, like rough stairs meandering to the top of the cliff. She’d climbed halfway up before, to test the rocks’ stability and have a sense of the path to take. She was confident climbing to the top would not be a problem.

Maline leaned against an old birch tree, its trunk wider than the young growth around it. She breathed in more numbing cold.

A branch snapped somewhere to her right.

Maline hid behind the trunk and peered out carefully towards the sound. The woods were still.

Another branch snapped, closer.

She pulled back and pressed herself against the trunk. She needed to know who, or what, was here. Was someone in the order following her?

Maline cast a Detect Life spell.

Aunt Tara limited her to learning only basic healing spells, but she’d found the books she needed to teach herself other magic. Most in the order knew Maline was to be kept from learning magic, but no one bothered to guard the library.

Detect Life lit up living people or animals in a pink, glowing light. It’d been useful to know when she was alone, so she could study the forbidden magic books.

Nothing lit up around her. Not even a rabbit.

That couldn’t be. Something or someone had stepped on a branch.

Unless.

Maline cast another spell. Detect Undead flowed from her fingers, enveloping the area in a purple haze. Anything undead would show as dark purple against the haze.

A figure of purple appeared, it looked human, about eighteen meters away. Maline’s heart pounded in her chest.

Something undead was in these woods. A zombie? Skeleton? Something worse?

What had her aunt done?

She studied the purple figure. It stood still for a moment, then started walking in her direction. The spell wore off and it faded.

Had it seen her?

She cast the spell again.

The purple figure was only three trees away from her now.

Run.

Maline turned and headed south, back towards the tower. If she ran, she’d make noise, so she tried a fast walk. If it hadn’t seen her, she could get away. Her heart still pounded, and now her breathing came quick and ragged. Could the undead behind her hear it?

She stepped carefully, trying to avoid disturbing any loose leaves or twigs.

A branch broke close behind her.

Branches cut her face as she ran. Maline felt her eyebrows cut, she avoided her eyes getting stabbed by ducking her head at the last second as she passed a thin birch. The ground fought her, too. Ferns hid oak and aspen roots reaching for her feet, banging her ankles and nearly tripping her.

Her breath ripped at her lungs and her heart slammed her chest as she ran.

Where was the tower?! Were the trees thinning? Could she…

A branch right behind her shattered. Somehow, over her ragged breathing and pounding heart she’d heard it.

Maline cut hard to her left, crashing through thick branches, her robe saving her arms from being shredded.

She hit a clearing, stopped, and turned around. She hoped changing direction had given her distance from it. She took a chance to look at what was coming after her.

No. No. no no no no no no.

Bedore Ashcroft lurched after her, his sunken face still holding intense blue eyes that glared at her.

Maline ran again, not feeling branches tear her face, no longer hearing her pounding heart.

He couldn’t be alive.

He’s not.

She’d lied. The fucking bitch.

Maline broke through the trees into the main yard behind the tower. She could get to safety, to the tower, confront her aunt.

A green light surrounded her. She lost control of her body and fell. Paralyzed. She was sprawled out, one leg straight, the other at an angle, one arm tucked under her, the other flayed out to the left. Her head was turned to its side. She could see around her with her left eye only.

Tara stepped into her view. Her aunt bent down on one knee, stretched her hand out and touched one of the cuts on her face. Maline tried to flinch, but couldn’t.

Tara pulled her hand away, looking at the blood on her fingertips. She stood.

Maline watched as Tara stretched her hand towards her again, this time pink tendrils of what looked like smoke headed towards her face.

Maline tried to hold her breath, but her mouth wouldn’t close, her lips no longer under her control. The sleep spell wafted into her lungs, removing her ability to stay awake.

As blackness descended on her, “…her to the basement…” crossed her ears.

____________________________________________________________

Tara Geonette leaned against her enchanting table and watched Maline open her eyes, take in the laboratory, try to sit up, then realize she was bound in shackles to the stone table.

Ready for her ritual.

Maline turned her head and looked at her.

“You have disrupted my plans,” Tara said. Her voice was low, irritated.

Anger filled Maline’s face. She stayed silent.

Tara let a small smile creep across her face. “I suppose I disrupted yours.”

Maline had tried to escape. Had almost ruined Tara’s plans. Had forced her to move up the ritual. She’d wanted to get her hands on the sigil stones first.

“Did you enjoy your reunion with Bedore?” she asked.

Maline’s face went pale. “You lied! You told me you would kill him. You promised!”

Tara tilted her head. “I kept my promise. I killed him. Didn’t I, Bedore?”

Tara looked over at him, her greatest zombie creation. He stood by the double doors. His face was gray, sunken. He still had a shock of black hair, though it was thinner now, and unwashed. His eyes were sunken in, also, but still held their dark blue color. They looked like small orbs.

She’d wrapped his body, from his neck down to his ankles, in linen. He’d been wet for so long after he died. Replacing his linens had been tedious. She’d created a spell and applied it to the wrappings. Now, his skin didn’t leak and his linens stayed clean and dry.

The best part of Bedore was that he still had part of his soul. He knew Tara and what she’d done to him. He’d recognized Maline, too.

While Mordard was little more than mindless, Bedore held all his memories, but couldn’t resist Tara’s commands. The pain emanating from him was delicious.

Tara walked over to Maline and looked down at her. The young woman shivered, still looking at Bedore. She turned back to Tara. Anger grew in her face.

“I promised everyone in this order they’d live forever. Bedore lives on, in his way,” Tara said.

She gave Maline a quick smile. “Next, you.”

Tara tapped her index finger on Maline’s nose. Maline jerked her head away. Tara grabbed her chin, dug her nails in, and turned Maline’s face back to her. Maline gasped, then stopped, as if she didn’t want to show Tara any weakness.

“Do you remember when you were young, when I had you play with the Dwemer cube?” Tara asked. She released Maline’s chin.

Maline’s eyes flickered. She nodded.

“I told you our family was special. You are special. I need you, Maline.”

Tara gave her a deep smile, her eyes alight with excitement. “You’re the first catalyst. You will make my immortality possible.”

“You had them killed. You told Bedore to kill them,” Maline said.

Tara furrowed her brow, confused.

Ah. Her parents.

“Yes, I did,” she said. No reason to hide the truth now.

“Why?!”

“I just told you. I need you. My brother, and your mother, wouldn’t let me take you. I told them I’d train you. I told them you were special. You had a lot of magical potential. They said no.”

Tara shrugged. “They left me no choice. I had Bedore get them out of the way.”

Tears streamed down Maline’s face. Tara felt a tendril of sorrow from her.

“Those spells I cast on you when you were little,” Tara said. “They helped me understand your potential.”

Those spells had indeed shown how much natural magical power Maline had. More importantly, they’d been her first test at pulling a soul out of someone.

Maline looked angry again.

Tara sighed. “I wish I could have taught you magic. You’d be almost as good as I am.”

“What are…?” Maline started.

“Don’t worry, though,” Tara turned from her and walked back to her enchanting table. “Your magic…you…will live on.”

She turned and gave Maline another smile. “In me.”

Maline stared at her, her face unreadable, her mouth a tight line. She didn’t say anything.

Tara turned back to the table and cradled the welkynd stone on the table. It emitted a soft blue light still, unlike the one she’d used for the members’ joining ritual. That stone sat in a small lockbox, now glowing a deep red.

This was the welkynd stone for the catalysts. Maline would be the first.

Then, younger Tara.

She needed to time the casting of spells right. Cast the memory spell on Maline, use her dagger with soul trap, then cast the new spell, then…

Tara heard a crackle behind her, then the sound of metal breaking.

She turned and immediately stepped to her right. It wasn’t enough and the ice spike caught her in the shoulder. She went down on one knee, as the cold spread down her left side and her left leg refused to hold her up.

Maline was standing in front of the stone table, her hands holding more ice spikes in them. She’d used cold magic to freeze the shackles enough to break them.

How had she learned magic?

“Bedore!” Tara yelled. Maline turned away from her and launched several ice spikes, then a frost spell at him. They hit Bedore in the chest, stopping him in his tracks. He fell to the floor, frozen.

Tara climbed back to her feet. She shivered from the cold of the ice spike. She’d never been hit by one before. Or, any magic. It was fascinating to experience.

Tara sent a paralyze spell at Maline. Maline had turned around, though, and quickly stepped out of the way. She sent a lightning bolt at Tara.

Tara was ready and cast a ward spell in front of her. The bolt disintegrated into it.

“NO!” Maline screamed. She shot several more bolts at her. Tara’s ward easily absorbed them.

Keeping her left hand holding the ward spell, Tara used her right hand to cast a small fireball at Maline, enough to singe her, not kill her.

Maline dodged to Tara’s right, the spell hit the table instead.

The girl was fast. She now stood at the edge of the fort wall, one foot on the cave floor. Tara moved to her left, a fresh ice spike just missing her.

“DIE!” Maline yelled. “I want you dead!”

Maline’s eyes shone with a murderous passion. The black of her hair completed the look of a dark mage. What she could have been.

Too bad I need her, Tara thought. She would have been magnificent by my side.

Maline sent a blizzard at Tara, a wall of ice and snow swirling towards her.

Tara stepped back, now standing against the stone table. The step gave her an extra second to create a wall of fire a few feet in front of her. The heat of it hit her immediately.

The spells collided, leaving behind a thick cloud of steam.

Now was her chance.

“Enough!” Tara sent two paralyze spells at Maline, in quick succession, through the steam.

Maline dodged the first one, but the second one caught her in the chest. She collapsed.

Tara cast a telekinesis spell on her and lifted her back onto the table. She cast a bound spell and chains appeared, wrapping Maline’s ankles and wrists tight.

“Who taught you magic?”

Maline glared at her.

“Right.” Tara cast a dispelling spell, dismissing the paralyze one. Maline’s limbs relaxed and her face grimaced.

“Who taught you magic?” Tara repeated.

“Fuck you.” Maline spit in her face.

Tara wiped the spittle from her face. She reached out and planted her fingers on Maline’s forehead. She cast the memory spell silently.

Maline’s memories hit Tara hard, all the woman’s pain rushed into her, almost causing her to step back. The grief at her parents’ death stood out. Tara focused on Bedore’s rape of her, instead, bringing it to the forefront.

Maline screamed and fought against her bindings. Terror coated her voice. Tara smiled and stopped the spell, taking her fingers off Maline’s forehead.

“Who taught you?” she asked again.

Maline’s eyes were wide, she seemed only partially aware of where she was.

Tara leaned over, bringing her face close to Maline’s. “Who betrayed me?! Who taught you magic?!”

Maline’s eyes went cold.

“No one,” she said. “I stole the books and taught myself.”

Tara straightened up. Could it be true? Had everyone in the order stayed loyal and not helped her?

“You said it yourself.” Maline’s voice remained as cold as her eyes. “I’m special.”

Tara stepped back from her.

“You are.” Tara gave her smile. Feeling Maline’s pain had excited her. “More so than I realized.”

Tara walked back to her enchanting table. Several soul gems had been knocked to the floor from Maline’s magic. The welkynd stone still rest on the table.

Tara heard a shuffling noise and turned around. Bedore was climbing to his feet, no longer frozen. Maline didn’t even look at him. She kept her eyes on Tara.

“Pathetic,” Tara said to him. Go stand by the doors.” Bedore gave her a cold stare and made his way as commanded.

She turned back to the table and the stone. No more interruptions. She closed her eyes, pulled in a deep breathe. She ran the steps through her mind.

She picked up the welkynd stone and her ebony dagger. She walked back to the stone table and placed the welkynd stone in the holder closest to her.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” Maline said. She still sounded cold, but perhaps she was curious, too.

Tara considered. Her niece was about to die. What harm could there be?

She studied Maline. She looked in her cold eyes. There it was.

No. Her niece was too much like her. She was calculating. If she knew the ritual, she might try and fight back in the last seconds.

Tara couldn’t risk it.

“Are you ready to be transformed, Maline?” she asked her.

Maline wrinkled her forehead. She looked at the stone, then Tara. “What are you doing?”

Tara opened Maline’s robes, placed her hand over Maline’s heart. She felt for the space between her ribs.

“Please, don’t.” Maline suddenly sounded small. She sounded as if she was little again, as if she’d just been brought to the property. Wondering about her parents and when she’d see them again. Maline’s breath became ragged and Tara’s hand moved up and down with it. She tried to shift her body away from Tara’s touch, but the chains kept her still.

“Don’t kill me,” Maline pleaded. “Let me help you. I’ll find people for you…”

“Shhhh,” Tara said. Her excitement at Maline’s pain faded.

“I don’t want to die.”

Tara gave her one last look. She needed to finish this now. “You’ll live in me,” she muttered.

Tara cast the memory spell on Maline again. Her screams started once more. Tara plunged the dagger into her chest, twisting it, as she had with Bedore.

Instead of watching Maline die, though, she cast her new spell, the Soul Pull one and pulled Maline’s soul out, sending it to the welkynd stone.

Within seconds it was over. Tara stepped back, trying to savor Maline’s pain as she died. She felt a moment of elation, then it faded.

She looked at the welkynd stone. Instead of blue, it now glowed a deep purple.

So much magic, she thought. So much more she’d need to become immortal. It would take generations.

Tara looked down at Maline’s body. She’d died with her mouth open in a scream, her hair lay damp on the table, her open eyes empty. Blood ran down the grooves in the table, pouring into the grate in the floor.

Tara closed Maline’s robes. She ran her hand over Maline’s face and closed her eyes, too.

“Thank you, Maline.” Tara said. “You were perfect.”

Tara picked up the welkynd stone and put it in the same lockbox as the other stone and locked it. Her robes were covered in blood. Maline’s blood had sprayed out, unlike Bedore’s.

Tara changed into the spare robes she always kept in the lab. She placed the lockbox key in her pocket. She tossed the old robe onto Maline’s body.

She looked at Bedore, who stared at her.

“When the blood is finished draining, burn her body and that robe in the backfield. Bury any bones and ash left,” she commanded him. “Do it at night, and make sure no one sees you.”

Bedore nodded, having no choice. He stepped away from the doors and shuffled towards Maline.

He stood by the table, looking down at her as Tara left the laboratory.

Tara walked down the hallway, the magic braziers lighting up as she past. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs that led up into the tower.

She thought she’d feel elated. As excited as she had with Bedore.

Instead, she felt…

Empty.

Why?

Because of the fight? No. The fight against Maline hadn’t drained her.

Because Maline was an innocent? Unlike Bedore.

Tara shook her head. Maybe because this was different. This wasn’t the ritual to bind members. Nor turning someone into a zombie.

Maybe it was the Soul Pull spell. She’d not used it to its full power before. Her early tests on Maline had only pulled a small piece away and put it right back. Pulling Maline’s soul out had been hard. Soul trap spells had been used on Bedore and everyone else she’d killed. She’d not pulled their soul out.

Yes, it had to be the spell.

She was your niece. Your blood.

Tara ran her hand over her face. Time to go upstairs and decide which story she’d tell members to explain why Maline was no longer around.

Should she tell Lysona the truth?

No. Not until after younger Tara, at the least. Maybe never.

Pulling in a deep breath, Tara ascended the stairs.

“Tara!”

Tara leapt out of bed and grabbed her axes. She took two steps towards her bedroom door. It burst open. Rigmor stood there.

“My Queen! Are you are okay? Is it Kintyra?” Tara asked. She kept her grip on her axes.

Rigmor looked Tara over, then burst out laughing.

Tara looked down. She was wearing her night clothes, which consisted of a tattered gray merchant’s shirt, with the strings to keep the collar closed undone, revealing her cleavage. The other item of clothing she wore was her undergarments. The tail of the shirt ended just above them, showing off too much of her. She felt her face go red.

Tara set her axes down and wrapped the bed cover around her.

“My apologies, my Queen. You shouldn’t see me this way.” She bowed her head.

Rigmor’s face had gone serious. “No,” she said. “I’m sorry. I should have known yelling your name would put you on alert. You’re very protective of Kintyra and me.”

“It’s my job, my lady…”

“Rigmor, Tara,” Rigmor interrupted. “Call me Rigmor when it’s just us in private.”

Tara nodded. “What do you need?”

“I want to go for a walk.” Rigmor said. “Around the city.”

“I’ll get dressed and escort you. Are we taking Kintyra with us?”

“No. Cerys is with her.”

Tara nodded. Cerys would guard Kintyra with her life. Marius was patrolling the palace, too. Plus palace guards were around. Kintyra would be safe.

Tara washed her face in the water basin. What time was it? Her room had no windows. She looked over at her oil lamp. She kept the flame low, so it didn’t disturb her sleep.

She didn’t want her windowless room completely dark, in case there was an emergency. The oil lamp helped Tara adjust to any changes in light faster. She could be ready for anything in an instant.

It had to be early. Tara slept for a few hours most nights. The premonitions woke her up. Not the one of Rigmor. The other one, of Geonette. Of her ancestor in a forest, approaching her, with everything around them on fire.

She’d been sound asleep, hadn’t dreamed of Rigmor yet. Hers always played first before Geonette ruined her night.

Tara put on her armor and grabbed her axes. She stepped out of her bedroom, which was on the far side of the royal suite from Rigmor and the Dragonborn’s room. Tara had timed herself sprinting between her bedroom and theirs. She needed to be able to get to them quickly to protect them. She averaged three seconds.

Not that it mattered tonight. Rigmor had come to her. The Dragonborn was away in Anvil.

They left the palace and stood briefly outside, at the top of the steps. The night was bright, with both Masser and Secuna high above them, hiding half the stars with their light. No clouds disturbed them.

Tara looked down the palace stone steps to the flower gardens along the edge of the district. This area was known as Green Emperor Way. The center, or spoke, of the wheel shaped city was this small district.

Tara looked to her left. “Which way, my Queen?”

Rigmor looked to her left, too. “Rigmor, Tara, when it’s just the two of us.” She pointed. “I’d like to walk the Arboretum district.”

Tara nodded. She took the lead and walked towards the great doors that opened into the district.

Moonlight bounced off the leaves of the bushes and flowers, giving a silver hue to the air around them.

A chill colored the night. Rigmor wore fine clothes, looking more like a wealthy citizen of the city than the queen. They were on the thicker side, keeping Rigmor warm. Tara’s armor felt good. The air was keeping her cool.

Tara opened the right door to the Arboretum, looked out to check for danger, saw the two guards standing on the top step, protecting entry into the palace’s district. Every entry to Green Emperor’s Way was guarded. Most citizens could travel freely through all the districts, but the guards kept out drunks, unruly citizens, and anyone known to be banned from the palace.

Tara held the door as Rigmor stepped through. Both guards bowed.

“My Queen,” they both said in unison.

“Thank you, both,” Rigmor answered. “How’s your mother, Ertius?”

“She’s much better, my lady. Thank you for asking.” The guard on the left answered.

“Good,” Rigmor said.

Lavender tickled Tara’s nose as they walked along the winding path surrounding the district. Flower beds abounded, filled with blooming lavender, various mountain flowers, fennel, alkanet, flax, bergamot, foxglove, and milk thistle.

The floral scent from all the plants put Tara at ease. This was peace.

She swept her eyes around the district, confirming they were alone. Her eyes took in the shrines placed around the district in a near circle. All nine divines were here. Akatosh, Arkay, Julianos, Kynareth, Mara, Stendarr, Zenithar, Talos, once banned here, and Dibella, Tara’s goddess.

Tara and Rigmor walked silently around the district. When they reached Akatosh’s shrine, Rigmor stopped and looked up at it. Her eyes took on a distant look, as if she was remembering something.

They walked on.

“Do you believe in fate?” Rigmor asked.

The huff escaped before Tara could stop it. “I do,” she said. “It’s…” Did she really want to confess this to Rigmor? What would Rigmor think?

Tara stopped and looked at Rigmor. “Fate, the gods, they’re why I’m your bodyguard.”

Rigmor’s amber eyes bored into Tara’s. “What? Tell me,” she said.

They walked on, passing Stendarr and Zenithar’s shrines.

“I had a premonition of you when I was nineteen,” Tara said. She kept her eyes on the shrines, and also scanning the area, to make sure they stayed alone.

“There weren’t many details in it. I saw your face, your scars, and knew your name was Rigmor,” Tara said. “I couldn’t tell why I was there, when it was. I dismissed it as a dream.”

Tara pulled in a breath. “It happened again, though. My girlfriend, Freta, knew what it was immediately. I didn’t want to believe her, but the dreams, premonition, kept happening.”

They were passing Kynareth and Mara’s shrines now. Tara kept her focus on the grounds, not looking at Rigmor.

“After Freta died…”

“I’m sorry,” Rigmor said.

“Thank you.” Tara gave Rigmor a quick nod.

“The premonition continued. I also gained a new one, not related to you,” Tara said. “Yours changed some. When I joined the Penitus Oculatus, the premonition changed, showing me in this armor. I knew I was on the right path.”

They’d reached Dibella’s shrine. Tara looked at Rigmor. “May I have a moment to pray?”

“Of course,” Rigmor said.

Tara knelt on both knees. She placed her hands on her thighs, and closed her eyes. She whispered a thanks to Dibella, thought of Freta, then Katla. Gods, she missed Katla. It’d been weeks since she’d seen her.

Tara stood up and nodded at Rigmor. “Thank you.” They walked.

“What else is in the premonition?” Rigmor asked.

Tara thought. What should she tell Rigmor? Freta showing up as a ghost to guide her? No, Freta visiting was for Tara alone. She’d not told Katla about any visits since that first time at High Hrothgar.

Should she tell her about the fighting in the dream? Kintyra being there?

Best to keep it simple.

“I know it’s sometime in the future and I am guarding you,” Tara said.

“Anything else?”

Tara shook her head. “Nothing that tells me where we are, what we’re doing.”

Rigmor looked at her. Studying her. Searching for more.

“Okay,” Rigmor nodded. Her voice held an edge.

She knows I’m holding back details, Tara thought.

“The Dragonborn is there, too,” she added.

Rigmor smiled. “What about Kintyra?”

Tara caught her breath. She couldn’t lie to Rigmor. Her queen wasn’t stupid.

She nodded. “She’s there. Older.”

Rigmor nodded again. She looked up at the shrine of Talos. They’d stopped in front of it as Tara finished describing the premonition.

Tara look up at the statue. She pulled out her Talos amulet, Freta’s amulet, and kissed it. A memory of Freta came up. A time they were camping in the woods near Skingrad. Freta was showing her steps and dodges to use when fighting with two axes. Somehow, they’d forgotten practice and ended up being intimate. Tara had never laughed so much back then. Not until Katla.

“Talos guide you,” she said, thinking of them both. She tucked the necklace back inside her shirt, hidden under her chainmail and chest plate. It briefly clicked against her Dibella amulet.

“You worship Talos, too?” Rigmor asked.

Tara shook her head. “This amulet was Freta’s. The only thing I have left of her. She was a Nord and worshipped Talos.”

“Ah,” Rigmor looked back up at Talos, then turned back to Tara. Her eyes were fierce.

“What else is in the premonition?”

Tara held her breath.

“I will not have the woman I trust to protect my daughter treat me like everyone else here. Refusing to tell me anything. Thinking they’re protecting me. I won’t have it, Tara.”

Tara bowed. This was Rigmor as queen. This was a command. Tara thought back to what she’d seen when Rigmor and the Dragonborn spoke in the throne room on Tara’s first day. How Rigmor talked to the Dragonborn. How she’d wondered if others in the palace tried to coddle Rigmor.

Rigmor was right. No one should hold things back from her. Tara would rage at anyone keeping things back from her.

“We’re all fighting. I don’t know who, or where, but I’m protecting you. The Dragonborn is nearby. I can hear Kintyra. I think there’s an orc nearby, a woman.”

Tara gave another bow. “That’s all there is.”

Rigmor’s eyes cooled. “Thank you.”

“I won’t hold anything from you again. I’m sorry,” Tara said.

“Okay,” Rigmor said. “I want to go to the Talos Plaza.”

They made their way to the district. No citizens were about at this hour. Guards patrolled. All bowed when they recognized Rigmor.

As they walked, Rigmor stopped at two places in the district. First, she paused in front of The Foaming Flask tavern. The tavern sat off a side street, near one of the entrances to the district.

“Did you want to go in?” Tara asked.

“No,” Rigmor answered. She turned from the tavern and walked towards the main street. “They have a special drink there…” Rigmor shook her head with the briefest of movements. She gave Tara a quick smile. “I’m reminiscing.”

“If the special drink is anything like the one in Bruma at the Tap and Tack, well, my limit is drinking only one,” Tara said. She shot Rigmor a quick smile. “I don’t have the tolerance of Nords.”

The highlight of the district was the stone statue of a dragon, of Akatosh in his true form. It was stories tall, surrounded by a circle of columns.

History books said it’d been created during the Oblivion Crisis. When Martin Septim sacrificed himself, he’d become an avatar of Akatosh. He’d turned into a stone statue at the defeat of Mehrunes Dagon. That had been 200 years ago. Over time, benches had been set up around the base of the statue, giving citizens a place to rest.

They were almost to it.

“Did you live you in Bruma?” Rigmor asked.

“No. I’ve visited a few times. Wonderful city and people.” A memory surfaced. Of first arriving in Bruma, Freta’s body strapped to the makeshift sled Tara had built. Tara numb from the cold and her grief. She pushed the memory away. She was on duty. No distractions.

They stopped at the statue. Rigmor looked to her left. Tara followed her gaze.

The Tiper Septim Hotel stood to the left, its decadent sign impossible to miss. Had Tiber Septim slept there? Or had the hotel named itself after him, to seem grand? Tara made a mental note to find out the truth.

It looked grand with its sign and gleaming doors. The stone of the building was immaculate, matching the palace’s striking stone.

“You ever stay there?” Rigmor asked. Her face had a dreamy look, more memories, Tara thought.

“No. When I arrived in the city, I went straight to the palace.”

“Of course.” Rigmor said. “What a silly thing for me to ask.”

“Not at all…”

Rigmor turned away from the hotel and statue and gave Tara a firm look. “Please escort me back to the palace.”

The walk back was silent. Only bowing from the guards as they stepped into the palace’s district interrupted the stillness.

Back in the royal suite, Rigmor headed for her bedroom. Tara stood guard while she opened the door. Kintyra was fussing. Tara heard small whines. Cerys’ voice piped up. “Rigmor. I think she wants you to hold her.”

Rigmor turned again to Tara. Her face was still, thinking.

Tara nodded. “Good night.”

Rigmor closed the door. Tara looked around once more. The suite was quiet now.

In her own bedroom, Tara changed back into her night clothes and climbed into bed.

The premonitions started as soon as she closed her eyes. Rigmor, then Geonette.

The forest was on fire again. Geonette approaching her, telling her she could bring Freta back.

There was something new tonight. A scream. Someone behind Tara was screaming, either dying or watching someone else die.

Tara turned around to see who it was.

She woke up. The oil lamp was extinguished. It was morning.

Back to work.

“Let’s go,” Mira said.

Katla jumped at Mira’s hand on her shoulder. She’d been focused on a chapter in the Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition. She wasn’t finding anything about the Order of the Fire Queen, but the section on High Rock and its people was fascinating. She realized how little she knew of High Rock. Of Bretons.

Tara read a lot about Nord culture. Maybe she should do the same regarding Bretons. Would it bring her closer to Tara again?

“Did you find them?” Katla asked.

“Yes. Let’s go,” Mira said. She had her serious face on again, but there was something else, too. A glint of excitement.

“Aren’t we going to read them?”

 “Come on,” Mira said. “Now.” She patted her robes.

“You have them in your robes?!”

 “Come on,” Mira repeated.

They walked quickly towards the exit, which was a long way off. Katla felt like she was crossing the entire city of Falkreath. The Imperial Library made the library in Wayrest look small.

At least twice the size, the library blinded one with its white marble floors. Bookcases of a deep, rich wood lined the walls and rows of them sat in the center of the library.

Tables for reading the books, as no one was allowed to take a book from the place, dotted the sides and edges of the bookcases. Fabric chairs and cushioned benches were also scattered about.

Plush rugs sat under each table and chair, buffering some of the noise created by walking across the marble.

Mira’s heels clicked as they approached the exit. A distinct blue wall of magic covered it.

Katla remembered the warning they were given when they first came to the library.

“No books may be removed from the library,” the ancient looking mage had told them. He’d been an Imperial, with a wide face and nose, his hair a mix of gray and white. He had more wrinkles on his face then Katla had ever seen on one person.

“The barrier will detect if you try and remove one,” he continued. “You don’t want to find out what happens if a book is detected.” The smile on his face made Katla think he wanted someone to be caught.

“How are we getting past the barrier?” Katla whispered.

A grin spread across Mira’s face. “You don’t think their little magic can stop me, do you?”

They’d spent two weeks combing the library for the books Mira said they needed. Every day they exited through the barrier. Mira must have studied it as they’d passed through.

Katla held her breath as they stepped through. Mira had waved her hand with a subtle movement a second before stepping through.

Nothing happened. Katla exhaled.

“Told you,” Mira said.

Back in Katla’s apartment, Mira sat in the chair by the window. The one Tara sat in when she visited.

Tara, Katla thought. Mira couldn’t stay. Tara was coming over.

“Why don’t you start on Breton Nobility After the Three Banners War and I’ll start on Thoughts on Oblivion and Pocket Realms,” Mira said. She shifted, as if getting more comfortable.

“You need to leave,” Katla blurted out.

Mira frowned. “Why?”

“Tara is coming over. She could be here any minute,” Katla said.

“And she doesn’t want to see me,” Mira said. She sighed. Sadness fell over her face.

Katla nodded.

Tara needs you.

Tara still wasn’t over Oblivion. What had happened there.

You! Magic! All you ever do is hurt me with it!

She wasn’t over what Mira had done to her as a child.

“She’s still healing, Mira,” she said. Katla couldn’t imagine Mira as a child, commanded by her parents to perform magic on her little sister.

If she’d had a younger sibling, would she have gone through with such commands? Surely not, Katla thought. She couldn’t know, though. She was guessing, assuming she was a better person.

Nothing but pain! This whole fucking family!

Young Mira wasn’t the woman Katla now knew. Could she ever help Tara see past the pain Mira had caused?

Mira stood. “Right, I’ll leave.” She looked tired, all energy drained.

“I’m sorry, Mira,” Katla said. “She’ll come around.”

Mira waved her hand, as if dismissing her. “I’ve earned it.” Her eyes looked guilty.

“Please read Breton Nobility After the Three Banners War,” she said. “Keep it safe. If we lose it, we may never find another copy. Besides, we do need to return it one day.”

Mira straightened her robes. “It’s got a detailed history of when families became nobles. Who they married, who was granted titles by kings, queens, any of the ways someone became a noble. Take the list of order members we have and see if you can trace them all. See if their last names changed over time. Should give us more members to find.”

Mira started collecting her things, the satchel she’d traveled with, the other book.

“I’ll study the Oblivion book. I can understand it. Anything we learn about pocket realms will help me understand if Geonette has actually created one.”

“Are you teleporting back home?” Katla asked.

“I think that’d be safest…” Mira started.

The sound of a key in the front door lock startled them both.

Katla held her breath as she turned around. She wanted to tell Mira to leave now, teleport immediately, but her mouth remained closed, holding on to her breath.

The door opened and Tara stood in the doorway, holding a bouquet of flowers. Her armor shone, as if just cleaned. Katla glanced at Tara’s axes. They also looked clean. She looked into Tara’s eyes.

Something had happened.

“What are you doing here?!” Tara barked at Mira. Her eyes had narrowed.

“I’m leaving, Tara,” Mira’s voice was quiet. She almost seemed to be studying her, calculating how to keep her calm.

“We found the books we needed,” Katla said. She kept her voice soft. Tara met her eyes and Katla saw the anger subside. “I’m going to read one, Mira’s reading the other. She’s not staying.”

Tara nodded at her. She looked down at the bouquet she held. They were a mix of red, blue, and purple mountain flowers. “For you.” Her mouth held a sheepish half-smile. This couldn’t have been the entrance she had in mind.

“Thank you,” Katla blushed. She caught herself. “I’ll put these in the vase.” She nodded at Mira as she headed to the kitchen.

“It’s good to see you,” Mira said to Tara. Katla watched them as she cleaned the vase and filled it with fresh water.

“I’ll write you a letter with some information I’ve recently acquired,” Tara said. Her voice sounded clipped.

“I look forward to reading…” Mira said.

“It’ll be sent to your house. In Chorrol.” Tara’s tone was pointed.

Mira looked resigned. She turned to Katla. “I’ll let you know what I find out from my book.”

“I’ll do the same,” Katla said. She came out from the kitchen and hugged her.

Mira stepped back, gave her a smile, and then looked at Tara. “Take care.” She twisted her wrist and was gone.

Tara sighed. She sat down on Katla’s couch. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Seeing her makes me so angry.”

Katla sat next to her. She couldn’t think of anything to say in response.

Tara started removing her armor, unlacing and taking off her boots.

“Let me help,” Katla said. She unlaced Tara’s left bracer, then turned her and removed her right one. Tara stood and they both removed her armor plating, and underlying chainmail shirt. Under the chainmail, she wore a white men’s merchant style shirt. Her favorite kind.

She pulled off her armor kilt, a blend of leather and metal straps, revealing her undergarments.

Katla grinned. Those thigh muscles. “Did you not bring pants?”

Tara gave her a sly smile. “I can only stay for a few hours. Seemed pointless to bring any.”

Tara pulled her close, and buried her face in Katla’s chest. Katla wrapped her arms around her and they stood this way for a while. Tara pulled back, stood on the tip of her toes and gave her a kiss. “Can we just cuddle?”

They laid in bed together in silence, soaking up each other’s presence. Tara lay on her side, her arm draped across Katla’s stomach, who was lying on her back.

“What happened?” Katla finally asked. Tara rolled onto her back and looked at Katla.

“How’d you know?”

“Your armor is too clean. Axes, too.” Katla pulled in a breath.

“Did you kill someone?”

Tara held her gaze. “Lewin Vanne.”

Katla furrowed her brows. “Who?”

“The mage who attacked you.”

Katla reached out and ran her fingers through Tara’s hair. “You were interrogating him?”

Tara grabbed her wrist and kissed it. “Yes. He said things. Wouldn’t tell me what’s inside the stone. I lost it. Not very professional of me.”

“This is personal, not part of your job,” Katla said.

Tara sat up. She pulled the bed cover around her. “What books did you find?”

She didn’t want to talk about Lewin, Katla realized. Prying wouldn’t get her anywhere. Katla went along with the change in topic.

She sat up and leaned against Tara. “Mira has a book about pocket realms in Oblivion.” Tara flinched. “I’ve got one detailing Breton nobility after the Three Banners War. Mira wants me to trace the family names we know are in the order and find out how they became nobles. Plus, check if any changed their name, giving us more families to track.”

“Kill,” Tara said. Her jaw had tensed.

“What?” Katla stared at her. “Tara…”

A well of pain seemed to emanate from Tara’s eyes. Katla felt overwhelmed by the depth of it.

“I want to kill them. I want us to kill them.”

The pain was gone. Now, Tara’s eyes were cold. A look Katla had only seen when Tara was about to kill someone.

She shivered. When Tara killed to protect her, she felt safe, even admired Tara’s intensity. Now, looking at those cold eyes, she realized how dangerous this side of Tara was.

“I…I’m not sure we should be killing people,” Katla said.

“Why not?” Tara flared. “When we were first together, you were fine with killing any necromancer we came across.”

Katla swallowed. “I was. I was angry, Tara. Still grieving my parents.” Katla wiped a tear from her face.

I just…” She paused. This idea of killing order members was too new. Something had set Tara off.

“What did Lewin say to you?”

Tara’s eyes watered. She looked down.

“Talk to me, Tara,” Katla put her arm around her. “Please.”

“He called me a flame. Said I was special.”

“Flame?”

“You remember Mira was accused of being a raven in that town near the ruined tower?”

Katla looked at her and thought. Realization dawned. “Mira is a raven; black hair. You’re a flame; a redhead.”

Tara nodded. “There seems to be something to those of us born with red hair and green eyes.”

“Not a good thing, I assume?”

Tara shook her head. “He talked about a ritual. Different from the one in your parents’ journal.”

Katla looked at her hair. “I’m neither raven or flame. What does that make me?”

Tara gave her smile. “Lewin called your family traitors.”

Katla’s eyes widened. “Traitors…that means they left the order!”

Tara nodded. “I think so. He said something about the Hammerhearts coming in and out of the order. Maybe they weren’t necromancers anymore. Maybe they took that stone for a good reason.”

Could it be true? Could they be the people she remembered them as?

But, that cave under the house. The Molag Bal statue. What was the truth?

Katla leaned her head against the headboard. “I hope so. It cost them their life.” She felt her eyes water.

Tara put her arm around Katla and laid her head on her shoulder. “You remember them as good people. Hold onto that.”

Katla collected herself. For all Tara had said, she still didn’t understand why Lewin had caused her to want to kill everyone in the order.

“Why do you want to kill them?”

Tara lifted her head and looked in her eyes. “What if the only reason they’re trying to kill you is because you have the stone?”

“Okay.” Katla waited.

“What if I’m the one they really want?”

“Tara. That can’t be true.” It couldn’t be.

Tara sat up and leveled her gaze at Katla.

“I think it is.” Tara swallowed. “Lewin talked about wanting to watch the ritual for flames. The way he said everything…” Tara paused. She seemed to be gathering her strength. “What he said matches something said to me in Oblivion.”

Katla saw Tara’s lip tremble. What had Oblivion done to her?

“Even if I’m not the target, you’re in danger and I suspect Mira is now, too. I want the names of any new families you find.”

Katla nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll research, or maybe you or Mira can. I won’t make a move against anyone until I’m sure they’re in the order.”

Katla let a small laugh out. “How are you going to find the time? You spend all your time with the royal family.”

Tara gave her a serious look. “That’s why I want you to help me kill them.” She shrugged. “If you won’t, I’ll figure it out.”

Her face shifted and she gave Katla a soft smile. “Maybe I’m asking too much. Don’t feel pressured. I am going after them, though. I’m tired of them hunting us. Time to change things.”

“I’ll think about it,” Katla said. The answer would be yes. She couldn’t let Tara do this alone. Would Mira be willing to help, too? Would she kill anyone?

Tara leaned over and kissed her. “Thank you. For considering it. For letting me talk about Lewin. For putting up with me being gone so much. For everything.”

Katla kissed Tara back and their cuddling turned into something more intimate.

Afterwards, Katla made a lunch for them of broiled rabbit and potatoes drowned in butter. Time ran out after lunch. Tara was gone, back to the palace.

Katla breathed a sigh of relief as she sat on her couch. They’d made progress. Tara didn’t seem so far away.

She looked at the book. Names. They needed more names. How big was the order, really?

Time to find out.

Tara Geonette stepped quietly into Lysona’s lab. The woman had her back to Tara and was bent over one of the alchemy tables. She’d added something to a brewing potion and seemed to be studying it.

Tara observed her for a moment. What a tiny woman she was. She looked thinner than usual, though the robes she wore today emphasized the curves she had, particularly her hips.

Tara still wasn’t attracted to her, or any of the women in the order. Not physically, at least.

Lysona’s pain, though, continued to be an awakening for her. Her ability to suffer. That was what made her attractive. Perfect. Her loyalty and suffering. So much pain.

For this, Lysona had been worth the sacrifice of Tara’s personal tastes. If only she could find a way to want the woman, too.

Maybe after she’d ascended. Then, she could transform Lysona into what she wanted. Yes, there was an idea to consider.

“I knew I’d find you here,” Tara said.

Lysona jumped and turned around. Her face flashed to a smile. “My queen! My heart!”

“I’d love to know what you’re brewing,” Tara said.

“And I love you,” Lysona said. She seemed to pause for a moment, as if waiting for Tara to respond back with an exclamation of love. Her blue eyes radiated desire.

“I love seeing you in your element,” Tara said. She drew a seductive smile across her face. “What are you working on?”

Lysona straightened her robes. “The fertility potion. I’m trying to remove the last of the bitterness from it so we don’t have to hide it in the wine. We could then add it to the water wells instead.”

“Good idea.” Tara nodded. She refreshed her smile. “What would I do without you?”

“Thank you, love,” Lysona said. She returned the smile. She turned back to the potion and removed it from the burner. She set it into a small indention in the table, perfectly sized for the glass bottle the potion was in. She then took a small, metal snuffer and extinguished the flames of the burner. She turned back to Tara. Her eyes regained their deep longing.

“Once the potion cools, I can test the taste,” she said.

Tara put her hands around Lysona’s waist and pulled her close. She gave her a long kiss, to satisfy her longing.

“Are you ready?” she asked when they broke apart.

“The ritual?”

“Yes.” Tara gave her another kiss. “I’m ready to bond us.”

At the word bond, Lysona’s eyes lit up.

Tara grabbed her hand and pulled her as they left the lab. She led Lysona down the stairs to her basement laboratory. Bedore was safely across the property, so Lysona wouldn’t see him. Tara couldn’t risk showing him to her before they were bonded. Before Lysona’s reaction to him didn’t matter. None in the order knew what he’d become. That reveal would happen when none of them had a choice.

Flickering blue light greeted them as they entered the lab. Once the alcove had been finished, Tara had taken to finding ways to set magical flames in the braziers she’d had Mordard set into the cave walls. Torch sconces still lined the stone walls of the fort. She sent small flames to each, setting them alight. The blue magical flames dominated, but the torchlight coated her work space in a warm, almost sepia, light.

“I want to show you something,” Tara said. She pulled Lysona over to her enchanting table, which sat next to the alchemy one. The enchanting table was made of black stone, with symbols representing the main schools of magic carved into its top. Carved goat horns framed the back of the table. A human skull sat between the horns, with the top of the skull removed. In its place sat a glass orb. Purple light pulsed from within the orb.

Scattered across the table were numerous soul gems. At least two of every known size, petty, which held the simplest of souls, lesser, common, greater, grand, and, of course, black soul gems, the only type that could house an entire human soul.

Tara ignored them and reached for the two other objects on the table. She picked up one of them.

“Is that a welkynd stone?” Lysona asked. Her eyes had widened. “You found one!”

“Two,” Tara smiled. She pointed to the other one, still on the table. The welkynd stones were larger than the soul gems, slender, and looked like polished, refined crystals. Where soul gems looked like unrefined geodes, pulled from rock, the welkynd resonated a beauty that spoke of the stars. Being meteoric glass alone made them stand out. Both stones emitted a soft blue glow.

“I found this one in the ruins of Erokii,” Tara said.

“You’re so brave,” Lysona said. “I’ve heard there are wights, even liches, in those ruins.”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Tara gave her a smile. Lysona didn’t need to know she’d brought Mordard and Bedore with her. They’d drawn the attention of the wights, giving Tara time to incinerate them. She’d found the welkynd stone within the first few rooms. She’d only had to contend with seven wights. There were stories about Erokii, that a powerful, dark relic, a remnant, had once been housed there. With the relic gone, though, the ruins didn’t hold any other interest for her. The first stone had been easy. She’d bought it off an old necromancer years ago. This one had taken actual work to acquire.

Lysona looked at the other stone. “I didn’t realize you had one already.” Her eyes implored Tara, as if hurt she’d not been told.

She needed to be careful here with Lysona. She was too close to her goal.

Tara reached out again and pulled her close. “I wanted to wait until I had them both.” She gave Lysona a kiss on the forehead. “I’m…the order is so close to our goals.”

Lysona breathed deeply. She looked at the enchanting table. “And our bonding?”

“The first step to immortality,” Tara said. She caressed the side of Lysona’s face. Time to distract her, keep her from thinking too deeply on it all.

“Come lie down on the table,” Tara said. She wrapped her arm around Lysona’s waist and guided her over to the table. Lysona climbed up on it and positioned herself. Tara had the table flat, unlike when Bedore had been held on it. The ritual would be easier this way.

“I need to strap you down,” Tara said. Before Lysona could refuse, Tara secured her wrists.

“Why?” She didn’t resist as Tara chained her ankles.

“You need to be very still during the ritual.”

Tara walked over to her enchanting table. She picked up a common soul gem and one of the welkynd stones. She spared a glance at the two wood and metal chests sitting on the floor by the table. The one closest to the table held all the black souls gems she’d collected over the years. All the people she’d killed. It was nearly full. She estimated she only needed a handful more.

The other chest sat empty. The common soul gem in her hand would be its first occupant.

Tara smiled at Lysona as she returned to the table. She felt her heart hammer within her chest. So close.

Lysona’s brow furrowed. “Why the common soul gem?”

So many questions. Couldn’t the woman shut up?

“Part of the bonding,” Tara said. She kept her voice soothing. “Yours and mine. It’ll make sense afterwards.” She set the gem and stone in the holders on the table. The same holders as she’d used for Bedore’s gems.

“The welkynd stone. How is it used?” Lysona looked confused.

Tara assumed what she thought was a patient face. A teacher helping a student understand. She placed her index finger on Lysona’s lips.

“Shhh. I promise it will make sense,” she said. She kept her voice even. She ran her hand along Lysona’s cheek. She then traced her fingers lightly along her ear, one of Lysona’s favorite spots to be touched. Keep her distracted by touch. Almost there.

Lysona leaned into Tara’s touch. Her breathing quickened and her eyes took on a dreamy look. The woman’s excitement was infectious. Tara found herself responding. Not to Lysona’s arousal. More to the impending change. The more Lysona was excited and happy now, the better this would be.

Tara leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Trust me.”

She untied Lysona’s robe, exposing her breasts and stomach. She didn’t need to do it; the ritual didn’t require it. It seemed fitting, though. To see Lysona so vulnerable, so trusting.

So stupid.

Tara placed her left hand on Lysona’s stomach. She still needed touch for the spell to work.

She gave Lysona a wide smile. “This is going to hurt.”

She cast the memory spell in her left hand, causing a red glow, as it had for Bedore. The glow wasn’t as bright as it’d been with Bedore. She was still working to eliminate the need for the glow, besides skin to skin contact.

The effect was immediate. Lysona screamed as all her painful memories surfaced.

The rush, the sense of power enveloped Tara as they passed through her mind.

Here was Bedore’s rape, the confusion of him attacking her, a peaceful dinner turning into a violent night.

Tara lingered over it, replaying the memory several times. She drank in the depth of fear and shame. Knowing she’d been the cause of it made it more delicious.

The next memory flashed. Now Lysona was six. Her mother was practicing magic on her. Using telekinesis to throw objects at her head, hitting her with books, rocks, plates, and glass. Sending small sparks at her, enough to sting, but leave no visible damage. Lysona was screaming, begging her mother to stop, but the woman laughed instead, and sent flames at her, catching her dress on fire. The terror as her mother kept laughing and only extinguished the flames seconds before they could burn her.

Tara realized she knew little of Lysona’s childhood.

Now, Lysona was twenty, and her first girlfriend was breaking up with her, calling her worthless, a terrible mage, and even worse in bed. The humiliation was exquisite.

Tara pulled herself away from the memories. She needed to focus. Cast the other spells. Now was the moment, with Lysona still screaming over these memories.

She cast a soul trap spell and watched Lysona’s soul rise from the table. Like Bedore’s, hers was blue, though tinted purple. Purple from the pain, as Tara needed.

She cast a soul split spell next. Lysona’s soul moved like a billowing cloud, twisting and shifting. Tara guided a small piece of it into the common soul gem. She then waved her right hand and sent another piece, about the same size, into the welkynd stone. The stone’s blue glow shifted, taking on a pink hue.

The memories continued to cross Tara’s mind. She felt drunk, so much shame the woman held. Her leaving of the Mages Guild, after being caught stealing scrolls and selling the spells for her own profit. Her mother, now old and frail, casting fireballs at Lysona’s head every time she visited.

The moment her mother drank the poison Lysona had given her, hidden in her mother’s favorite wine. Lysona’s excitement, then guilt, as she watched her mother die.

So many memories to play with.

Tara pulled herself away from the memories again. She needed to return the woman’s soul. She kept her left hand on Lysona’s stomach and used her right to release the soul, what was left of it. Lysona’s screams stopped, she pulled in a deep breath, her small body rising and pulling against her shackles. The soul returned in a rush, more purple than blue, and was back within her body in less than a second.

Lysona gasped, then burst out crying. Tara watched her tears stream down her face. She still felt engorged by the woman’s pain. She looked down at her left hand, still touching, still moving in time with Lysona’s stomach. She was lying on the table, still shackled, half naked, and vulnerable. So weak.

Tara realized she was still aroused. For the first time, she wanted Lysona. It’d be so easy to slide her left hand down further, between her legs. Touch her when she didn’t want it. Climb on top of her, like she had with Bedore, and do whatever she wanted. Make Lysona do things she didn’t want to do. Make fresh memories of pain with her. With Bedore, there’d been a purpose to the assault. Revenge for Maline. The need for a third child.

Right now, with Lysona, she’d being doing it because she wanted to. Because she could. Especially now. She had a piece of the woman’s soul. They were bonded in a way Lysona didn’t yet understand. In a way none of the order yet understood. How could they? This was new magic. Her magic. She would give them their immortality. After they paid the price.

“My queen…” Lysona whispered.

Tara lifted her hand off Lysona’s stomach. Now was not the time to add more pain to the woman’s life. Now was the time to pull her close again. She’d have plenty of time to inflict fresh pain, to feed her desires. She’d have centuries.

She closed Lysona’s robes, covering her up. She released all the shackles. She looked into Lysona’s eyes, smiled softly, and gently wiped away the tears still wet on her face.

“I’m sorry I had to hurt you,” she said. She kissed Lysona on the lips, a light peck. “The magic requires it.”

“I feel so…tired,” Lysona said. Her skin was pale, with rosy spots of color on her cheeks. As if she’d been blushing, but most of the color had drained.

“Let me help you up.” Tara put her arm underneath her and guided Lysona into a sitting position. She looked into her eyes.

Yes, there it was. A slight haunting look. Nothing obvious. You had to be looking for it.

“Why don’t you make yourself a warm bath,” Tara said as she guided Lysona off the table. “I’ll join you after I clean up here.” Tara ran her fingers through Lysona’s hair. “It’ll make you feel better.”

Yes, this was the right thing to do. Be gentle, pull her in. Bonded or not, she still needed to control Lysona. She’d need to control them all. The bonding alone wouldn’t get her to her goal.

Lysona’s eyes dug into her. The longing was there.

“Are we bonded? Did it work?” She swayed slightly. “I do feel different.”

Tara pressed her forehead against Lysona’s and gave her a deep smile. “Yes. You and I forever.” She kissed her. “Now, take that bath. I will join you soon.”

She watched Lysona leave, then turned her attention to the soul gem and welkynd stone. Her heart skipped a beat. The spells had worked. This was all going to happen. Now, to perform the ritual on the rest of the order.

She’d need to think about the children. About what age they should have it performed on them. Maybe when they came of age? Or, when their bodies first matured? She had much to consider there.

Tara removed the common soul gem and brought it over to her enchanting table. She picked up her scalpel and etched Lysona’s initials into it. She knew it was hers, she could feel the faint touch of one of her memories. Better to be cautious, though. She set it into the chest, then locked it. How long would it take to get everyone in the order added? Within two weeks, she hoped.

She still needed to plan out the ritual for the catalysts. And follow up on those leads for the sigil stones. So much work to do.

For today, though, she could relax. Celebrate her success.

Yes, go join Lysona in that bath. Perhaps have her way with her, regardless of the woman’s mood.

Tara threw up a spell on the doors to the laboratory as she left. Now that the ritual had begun, time to start keeping everyone out.

Tara leaned back against the stone wall. The cold of the stone pressed through the part of her arms only covered by fabric. The rest of her Penitus Oculatus armor kept her protected from the cold of this prison cell located underground. Under the Penitus Oculatus headquarters here in the Imperial City.

Thick iron bars finished off the cell where Lewin Vanne, the Order of the Fire Queen mage who’d attacked Katla and Richton, was being held.

“He attacked an agent. Do what you need to get information from him,” Marius had told Tara, after Richton reported to him.

Richton’s note to Tara had explained what happened. Rigmor had given her permission to take a day off to handle the situation.

Lewin had attacked Katla. Had nearly taken Katla from her. Tara couldn’t lose Katla. She had to protect her. She couldn’t fail Katla again.

Besides Katla, he’d tried to kill Richton, her friend from Penitus Oculatus training. Richton, who Tara could never tell she was the reason Varro had disappeared. Official Penitus Oculatus reports stated Varro had been killed by the Thalmor. Tara had to do her best not to let anything happen to Richton. She was responsible for him losing his best friend. The least she could was protect him.

Tara dropped her eyelids low and stared at Lewin. In the right moment, Katla told her this look was smoldering.

“You and your bedroom eyes.” She was fond of saying.

This wasn’t that moment, though. Tara meant to convey the sense she thought of him as no more than an ant. She suspected she’d need to guide Lewin through a series of emotions to get what she wanted. Treating him like an inconsequential bug seemed a good start.

He was staring at her. He’d taken her in, resting his eyes on her muscled arms, her axes, but mostly her hair and eyes. Lewin’s hair was deep black, reminding Tara of Mira’s, before some grays had lightened hers. His eyes were a dark blue, like a deep lake. His face narrowed at his chin, leaving him looking severe. Tara thought of a skeever.

“You are not how I imagined,” he said. His voice was deep and as cold as the cell.

He sat in a plain wood chair, at a faded wood table, filled with chipped corners and scratches. He still wore his mage robes. The symbol of the order a bright red against black fabric.

A simple hide sleeping bag sat atop a pile of hay in one corner of the cell. A rough canvas pillow completed his sleeping area.

A bucket sat in another corner for him to use for any bodily needs.

Otherwise, the cell was bare. The floor made of the same cold stone as the walls. There was a grate in the floor in the center of the room. Tara wondered how much blood had flown down it over the years.

“How did you imagine me?” she asked him.

“Looking like a proper mage. Not playing warrior.” His tone radiated disappointment.

Good, he seemed talkative.

“Why would I be a mage?”

“Do you not know who, what, you are?”

You’re perfect. Better than I imagined.

“Tell me,” Tara said. She felt her heart hammer.

He huffed. He looked away, then back at her, searching.

“Do they not tell you? Hmm, we’ve never had a flame. Perhaps they don’t.” He looked as if he pitied her.

“A flame? What does…?” Tara caught it. “My hair?”

Lewin nodded. “Of course. Your hair, eyes. A flame. Not a raven. Lucky is the family who bears them.” He tilted his head. “Surely, you’re testing my loyalty.”

Raven? Where had she heard that reference?

Best to play along, Tara decided.

She kept her eyes narrowed. “Loyalty must always be proven.”

Now, he looked offended. “I was chosen for this job! To retrieve the stone.”

“You failed.”

“Traitors,” Lewin spat.

“Hammerheart?” Tara tried to sound professional.

“Whole family. For too long. Keep trying to bring them back…” Lewin squinted at Tara.

“Your sister, too. How could she? You are both…” he stopped.

“What?”

Lewin shook his head. “This isn’t a loyalty test.” He spat. For real this time. His phlegm landed on the table, light from the wall mounted torches flickered, giving a shine to the mucus.

“Is your whole family this way? No, can’t be. Not the trunk.” Lewin leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and glared at her.

“Traitor.” He spat again.

Tara stepped closer to him, leaving the wall behind. Her right hand dropped to her axe, resting on the head of it.

“Why do you want the stone?”

He laughed. “You really don’t know.” He kept the grin. “I hope I can watch, then. Be one of the few who see. It’ll be glorious.”

“See what?” Tara now stood at the table, across from him.

“The ritual. The one for flames.” He looked her up and down again. “I’ve only been told about it. Not every generation even has a flame.”

…she said I looked like them. Something about my hair and eyes.

Ravens. Yes, in one of Mira’s letters. When she first asked Tara and Katla to come to the ruins she’d found. The barmaid at the inn had told Mira she looked like the mages that visited the ruins once owned by Geonette. Mira had not been welcome in the town. Everyone seemed suspicious of her.

The ruined tower. That cave. That strange orb. All the voices in her head.

Is it her? How is she here?

Oblivion.

When the time comes, don’t fight me.

Tara’s hand trembled where it rested on her axe head. She steadied herself. She needed more from him.

“Why keep coming for the stone? It’s already in the hands of Geonette’s descendants,” she ventured.

He huffed again and shook his head. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, careful to avoid the drying phlegm.

“We’ve never had a flame,” he repeated. “They must keep you separate. Not tell you.” He looked at her with a curious expression. Again, it held a note of pity.

“Otherwise, you’d know all of us need the stone. Pass it around. But the Hammerhearts…” He sat back again. “Traitors.”

“You consider her family traitors, so that’s why you keep trying to kill her?”

“If I’d wanted to kill her, she’d be dead,” he said. He seemed offended.

“You shot fireballs at her!” Tara shouted. She felt her face flush.

“At the ground!” The indignation in his voice reminded Tara of the ambassador from Morrowind. “I was to retrieve the stone. Not kill your bitch of a girlfriend.”

He seemed to pick up on Tara’s surprise, though she’d quickly shifted her face to neutral.

“Yes, we all know who she is to you.” He burst out laughing. “The comedy of it.”

What are the odds? You and her.

Tara stepped around the table and now stood at the corner, closer to him.

“Didn’t know about your sister, though,” he said. His voice quieted. He studied Tara again.

“Are you trying to intimidate me?” He nodded at her closeness, her hand still rested on her axe.

“I want answers,” Tara said. She didn’t feel flushed any more. The same cold she’d needed to deal with Varro now enveloped her.

“Your sister,” Lewin said. His eyes shone with their own coldness. That strange curiosity of his. “Has she had the ritual performed? Have your parents abandoned their duties?”

Tara ignored him. “Tell me exactly how the stone is used. What’s inside the stone.”

“You can’t scare me into talking to you,” he said. “I’ve had the ritual performed. I know where I’ll go when I die. I’m not afraid.”

All those voices. All those people in the robes. In Oblivion. With her. Could this ritual send them there?

“I’ve been,” Tara offered. “You don’t want to end up there.”

“Lies. You can’t. Flames don’t belong. Flames aren’t…” Lewin shook his head. “No, I don’t believe you.”

“I have,” Tara said. She thought of the red sky, the dead land, scorched trees. She dropped her voice into a whisper. “I don’t know what they promise you, but it’s a terrible place.”

“Liar!” Lewin stood. “You’re jealous. You won’t be…”

“Sit down!” Tara commanded. Flames erupted from her left hand, forming a sizable fireball. She kept her right hand on her axe. Perhaps she could scare him the way he’d scared Katla, threatening him with magic.

“Ah,” Lewin said. “So the flame has some magic in her.”

“Sit down,” Tara repeated.

Lewin laughed. “I told you. You can’t intimidate me. I’ve had the ritual performed. I’ll be immortal.”

Immortal?

“Sit,” Tara said. The fireball continued to dance in her hand. She extinguished it.

Lewin laughed. “You don’t scare me, little flame.” Like with so many others, Tara was short compared to him. He was a Breton, but looked to be Katla’s height. Or, did he mean something else by calling her little?

…Not today, though, my little catalyst.

“I said sit,” Tara said.

“No,” Lewin smirked.

Tara released a wave. The smallest she could manage. Perhaps, it was the smallest she’d ever released.

Lewin was shoved down onto his chair. His eyes went wide.

“What magic was that?!” Lewin’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s inside the stone? How do you use it in the ritual?”

“What was that?!” Lewin looked both fascinated and scared.

“What is inside the stone?!” Tara pulled out her axe.

Lewin swallowed. He narrowed his eyes again.

“I am immortal. My queen has made me so,” he said. A slow grin spread across his face.

“I look forward to your death,” he said. “To your traitor sister’s and to your traitor girlfriend’s, too. Glory to the Fire Queen! We shall all be…”

She decapitated Lewin in one move. Decapitation should not have been so easy. Even executioners with a headsman axe sometimes didn’t make clean cuts.

She’d not thought, swinging her axe at his neck before realizing what she was doing.

So much anger. So much…pain.

His head flew and hit the nearby wall. It fell to the floor and rolled.

“Feel better?” Freta asked. She stood in the right corner along the back of the cell. Leaning against the wall. Her arms crossed, as if she’d been watching the interrogation the entire time. A superior officer, watching how Tara handled the situation.

She was dressed in her steel armor, her hair down, just as Tara preferred. Looking as she did all the visits before. The same soft glow surrounded her.

Lewin’s head came to a standstill. His eyes open, mouth slightly agape. A moment of surprise frozen on his face. Tara watched a stream of blood flow out of his severed head, moving towards the floor drain. A river of blood poured from his body. It’d dropped to the floor, falling out of the chair. Bodies contained so much blood. You couldn’t grasp it unless you saw someone bleed out.

Tara realized she’d never decapitated someone before. Driven her axe into someone’s neck enough to kill them, yes. Never separating their head. There wasn’t a need to. Her stomach twitched.

“No.” She looked up at Freta.

Freta held her gaze. Her eyes were soft, sad, with something else Tara couldn’t put her finger on.

“I miss you,” Tara said. The words were out of her mouth in a moment. A reflex every time she saw Freta.

“It is good to see you, my little Breton.” Her voice was as warm and silky as Tara remembered.

Freta looked down at Lewin’s body, as if studying him.

“Did you know the first time I killed someone was the day I died?” she said. Her glacier blue eyes focused on Tara.

“I didn’t know,” Tara whispered. “I always saw you as a warrior. A fighter.”

 “You’re far more a warrior, my little Breton.” Her tone was a sweet tease.

“I was a sword for hire. Hired more for my size and ability to intimidate,” she said. “I talked myself out of fights, rarely got into them.” She shimmered in the torch’s light.

“I did fight,” she said. “Tournaments. Underground pits, what with the Empire no longer sponsoring them. Private tournaments between Fighter Guilds.”

She smiled. “I was good, too. Only loss was my first fight.” She winked. “The fights were never to the death, though. These were competitions, not battles.” She frowned. “I doubt I could’ve been the fighter you are.”

“Of course you could’ve,” Tara said.

Freta shook her head. “I trained you because I saw it in you. A fire I didn’t have.” Freta chuckled. “I wanted to spend my days traveling all of Tamriel, drinking mead, bedding the ladies. Being a sell sword was about earning enough coin to keep my life simple.”

Her eyes grew soft. “Then, I met you. I wanted to travel with you around Tamriel. Thought one day we could settle down someplace. Spend our days bedding each other.” She winked.

“Freta…”

“But you had a fire in you. Hair of fire. Heart of passion.” Freta looked thoughtful. “I saw it the moment I laid eyes on you. Fire. Anger. I knew I had to train you.”

“You taught me so much,” Tara whispered.

Freta nodded at Lewin. “Did you get the answers you needed?”

“No.”

“Then why did you kill him?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do know.”

“He almost killed Katla.” Tara kept her voice a whisper.

“And?”

Tara thought. “Nearly killed Richton, too. It’s my fault he lost his best friend.”

“No, it’s not,” Freta said. “Varro chose his path. You did your job.”

“I killed him. It’s my fault.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Freta said. “Richton is not why you killed Lewin.”

“He was a threat…”

“Why did you kill him?”

“Why are you questioning me?!” Tara snapped. Had she ever spoken to Freta like this?

“Because you’re questioning yourself,” Freta said. Her tone was soft, a caress. How Katla soothed her when she least deserved it.

Tara felt her hands shake. She almost dropped her axe, which she still held. Blood had stopped dripping off the blade. She sheathed it. She’d need to clean it before returning to duty.

“Why did you kill him?” Freta asked.

“I miss you so much,” Tara said. She felt her eyes water. Freta blurred.

“You miss the time before, my little Breton. Before I died. Before the world became complicated.” Freta came back into focus. Her eyes were soft, but chiding.

“I loved you.”

“Why did you kill him?”

Tara looked at Lewin’s body. The river of blood had stopped its flow. The air smelled of iron, the metallic smell so much blood always left behind.

“She made me relive it all,” Tara managed.

Freta stepped to her. Her shimmering hand reached out and tried to tuck a loose strand of Tara’s hair behind her ear. Her touch was cold, the hair didn’t move. How little ghosts could do. Tara’s heart slowed.

“The pain you carry,” Freta said. A whisper on the wind. “I’d wish it on no one, my little Breton.”

“She scares me,” Tara said.

She looked at Lewin again, then back at Freta. She felt her jaw clench. “I want to kill them all.”

Freta nodded. “When you fail the one, don’t fail the others.”

Tara sighed and stepped back from Freta. “Rigmor and Kintyra.”

“Rigmor and Kintyra,” Freta said.

“How do I protect Katla?”

Freta looked faint. Her expression shifted to something of sadness. “Don’t fail them.”

“That’s not an answer, Freta,” Tara said.

“Rigmor and Kintyra,” Freta repeated. She was barely visible now. “You were the love of my life.”

Freta was gone.

Tara let tears stream down her face.

For Freta. For the time before.

Don’t wish for the past. Its light is always more golden, seen from afar.

Freta was right. Rigmor and Kintyra.

Tara wiped her face.

She had a job to do.

“What?” Katla asked.

“It’s not a soul gem,” Mira repeated. Her head was tilted, looking at the soul gem Katla had placed on the table. Mira ended the sentence with a lift on the end. The soul gem, or whatever it was, had drawn her curiosity.

“Then, what is it?” Katla set down the hot juniper tea she’d been drinking. It’d had the desired effect. Her shivering had ceased. She felt comforted. Safe. She was safe inside Mira’s home. She stepped back over to the enchanting table.

They were in Mira’s enchanting room, on the third floor, next to the reading room. Everything in the reading room was tidy. The bookshelves looked rearranged since the last time Katla had been here. Considering the mess Tara’s wave had made of the place back then, some rearranging had probably been in order.

The alchemy and enchanting room was neat, too. Potions of glowing colors, most were blue or red, with a few green and golden ones, lined two wall shelves here. A few soul gems sat on the enchanting table. They were dark. Empty. Katla understood what Mira meant. The soul gem, or whatever it was, was shaped differently. It was more than the red glow. The size and cuts were different than any of the soul gems. A more delicate crystal than the soul gems. How had she not noticed before?

Because she wasn’t a mage. Before meeting with Wylandriah in Riften, had she ever seen a soul gem? Maybe once with her parents.

Neither she nor Tara had spent much time around actual soul gems. Katla shook her head. How much time had been lost by not showing this to Mira sooner? Was it important it wasn’t a soul gem?

“I’m not sure if it’s a varla stone, welkynd, or one of the others,” Mira said. “It’s meteoric glass.” She straightened up and looked at Katla. “They are Aetherial fragments. The crystal falls from Aetherius itself. Depending on which stone it is, and the magic performed on it, they have a variety of uses. Ayleids used them.”

Mira looked thoughtful. “Use and cultivating of the stones disappeared with them. Altmer elves have Malundo and Culando stones they cultivate on the Summerset Isles. Their attempt to accomplish what the Ayleids did. This isn’t one of those.”

“Wylandriah said it was a red soul gem,” Katla offered. “She told us it could have a lich inside.”

Mira frowned. “Wylandriah? Where have I…the court wizard in Riften?”

Katla nodded.

Mira sighed. “No, this does not contain a lich. I wouldn’t put much into anything she told you. I’ve read some of her papers. The woman has no…” Mira shook her head. “Her reputation among other mages isn’t good.”

Katla blushed. “We really didn’t know who else to ask. Farengar in Whiterun wasn’t any help.”

“Court wizards sometimes earn their place by politics more than skill.”

“I wish I’d shown this to you sooner,” Katla said. “All this time, assuming…”

Mira waved her hand, as if dismissing Katla. She was looking at the stone, crystal, again.

She reached down, as if to pick it up.

“Don’t touch it!” Katla put her hand over it, blocking Mira.

Mira stepped back and frowned. “Why?”

Katla shook her head. “Tara said not to let you touch it.”

A scowl crossed Mira’s face. “I need to examine this to determine which exactly it is. Can’t be afraid of magic all the time.” Her voice was condescending, as if she were scolding a child. She reached for the stone again.

“No!” Katla picked up the stone. Her skin crawled. There was a flare of heat from it, as if the stone was excited by her touch. “Tara was adamant. You can’t touch it.”

“Why?” Mira seemed to have caught herself. She’d shifted from looking offended to concerned.

Katla put the stone back on the table. “She wouldn’t tell me, but it must be Oblivion. Something that happened there.”

Mira looked confused. “Something that happened there made her tell you not to let me touch the stone?”

“Yes.” Katla walked back to the small side table her tea sat on. She took a sip.

She found herself imploring Mira with her eyes. As if Mira might know why Tara would say such a thing. As if she, Mira, could answer all the questions about Oblivion. Could know what had happened to Tara there.

Tell her why Tara was so distant now.

“Sit.” Mira pointed to the chair next to Katla. She sat in the one on the other side of the table. She put her hand to her chin and grew silent.

“I assume you and she have handled it for years now?”

Katla nodded. “Tara said we couldn’t change that. It didn’t matter.” She gave Mira a long look. “She’s protecting you from something by not letting you touch it.”

“I agree.” Mira looked at the stone. “From what is the question.” She leaned back in her chair.

“Tara Geonette was in Oblivion. You said she read Tara’s mind?” she asked.

Katla nodded.

Mira looked over at the stone again. She seemed lost in thought.

“Varla, welkynd, all the stones the Ayleids created and used were far more abundant back in the Second Era. There are many ruins in Cyrodiil, High Rock, most of the provinces. Over the centuries, as the ruins were plundered, the stones disappeared. I don’t even know how many can be found these days.”

Mira continued. “Geonette would have had a far better chance to get her hands on one than we, or any in her order now, could. It’s a guess, but I suspect this stone is from her. Or her time.”

Katla pulled in her breath. “You think she could have…” She paused. “Made it? Or…”

“She could have handled it. Performed…” Mira now paused, then sighed. “I don’t know what has been done with the stone. Which kind it is, nor what magic was performed on it. With it.”

She ran her right hand through her hair. “I have a lot of research to do. But, yes, I think this stone could be directly from Geonette. It’d explain why the order wants it so badly. And why Tara doesn’t want me to touch it.”

Mira stood.

“There’s a lot I don’t understand. We may be talking about old magic, long lost. Or…” Mira took a fresh breath. “…new magic that Geonette created. My ancestor may be more powerful than anyone realizes.”

She gave Katla a serious look. “I suspect she created whatever realm of Oblivion Tara was in. That’s not something an average mage can do. I don’t know if I could ever create such a place.”

Katla shivered. She took another sip of tea.

Mira sat back down and learned towards Katla. “I need to know what happened there. What did Geonette do, exactly, to Tara? What did Tara see, how did this realm look? How many people were there? How did they look? Old, young, undead?”

Mira leaned back. Her eyes pierced Katla. “Something in what she experienced will help us, I’m sure of it. I need to know what happened.”

How to make Mira understand?

“She’s not ready to talk about it.”

“She needs to. You need to get her to talk.”

Katla felt heat rise in her face. “No.”

Mira’s face hardened. “This is essential, Katla.” That condescending voice again. As if Katla didn’t know the dangers the order posed. As if, she, who’d lost her parents to them, and had them trying to kill her, didn’t understand anything.

She stood. “I know that! I’ve asked her. She’s not ready.”

“That’s not good enough,” Mira retorted. “We have to…”

“NO!” Katla felt herself shake. “I will not push her!”

They stared at each other.

Katla’s breathing hitched. She ran her hand over her face, composing herself against the tears trying to form. She turned from Mira and looked at the stone again. This stone causing so much grief. If only she could smash it. She turned back to Mira.

“She won’t talk to me.” It came out as a whisper. She sat back down in her chair. Mira looked at her, all sternness gone. In its stead was the look of a worried friend.

“She’s different,” Katla said. “Since Oblivion. She won’t talk to me about any of it, or much of anything. She’s distant.”

Katla took a sip of tea, grimaced, and put it back down. It’d gone cold.

“I told you in the letter, she said Geonette made her relive everything. Everything. All the things you did to her…” Mira flinched. “…all the beatings, the…” No, she couldn’t tell Mira what Tara did not want her to know “…everything else that has hurt her. Things you don’t know. I’m sure there’s much I don’t know.”

Katla held Mira’s gaze. “Mira, I can’t imagine reliving my parents’ murder. I already have my nightmares and…” She sighed. “I can’t imagine having to relive so many terrible…events. I don’t think you can, either. Oblivion hurt her. She’s not ready to talk. I won’t hurt her more by asking again.”

They sat quietly together, both looking at the stone. Its red glow throbbed, as if it’d been listening to them, joining in with its opinions.

Mira stood. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have pushed.” She gathered her robes, straightening out the deep purple cloth. Her hair shone in these robes, setting off her pale skin and those sharp blue eyes. How commanding she’d looked defending Katla and Richton earlier.

“Well,” Mira said. “On to the next phase. Fitting, since you need a new escort back to the Imperial City.”

Katla nodded. Right. Richton had headed back to the Imperial City with his captive, the member of the Order of the Fire Queen who’d attacked them. Her.

The ride from the Imperial City to Chorrol had been quiet and uneventful. The sky shone blue, with dark clouds far off towards Skyrim.

Richton, Tara insisted Katla be escorted by a Penitus Oculatus agent, was the literal strong and silent type. Young and the most fit man she’d ever met, his blond hair, blue eyes, and boyish face hid a serious man. He had dressed in light leather armor, so as not to draw attention to them while on the road.

After introductions with Tara, Richton had said no more than about five words all the way to Chorrol. He’d only guided her on which turns to take, which bridge to cross. He’d ridden ahead a few times, checking the path forward was safe.

Was this what Tara did daily for the queen, Katla wondered. Always vigilant. Always on duty, looking for danger. Never a moment’s rest?

They’d left their horses at the stables outside the city walls and walked to Mira’s. There was a side street, lightly traveled, Mira said they were to use. She’d meet them there. Magic spells protected her home, so she was to meet them outside, so Richton could hand Katla off safely.

The member of the order had been waiting. He’d struck three homes away from Mira’s.

Katla had thought nothing of the cloaked and hooded man as he passed by them. The day had been chilly and the constant breeze of the approaching front could be felt inside the city. A hood made sense.

Richton had paused for a moment, though, which had probably saved them both.

The man had passed in front of them, turned and shot a paralyze spell at them. Katla had caught it full on. The sensation scared her. One moment she was herself, walking, the next, she was on the ground, twisted with her legs caught under her, unable to move anything but her eyes.

Richton had dodged the attack and drawn his sword in one smooth move. He’d charged the attacker, but the man was quick and hit him with an ice spike. It caught Richton in the shoulder, causing him to drop his sword. He’d picked it up with his other hand within a second, but the attacker now aimed for Katla.

Katla had recovered from the paralyze spell and climbed to her feet. Had he meant to hit her with something stronger? She was grateful it’d only lasted seconds.

She’d brought her bow and a small quiver of arrows for the trip. She was ready for him. She fired a steel arrow at him as his hands glowed blue, as if he was preparing another ice spell.

He was fast. He shifted and cast some sort of ward spell. Tara had told Katla ward spells could block magic or physical attacks, depending on which you cast. This one did just that. Her arrow seemed to hit an invisible wall, its head crumpling, then snapping off the arrow’s shaft. The rest of the arrow fell to the ground, harmless.

Katla drew another arrow and looked for cover to avoid any more magic spells. Richton had recovered and was charging the attacker again. They parried, Richton using his sword and physicality to dodge magic spells, while their attacker cast a series of wards between firing fire and ice spells at Richton.

Katla fired the second arrow. Her aim was perfect, but the attacker somehow had kept an eye on her and cast both a ward to destroy her arrow and shot a fireball at her. He’d aimed low with the fireball, causing it to land on the paved road in front of her. As if to disarm and injure her, not kill her.

The flames licked at her boots, and their glare blinded her. Katla dived to the left, scraping her hands on the pavement.

When her vision recovered, Richton was on the ground, too, another cold spell had knocked him down. He looked half-frozen. He’d gotten a hit on their attacker, though. The man’s cloak was torn away, his arm slashed, bleeding from a deep cut.

He turned from Richton and gave Katla a grin. His hood had fallen away, revealing dark hair and deep blue eyes.

“Hand over the stone. Now,” he said. His voice was deep, lacking any warmth. His right hand, the uninjured one, held a large fireball. Katla wasn’t back up on her feet yet. He had her.

Green suddenly enveloped him and his eyes widened. The fireball dissipated. The man fell to the ground. Paralyzed.

Mira stood behind him, her robes flowing around her, her eyes and face as serious as Katla had ever seen them. The breeze blew strands of deep black hair across her face. Katla had never seen her look so intimidating. So powerful. If Katla hadn’t known her, she would’ve been afraid of her. The green glow of the paralyze spell faded from her hands.

Richton climbed to his feet. “Master Mira Blaton, I take it?”

Mira nodded at him. “Katla’s escort?”

“Agent Richton, ma’am.” He nodded.

“You okay?” Mira asked Katla.

Katla was on her feet now. She looked at her scrapped hands. She was shaking.

Why? She and Tara had fought off assassins and bandits many times. Had their lives hanging in the balance before.

This was different. The magic this member used. The speed of his casting. Like Mira, his magic skills stood out. He’d fought her and a Penitus Oculatus agent to a standstill. He could’ve killed Katla if he’d wanted. If she had refused to hand over the stone. Mira arriving had been the difference. No one they’d ever fought compared to him.

Were they getting more desperate? Sending skilled mages after her?

“Hold on,” Mira said. She waved her hands and Katla watched her torn skin heal. She flexed her hands. They were perfect, as if she’d never fallen.

“Do you need any healing?” Mira asked Richton.

“No, ma’am.” Richton smiled. Well, a corner of his mouth lifted. “Appreciate the offer.”

Mira looked down at their attacker. He’d crumpled, his legs sticking out, lying on his shoulder awkwardly. His cut arm was still bleeding.

“He’ll live,” Mira said. She turned to Richton. “He should remain paralyzed for a few hours. Is that good enough for you?”

Now Richton did smile. “Perfect. I know how to keep a mage subdued.”

“I’m off, then,” Richton nodded his head at Katla. “I will let Tara know what happened. And that you’re safe.”

After Richton left with the captured order member, Mira had teleported herself and Katla inside. The hot juniper tea and study of the stone had followed.

“You’re escorting me back to the Imperial City?” Katla asked.

“We’re teleporting,” Mira said. “I have a spot setup near the stables there. Outside of the walls.” She gave Katla a pointed look. “I want to setup one in your apartment. Write some scrolls for you to use. Let’s keep you safe and out of sight, now that we know they’re still after you.”

Katla looked at her cold tea. “Will I ever be rid of them?”

“Yes,” Mira said. “Don’t dwell. I need to go to the Archives, anyway. We need to go.” Mira stepped over to a small bookshelf, filled with blank parchment. She started packing several in a small travel bag. “There are two books in that library I believe have information we need. Books I had reserved while we were in Wayrest. Someone took them before we read them.”

“I didn’t realize…”

Mira waved her hand in dismissal again. “It happened after you left. The order must know I am not on their side by now.”

“You think the library has these books?”

“It’s the most complete library in Tamriel. It would have them. If someone hasn’t taken them.”

“Order members.”

Mira nodded. “These books must contain something they don’t want us to know.” Mira was moving about the lab, packing a few potions and scrolls. She finished and nodded at the stone, still on the enchanting table.

“Take it and keep it. Since I can’t touch it, it’s best it is not in my possession.”

Katla tucked it back in its pouch. She felt heavy with the burden of the stone again.

“Ready?” Mira asked. She held out her hand.

“Ready.” Katla grabbed it.

The world turned black as they teleported.

Tara raised her eyebrow, caught herself, and put it back down.

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing.

She heard Marius draw his sword. She rested her hand on the hilt of hers, but left it sheathed. The sword was beautiful, the hilt a mix of red and dark silver, matching her armor. A perfectly balanced, one-handed affair, there was no denying the swords issued to all Penitus Oculatus agents were some of the best crafted in all of Tamriel. It wasn’t her axes, though.

Again, Marius had insisted she equip her issued sword and not her axes.

“Appearances, Tara,” Marius had told her this morning.

All to look official for the ambassador of Morrowind. The home of the Dunmer, known as dark elves. The former province of the Empire that lay northeast of Cyrodiil and bordered Skyrim’s eastern side.

The land covered in ash since the explosion of Mount Vvardenfell, known as Red Mountain, two hundred years ago.

Most residents of the province had since moved to the various islands surrounding the land. Solstheim, also once under Imperial control, now being a key island.

Dunmer were named for their blue gray skin, and, history hinted, also called dark for the Daedric gods they favored.

Like all elves, they were long lived, three hundred years on average, and were known for their magical prowess.

The ambassador was probably wishing he could teleport right now, Tara thought.

“IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME OR MY BABY, YOU HAD BETTER RUN AND HIDE, BECAUSE THE WRATH OF THE DRAGONBORN WILL MAKE THE NUMIDIUM LOOK LIKE A DWEMER CHILD’S TOY!”

Rigmor was yelling at him. Perhaps Tara shouldn’t have found it funny, but it was an incredible spectacle.

Neither the ambassador nor the Dragonborn had been prepared for Rigmor in all her glory.

Marius had drawn his sword at the ambassador’s aggressive tone. A warning to him.

There was no real danger, though. The man had no weapons, outside of his puffed out chest and attitude.

The Dragonborn and Rigmor had summoned him after the events in Bravil.

The assassins that had attacked in Bravil, killing Alana, and attempting the same on Rigmor and the Dragonborn, were members of the Morag Tong.

Much like the Dark Brotherhood, the Tong were the assassins’ guild of Morrowind. Their existence and history was long, dating to at least the Second Era.

Someone had hired them, and their writs were known to be gray. The Tong committed to killing whoever the writ was against, until the job succeeded. No matter how long it took.

Writs against Rigmor and Kintyra were still unfilled.

The Dragonborn had demanded the ambassador arrange cancellation of them. Warning him of the severity of such orders against the queen and princess. How the Empire might see it as an act of war.

The ambassador had bloativated, insisted it was a private affair, the Tong a business, a “law unto themselves” with the King of Morrowind having no authority to stop the writs.

That hadn’t sat well with Rigmor, hence the glorious outburst.

Rigmor was a woman quick to temper. A woman with no patience for politics. This had been obvious since Bravil. She did not play these noble games.

The Dragonborn had little choice but to. Ruling an empire required a balance of strength and diplomacy.

As an empress, though most called her Queen, Rigmor could have her say in the running of the Empire, especially since she was the closest living relative to Mede I. Some might argue she had as much claim to the throne as the Dragonborn.

Tara sensed Rigmor was relieved the Dragonborn had ascended. Whether intuition or something else, it was clear to Tara the burden that seemed to rest on Rigmor’s shoulders came from her noble history. She didn’t need more piled onto her.

Listening to her shut down the ambassador, though, Tara wondered about her as a leader. While she’d not been her bodyguard for long, she’d already picked up that Rigmor cared. Cared about the citizens of the Empire. She’d been upset over Alana, knowing a woman was dead because of her and Kintyra. That she and the Dragonborn had not been in time to save her. That the writ existed because of her in the first place.

Rigmor was not like any other noble Tara had met. She did not have an attitude, an appearance of thinking she was above those around her. It was refreshing. She had her temper, and there were ways she spoke to the Dragonborn that left a sour taste in Tara’s mouth. Of course, the Dragonborn had their moments, too. More than once, Tara had thought them dismissive of Rigmor. Others, too, seemed to ignore Rigmor at times.

Had Rigmor earned that treatment? Tara didn’t know. Time would answer what the reports on Rigmor’s history hadn’t.

“This isn’t the last you’ll be hearing of this…” The ambassador said. Tara had not seen someone more offended. His jaw was so tense, Tara thought it might rupture. He turned from them and stalked away.

“Good…good. Bring it on!” Rigmor retorted.

As the ambassador reached the doors of the throne room, Rigmor continued, “Now run along. That’s it, scurry away and go back…”

Tara bit the inside of her cheek again to stop from laughing. Marius put away his sword.

“…acting out a gray writ outside of Morrowind is an act of war!” Rigmor finished. The ambassador left the room and palace.

For a moment, the throne room was quiet. Rigmor’s voice had echoed in the large room, bouncing off the domed ceiling. Now faded, there was a stillness, as if no one knew when to breathe.

“So, how did I do?” Rigmor had turned to the Dragonborn.

Tara adjusted her armor, shifting her sword, now that she no longer needed to keep her hand on the hilt. Maybe she should change to her axes, no matter what Marius said next. Let him yell at her, if he must, she wanted them on her hips, where their weight provided a comfort the sword did not. Where a piece of Freta sat. She had Freta’s Talos amulet, too, but the axes, those precious gifts from Freta, belonged with her.

“…Rose isn’t doing so well. After Alana, she’s taken it badly and Uravasa is worried about her well-being.” Rigmor was still talking to the Dragonborn.

Tara listened. Rose? Where had she heard that name?

The report on Bravil. She was the proprietor of Silverhome on the Water, the inn Rigmor and the Dragonborn had stayed at. They knew Rose, it’d been noted. Rose, it turned out, had been the person who found Rigmor injured in Skyrim in 4E 201 and approached the Dragonborn for help saving her.

The report said Rose had been taken prisoner by the Thalmor and escaped. Nothing else was known until she turned up as the proprietor of Silverhome.

“…I blame myself for this. I just want to put things right going forward,” Rigmor was saying.

“Rigmor, it’s not your fault. It is what it is,” The Dragonborn said.

Both of them sounded tired. No, sad. Bravil weighed heavily on both of them.

If only they’d let Marius and her go ahead of them.

What would she have done in their position, Tara wondered. Been stubborn, too, and believed she could go alone? Probably.

“Go and find Rose. I know she didn’t want to come back with us, but she can stay here at least until she’s feeling better,” Rigmor said.

“Don’t worry,” the Dragonborn said. “I’ll bring her home. She can stay with us…”

Someone else coming to stay in the palace? Would Rose need a bodyguard? Be considered part of the royal family and require protection? A question to ask Marius. A decision for him to make, really.

Cerys didn’t have an assigned bodyguard, though all guards in the palace knew to protect her, if anything happened. Tara was usually near her, anyway, so she considered Cerys another member to protect at all times. Rigmor’s mother, Sigunn had Bruma guards, as she was now the countess there.

So many people to protect.

The Dragonborn left and Rigmor started with the tasks she’d told them she’d handle. That she’d start organizing around the palace. She and the Dragonborn hadn’t lived in the palace for long, and it showed. Tara’s room in the royal suite still wasn’t ready.

They traveled throughout the palace, Rigmor giving instructions to various workers. Later, Rigmor headed back to the royal suite, took over care of Kintyra, while she gave Cerys a few errands to run.

The next few days went much the same way. Rigmor and Cerys spent time discussing ideas, Rigmor valued Cerys’ input and they talked back and forth on ideas for Rose’s room. Blackwell came by a few times to advise Rigmor on a few events, what with the Dragonborn gone.

There’d been former New Imperial guards from Sethius’ reign that had escaped at his fall. They’d gone back to their bandit ways. Blackwell had sent Imperial soldiers throughout Cyrodiil to flush them out and dispose of them permanently. Quintus, captain of a legion stationed near the Hammerfell border to the northwest, had sent news on his elimination of Redguard bandits in the area. Many things in Cyrodiil were improving, Tara thought. The Dragonborn returned with Rose the day after her room was ready.

When Rose first entered the throne room, Tara caught her breath. By the gods, Rose was gorgeous.

Like Freta, Katla, and even Rigmor, Rose was a Nord. Maybe that was a factor. Tara couldn’t help it, she loved Nord women.

Tara doubted it was her attraction to Nords, though. Rose had to be one of the most beautiful women ever, of any race.

Like Tara, Rose had red hair, but hers was a blond red, a shade that trended towards orange, unlike Tara’s own dark red that leaned to the browns. The color was lovely. Her eyes were a bright blue that pulled you in. Like Katla, like Rigmor, there was a deep strength in the woman’s eyes. She was not one to mess with. Her face was strong with high cheekbones and a jaw that tapered down to a small chin.

If I were single, Tara thought. She’d ask Rose out in a heartbeat.

Her voice matched her beauty. Rich, strong, yet lilting.

As introductions were made, Tara gave her a deep nod and smile. The Dragonborn announced Rose was to become the palace’s new imperial court physician. Rose had training in healing, it seemed. She would provide healing as needed and help care for Kintyra.

Tara wondered if Rose would be more nanny than physician. She made a mental note to ask Rose later about her healing knowledge. Had she served in the Imperial Legion? She didn’t seem a mage, so Tara assumed her healing would be practical, not magical. The Legion taught everyone the basics of how to bandage wounds and handle broken bones. If she had alchemy skills, perhaps Rose knew how to make healing potions. Tara needed to understand what she could do, especially if she helped care for Kintyra. Kintyra was Tara’s responsibility to protect, not nanny. Knowing what everyone around Kintyra could do to protect her would be important.

The next weeks flew by.

Rose settled into the role of nanny and general healer, as if she’d always been here.

The genuine love between Rigmor and Rose was obvious. The story came in bits and pieces, but between the two, Tara learned the details of Rigmor’s harrowing escape from the Thalmor back in Skyrim. Her escape included jumping off a cliff, the tree branch not holding, Rose finding her, and flagging down the Dragonborn to help her get Rigmor to her nearby camp. Rigmor’s wounds had been serious. Rigmor confirmed she had the scars to show for it. Rose’s healing abilities had been proven early.

Rose touched on her subsequent capture by the Thalmor, and then her escape from them into Cyrodiil. She’d eventually made her way to Bravil, earned the trust, and love, of the locals, leading to her taking over Silverhome on the Water. This had happened years after Tara and Freta lived there.

The bravery and cunning Rose had shown through it all. Tara admired her. Her no nonsense approach to things and wicked sense of humor helped, too.

Something struck Tara as she spent her days guarding Rigmor and Kintyra. When the three women, four when Cerys was around, spent time together in the royal suite, Tara felt comfortable, almost relaxed.

She felt separate, pacing the rooms and focused on her duties, but listening to their conversations, one could not avoid overhearing them, felt peaceful. Normal. Rigmor started to command Tara to relax, too, and join them in conversation.

Tara resisted.

“All your pacing is making me nervous,” Rigmor would say.

“I’m doing my job, my Lady,” Tara would counter.

Today, after a week of this back and forth, Rigmor changed things up. All four were in the suite, Rigmor holding Kintyra, Cerys repairing a tear in a dress, and Rose reading a book on the history of Anvil.

“Ugh. I hate all these titles,” Rigmor said. “When it’s just us, Tara, call me Rigmor. Not my queen, empress, or lady. And definitely not ma’am.” At this last part, Rigmor imitated Tara’s voice. Tara wasn’t sure if Rigmor was this bad at imitation or mocking her.

“I do not sound like that, ma’am, uh, Rigmor.” She pretended to be offended.

Cerys giggled.

“I don’t know,” Rose said. “Your voice is that deep sometimes.”

“You’re not helping,” Tara said. She couldn’t hold it back, though, and burst out laughing. All of them did.

Friendship.

That’s what struck Tara about this group of women. They were close. Cerys and Rigmor. Rose and Rigmor. Yes, Cerys was Rigmor’s lady in waiting, a perpetual assistant, meant to follow her commands. Theirs was a genuine friendship, though.

Rigmor had two close friends. Two women she could trust and be herself with. Tara realized she didn’t have that. Had never had that. She hadn’t even been close with Mira, her own sister.

Tara had Katla, her love. But, as Rigmor had the Dragonborn, a lover was not the same as a deep friendship. Being romantically involved with someone was different, even if they were your closest friend.

There was a lingering rumor that Rigmor and the Dragonborn were only friends, their marriage a political one, Kintyra a secret adoption, Alana being her birth mother. This being the reason the Morag Tong had assassinated her.

Tara didn’t believe it, though. She sensed the Dragonborn and Rigmor were in love and married for that reason. At a minimum, Rigmor loved the Dragonborn with all her heart. You couldn’t miss the love after spending any time around her. The two had romantic love between them, Tara decided.

There was something special about a deep platonic friendship, Tara realized. People needed it as much as romantic love. Tara needed it.

Rigmor was her job, though. A time limited, though it could potentially last decades, job. She was in charge of Rigmor, and Kintyra’s, safety.

That required professional distance. Didn’t it?

Perhaps with Cerys or Rose, she could form a closer friendship. Rose looked like she needed it. The events in Bravil weighed heavy on her. Tara thought the Dragonborn bringing her into the palace had been the best decision for her.

Yes, maybe the two of them would hit it off as friends. Tara liked the idea.

Cerys, too. She and Tara talked often of High Rock. Cerys hadn’t spent any real time there, adopted so young by Malesam, and raised at the College of Winterhold. She was curious about Breton culture, about Tara growing up in High Rock. 

Tara balanced her stories as best she could, avoiding too much talk of home, the farm, why she’d left. Memories flashed too often. The beatings, the calming spells. She wondered if she seemed cold to Cerys, the way she’d cut off discussing living near Wayrest some days.

As the four of them finished laughing at Rigmor’s imitation of her, Cerys said,

“I imagine Tara doesn’t want to call you ‘My Lady’, anyway.”

“Why not?” Rigmor asked Tara. Her eyes made the question feel like a command.

Tara blushed. All of them were looking at her. “When I was a child, my parents dragged me to all of the local noble families in Wayrest. Trying to marry me off.”

“To men? Did they not know…” Rigmor started.

“I’d made them aware of my lack of interest in men,” Tara said. “They didn’t care.” She tried to keep the pain out, but felt her voice catch. Why did this all still hurt?

“I’m sorry,” Cerys said. “I didn’t mean to bring up something painful. I didn’t realize you had such a terrible…”

“It’s okay,” Tara said. “You couldn’t have known.”

She cleared her throat.

“Rigmor,” Tara said and bowed deeply. “I shall happily call you so here, in private. I will address you accordingly elsewhere.”

She winked. “Ma’am.”

“Pfft. Whatever,” Rigmor said. They all laughed.

A clank of metal and knock on the door interrupted them.

Tara had her hand on her right axe, Marius had relented on the sword carrying, as she opened the door to the royal suite.

Before her stood an Imperial palace guard. Not Crispus, the one she’d met on her first day here.

This guard looked slightly out of place, as if some aspect of being a guard didn’t suit him. His armor fit, and was spotless, but the man stood as if uncomfortable.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said. Cerys giggled at that.

“Did I say somethin’ wrong?” the guard asked. He had an accent Tara couldn’t place.

“No,” Tara answered. She narrowed her eyes and kept her hand near her right axe. He looked nervous.

“Oh, I, well, my name’s Aenas, and I’ve got a note for ya.” He held out a piece of paper to Tara.

“The message is for me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Aenas gave her a huge grin. “Said to give it to the Penitus guard. Tora or somethin’.”

“Tara. My name is Tara.” Tara grit her teeth.

“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,” Aenas said. “I didn’t reckon to be a courier as part of my job. But another one of you Penitus guards said I needed to give it to you urgent like. And you all scare me, so I figure’d I get it to you right quick.”

Tara relaxed. Aenas seemed more bumbling than threat. The Penitus Oculatus had its reputation, too. Plenty of Imperial soldiers gave them a wide berth.

“Thank you, Aenas,” Tara said. She closed the door on him and turned back to the others.

“Everything okay?” Rose asked.

“I hope so,” Tara said. She opened the note. It was from fellow agent Richton. “I had an agent escort Katla to Chorrol. It’s from him.”

Tara read the message.

Tara Geonette smiled at Lysona. She thought it held the perfect blend of seduction and charm.

Time to talk Lysona into the next phase of her plans for the order. Of her plans for her own immortality.

They were walking outside, near the back of the estate. There was a small grove of hardwoods and thin pines, giving them a sense of privacy. The day was warm, with a tender breeze caressing them and giving voice to the leaves on the trees.

Tara didn’t care for walks in nature. There was too much to do. Why waste it walking with no task in mind?

Lysona liked these walks, though, insisting they take one once a week. She spoke of feeling peaceful, in touch with the plants that bore the ingredients she used in her potions and poisons.

The things Tara did to please the woman. She almost let a sigh escape. This walk had a purpose, at least. She needed to be on her best behavior.

A giggle reached their ears as they approached the grass field near the school. Elayne Moorford was teaching the youngest children in the order this season. Teaching at this age was more about seeing which children showed natural magic abilities, a random spark or glow from their hands. Otherwise, she mostly acted as a nanny for the order’s kids for a few hours a day.

Dunore and Mira Meric, Lysona’s children born from Bedore’s assault, could be seen chasing Tara the Younger around the field. Tara had been the one giggling. The three children had recently turned three, Lysona’s children being three months older than Tara. Twins, they’d been born early.

All three were unsteady on their feet, as only three year olds could be. Tara tripped, still giggling. Flames shot from her small hands setting the grass on fire. Between the fire itself, and her shocking deep red hair, the contrast with the green grass gave Tara the Younger a captivating aura. Perhaps it was simply how much she looked like her mother.

Dunore and Mira, having stopped when Tara fell, started pointing at the fire, laughing in delight at the dancing light it produced. Elayne was there within seconds, casting ice and snow on the flames, extinguishing them before much of the grass caught.

Young Tara had been shooting flames, and also bolts, from her hands since she was six months old. Elayne informed Tara any time young Tara cast magic during school. It’d become a daily occurrence.

Dunore and Mira were showing magical abilities now, too, both having fired small sparks in the past few months.

Little Lysona and Tristand also continued to show strong abilities. Any children Bedore had fathered were. As Tara expected, hers with him exceptionally so.

Dunore and Mira were stand outs, as well. Lysona’s strength was alchemy, but members of her family were renowned for their restoration skills. Tara was glad the children showed such promise. She needed children in the order strong in magic. Spreading Bedore’s seed around had been essential to ensure the order’s descendants passed powerful magic down.

Lysona had worried Tara. Her alchemy was unrivaled. Tara admired what she could do with poisons. Her fertility potion was unique. All these years of giving it out to members of the order, and none were the wiser. Twins had abounded, and no couple trying had failed at becoming pregnant. Her potion was as essential to the order expanding as Bedore had been.

Her magic, though, lacked. Whether destruction or conjuration, even illusion spells, she was average at best. Tara had worried her children might be weak. Bedore had come through, though, in the one thing he was good at.

Now, for the next phase. Planting the seed while the children were young.

Dunore, Mira, and young Tara had resumed chasing each other around the yard.

“I love how close our children are,” Tara said. She reached out and grabbed Lysona’s hand. She caressed the inside of the woman’s wrist, a soft spot for her, much like the inside of her elbow was. She heard Lysona’s breath catch.

“Me, too, my love,” Lysona said. She’d taken to calling Tara love, interchanging it with queen. For now, Tara tolerated it.

“Remember how we spoke of having children together,” Tara said. She continued tracing her finger around Lysona’s wrist. They’d stopped at the edge of the grove. Tara leaned against a pine tree marking the end of the field.

Lysona looked at her, curious and, as always, with a deep longing. “Yes, love, of course.”

Tara deepened her smile then turned and pointed at their children.

“Dunore and Tara would be perfect together,” she said.

Lysona, already of fair skin, and a woman who didn’t spend much time outside, turned paler than a vampire.

“But…” she stammered. “Aren’t they half-siblings?” She looked at Tara with wide eyes, confused.

“No,” Tara lied. She squeezed Lysona’s hand, not too tightly, she didn’t want her to flinch away. “Dunore has yours and Bedore’s blood. Tara has mine. That’s how we combine Geonette and Meric blood. Their children, our grandchildren, would be perfect.”

Lysona had flinched at the mention of Bedore. She didn’t pull her hand out of Tara’s grasp, though. “I…I assumed…”

“After what Bedore did to you,” Tara whispered. “I could never have been with him again.”

“I was thinking you were with him…before.” Lysona’s voice dropped on the last word.

“No,” Tara said. “We’d not been intimate in some time.”

“Who is Tara’s father?”

Tara smiled at her. She hoped she conveyed a secretive firmness. “With a member of the order you don’t need to worry about.”

“What is his name?!” Jealousy had taken root in Lysona’s voice. It gave her a sharp pitch.

“Someone you don’t need to worry about,” Tara repeated. She straightened up, no longer leaning against the pine, and pulled Lysona to her, pressing her against her body. She dug her fingers into Lysona’s neck.

“Don’t be jealous,” Tara said. She let a warning creep into her tone. “I needed a third child. He meant nothing. I won’t be with him again. I’m committed to you.”

She moved her hand off Lysona’s neck and ran her fingers lightly along Lysona’s left ear, another soft spot.

“I do things for the order’s future. For our future,” she dropped her voice back down to a whisper, to a tease. “I’m laying down the order’s foundation. Our family tree. Dunore and Tara together are vital. The trunk. Your blood and mine together forever.”

Lysona’s face and eyes seemed to battle several emotions at once. That longing, so deep, so easy to manipulate, was fighting against the fear, confusion, jealousy, and anger.

“I…what about Mira?” Lysona asked.

“I’ll make sure she’s with someone not born of Bedore. I won’t let bloodlines cross,” Tara lied again. “I’m tracking every birth, all paternity.”

She gently kissed Lysona. “I know what combinations should give us the strongest mages to continue the order. Trust me.”

The longing won out.

“Okay,” Lysona said. Her breath caught. “I trust you, my queen.”

“Good!” Tara gave her a genuine smile. She let Lysona go and looked back at the children. Elayne was ushering them back inside the school.

“I have something else to discuss with you.”

Lysona had been staring out at the children, as well, following Dunore as he ran around the field, chasing a butterfly. The last child Elayne had to wrangle inside. She turned back to Tara. Her curiosity seemed more serious this time.

“Yes?”

“I’m ready to perform what we discussed,” Tara said. She pulled Lysona close again. The sun had shifted, enveloping them in deeper shadow. Anyone looking at the grove of trees from the field wouldn’t know the two women were standing there.

“It’s time the order took the next step to immortality,” Tara said. She ran her fingers through Lysona’s hair. “I want you to be the first.”

“Of course, my love,” Lysona said. That longing was back. “What have you decided to call it?”

Tara smiled. For a rare moment, her green eyes shone with happiness.

“I’m keeping it simple. We’ll call it ‘The Ritual’.”

Katla turned in her chair and looked out the window. Morning sunlight had hit, dragging beams of light across the apartment in the Imperial city.

Time to wake her up.

She looked over at Tara, who was mumbling in her sleep. Her forehead was furrowed. Even in sleep, the woman wasn’t relaxed. How long had she been sleeping this poorly?

Oblivion.

So much had changed since she’d been pulled into that realm. Within Tara and between them.

“Tara,” Katla said softly. “Time to wake up, honey.”

Tara’s eyes popped open and she was sitting up in a split second. On alert.

Katla watched her eyes scan the room, looking for danger. When her eyes found her, Katla felt her breath catch. Those eyes and soul within them. The sadness in her eyes.

“Your shift starts soon,” Katla said.

Tara gave her a soft smile. “Never enough time together.”

“Never.” Katla returned the smile. It felt strained.

Katla had arrived in the Imperial City two weeks ago. This was only the second time the two of them had spent a night together. At least last night had been better than the first night.

They’d fought when Tara left Solitude. Some decisions had been easy. They’d agreed to keep the Lucky Skeever home. Eventually, Tara wouldn’t be a bodyguard to the queen any more, and both of them wanted to return to Skyrim.

Another easy decision had been Katla agreeing to let Tara find her a safe apartment in the city to live in. The apartment was small, but comfortable, furnished in an Imperial style. Functional furniture with more soft fabrics than the Nord furnishings Katla was used to. Thick drapes covered the windows, which were a stained glass, blocking anyone from easily looking inside. The apartment faced a back street, away from the busy crowds. There was a courtyard nearby and water flowed through a garden just outside her door. Katla couldn’t have asked for a more private and pleasant location.

Katla had ridden her horse, Dusk, alongside a caravan traveling to the city. The Redguard merchants had two Orc body guards had plenty of room to haul Katla’s belongings. Considering the gold Tara had paid them, they’d been more than happy to escort her.

Their travel had been slower than Tara’s solo trip, giving Tara time to arrange the home for Katla before she arrived. Weather had been clear and warm during the trip, allowing them to make good time. When the caravan stopped in Bruma for a night, Katla had enjoyed a visit with Colin and Eris at the Tap & Tack.

Once in the Imperial City, two Penitus Oculatus agents had greeted Katla at her apartment. She’d been disappointed Tara wasn’t one of them. She’d written ahead of time, so Tara would know what day she’d arrive.

One of the agents had said something about guarding the royal family requiring Tara and Commander Marius being with the family at all times.

Still, Katla had wanted to see her. Her first night in the city had hit her with a loneliness she’d not expected. She’d had an ache in her chest for a while. That first night in the city had brought it to the forefront. Tara had been distant since the Oblivion realm. Somehow, Katla’s first night alone in a new city had amplified their distance. Tara was physically close, the palace wasn’t far, but the fight in Solitude had lingered, and arriving in the Imperial City to no Tara had punched it up somehow.

Tara had come by two days later.

“What’s she like?” Katla had asked.

“Rigm…our queen?” Tara’s face had grown thoughtful. “Strong. Like you, it’s obvious she’s been through much. I didn’t need to read reports on her to know it. It’s all over her face. In her eyes. Like in my premonition.”

They’d been lying in bed, talking after spending time reconnecting.

“She’s not like you in personality,” Tara’s face had remained thoughtful. “She’s not like any nobles I had to put up with as a kid, either.  If you think I have a temper…”

“You do.”

Tara had smiled and given her a wink. “Our lady Rigmor has one, too. She’s not mean with it, just…impatient. I get the impression people try to coddle her and she’ll have none of it.”

Tara’s smile had deepened. “I like her.”

Queen Rigmor and The Dragonborn had left for Bravil, without Tara or her boss, Commander Marius. This is what had given Tara time to visit.

That first visit had been going well. Katla thought the argument in Solitude forgotten.

Until Tara told her it was nearly time she leave and start her shift watching the princess, Kintyra.

Then, Katla had ruined it. She’d asked about Oblivion. And mentioned Mira. The subjects they’d argued about in Solitude.

“I want to visit Mira soon. I was hoping you could tell me what else happened in, you know…”

The speed with which Tara had gotten up, changed into her armor, all without saying a word, had startled Katla.

“I just think it’ll help Mira and I find…” Katla had started.

Tara’s green eyes had seemed to shoot flames.

“Stop saying her name.” It’d came out as a growl.

“You can’t expect me to just sit here and not see her. Not continue our research.” Katla’s voice had risen sharply. Had she been angry at Tara for her reaction or at herself for bringing the topic up?

“Of course not!” Tara’s face had flushed.

“If I knew more about what happened to you…”

“I told you what happened!” Pain had edged Tara’s anger, quelling Katla’s own. The topic was still too raw, too sensitive. She shouldn’t have pried.

“I just thought…” Kata had started. If she could explain, maybe Tara would understand why she wanted the details, painful as they might be.

“I’ll be in touch,” Tara had said. Her eyes had held a shine, a fighting back of tears.

She’d left without another word.

The next morning, Katla had received flowers from a courier. A mix of red roses and blue mountain flowers, her favorite. Tara’s note had been short.

I’m sorry for how I left. Something’s happened in Bravil, so I’m not sure when I’ll be by again. I’ll try and see you soon.

 I love you.

Not sorry for how she’d reacted to Katla’s questions. Only sorry for how she’d left. Katla couldn’t argue with it.

Now, it was a few days later. Tara had come by late last night and spent the night. They’d both apologized to the other, and not discussed Oblivion or Mira. They’d mostly discussed what had happened in Bravil. The Dragonborn and Rigmor had survived an attack by assassins. Others hadn’t been so lucky.

“If they’d let us do our job, this wouldn’t have happened!” Tara had been pacing the apartment, agitated.

“If you’d gone, the assassins might have killed you,” Katla had said.

Tara had stopped and given her a soft look. “Worried?”

“Always. You have a dangerous job, you know.”

“Marius would have been with me.” Tara had paced again. “If the Dragonborn had let us do our job, and go ahead of them, I know we would’ve found those assassins before they hurt anyone.”

She’d glanced at Katla. “My first day on the job and our Majesty doesn’t let us protect them.” She’d stopped pacing. “Why am I here if not to do my job?!”

“A woman, Alana, and her fiancé, Antonius Maro, are dead. Didn’t have to happen.” Tara’s voice had quieted. She’d shaken her head.

“Maro?” Katla had asked “Your old boss…”

“Yes, this Antonius was his younger son.” Tara’s voice was almost a whisper. “I hear they were at odds, but still…” She’d sighed. “He didn’t deserve this.”

“So, the assassins killed two people because…”

“They killed Alana,” Tara had interrupted. “Somehow tied to Rigmor and Kintyra. A writ had been taken out on her. Antonius…” Tara’s eyes had gained an intensity. “…couldn’t live with her death. News came in this afternoon about him.”

Tara had pulled in a breath. “Please. If anything ever happens to me…”

“I won’t, Tara,” Katla had said. “I won’t kill myself. You have to promise me the same.”

“I promise,” Tara had said. Their eyes had lingered on each other.

They’d spent the rest of the night on happier topics before falling asleep.

Now, it was morning, and time was moving too fast.

“What’s on your agenda today?” Katla asked.

Tara washed her face. “The ambassador from Morrowind arrives soon. I’ll be escorting him to the throne room.” She gave Katla a small smile. “I’m curious how this is going to go down.”

Katla smiled back. “Do you have time for breakfast?”

“No,” Tara was already dressing in her armor. “I’ll grab something in the palace kitchen.”

Katla took a deep breath. She didn’t want another argument, but she needed to say something.

“I’m going to visit…her.”

Tara’s eyes flickered, like sparks catching on wood.

Katla held her hand up. “I just want you to know what I’ll be doing.”

Tara sighed and nodded. Her eyes cooled. “Okay.”

“Like in High Rock, we’re going to research together. Complete the list of families still in the order. Track them down. Maybe I can bring you the list, in case the Penitus Oculatus wants to investigate them?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Tara said. “As long as I don’t abuse my authority, I can have someone look into it.”

“I’m going to show her the soul gem,” Katla said. She waited.

Tara didn’t explode, though. Instead, she shook. She rubbed her arms, as if suddenly cold.

“Don’t let her touch it,” Tara said. Her eyes had dropped to the ground, but were now raised and focused on Katla.

“But we’ve touched it,” Katla said.

“Can’t change what we did,” Tara said. She shook her head, no more than a twitch. “No matter what, don’t let her touch it. Promise me.”

All this anger at her sister, yet this felt like a moment of kindness, of love, for Mira.

“Is this because of something that happened in Oblivion?”

A flash of anger. “Promise me, Katla. She can’t touch it.”

“I promise,” she nodded. “I won’t let her.”

“I have to go.” Tara adjusted her armor. “I don’t know when I can come by again. Things should get busy, if our queen and majesty have learned from the disaster in Bravil. I expect them to keep Marius and I close now.”

Tara turned and was gone.

Katla sat in her chair awhile, watching the sunlight continue its track across her apartment.

Tara was still so far away.

Work with Mira, get more names. Maybe by then, Tara would open up again.




( 11/5/23 – thank you all for the patience on this post. I hit a block I wasn’t expecting and it took time to pull this one together)

“Blaton! You’re here. Come with me,” Commander Marius said.

Tara caught her breath, tucked the courier’s note into her hidden pocket, and headed towards the tall Imperial that was her new boss. Maro had been of a medium build and had the look of a cosmopolitan Imperial. A fighter, but a cultured one. Marius looked battle hardened and was about the most muscled, broad chested man Tara had ever seen. Father’s barrel chest had nothing on Marius.

His left eye was white, blind, and his face displayed long, dramatic scars below that eye and down his face. This man had fought hard and survived. His black hair was shorn close to his head. He was all business, by the look of him.

“Sir,” she said as she reached him. He’d been standing far down a long curving hallway inside the Imperial Palace. Tara still hadn’t fully taken in the palace, or the city, for that matter.

The Imperial City was unlike any other city in Cyrodiil, perhaps all of Tamriel. The city was wheel shaped, districts separated in sections, as if by spokes, with the White-Gold Tower, the tallest building in Cyrodiil, at its center. The tower was home to the palace. This meant a domed roof, a lot of curving hallways, with a confusing number of doors leading to guest suites, personal quarters, meeting rooms, and somewhere, the throne room. The seat of power in the Empire. Fitting it sat in a building once used by the Alyeids, those ancient elves who’d once enslaved the Nedic people and ruled Cyrodiil back in the First Era.

How was she living in such a building? The history here was boggling.

Tara had barely unpacked in her quarters, a small, sparse room a palace guard had led her to when she arrived this morning.

Had his name been Crispus? She’d liked him.

The palace seemed to contain a mix of mostly Imperial guards, specifically Praetorians, elite guards with the honor of serving in the palace. The palace was in a word, busy. Besides guards, numerous couriers, and tons of servants, milled about.

She’d not seen any other Penitus Oculatus agents, though she knew headquarters were nearby. She’d have to make her way there at some point.

She’d received a note before leaving Solitude ordering her to head straight to the palace as soon as she got to the city. She suspected there’d be no rest for her weary body. Not that the ride had been physically hard. Things had weighed on her mind, though.

Katla.

“Good, you have your issued sword,” Marius said as she approached. “First impression, I want you in official attire.”

“I’m better with axes, sir,” Tara said. She was good enough with a sword. But, if she was going to be a bodyguard, didn’t they want her in her best equipment?

“I’ve heard,” Marius said. He gave her an appraising look. “Might want you training other agents one day.” He shot her a quick smile, then looked serious again. “This is for show. While you should always be on your guard, we’re safe right now, and I wanted you looking proper before meeting Lord Chancellor Blackwell and the queen. You can switch to your axes after this.”

“Right into work?” Tara asked. They were now walking further down the long, white marbled hallway.

“Never a quiet day here. Our Lady Rigmor’s previous guards have already been reassigned. Blackwell wants her protected anew immediately.”

“The other guards were reassigned, leaving her unprotected until I arrived?” Tara raised an eyebrow.

“Either the queen or Blackwell would’ve had their heads by now, if not.” Marius tossed her another flicker of a smile. “I don’t think they were cut out for that kind of work. Loyal, but…I’ve heard stories.”

Bumbling guards or a temperamental queen? Tara thought about her premonition, the Rigmor in it. Not a spoiled, temperamental queen. Those eyes told the story of a strong woman who’d overcome. What the scars had left behind might be a woman with no patience for foolishness. Tara was going to find out soon.

“I need to meet the Dragonborn in the throne room,” Marius said. “I’ll leave you with Cerys, our queen’s lady in waiting.”

Tara searched her memory of the Rigmor file. Cerys had been mentioned. A Breton, adopted by an Altmer elf who worked and resided at the College of Winterhold. He’d possibly been Arch-Mage for a time, though not confirmed. Jonte Malesam was his name. He and Cerys had been the keepers of Rigmor’s lineage, the ones charged with overseeing the artifacts and knowledge of Morgan of Winterhold, Rigmor’s ancestor. The descendant of Titus Mede I. Malesam had become Court Advisor in Bruma and had defended Rigmor during her trial. He and Cerys were trustworthy.

Outside of being a Breton mage, and about Tara’s age, there wasn’t much else on her. Cerys had been Rigmor’s lady in waiting since she’d been countess of Bruma.

“Cerys will introduce you to our lady Rigmor. I believe she’s meeting with Blackwell.”

Marius stopped in front of a non-descript door.

“Then, your duty starts. Where ever Rigmor goes, you go with her. Unless she or The Dragonborn order otherwise.” Marius’ eyes, well, the good one, drilled into her. “Protect our queen at all costs. Either she or Cerys will introduce you to Kintyra at some point today. The baby was born two weeks ago.”

Tara nodded. “Yes, sir.”

They stepped through the door into what Tara thought of immediately as a politician’s office. Thick rugs covered the floor in an overwhelming, yet tasteful, manner. Old paintings of nobles Tara didn’t recognize dotted the walls, broken up by paintings of the White-Gold Tower, or landscapes of Cyrodiil.

Plush chairs with ornate carved legs sat along two walls. An open doorway led to another room. Tara heard two voices coming from it. A man and woman.

“Cerys,” Marius said. “This is Tara Blaton. The new bodyguard for our lady.”

Cerys was standing quietly in this waiting room. She wore simple robes, dressed like a mage. Her hair was brown, as were her eyes. Her face look both gentle and mature. A woman wiser than her years. War paint lined her eyes, running in matching lines down her face.

Tara didn’t often see Bretons wearing the permanent skin paints. It’d fallen out of favor over the years, especially since so many Reachmen, the Forsworn, had adopted the look.

At least she was close to Tara’s height. Finally, someone not towering over her.

“Well met,” Cerys said. She gave Tara a genuine smile.  “When my lady finishes, we can…”

“I couldn’t take a dump in peace with the last ones, Blackwell. I don’t need a bodyguard!” The woman in the next room was yelling.

“Rigmor,” the man said. There was a tone to his voice that made Tara think of a politician, a manipulator. Yet, it held real feeling in how he said Rigmor’s name. In one word, it was obvious he wasn’t trying to calm her. He cared. This had to be Lord Chancellor Blackwell.

“…we must protect you, our queen, and Kintyra. It is the duty of the Penitus Oculatus to protect the royal family at all costs. They have sent me their best agent for this task.”

Cerys was looking thoughtfully at the doorway. “Protocol dictates we wait here until they’re finished,” she said. “I think we should make an exception in this case.”

“I shall leave Tara in your hands for the formal introduction, then,” Marius said. “I am needed in the throne room.” Marius nodded at them both, turned, and left.

“Come on,” Cerys said to Tara. Tara followed her into the room.

Blackwell was a Nord who carried a stately attitude. She perhaps used the word serious to describe people too much, but before Tara stood a man that put Mira’s level of serious to shame.

She wondered if he knew how to smile.

He was dressed in fine Imperial attire, reserved for nobles and politicians. He looked to be in his forties, and his face showed a life of dealing with both the noblest citizens and the lowest of lowlife. If the reports she’d read were true, he’d been behind the destruction of the Dark Brotherhood here in Cyrodiil. He was said to have a deep network of spies. He’d been responsible for keeping the Penitus Oculatus together, despite their official disbanded status under Sethius.

This was a man that could beat her in a game of Tales of Tribute.

The room they were now all standing in was lush, with more thick rugs and one of the finest desks Tara had ever seen. These walls held paintings of ancient kings, queens, and landmarks around Cyrodiil. Another room that had seen a lot of history.

She turned her eyes to Rigmor. The woman from her dreams. The premonition had gotten her eye color wrong. They were amber, not a brown hazel. The other details matched, though. Rigmor was a Nord, making her taller than Tara by almost a head. Tara estimated she was perhaps an inch or two shorter than Katla. Her build was slender, far more so than Katla’s. Her hair was the same rich brown, though, and thick, as it’d been in her dream.

Tara realized she was holding her breath. Of course she was. Reality was here. She was standing in front of the woman she’d had dreams about almost every night for the past five years. If she’d ever doubted whether the dream had been a premonition, here was proof. This was the woman from her dreams. She felt lightheaded.

Breathe.

Right.

Tara took in a deep breath. The moment was surreal. She had no words for how she felt.

This was a dream coming true. Not any dream one desired. This was fate. Tara didn’t like the confirmation the Divines were messing with her life. Dictating it. She’d not thought much about fate before this moment.

Before that moment in Oblivion.

Tara Geonette.

“When the time comes, don’t fight me…”

Another one promising a fate for her.

Tara snapped herself back to the moment.

This Rigmor wasn’t the woman from the when of the premonition. Her face was heart shaped, with a small nose, and mouth that formed a natural pout. She was beautiful in the way all women were to Tara. Real. Something about her captivated.  Her eyes shone a deep soul. Someone with a story and incredible strength. A glance easily told anyone she was not to be messed with.

If that didn’t do it, the scars on her face would be the other clue. They matched the dream, almost. A shorter one up high on her left cheek. The other, dramatic one, ran along her left jawline, from near her ear, stopping at her chin. Possibly a cut from a sword. This woman had been in more than a few fights and lived.

The age of her face, the slightly redder color to the scars told Tara this Rigmor was years younger than the premonition. Whatever was happening in that dream was more than a few years away.

Tara took another breath. This was her. Really her. These past years of finding her purpose, the Imperial Legion and her struggles. Rorikstead. The training, and loyalty tests, for the Penitus Oculatus. Varro’s face floated in front of her.

Tara had sworn loyalty to the Empire, officially. Not in her heart, though. She’d sworn to Rigmor. To a woman she didn’t know. Because Freta had told her it was a premonition. Fate. All of this for Rigmor.

Now what?

“Lord Chancellor, milady Rigmor,” Cerys said. “May I introduce Tara Blaton. Your new bodyguard.”

Tara dropped to one knee and bowed, the ultimate show of respect one was to give to nobility. She’d never bowed like this before to anyone.

“My queen,” she said.

“Perfect,” Blackwell said as Tara stood back up. “You are set, my lady. As I was saying, Tara here came highly recommended by Commander Maro. She’s traveled all the way from Skyrim to serve.”

Tara took in both their gazes. Blackwell had given her a quick glance, keeping his face stoic, not revealing his thoughts.

Rigmor was studying her. Tara met her gaze. There was a curiosity and also conflict in Rigmor’s eyes. Perhaps she’d not been expecting a woman to be assigned to her. Certainly not a short little Breton. Ironically, she now had two Bretons at her service, Cerys and Tara. Reports had said Rigmor’s bodyguards while countess of Bruma were two Nord women. Though, apparently, she’d left them at the castle often. Rigmor liked her freedom, it seemed. If reports were true, she was an incredible fighter. Of course she wouldn’t want a bodyguard.

Rigmor turned back to Blackwell. “I don’t need a bodyguard. I can take care of myself!”

Blackwell’s face showed patience. “Rigmor, think of her more for Kintyra, if you must. You’ll be busy, between the child and your royal duties. Tara here relieves you of having to worry about your or Kintyra’s safety.”

Rigmor didn’t look convinced.

“If I may,” Tara said. She looked at Rigmor, thought to the overheard conversation. She took a chance.

“I might be short, but I won’t be underfoot, my lady. Or in the privy with you,” she said. She gave Rigmor her widest grin, the kind she reserved for flirtations and when trying to convince Katla to change her mind.

Katla. She still needed to see her. Make up for their fight.

Rigmor looked at Tara, as if taking in her short stature for the first time. She looked at Cerys, then back at Tara. She burst out laughing.

“Fine. Come on,” she said. She was smiling.

Tara and Cerys followed Rigmor down the curving hallway.

“You live in Skyrim?” Rigmor asked her.

“Been there since 201,” Tara said. “My girlfriend and I have a home in Solitude.”

“But you’re from High Rock?”

Tara nodded. Rigmor walked at a fast pace, and Tara had to focus to keep up. “Wayrest, ma’am.”

“How do you like Cyrodiil so far?”

“Oh, I’ve lived here before. Before Skyrim, I spent a few years here. Never visited the Imperial City, though. It’s impressive.”

Rigmor seemed about to ask another question, but stopped herself. She stopped walking.

“Oh, Cerys, can you go check on Kintyra? Mom could use a break.”

“Of course,” Cerys nodded at Tara. “A pleasure to meet you.” She turned and headed back the way they’d come. Tara made a mental note to find out if the royal suite had another entrance in that direction. Marius had told her it was located behind the throne room. Perhaps Kintyra and Rigmor’s mother were somewhere else. If there was more than one way inside the royal suite, Tara would need to know. She really needed to get a handle on the palace layout.

Rigmor started walking again. Tara walked slightly behind her. Protocol fluctuated on whether she should be in the lead, as a guard, or lag behind slightly, out of respect for a royal. She’d let Rigmor indicate what she preferred, Tara decided. Outside of obvious dangerous situations.

By Dibella, she was walking behind the woman she had committed to sacrificing herself for.

“There is much the Divines do we cannot comprehend.”

Freta’s words. Tara was here because the Divines wanted her here.

Would she have to die for this woman?

Not for a while, at least. Tara glanced at Rigmor again. She was sure this Rigmor was younger than in the premonition. They had time.

“DRAGONBORN!”

Tara bit her tongue. Rigmor’s voice was loud, bouncing off the marble floor and stone walls. They stopped and Tara realized they were in front of the throne room.

“Dragonborn!”

Without giving Tara a chance to step forward and secure the area, Rigmor walked into the throne room. Tara followed her. She caught her breath.

The Dragonborn.

The new ruler of the empire. The hero that had saved all of Nirn from Alduin. The one Rigmor was married to.

The other one in the premonition.

Rigmor, a young girl crying nearby, and someone else had always been in the premonition. Someone who felt powerful, who was also protecting Rigmor.

The Dragonborn. The sense of power emanating from them was tangible. Maybe it was the premonition that made her sense it. Perhaps the look in the Dragonborn’s eyes. This was another person that had seen things. Experienced more than perhaps any mortal had. Or should.

“Dragonborn, we need to talk!”  Rigmor walked up to the Dragonborn, whose face revealed an incredible amount of patience. Marius stood off to the right, slightly behind them.

Tara walked over to her spot, across from Marius, positioning herself further away and on the Dragonborn’s right side. She’d been taught the general stance, where agents were to stand in relation to the royals in the throne room. If they were meeting a guest here, Rigmor would normally be to the Dragonborn’s right, which put Tara in the perfect position to offer protection. Marius, as commander, was closer to the Dragonborn, to protect them. Not that they looked to need any protection.

“It’s been a little time now after…” Rigmor was talking to the Dragonborn. It felt like she was working up to something.

Tara let her eyes drift around the throne room, as this was her first time in it. Grand was insufficient as a word to describe it. The floor was white marble tile with red diamond accents selectively placed in them. She was standing on one such tile. Larger tiles had the empire’s symbol embedded in them. They matched the long Imperial banners hanging around the room.

The room was circular, full of columns, and a dome ceiling. They were in the middle of the White-Gold Tower, Tara realized. The center of the dome had an opening. Tara wondered what floors were up there. She had so much of the palace to study.

The throne room looked to be able to hold an audience of maybe a couple hundred people. The eye catching spot, the focus of the room was the thrones. Grand stairs, made of white stone, in the center of the room led up to the thrones. If you sat on the throne, you were truly elevated above everyone. Tara wasn’t sure how high the thrones were at the top of the staircase. Twenty feet?

The main throne was the Ruby Throne, of course. It was directly behind her, with a large ruby embedded in the white stone of the throne’s back. She couldn’t tell from this angle if the seat of the throne also had rubies embedded in it. No wonder red and diamond shapes dominated the banners of the Imperials. How old was the throne? It was clearly a permanent fixture of the room, as was the throne for the queen, to its left. No ruby in it, but otherwise it was the same white stone, high back seat.

Were these the same thrones Alyeid kings had once sat in? The history of this room, of this entire tower, was unfathomable to her. Thousands of years of events had happened here.

“I told Mom and Blackwell what I want, so we can leave Kintyra here with her and Cerys and take a few days off organizing the blessing in Bravil,” Rigmor was saying to the Dragonborn.

Tara snapped back to the conversation. Bravil? Traveling already with the queen. She and Marius would need to plan the route, scout ahead…

“Bravil?” The Dragonborn asked. This seemed news to everyone.

“…It has to be in the chapel of Mara,” Rigmor said. “…and I won’t take no for an answer.”

Tara thought quickly. Yes, there had been a chapel to Mara in Bravil. Also, a large statue of Mara outside the chapel. Many of the cities here in Cyrodiil had chapels dedicated to specific Divines, even if they had alcoves and pedestals inside for people to worship any of the other divines. Talos worship had been reinstated, adding back the ninth Divine, the one Freta had worshipped. Tara felt Freta’s amulet press into her skin.

The main focus of a chapel would be a specific Divine, with priests and priestesses of that order maintaining and handling services.

Bravil also had a statue to Dibella, on the east side of town. The story went it had magically appeared one night, appearing where a statue of Zenithar had once stood. The loss of Zenithar had happened in what became known as the skooma wars. This had all happened before Tara and Freta had moved to Bravil. That’s where Tara had worshipped. She’d never gone into the chapel. It’d be good to see Bravil again. Her sweetest memories of Freta were there.

So, they’d need to scout the chapel, perhaps check the history of the priests there.

The Dragonborn was suggesting to Rigmor they needed to be careful.

“You do still love me, don’t you?” Rigmor asked.

Tara raised an eyebrow. She put it back down before anyone noticed. Were Rigmor and the Dragonborn fighting? Or was this something else? She couldn’t imagine saying that to Katla, or Katla to her.

You two are fighting, anyway.

“Rigmor, of course I love you.”

“I know you’ve been amazing lately, saving me…”

Tara listened to the conversation. What was Rigmor about to ask for? Was the Dragonborn this difficult to convince of anything?

“For you…anything.”

Maybe not. Or, maybe they were placating Rigmor.

“Great! I’ll inform everyone and…” Rigmor was excited. It struck Tara that perhaps the woman was feeling restless. She’d just talked about surveyors and redesigns to the palace. Did she hate it here? Considering her wild history as countess in Bruma, probably so.

“Hold on a minute. What about Kintyra?” the Dragonborn was asking.

“Dragonborn, she’s safe here. Blackwell has reformed the Penitus Oculatus and we have a ton of Praetorians, plus we have Grom and Tiny…”

Grom and Tiny? Right, they’d secretly been watching out for Rigmor while she was with Robere de Medalius. He’d been the son of the bandit Sethius had named Count of Leyawiin after taking over. Robere and Rigmor had dated for a year, per the file she’d read. Things had changed when the Dragonborn came to Cyrodiil.

At some point, Robere had been revealed to be working with Sethius’ wife, Morag Sethius, the vampire. Perhaps she’d put him under a spell. He’d led one of the assaults on Bruma early in the war that broke out when Rigmor escaped Roscrea. He’d been captured. The report didn’t say what had happened to him.

“…I need this. I need some time, just me and you.”

There it was. Rigmor wanted alone time with the Dragonborn.

Tara had received a fresh report of Kintyra’s birth. The attack by The Mute, an assassin hired by someone, still unknown, and how the Dragonborn had saved Rigmor and Kintyra from him and the various other assassins attacking them at the Roxey Inn and in Bruma castle itself.

No wonder Rigmor wanted time alone away from the palace. This had all happened just a couple of weeks ago.

The Penitus Oculatus really needed to find out who’d hired the assassins, Tara realized.

“Great. I’ll see you outside the stables…” Rigmor was saying.

Wait. She and the Dragonborn going alone to Bravil? Without her and Marius?

“Permission to speak,” Marius said to the Dragonborn. Rigmor was heading out of the throne room. Tara wasn’t sure if she should follow. Had she been given an order to watch over Kintyra instead? She looked at Marius.

“Do you think it is wise to go alone to Bravil?” Marius asked. “Allow Tara and myself to go ahead of you, if only to make sure of your safety for when you arrive.”

He’d mispronounced her name, his natural accent changing the color of it. She wondered what city he was from. She’d need to correct him.

“I’ve got this, Marius. I need you to stay here and protect Kintyra,” the Dragonborn said.

There it was. A direct order to look after Kintyra and not go to Bravil. The royal family could give direct orders to the Penitus Oculatus, including telling them to not perform their job, as it were.

How long had Tara officially been on duty? An hour? Already being told to watch the baby, and not the queen. She supposed it was to be expected. Many previous Emperors and Empresses had been great fighters before taking the throne. Had fighting skills matching those of their bodyguards. Rigmor and the Dragonborn, perhaps even more so. Of course they wouldn’t think they’d need protection. Was this how it was going to be? Fighting to actually do her job?

“As you command,” Marius said to the Dragonborn. “The child shall be protected at all times.”

“We’ll be back in a day or two, so I want you and Tara with her. Never leave her side,” the Dragonborn said.

The Dragonborn left. Tara looked at Marius and raised an eyebrow.

“We’ll take watching Kintyra in shifts,” Marius said. “Let me show you the royal suite, then I’ll take the first shift.”

The royal suite was surprisingly simple and small. The entry was indeed behind the thrones, hidden behind a large banner. Few knew it existed.

The suite consisted of a living area and the royal bedroom, which is where Kintyra stayed, being a newborn. It’d be awhile before she had a room of her own. She wasn’t here now.

Marius pointed to another door. “Still being built out,” he said. “I believe they will build us rooms here, so we’ll be closer and can protect them easier.”

They discussed the shifts and how best to break up their time watching Kintyra.

“I know you’ve just arrived. I’ll take this first shift. Go finish settling in, get some rest, study the palace layout,” Marius said. “I’m off to find Cerys and Sigunn. You can meet Kintyra when your shift starts.”

Tara saluted. “Sir.”

She stepped outside the throne room and pulled out the courier’s note she’d tucked away. She read it again. Katla had arrived in the Imperial City and was safely in the apartment Tara had arranged for her.

Time to go see her.

(For Tara’s story, I will follow the events from Rigmor of Cyrodiil that follow the romantic arc. Also, I will try to keep the Dragonborn generic, to allow for anyone’s Dragonborn to fit the story. If I find my writing suffers as a result, I will revert to Tara’s actual Dragonborn, my Imperial named Anna)