They’d headed directly to the Reach after stepping out through the portal and back through the Sepulcher.
“It’ll be all right if we’re gone a few more days,” Sayma had told him. “I’m sure of it. Bryn’s used to having me gone and the others are much better company for him than I am anyway.”
Brynjolf had given her a warm look. “Well I’m sure he loves having his mother around. But I will admit that I won’t mind having you to myself for a few more days, if you’re all right with that.”
It was hard for her to argue with that.
Seviana Umbranox was delighted to have her ancestor’s six journals, even more so when Sayma refused to accept payment for them. It just didn’t seem right to her, and she laughed to think that she was leaving coins on the table. Seviana then asked if they would help her and her husband get to Solitude; they wished to return to Cyrodiil and weren’t convinced that their own limited abilities would get them safely through the Reach.
Sayma swapped glances with Brynjolf.
“Why not, lass? Let’s do this before things get messy. Besides, I have a couple of small pieces of business to take care of in Solitude before we head back to Riften. May as well do them all now.”
He assumes I’m returning to Riften with him. She smiled to herself once more, laughing at the warm glow that went along with realizing that. Well, I like the idea.
“Of course. We’d be happy to help. Let’s get going.”
It was the middle of the night when they finally stood on the docks of Solitude to say goodbye to Seviana and Lucien. They thanked Sayma once again, and Seviana took her hands, pressing a small, metallic object into her palm.
“It’s the key to the house, in the Reach. It’s yours now, to do with as you wish. Best of luck to you, Gray Fox.”
Sayma wanted to argue with her, but simply nodded.
“And to you as well.”
The Umbranoxes walked down the docks to await the next ship. Sayma and Brynjolf made their way to Solitude to rent a room at the Winking Skeever.
“Ugh,” Sayma said as she kicked off her boots and flopped down on the bed. “I hate traveling through that part of the Reach. Every carnivore known to mankind and they all want to eat me. So what’s this business you need to take care of, Bryn?”
“I told you,” he said, shrugging out of his heavier pieces of armor and joining her on the bed. “I need to go see the Jarl about Proudspire. I want the place.”
“Between the two of us we’re going to own homes in every part of Skyrim. It’ll be a full time job just making sure they’re all in decent repair.”
“Yes, well that’s a good thing. Bolt-holes for people when we send them out on jobs.” He rolled onto his side and propped his head up on one hand. “Now then, as to the other matter. I’ll do it first thing in the morning. I’m going to go find Dynny’s wife and pass along the message from him.”
She frowned. “Are you sure? I told him I would do it.”
Brynjolf smiled. “Yes, lass. It’s my job to do. She doesn’t know you and she’ll never forget me. I want this to be finished, for all of us.”
Sayma grinned. “Well watch your face. I like it the way it is, and to hear you tell the tale she was aiming for the other side, last you spoke to her in person.”
“Is that right. You like my face?” He slid closer to her. “Do you still like it when it’s really close up?” He leaned over and planted a light kiss on her lips.
Well now. He’s changed, but he hasn’t changed all that much, has he? I’m glad.
“I do indeed, Red. But I thought you wanted to get some sleep.”
“Sleep is overrated.”
__
Sayma woke up as Brynjolf returned to the room, looking subdued.
“Oh! You’ve been gone and back already?”
He nodded, and sat down heavily in one of the room’s chairs.
“It was harder than I expected. It took her a second to remember me. She was going to shut the door in my face when she realized who it was, until I told her I had news about Dynny.” He heaved a sigh.
“And? Did she let you in?”
“Yes. It took a bit to explain to her that we’d discovered him in the Soul Cairn, and I’m still certain she doesn’t quite understand that. But when I told her that he’d sent this message… she started to cry.”
“Aww.”
“Yes. I don’t think she ever gave up on him, lass, no matter what he did. It was an arranged marriage, and Dynjyl wasn’t exactly a ladies’ man; but as he told me so often they did care about each other. And she was head over heels with him, the whole time.” He sighed, and met Sayma’s gaze for a moment. “It’s one of those things that make me unhappy about myself, you know? I could no more have ignored him than I could have ignored Nocturnal, and she ended up being hurt in the process.”
Like me and Roggi.
“But was she alright? When you left, I mean?”
He nodded, with a sad smile. “She thanked me. And she shook my hand. And she…”
“She what?”
“Apologized for the scar.”
“Oh Bryn.”
“Aye.” He grinned. “I told her I’ve kept it all these years to keep myself in line. She laughed. I thought it best not to tell her what I do these days.”
Sayma rose, dressed, and snacked on a boiled crème treat that was waiting on the room’s table. They descended to the first floor, and were about to leave the inn when Sayma spotted a familiar figure sitting in the first alcove nearest the door. She grinned at Brynjolf and then approached him.
“Hey, Gulum-Ei. Long time no see. What’ll you give me for these?”
He stared at her, coldly she thought. For of course he had no way to know who he was looking at, having last seen her before she’d changed her face.
“I’m afraid you must be mistaken, milady. I’m not…”
Brynjolf, standing just behind Sayma, cleared his throat. Gulum-Ei looked up at him and gulped, his already beady eyes bugging out a bit more.
“What’ll you give the lady, Gulum-Ei?” Brynjolf murmured.
“The usual rates,” the Argonian said. “Let’s see what we can do.”
Sayma happily offloaded a fair number of gems and other baubles that she’d been carrying around since entering the Halls of the West. She was pretty sure that Gulum-Ei had given her more than they were worth. She was also pretty sure he hadn’t figured out exactly who she was. She was snickering by the time they walked out into the sun.
“Nicely intimidated,” she said as they strolled down the road toward the Blue Palace.
“That’s one thing that I don’t seem to have lost, turning human again. It’s handy.”
She grinned at him. “Well I suspect you’re intimidating enough as it is to someone who knows who you are, as he does.”
“Well I hope Jarl Elisif doesn’t share that knowledge. She knows who I am, but as far as I know not what organization I’m part of. Erikur knows me, of course, but he’s also bright enough to keep his mouth shut.”
Sayma grimaced. She’d met Erikur, one of the Thanes in Solitude, while trying to get the Thieves Guild reestablished across Skyrim. He was an unsavory man, one who talked a good story but would likely flee at the first sign of danger; who took his great wealth for granted and looked down on anyone not in a similarly privileged position, and who, as far as she had seen, had inappropriately wandering hands. She didn’t like him, but he had been a necessary evil in getting business rolling again.
“Well he won’t recognize me. He only met me the once and I still looked like Dag at that point.”
They mounted the long, elegant staircase to Jarl Elisif’s audience hall to find it full of people. The steward sat in one corner, along with some of her thanes. Erikur was there, but he was deep in conversation with Thane Bryling. Elisif’s housecarl, decked out in appropriately intimidating steel plate, stood hovering near the throne. He gave them a long, distrustful look. Sayma was suddenly aware of their slightly grubby black armor in comparison with the fine clothing worn by almost everyone else, and tried to shrink back next to the wall; but Brynjolf saw her movement and stopped her with one powerful hand.
Jarl Elisif – the presumptive High Queen of Skyrim following the death of her husband, King Torygg – was on her throne, speaking to a well-dressed man standing before it. He was of medium height and build, a Breton, with close-cropped ash brown hair. The purple Colovian outfit he wore was a mismatch for him and for the court, but it was nevertheless finer than anything worn by anyone else in the room and it gave him a presence, an aura of grandeur that nobody else in the space had.
Sayma noticed something else. The look that Elisif was giving him was more than a simple expression of interest. There’s more here than meets the eye. I wonder what exactly it is. Not that she needs an excuse to spend time with a handsome man; she is a widow, after all. Still…
The man gave a slight bow to Elisif and stepped backward. A shudder ran up Sayma’s spine; it was the same half-bow she’d seen Andante use and for a moment she had the eerie sensation of seeing him there, rather than the Breton man who actually stood before the Jarl. He turned to leave, giving her and Brynjolf a quick once-over as he walked away. He nodded, briefly, but said nothing.
Brynjolf stepped up to the throne, and once again Sayma had to admire his confidence. He was used to dealing with people in a position of power, that was true; but he suddenly carried himself as though he was a Jarl himself, not merely the leader of one of Skyrim’s underground organizations.
“Jarl Elisif,” he rumbled, smiling. “It’s been a long time. I believe your late husband’s father still sat the throne when I spoke to you last. You probably don’t remember.” He waved a hand at his armor. “Especially dressed as I am. You’ll forgive me. I’ve been traveling and fine clothing doesn’t withstand sandstorms very well.”
“I do remember you, Brynjolf,” Elisif said, rising from her throne. “Both of us were a great deal younger then. I hope the years have treated you kindly. What might I do for you?”
“Well, my lady,” Brynjolf began, “there is a home here in Solitude that was owned by a very close friend of mine, one of your former Thanes named Andante. He’s recently… deceased, as you no doubt know. I would like to purchase the home from you and am prepared to offer a generous amount for it, which I have on hand at this very moment.” He opened his pack to show off the accumulation of coin and gems in it and smiled up at her, self-assured, radiating that power of personality and persuasion that was perhaps the strongest of his considerable strengths.
Elisif shook her head. “That is a very generous offer indeed, Brynjolf, and under normal circumstances I would have been more than happy to accept. But as it happens, Proudspire has just been sold to Lord Wickham.”
Brynjolf’s smile never left his face but Sayma could see that he was shocked, nonetheless. He wasn’t expecting to be turned down. That didn’t even enter his planning.
“Lord… Wickham?”
“Yes,” Elisif said, and Sayma couldn’t help but notice the slight flush of pink rise to her cheeks. “Lord Edwyn Wickham, of High Rock. Or more accurately, I suppose, of Winterhold. He’s recently been named Archmage. He wanted a home on this side of Skyrim as well, and like you came prepared to pay handsomely for it. I’m sorry, Brynjolf. It’s simply a matter of timing.”
Oh it was more than timing, I think. I’m sure Bryn isn’t the only one with advanced powers of persuasion.
Brynjolf, to his credit, handled himself as though he was not the least bit flustered or surprised by these developments.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, inclining his head. “Perhaps this Lord Wickham will allow me to purchase a few of the personal items I was hoping to take away with me from the house. How might I find him?”
Elisif laughed, a light, musical sound. “Why, he’s just left. He is the gentleman dressed in purple who was just here. Perhaps you can catch him. I saw him descending the stairs just a moment ago. I’m certain he’s not leaving Solitude quite yet.”
Ah yes. I see how it is. So you have a date with the man, do you? Court intrigue is such fun.
“Thank you,” Brynjolf said. “If you’ll excuse me, my Jarl, I will see whether I can find him right now.”
“Of course,” Elisif replied, returning to her throne. “And I am sorry for your loss. I had no idea you were Thane Andante’s friend. We will all miss him.”
He bowed, another perfect imitation of Andante’s half-bow, and turned, almost rushing toward the stairs. Sayma caught Erikur giving him a glance, but Erikur’s face revealed nothing. He’s probably not thinking a thing, the toad. He’s too stupid to wonder what Bryn is up to, or who I am. What a waste of air the man is. She slipped down the stairs after Brynjolf, to find him speaking to the man in purple.
“I understand you just purchased Proudspire,” he was saying.
“Yes, I did,” Edwyn said. “It’s a lovely place. I take it you’re familiar?”
Brynjolf nodded. “Aye. Its former owner was a very close friend. I spent a great deal of time there. Which is why I wanted to purchase it.”
One side of Wickham’s mouth rose. “I see. Well I’m sorry to have disappointed you, in that case. I’m quite taken with it and have plans for it. However… what did you say your name was, again?”
Brynjolf sneered. “I didn’t. Name’s Brynjolf. And this,” he said, reaching for Sayma’s hand and pulling her closer to them, “is Sayma Sendu.”
What are you doing, Bryn? She peered at Lord Edwyn Wickham. He was quite attractive, his eyes a steely gray; and while he was impeccably groomed and well-mannered and appeared to be friendly enough, she was not convinced of that.
“Pleased,” she said.
He smiled at her, clearly amused. “As I was about to say, Brynjolf, I did notice that there were a great many personal effects left in the house. I gather that his passing was sudden and unexpected. Go and speak to Jordis, the housecarl. I’m certainly not averse to you taking those things, and she can help you pack them up.”
He smiled, and Brynjolf relaxed just a bit.
“Thank you. There are a few things of sentimental value to me. I’ll go do that now.”
“The gems and soul gems remain, is that clear?” Edwyn’s voice had an edge to it that had not been there before.
“Of course,” Brynjolf murmured. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll go clear out his things now. Appreciate it.” And without engaging further, he swiveled on his heels and strode out the door of the Blue Palace.
Sayma scurried along behind him. “I’m so sorry, Bryn. At least we get to take whatever it was you were looking for of his.”
Brynjolf’s pace was hard to keep up with. He walked with sharp steps that spoke of anger.
“There’s not that much that I really wanted. He had some favorite books, and notes. The key to his cabin in the mountains is there. And more of his skooma.” He looked at her and shook his head. “Don’t worry, lass. We’re taking it and we’ll sell it. It’s not for me. And his uniforms are there. The various guilds. Some jewelry. And a couple of robes that I want for sentimental reasons.”
He snorted. “It’s disappointing, but at least we don’t have to spend the money now. What’s got me going is that man. There’s more to him than meets the eye. I recognize it.”
Sayma frowned. “What are you talking about? I got an odd feeling about him too, but…”
Brynjolf dropped his voice. “Lord Edwyn Wickham of High Rock, the Archmage of Winterhold, is a vampire. I’d bet my life on it.”
“What?”
“I recognize that particular illusion spell when I feel it. He was masking yellow eyes, or I don’t have red hair.”
Another vampire. Just what we need.
“I guess we’d best be keeping an ear to the ground for words about the College of Winterhold, just in case,” Sayma said. “It’s not like there’s anything automatically wrong with him being a vampire, but it’s a bit of a concern. That means he’s even more powerful than most.”
“Aye. If he’s a good enough mage to be in charge of the place he’s a dangerous man.”
They knocked at the door of Proudspire. As they waited for Jordis to come open the place, Brynjolf turned to Sayma.
“What do you say, lass. Come to Riften with me for a few days after this? It’s going to be hard to go through these things. And I could use the company. Let’s take some time for us.”
She smiled at him. Yes. I want that. I want to see my son, but he’s safe. Right now, I want to see what will happen, with us.
“I’d enjoy that.”
__
Brynjolf hung the last couple of items from Andante’s former home in the cabinet in Honeyside’s bedroom and sighed. It had indeed been hard to go through Proudspire, looking at the places they’d shared and handling things that he knew Andante had made, or bought, or … How was it he put that? Liberated from their previous state of confinement. He’d made certain to retrieve the green robe he’d always worn when they’d stayed there, and the beige robe with red accents that Andante had worn, the robe that still smelled like him. That moment had been difficult, for even though time had passed it had been a vivid, visceral reminder of the moments when the robe had held the man and not simply his scent.
But he’s not really gone. Not completely. He’ll be waiting when I get there, or at least that’s what we’re told. I’ll take that as the truth, whether it is or not.
And that’s not what’s important, anyway.
He looked around the bedroom and smiled. There were a great many memories stored in this space, one of which had been playing over and over in his mind for the past few days. He remembered the warmth of the head resting against his shoulder and the sound of Andante’s voice as he’d said, “I’ll help you find her, my love,” all that time ago.
I always knew he cared about me but that one thing, more than anything else. That moment. That told me everything I needed to know about him. It’s a shame that it took me so long to realize I cared for him as well. But he knew what was important.
Brynjolf reached into his pocket. It was there, as it had been ever since the day he’d pried his hand open to show Roggi what he had in it. He never was far from it. Even when he’d changed to vampire garb he’d brought it with him, tucked deep into a pocket where he could touch it, slip it on and off his finger, and think about what it meant. Andante had seen him fiddling with it, occasionally, but had only smiled at him and had never questioned why it was with him after confirming that yes, it meant that he was a married man.
He pulled it out and examined it and then smiled. Yes, it was time.
He walked quietly to the stairs and up them. Sayma was stirring something in the cooking pot, humming to herself, and he found himself smiling.
She’d been wonderful, in the time since they’d come back from Hammerfell. It was clear that she understood how difficult everything had been for him. It was clear that she understood the effect her actions of two years prior had had on those around her. And she’d simply accepted whatever happened, trying to help where she could.
It’s like having the boy changed her, the same way being a vampire changed me. We’re different people now. And yet we’re the same. And it’s just as I told the lad. All I’ve ever wanted was to bring her home and hold her.
“Lass,” he said quietly.
Sayma turned her head to smile at him. “What is it?”
By the Eight she’s beautiful.
He cleared his throat, suddenly and unaccountably nervous.
This was, after all, his wife.
This was not only his wife, but his partner – his fellow Nightingale, the woman he’d chosen off the street to eventually become Guildmaster. And furthermore, she was the mother of his child. And yet, he was suddenly as nervous as he had been standing before Dagnell, in the training room of the Thieves Guild, so long before.
I couldn’t believe she wanted me then. And if she wants me now, well, I can scarcely believe it still.
I’ve been with others, given parts of me away that she can never share. I’ve been a vampire. I’ve had a life that a person could hardly hold up as an example for anyone else, and yet here she is, come back to me, and she seems to be glad of it.
I know she’s my wife, technically, and officially. But I want it to be real again.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, closing the ring in his left hand.
“Of what? You thinking always makes me nervous, Red.”
He snorted. “Red. Really.”
She stood back from the cooking pot and walked over to him, slipping her arms around his waist. And for a moment he nearly forgot what it was he’d meant to say, because in spite of everything that had happened to them Sayma took his breath away, every bit as much as Dag ever had, and he had to remind himself that this was the same woman he’d loved since the moment she first laughed at him.
“Yes, really. Now what is it that you’ve been thinking about?”
Brynjolf gathered up her left hand in his, and then smiled into her pale green eyes. We still go together.
“It’s been good, I think. Since the Crypt, out there in Hammerfell. At least I think so. How about you?”
Sayma smiled up at him. “Yes it has, Bryn. Very nice. I’m … very happy about that.”
He smiled back at her and breathed deeply.
“Well, I, uh… have something of yours and I thought maybe you might like to have it back,” he said quietly, and opened his hand. “I want to… may I….” and fumbled to slip the ring onto her finger, in the place it should have been for all the intervening months since she’d walked away from Riften.
Sayma stared down at her hand and then looked back up at Brynjolf.
“You still had it.”
“Aye. Never let go of it.”
“Brynjolf.” Sayma’s eyes filled. “How is it possible that you …”
He smiled.
“I love you, that’s how. Never stopped. He knew that, too. Both of them did.”
“But…”
He shook his head. “No. We don’t have time to waste on all of that any more. We’ve… done all of that. Let it go, lass. We have to let it go, both of us.”
She nodded, mutely.
“So what do you say? Will you be my wife again?”
“Bryn,” she said, her husky voice catching in her throat and becoming even raspier. “I never stopped being your wife. Not even when I left. Not in here,” she said, touching her chest.
For a moment Brynjolf saw Andante, standing on the beach outside the Dawnstar Sanctuary, touching his chest above his heart as he said “Vitus Perdeti only loved one person in his entire life.”
Yes, lad. Thank you. You loved me enough to give her back to me. Thank you.
He smiled.
“Now and forever,” he said, quietly. “I don’t think I told you that the first time.”
“Eyes open, and walk with the shadows,” Sayma replied gently.
Brynjolf leaned down and kissed his wife, gently but thoroughly, and then gathered her in close to his chest. After a moment, she sighed.
“And you’re still going to be Guildmaster,” she murmured in his ear, then skittered away laughing while he gave chase around the room, laughing as well. He caught up with her, grabbed her in his arms, turned her around as she giggled and squirmed, then kissed her. She kissed back. A few moments later they were both moaning, and panting, and he pulled away long enough to whisper “downstairs. Now.”
“Yes.”
She darted down the stairs ahead of him, pieces of her black armor marking the way toward the bed under the mounted saber cat.
A goodly amount of time later, Sayma sighed, her head on his chest. He felt more content than he had in a very long time.
“Red.”
He smiled into the darkness. I did miss being called that. What a foolish thing. Like ‘loverboy.’ I guess what matters is the feeling that goes along with it, isn’t it.
“Yes, lass?”
“That was something.”
“Yes it was.” Oh there was never any question of that, lass, no matter what’s happened in between. We’ve always gone together in the most outrageous way.
There was a moment of silence, as he ran his hand through her hair, stroking it absently. Then she spoke again.
“Do you have any favorite names for girls?”
What an odd question.
“No, not really. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I don’t quite know how to say this, but…”
He pushed her back off his chest far enough so that he could look at her face.
“Is there something you’re not telling me? Again?”
Sayma laughed. “No, I haven’t been keeping anything from you. And you may have noticed, but Roggi’s quite definitely in love with my brother.”
He grinned. “I have noticed that, yes. I think his days of looking at anyone else are long gone.”
“Well, it’s like this. I have got the strongest feeling that we just started another child.”
Absurd.
“That’s foolish, lass. How could you know such a thing?”
She grinned at him. “I just have a feeling. This was different. Very different.”
Really? A babe?
“Sayma…”
He ran his hand down over her silken, exquisitely flat stomach and rested it atop the place where one day there might be a child moving about.
“I barely know what to say. I’m to be a father?”
“Again. I’m certain of it. I just feel different.”
He felt his heart rise up into his throat. “And I’ll be here for the whole thing, this time.”
“Yes, love.”
He stared at her in awe.
“I don’t know how you can know such a thing, but I’ll take your word for it. I’ve had stranger things happen in my life.”
“I’ll have to warn you about something, though.”
“What’s that?”
Sayma propped herself up on an elbow and leaned over Brynjolf, grinning at him.
“I get awfully frisky when I’m pregnant.”
What?
“Shor’s bones, lass, no! We can’t risk hurting the babe!”
She giggled. “Brynjolf. Don’t you remember the last few weeks before Dag left? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
“Oh.” He cast his mind back and thought about it, remembering being so tired he could barely work the forge and yet there being no end to Dagnell’s attentions. “Shor’s beard.”
“Shor and his beard had nothing to do with it, dear. It was me, and your son. I just didn’t know it quite so soon that time. Don’t worry. When it’s time to be more careful I’ll be sure to tell you.”
“Well then.”
She fell back onto the bed, laughing. “Brynjolf.”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
He smiled up at the ceiling. A family of my own. Roggi was right.
“I love you too, lass.”
Sayma turned her head and smiled at him. “I don’t know whether I ever told you this, but I love it when you call me lass.”
He laughed.
“After all that bellyaching about it in the beginning.”
“Yes, dear.” She rolled over onto her side and snuggled up against him, and their combined warmth began lulling him toward sleep.
“Well to tell you the truth of it, when you were gone I missed being called Red. A lot.”
“You won’t have to miss it ever again. I promise.”
They lay there in the quiet, and the dark, and their breathing became slower and more regular. As his eyes closed, Brynjolf thought that he saw two men with dark hair, two faces, one with brilliant blue eyes and the other with orbs of glowing gold, both of them smiling at him with expressions of the deepest love as they waved goodbye.
