Andante smiled with satisfaction as he enjoyed the view from Honeyside’s deck in the wee hours. It was a lovely night, cool and clear, and he’d been hunting on his own for a few hours prior. He was full, and had enjoyed a snifter of brandy; and the contents of one of his bedside bottles were coursing through his body, sharpening every scent, each caress of the light breeze, every impression that passed through his mind.
He was alone on this night, a circumstance that had become more than a little unusual for him of late, but he was used to being by himself. He’d spent most of his life by himself, to the best of his knowledge – on the fringes of groups of people, interacting with them, having them appreciate and take advantage of his presence and his skills; but mostly on the outside looking in.
The years Vitus had spent in the Dark Brotherhood in Cyrodiil – those were coming back to him, slowly; he remembered being a valued member of the group but never feeling as though he really mattered to anyone in particular. Oh, the Listener surely appreciated his skills, otherwise she’d never have taken him in, or spent time working with him on techniques, or referred him to the red-haired Bosmer for the finer points of archery, or sent him out on increasingly difficult jobs as he grew and practiced. But she’d never really let him get close to her, and neither had any of the others. He was just the orphan kid with the quick fingers, the soft mouth, and the well-concealed nasty temperament, and they’d taken advantage of that.
He remembered these things now, in bits and pieces, and remembered also how he’d learned to enjoy his life anyway. He was alone, he was meant to be alone and to kill and to limit his engagements with others to jokes, and pleasantries, and the pleasurable but shallow exchanges of physical delights. Some of them had lasted for some time, but none of them had meant anything more than that. Now, now that he was Andante, now that he’d learned a new emotion and loved Brynjolf to distraction, and while Brynjolf clearly enjoyed being with him, it wasn’t Andante’s place to be in the midst of Guild management business. They’d smiled at each other when they reached Riften and parted, agreeing to meet the next night to take care of Volkihar business.
Brynjolf was there, in the Cistern, dealing with Vex and Delvin and planning another visit to Maven Black Briar, the new Jarl of Riften, in the morning. Andante had watched him shift from the predator he’d become to the calm and capable Guildmaster he’d been just as effortlessly and completely as though he’d thrown open a lever. It had been impressive. But everything about Brynjolf had been impressive in recent days.
Andante thought about their run back to Riften under the eerie, dim sky, and grinned even more broadly when he thought of Brynjolf’s reaction to it all. At first, he’d seemed just as put off as everyone else; unsettled, glancing up at the black sun from time to time and almost visibly shuddering. As they’d run, though, and it was clear how fast and how strong both of them were even at the height of day, his face had slowly lost its tense expression and he’d dropped back into his usual efficient, deadly routine of hunting just as though it was the middle of the night instead of high noon.
Their quick stop in Solitude had been inspiring. They knew Andante there, knew that he owned the big house in the middle of the city, and knew that he travelled a lot. Everywhere they’d stopped people had approached him. “I…I can’t see the sun! Where did it go?” or “What’s happened to the sky?” Beirand, the blacksmith, had been agitated when they approached him to sell some things, saying “As if the dragons weren’t enough, now we’ve lost the sun too?” Andante made comforting noises to all these people but inside he’d been exulting.
Yes! Yes, we’ve done it, Brynjolf and I. The world is ours now. We can control day as well as night!
All the way from Volkihar to Riften, the two of them had hunted. Brynjolf’s techniques were becoming more and more refined, and were enhanced by his abilities as a thief; he could approach a mark from behind without a whisper and either gently feed on the person, almost undetected, or rip out a throat in silence.
He’s getting so strong now. The feral vampires we run into have no chance anymore, between the two of us. Not even the gargoyles do. He told me he wants to protect the Guild and he certainly has the power to do so, now. If he keeps feeding the way he has been, well, he’s going to end up being a match for me. That’ll be something.
It hadn’t taken very long, on their way south and east from Volkihar, before he and Brynjolf had discovered one of the unfortunate side effects of blotting out the sun. They’d been running south from Dragon Bridge, skirting the edge of the river, when an eerie roar had erupted just in front of them and two figures had arisen from behind the boulders. It was a sound Andante would not have recognized before their work rescuing Serana, or before restoring Volkihar Castle; but he knew it instantly.
“Bryn! Gargoyles!”
“I’m on it, lad!”
One of the gargoyles was like all the others they’d met in the ruined vampire keeps: gray, nasty, but more or less easy to dispatch. Its companion, though, was something Andante had never seen before. It towered at least a full head over even the tall Nord and more than that over Andante, and it fought twice as hard as the other one had. Andante used every bit of acrobatic ability he could muster as he rolled under claws, leapt out of the way of flapping wings and tearing feet, and tried his best to land axe blows. Brynjolf worked from the other side of the beast, attacking it with his sword, trying to keep it off-balance with his shield, and taunting it unmercifully, something that Andante would have been laughing at if he hadn’t been so occupied with trying to stay alive.
Finally, they took it down with a simultaneous attack. Brynjolf slashed sideways into the gargoyle’s wing and knocked it forward with a bashing attack; Andante used the Daedric axe in a backhanded blow, following with Mehrune’s Razor as he turned, then dropped to one knee to get clear of flailing claws. The gargoyle uttered a bizarre, hollow groan and toppled to the ground.
Andante peered up at Brynjolf as he approached.
“What in Oblivion was that? Some elite kind of gargoyle?”
“I don’t know for certain. It seems all the night creatures are coming out to play now that it’s dark all day round.”
Andante stood and brushed himself off. “As well they might. It’s about time we all had a chance to enjoy the world as everything else does. In our full power, not weakened by the sun.” He smiled. “Just like everything else living in this place.”
Brynjolf smirked at him. “Do we live?”
“Oh indeed we do, my dear. For example, you’re quite lively.”
“Lad.”
“Don’t you ‘lad’ me, Brynjolf. You know perfectly well what I mean. And I’ll have you know that I promised Dynjyl to keep you lively if it is possible to do so.”
The look on Brynjolf’s face was priceless, he thought. It’s probably just as well that it’s dark. I’ll bet he’s red as an ash yam.
“You promised Dynny…”
Andante laughed, and slipped his arms around Brynjolf for a quick hug. “I promised Dynny to watch out for you, and to try to keep you happy. And so I shall.”
Brynjolf grimaced. “What did I do to deserve the two of you working together against me? Honestly. I never mentioned what a bad influence he was while he was alive, but…” He chuckled. “I’m the one who knew where to get into trouble but I promise you he was the reason why we did, half the time.”
“I can tell,” Andante said. “I told you, I like Dynny. I can’t say that about too many people, Bryn; but, well, you have good taste in men. He may be very proper on the surface, but underneath he’s a wild one. I can tell.” He snickered. “I think he’d almost have to have been just short of a terror to grab hold of you the way he did.”
Brynjolf snorted.
“But right now, dearest, I think we are coming up to a place where we might need a little extra power.”
Brynjolf peered around him and furrowed his brow. “What do you – oh, wait. That place by the bridge?”
“Yes,” Andante nodded. “Full of bandits. They’ve built right straight across the road and blocked it. We could, I suppose, swim across the river and go around but that hardly seems the noble thing to do, does it?”
Brynjolf grinned. “You’re saying that a pair of thieves needs to be noble?”
“Why, yes. Plus, I’m hungry. If we let the bandits kill off all the travelers, who shall we feed on in the future? And I need a chance to spread my wings.”
He transformed to his vampire lord form. Brynjolf sighed.
“Alright, then.”
Brynjolf in his Lord form was very appealing to Andante – or as appealing as a vampire lord could be. He was sleek and grey, his huge wings making a substantial whomp-whomp sound in a slow, regular pattern as he hovered above the ground. His long, black claws were the equal of Andante’s. As Andante admired him he smiled as best he could.
“Pretty. Very pretty.”
“Lad.”
Andante laughed. “Take a compliment, sir. I have very refined tastes. Let’s go get some lunch.”
They had decimated the robber’s gorge, leaving little aside from carnage in their wake. While Brynjolf had torn through the three men stationed on either side of a barricade, Andante had fired his life-draining spells at the archers stationed above the road. They’d made their way up through the camp to the open cabin at its highest point, somehow surprising the bandit chief inside despite the shouts and shrieks that had been going on outside. They ripped him apart and feasted on him when they were done.
Then, reveling in their power and still marveling at the black disc that floated through the sky where the bright, burning sun had been just days before, Andante led them along the roadway, over the rolling hills and into Whiterun Hold, destroying anything that stood between them and the way to Riften. It was nothing short of a heady, glorious rampage. They killed a Dawnguard patrol, and shredded a group of Thalmor to ribbons. Several groups of bandits attempted to stop them but met their respective ends.
Look at him, Andante had thought as he watched Brynjolf feeding on one of the bandits. He’s going to surpass the rest of Volkihar soon at this rate, even as ancient as they are. I truly am a bad influence, aren’t I? Look at what I put in motion.
The most impressive moment had come when they inadvertently surprised a small group of vampires and their thralls prowling about in the middle part of Whiterun Hold, west of the city. There were three or four of them, some clearly newly-fledged and one of them much stronger. Andante looked up from checking to make sure the vampire he’d just destroyed was really dead, just in time to see Brynjolf latching onto the neck of the strongest of them. He watched in awe as Brynjolf crushed the man’s windpipe with his powerful jaws and then fed, finally dropping the corpse to the ground and wiping his mouth.
He floated to where they were and examined the body, then looked up at Brynjolf in awe.
“He was a Nightlord. A new one, I think, but a Nightlord.”
“Aye.”
Andante just stared at Brynjolf for a moment, watched his massive wings beating time in the darkness, and grinned.
“I don’t know what to say, except that I’d best be careful now that I know you can dispatch someone that strong. Well done, my dear. Well done indeed.”
“Yes, lad. I have a long way to go before I could take on the likes of you but I’m working on it. Listen. You know why I wanted this, don’t you?”
“Power.”
“Well yes, but power for a reason.” He inclined his head toward the east and started making his way in that direction; Andante rose back into the air and followed him, curious.
“And that would be?” he asked.
Brynjolf shrugged. “I watched the Thieves Guild be brought down, nearly destroyed, by a man who should have been watching out for it. Should have been working his fingers to the bone trying to make it a success. It nearly failed, Andante. We were nearly the last of it, after hundreds of years, and I was desperate to keep it from dying. I was trying my hardest, but no matter what I did things kept getting worse.”
He stopped for a moment and turned to face Andante. “The Guild is the only thing I truly cared about after Dynny died. Well, until… you know.”
Yes, yes I know. Remind me again. Twist the knife a bit; I’d almost forgotten about it all for a moment.
“Dagnell.”
“Yes. But even if she hadn’t been there, the Guild would still have been my highest priority. They took me in when I was young. They’re my family. I don’t ever want to see that happen again. I am going to protect my family, lad, and this is one way I can make certain to do it. Nobody is ever going to take us apart again, not if I am alive.”
“But…”
Brynjolf shook his massive head. “I know what you’re thinking. No, she didn’t hurt the Guild. She didn’t. We’re still doing better than we have in years. That’s why I can leave with you and not worry that there’s something going on that Delvin and Vex can’t deal with themselves. All she hurt of it was me. Trust me, if she had done anything to harm the Guild I’d be out there hunting her down with my claws ready, not just trying to find her because she’s my wife. I would kill her, and I wouldn’t think twice about it. That’s why I wanted you to turn me, Andante. Not only to be powerful, even though I obviously wanted that; but to be able to protect the people I care for.”
Andante had flown beside him, silent for a time, thinking about what he’d said. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that strongly about someone. He thought about the Listener in Bravil, and the flames, and wondered whether he would have sacrificed himself or even a part of himself to save her. Yes, I would have tried; but if I’d been in any real danger I’d have run, the way she told me to run. The way I did run. I wouldn’t have changed myself or done anything to harm myself just because of those people.
I guess that makes Brynjolf a better man than I. He glanced at Brynjolf. He’s beautiful to me, even in this form. I wonder if I would go to lengths like that for him.
He stopped and settled to the ground.
“Bryn. We’re coming up on Whiterun. I think we should probably revert, don’t you?”
Brynjolf laughed. “Yes. I forgot that I was flying for a moment there.” He dropped to the ground and his body shimmered, shortened, turned human again.
Andante smiled, looking at him. Yes, I think I would. I think I would do just about anything for this man.
__
“Meet me at Volkihar in a few days, yes?”
“Aye.” Brynjolf was fresh out of the bath, with only a towel wrapped around his hips. His hair dripped on Andante’s face as he leaned forward to brush a light kiss across his lips. “Try to behave yourself, lad.”
“Bryn,” Andante said, running his hands over Brynjolf’s chest and down his sides toward the towel.
“Andante,” Brynjolf replied, grabbing Andante’s curious hands as they approached his waist. “If you don’t go now you’ll never get out of here. It’s bad enough with me being your boss as it is. You do work for the Listener as well, and it’s been a long time since you’ve checked in. I’ve been keeping track.”
“But Bryn.” Damn, he thought. I just want to give that towel a little tug. Then he sighed. He’s right. That towel comes off and it’ll be hours. He knows me too well.
And besides. Delvin’s contact isn’t going to be happy if I am late.
“All right, all right. I’m on my way. See you in a few days.” He smiled and walked up the stairs, out the door, toward Riften’s north gate.
The job for Garan Marethi had been quick and painless. Andante had taken a great deal of pleasure in shooting the sun as they walked down the road toward the intersection that would take a person across the Rift in one direction and into Morrowind in the other. He had waited for the satisfying explosions, watched the blackness race across the sky, and then turned to grin at Brynjolf and say “Good morning, sunshine.”
Brynjolf had snorted and rolled his eyes.
Broken Helm Hollow was up on a hill, above the road, an old mine that was still in good enough shape to make a decent headquarters for bandits. And bandits there were; but not very effective ones. It took the two of them only minutes to take them all down. Either one of them working alone could have crept up behind each one of the bandits and slit throats or drained bodies without making a sound. Between the two of them, it was deadly and efficient. Andante expected worse deep in the most secluded part of the mine, but was surprised. What they found there was a lone vampire. He was a very strong vampire, but he was up against two others that surpassed him – for Andante had to admit that at this stage Brynjolf was getting to be nearly as strong as he was himself – and the battle was over almost as soon as it began.
They’d returned to Riften to rest at Honeyside. When Brynjolf finally slept Andante crept out of the house to the Ragged Flagon to find Delvin Mallory.
“Are we ready to move, Delvin?” he’d asked quietly.
“Yes we are,” Delvin said. “I’ve got the courier ready to go when you’re ready to meet him. It took some time to get everything arranged but it’s done, just give the word.” He gave Andante an odd look. “It sure has been busy down here lately. I hope things are all still nice and quiet on the outside, no trouble.”
“Oh, no more trouble than usual, Delvin. People trying to kill me, gargoyles out of nowhere in the dark, sun black during the day, just normal things. I’ll head out first thing tomorrow if that works well. Meet the courier at the Listener’s house?”
Delvin nodded slowly, still peering at Andante with an expression Andante couldn’t quite interpret.
“Right. Go to the inn and look for a guy wearing a green outfit with a hood. Looks just like a normal courier but he isn’t. Make sure he sees you; he knows to wait a little bit and follow you to the Listener’s house.”
“Excellent. I really think we’re on to something here, Delvin.”
“So do I. It wasn’t easy to find one of these people who was willing to talk to me; they’re not supposed to be known, not even to each other. He’s going to come back and visit our face-changer friend once he’s done, that’s how secret this group usually is. Now what we’ll do with this choice bit of information if it turns out to be true, that’s another thing.”
Andante nodded. “For another day. I know it would make Brynjolf happy…” He trailed off, remembering I would kill her, and I wouldn’t think twice about it. “At least I think it would.”
“We’ll deal with that when the time comes,” Delvin said, crossing his arms and nodding. “Get in touch with me once you’re sure. I’ll contact Roggi.”
Andante nodded. “Thanks, Delvin. I’m off.” He gave Delvin a short bow, and slipped back across town and into the bed beside Brynjolf.
All the way to Dawnstar he thought about it. What if they were right and the Listener, Sayma Sendu, was really Dagnell? What, exactly, would he do about it? It wasn’t as though he hadn’t pondered the question before; but now there was a distinct possibility that they would find out soon.
I really will be right between them, if it’s true, just as I’ve feared: the shade of Brynjolf’s former lover and the very much living and breathing woman who he’s married to. I’ll be an unfortunate, embarrassing side-note.
Or will I? Would he really take her back?
There was a tiny part of him that thought no, of course Brynjolf wouldn’t take back a woman who had drugged him and left him holding the reins of the Thieves Guild against his will. Of course he wouldn’t want back the woman who had betrayed their marriage and then left him alone, especially not when he was currently with someone who so thoroughly loved him and couldn’t conceal it no matter how hard he tried. Of course not.
And then he remembered the look on Brynjolf’s face, the sound of his voice when he’d said “I want to bring her home and hold her.” It was like the looks he’d given Dynjyl when he thought Andante wasn’t looking, only moreso.
Of course he’ll take her back.
I think.
As he whispered the answer to the Black Door’s question and let himself into the Sanctuary, he could feel his resolve to learn the answer to the question slipping. He stepped into the darkened space, nearly ready to abandon the whole idea.
“Andante!” The voice, oily and bright, called from his right and he turned to see a familiar face in a jester’s hat.
He froze.
Cicero.
Another veil in his mind dropped. Another of Vitus’ memories came fresh and clear into his head.
Cicero was in Cheydinhal. He was part of the Bruma sanctuary before the collapse. He visited us in Bravil – or we visited him – I’m not sure. But we’ve met, before. Why doesn’t he recognize me?
It came back to him, as clearly as if there’d been no decade or more intervening. The handsome redheaded assassin, senior to him by many degrees but every bit as obsequious and annoying then as he was now; he’d met him, but as a much younger man.
Cicero – except that his name wasn’t Cicero then, just as mine wasn’t Andante. It was… it was… Or was it? I don’t know. I don’t remember, damn it all.
“Hello, dear,” he managed to call out to Cicero. Red hair. Why is it always redheads?
A horrible thought occurred to him.
Did we… He shuddered. Oh by all the gods I hope not. I don’t remember such a thing.
“Oh my lovely Andante,” Cicero said, wriggling about in front of the Night Mother’s coffin. “It’s been so long since dear, sweet Cicero has seen you. Is everything well? Are you well?”
He’s mad. Of course he doesn’t remember me. I was a nobody. And I’m older now. He might remember the name Vitus, if he heard it. I’d best take care that he doesn’t.
“Yes, dear, I’m fine. You look well, yourself.”
Cicero looked in danger of coming out of his skin with excitement. “Oh yes, yes indeed. And so is our Mother. Cicero takes very good care of Mother.”
Gritting his teeth, Andante stepped forward and patted Cicero on the shoulder. He’ll be so excited that I touched him that he won’t remember anything else for days.
“I know you do, my dear. Now tell me, is the Listener about? I’m quite overdue to check in with her, see if she might have a contract for me, you know, that sort of thing.”
True to form, Cicero nearly fell apart at having been praised and, even more, touched. He was nearly ecstatic. He babbled about the Listener and the Night Mother and the others for a few moments and Andante stood there, nodding sagely at appropriate moments but understanding exactly nothing that Cicero was saying. Finally he excused himself and made his way to Babette.
Babette’s eyes were dancing as she looked up at him.
“You did it, Andante! You actually did it!”
He nodded. “Yes. We did it, Brynjolf and I. We got Auriel’s Bow, and we took Volkihar. We’ve rebuilt it, by the way, the castle. It’s beautiful. You’re welcome to visit us at any time. Just let me know in advance so that the nobles don’t think they’re being invaded by ferals or something equally ridiculous. They really are so full of themselves out there.”
Babette shook her head. “I knew all that, Andante. Word travels quickly. I meant the sun. You blotted out the very sun!”
He smiled, and feared that it was an unpleasant smile, the smile that Vitus would make, as the tiny curl of excitement rose from his core at the thought. Yes, we did.
“Well I won’t keep it dark all the time, Babette. Growing food, and such, you know. But be careful if you’re out and the sun is hidden. It seems that all manner of things have come out now that it’s dark. Gargoyles and such, and they’re really rather impressively strong. I wouldn’t want you to be hurt.”
“I will be careful, Andante. Now I’m guessing that you’re looking for the Listener?”
“Yes, and Cicero was less than helpful.”
She snickered. “I have no doubt. She’s at home. I’m sure she’ll want to see you.”
“Thank you, Babette,” he said, turning to leave. Then he turned back. “For everything. I wouldn’t have done any of it if you hadn’t convinced me that it was a possibility. There’s just one thing. About Falion…”
She nodded. “I heard. As I told you, word travels quickly. It’s a shame, but I’m sure it couldn’t be helped.”
Andante nodded, and left. Right. It couldn’t be helped because I’m a gods-damned skooma addict and the only thing that keeps me from being a complete catastrophe is the fact that I’m a vampire. But that’s all done now. I won’t ever be turning human again.
He stopped at the Windpeak Inn long enough to buy a drink and toss it back, and to make eye contact with a skinny, unimpressive man wearing a green tunic with a hood. The man gave him the slightest of nods and then turned away. Andante thanked the innkeeper for the hospitality and left, scooting up the road to Sayma’s home.
She looked him over after opening the door to his knock. Andante couldn’t tell whether she was pleased to see him or annoyed that it had been so long since he’d checked in.
“Hello, Andante,” she said quietly. “It’s been a while since you’ve darkened our doors. What have you been up to?” She gestured to a seat and rustled about while he sat. When she came around from behind him and handed him a snifter of brandy he accepted it but looked up at her in surprise.
“Well thank you, Listener,” he said. “My favorite. To what do I owe this degree of hospitality?”
She shrugged. “It’s Sayma, I’ve told you. And I know this is your favorite, so there you are.” She sat down opposite him, near the fireplace, and smiled. “Am I not allowed to be hospitable?”
“Uh… no, not at all. It’s just that I thought you might be a bit less than pleased that I’ve taken so long to check back in.”
Sayma grinned at him, a crooked little grin that admitted what he’d just said.
“Well, yes I am. But I understand that things come up. I finally tracked you down when people in Solitude said you’d been coming and going frequently out in that area lately, in the company of a man with red hair?”
She does have a good network. I don’t know why I would have expected otherwise. “Yes,” he said carefully. “Brynjolf and I were handling some business out by the border with High Rock. I’m afraid I can’t go into many details.” He sipped at his brandy, grateful for his vampiric immunity to poisons. He’d heard the story of how Sayma had drugged Brynjolf’s drink often enough to be a bit wary.
Sayma smiled. “Well Brynjolf is nothing if not conspicuous.” She shrugged. “He hasn’t met me, but I do know who he is. It’s hard not to notice him with that red hair.”
“True. I tell him that all the time.” Andante fought not to look at the door. Let’s get on with this. I’m very uncomfortable at the moment. “So am I to understand that you have a job for me?”
Sayma nodded. “One moment.” She stood and disappeared into the bedroom to the side, then emerged and handed him a note. “It’s in Riften, which is why I wanted you to handle it. An itinerant priest of Mara who apparently takes his calling to spread love amongst the people a little too literally. The father of one of this man’s ministrations wants the priest dead, according to the Night Mother. Could you handle it for me the next time you’re there?”
Andante nodded, and slipped the note into a pouch. “Of course, Listener,” he murmured. I’ll check the details later. It sounds like a simple five minute errand. “I should be back in Riften very…”
The knock on the door interrupted him, and he glanced toward it as Sayma made her way across the room. The courier stepped inside. He didn’t speak, merely presented the note for Sayma to take.
“Is this from someone in particular?” she asked. “Any message, besides this?” The courier shook his head and motioned once more that she should take the note.
“One moment,” she said, opening a small safe in the nearby bookshelf and pulling out a small pouch of coins. She presented it to him with one hand and took the note from him with the other. “Thank you for your trouble,” she told him. The man’s gaze flickered to Andante before he left.
Sayma opened the note and read, and Andante watched her face, carefully, trying to catch the look in her eyes as well as her expressions. She was completely neutral at first, nodding a bit as her eyes ran down the page. Alright, it must say it’s a job. She hasn’t gotten to the location yet. The seconds ticked by. Come on, come on. Could we all possibly have been wrong about this?
Sayma suddenly flinched. Her eyes widened for just a moment and then squinted again, an expression that might have been calculation or might have been pain. She turned away from Andante and cleared her throat.
“It would seem,” she said slowly, “that I have another job for you.”
Yes! Yes it must be her! Be calm, be calm…
“Oh yes? Tell me. I have nothing in particular to do aside from what you just gave me and I’d be more than happy to take another. Don’t want to get rusty.”
“Yes,” she replied faintly. “That wouldn’t do.” She faced him and handed him the note. “It’s nothing special, just a bandit leader. You’ll have to take out the whole group, of course but…”
“Just a bandit?”
“Yes,” she said, “but it’s in a location I’d prefer to avoid myself and I don’t know that any of the new ones are ready for this type of thing yet. Not multiple targets at the same location.” She shook her head. “And Nazir and Babette are busy training them, and Cicero, well…”
Andante laughed. Perfect. She’s just told me everything I needed to know. Hello, Dagnell.
“He doesn’t do assassinations any longer anyway, does he?” he said. He doesn’t. He used to. I remember him back then. By all the gods. He was so good at it, too.
“Correct.” She met his gaze. “So you’ll do this for me? It will be on your way back to the Rift anyway, if you go that route.”
“Certainly. Whatever you wish.” He rose, trying to keep his face neutral, trying not to reveal his excitement.
“Thank you, Andante,” Sayma said, opening the door for him. “And, um…”
“Yes?”
“Be sure to give Brynjolf my regards.”
Andante smiled.
“I shall, indeed.”
He slipped out into the crisp air and began running south. As soon as he was certain that nobody near Sayma’s house could see him, he turned west. He would run to Windhelm and take a carriage directly to Riften. There was nothing at Nilheim but the ghost of a moment that only Dagnell and Roggi Knot-Beard had shared.
Yes. We found her. Brynjolf’s wife.
Damn.