Sayma stared at Coyle as he sank back down onto the bench opposite her.
“I can’t believe I just said that,” he muttered. “Don’t see someone in twenty years and just blurt out something like that.”
She didn’t know what to say. She was still in a state of shock. She was still shaky from having fainted. She was still in a painful combination of panic and anger that Brynjolf had stormed out the way he had, just as though she’d had any control at all over the situation.
And she couldn’t get over the fact that Coyle was here, in front of her, close enough to touch after twenty years.
One minute I’m fixing dinner and the next the world has turned upside-down.
Oh, Coyle. Why did it have to happen the way it did?
“It’s… it’s ok,” she stammered. “I’m a little off-kilter myself.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“For…?”
He grinned. “Well, I meant I’m sorry for just blurting out what I was thinking. But I’m sorry for everything.” He shook his head. “You asked me whether it would have made a difference, to know I was hurting you. I said ‘of course’ and that’s true enough right now; but if I’m honest I’d have to admit that then, back then when Daron was still alive…” He shook his head. “No. It wouldn’t have. The stuff gets its hooks into you and won’t let go. I watched you walking away and I couldn’t make myself stop, or get up to stop you from leaving. So, I guess I’m sorry for that. More than anything else.”
Sayma nodded, saddened by his confession but not surprised by it.
“I always figured that was the case. That’s why I hate it, Coyle. Because of what it did to you and Daron. And I’ve known others, since then. One of the men who worked for me, a friend of Brynjolf’s. He died an addict.” She frowned. “I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t affect everyone the way it did you two, but I still don’t have to like it.”
One of Coyle’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I’ve heard about that ‘friend,’ from Bryn. He worked for you, too, eh? What are you the boss of?”
She felt the neutral expression she’d been trying to keep freeze solid on her face. That was an unfortunate turn of phrase, wasn’t it? Well what was I going to say? Brynjolf’s lover was an addict?
“I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry.”
He smirked. “I see. If you told me you’d have to kill me?”
Sayma almost laughed. It was both unsettling and heartrending that they hadn’t seen each other in decades and yet were talking as if they were just picking up a conversation they hadn’t finished the day before.
“Something like that. I’ve not taken a very active role in things ever since Qara was born, though I am still officially the one everyone listens to.” I’d best be careful. It’s not as though Coyle doesn’t know we’re a bit shady. Still, we’ve done an excellent job of keeping that to ourselves all these years and it would be a shame to ruin things now.
She watched his eyes as he scanned her and nodded slowly. His grin turned into a smirk, and as it did an ache took hold of her heart.
He knows. He always knows. He’s understood me from the moment I met him, when I was just a little child. It’s never changed.
Oh, Coyle.
“But,” she said carefully, trying to change the subject, “you seem fine now. Are you?”
He laughed – a single, raspy chuckle that sounded more like sarcasm coming loose from its moorings than anything else. He stood, and stretched, and turned to face her; then he plopped down onto the braided rug she’d made long ago and put out here in the gazebo because it didn’t seem good enough for the house.
“Well,” he said slowly, the sarcastic grin not leaving his face. “Not really. I can come across like a sober and responsible adult if I have to but… do you know, the day I finally met Brynjolf I had to get to him via the back entrance out of Riften’s jail?”
She stared at him, not knowing what to say. “I am not sure I knew there was a back entrance.”
“It’s more like an escape hatch that someone carved into the back wall of one of the cells.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, Dag, it’s just…”
She couldn’t help but interrupt. “Sayma. I know it seems strange, but I left Dagnell behind a very long time ago. My children don’t even know there was such a person.”
He nodded, slowly. “I see. I’m sorry.” He reached up slowly and ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I understand wanting to leave the past behind as well as anyone. Damned pirates.” He said the last two words so quietly she almost missed them.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Aw, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you some day, but not today. The beginning of it is that after Daron passed I pulled myself together enough to get work hauling sail. Took some time to get strong enough to do it, but, hey, I guess I was always pretty good at that.”
Sayma smiled. “You were. I remember you climbing all over the riggings.”
“I almost had a decent life again, too, doing that. We shipped stuff up around High Rock and along the coast here. I’ve been to Solitude, and Dawnstar, and Windhelm. Even made it over to Blacklight a couple of times. But it’s a long, long time out there on the sea if you’re an addict, and I ended up…” He trailed off, frowning, and shook his head. “That’s a tale for another day, and maybe a couple of tankards of mead, once we’ve got Bryn settled again.” He gave Sayma a lopsided, guilty grin. “Well, like I was saying. I had it under control just enough to keep going. I had to. I watched Daron die and that’s when I knew I just couldn’t keep living the way we’d been living. Doing things I never would have done otherwise. I guess you just get used to it after awhile.”
Sayma sighed. “So I’ve heard,” she said absently, her gaze drifting across the open yard toward the lake. “Seems like all the men in my life have ended up getting used to living in ways I’d never have expected.”
She suddenly realized that it was dead silent, and looked back at Coyle to see him staring up at her with the strangest expression. Oh damn. I’ve done it again, haven’t I?
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
“No, you’re right,” he said. “It’s not what I’d have preferred to do as a way to get by, but I had to get by. You can’t just stop once the skooma really has you. I can’t even begin to tell you how painful it is if you just stop. So I have to have some, pretty much every day, but I limit myself. If it never got to Bryn, well, he’s one of the lucky ones. And that’s what he tells me; mostly he just stays away from it and he’s careful when he has to do quality control.”
Sayma didn’t know how to respond to that. She’d thought she had her life back on track, for years now. The children were grown, and mostly gone; she and Brynjolf had managed to pry Maven Black-Briar’s fingers out of the Guild, for the most part. And they’d been happier for all this time than she could possibly have hoped.
And it had all been a façade. At least that’s what it seemed like now.
Whatever happened to the girl who was tough enough to grow up on her own and make it halfway across Tamriel without backup? I barely remember her now.
She shook her head at herself and forced her attention back to the present.
“So he’s been making skooma all this time?” She had to ask. She knew it was going to hurt to hear the truth but she had to know.
“Gosh, I’m sorry about that, Sayma,” Coyle said. “You weren’t supposed to know. He even told me to keep it under wraps and I was just so rattled to see you again that I totally forgot. Guess I left my brain in my other pants.”
Sayma sighed. “That doesn’t make it better, you know, to find out that he’s been keeping something from me all this time.”
Coyle snorted. “And you never told him that I was Coyle Sendu? Can you blame him for being upset? Stendarr’s balls, Sayma, I’m flattered but that would have bothered me, too, and nothing bothers me anymore.” He shook his head, rose, and took a seat beside her. “So I guess I was right about him after all, huh.”
She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, you know. Every time he talks about this former business associate of yours there’s a tone in his voice. I’ve wondered about him since I met him. I guess when you’ve done as much of absolutely everything as a guy like me has, just to survive, you get a feeling about people.” He glanced at Sayma. “Though why a man would be interested in another man if he was married to you; well, I can’t quite fathom it.”
Sayma found herself unable to catch her breath for a moment. It had been painful enough to watch him and Daron sell themselves for skooma, back when they were all young. It had been gut-wrenching to realize, later, that her own bad choices had opened the door for Vitus to step through and claim a part of Brynjolf’s heart. And the worst of it was…
“It was my fault. I ran away, Coyle. I ran away from you, and came here; and a couple of years later I ran away from here. I thought I was being strong, at the time. What I was being was stupid. I can’t blame Bryn for what happened next. Andante was just easy to like. He loved Brynjolf with everything he was at a time when Bryn needed him. At least that’s what everyone tells me. And I wasn’t here. I made a mistake, and I ran away. That’s why I’m not Dag anymore.”
Coyle surprised her by reaching over and squeezing her hand, briefly. He might as well have been reaching into her chest to squeeze her heart.
“Hmm,” he said. “Don’t hold it against him, Sayma. About the skooma, I mean. It’s not good that he never told you, though I can see why. He really is the best. He says he learned from this Andante fellow. And now I’ve learned from him. I can tell you that it’s pretty widely known that Skyrim’s a lot better off for all the money he raises than it would have been otherwise.”
“What? What do you mean by widely known?” That wasn’t something she felt comfortable hearing, not at all.
“No, no, don’t get me wrong. Almost nobody knows who’s making it, or the fact that all the extra money your High King has comes from a slightly, uh, irregular business. I just have connections in low places, you could say. That’s what brought me here.”
He paused for a moment, and Sayma heard him clear his throat. Oh dear. Whatever it is, don’t say it.
“If I’d known you were here I’d have been here a lot sooner. Trust me on that.”
“Coyle, please don’t…”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Sayma,” he repeated. “Brynjolf is a good man. A very good man. You’re fortunate to have him, and he’s fortunate to have you. But if I’d known you were here I wouldn’t have been able to stay away. Probably just as well.” He chuckled. “I mean just look at this place! Who would ever have imagined one of us would end up living in a place like this? Back when we were kids, swiping bread off the tables in the market?”
Sayma couldn’t look at him, but she felt herself beginning to smile anyway. “Fishing under the docks?”
Coyle chuckled. “That’s not all we did under the docks.”
She felt her cheeks getting hot. “Now cut that out. We were just kids.”
“Only until we weren’t anymore,” he said. She could feel the grin in his voice, even without looking at him. “Hey, do you remember the time we took that trip out into the desert and camped at the oasis? Remember that?”
Sayma closed her eyes and smiled in spite of herself. She couldn’t possibly, ever, forget that. They’d decided to get away from the docks – and Daron – for awhile, and had trekked out into the desert, as far away from other people as they could get. They’d pitched a tent, and made a campfire. And she could still hear his voice – back before age and hard living had made it raspy and low.
“So, you wanna go skinny dipping?” he’d teased. “Nobody else out here for leagues and that water sure looks nice.”
“Come on, Coyle. It’s the middle of the night!”
“All the better!” he’d proclaimed, shucking himself out of his already-minimal clothing and scampering out to sit atop a rock in the middle of the pond. “Come on in!”
She’d laughed while he sang a rowdy sailing song, and peeled herself out of her own armor, and followed him out into the water. They’d splashed each other and chased each other around like the barely-adult people they were, until finally – as so often happened – he’d pulled her close for a kiss that started gentle and ended up anything but.
His hair was longer than mine back then, almost. And he had the most beautiful arms.
She blushed thinking about it. And then she thought about the day she and Brynjolf had bathed in a similar oasis, back when they’d been making very careful steps back toward each other. She was simultaneously delighted to remember a happy time from her youth and saddened to realize that she and Brynjolf were once again at odds with each other.
“And then you turned me down,” Coyle said with a laugh. “I should have known better but, you know, romantic that I am I just had to see if I could sweep you off your feet.”
Sayma cast a quick glance at Coyle and snorted with laughter. “Romantic that you are. A regular poet.”
“Well it’s not my fault you didn’t take me seriously!” he protested. “There I was, all starry-eyed and everything, and asked you to marry me and you thought I was kidding!”
Sayma shook her head and giggled. “Of course I thought you were kidding! There we were, two stupid kids, out in the middle of nowhere, and you said…” She stopped, remembering the smile that he’d been wearing, standing there by the fire.
‘I love you, Dag,’ he told me. ‘I’ve loved you since we were little kids. Let’s always be together. Let’s get married.’
And I laughed at him. I really didn’t think he was serious. Because why would anyone think I was good enough to marry? It was the same thing that happened with Roggi. And both of them just smiled and swallowed their disappointment.
“I said I loved you ever since we were kids,” Coyle said. “And I meant it.” He didn’t sound bitter, or angry, or distressed in any way; he was just very matter-of-fact. “That’s just the way it is. No point in trying to pretend anything else.”
Oh, Coyle.
“Well, Brynjolf ended up being the lucky one, and I won’t have myself being the reason something happens to disturb that,” he continued. “I really like him, you know? He’s a good man, Sayma, and you should hear him talk about you. I didn’t know who to expect meeting his wife but I knew it would be someone special. You need to hang onto that.”
He rose to his feet, stretched again, and grinned at her. “Well, here’s the thing. I’ve been smelling that stew you were making ever since I walked into your house and I don’t mind telling you that I’m a hungry guy. My mouth has been watering and I’ve been trying not to let my stomach make too much noise.”
Sayma laughed and rose to her feet, crossing her arms and pretending to be cross. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you? Anything for a free meal.”
He laughed. “It’s so good to see you again. And yeah. Anything for a free meal.”
Brynjolf had come back from the Crypt prepared to admit that he’d been too quick to anger. It was always the same, he thought as he walked slowly across the yard and toward the back, where he thought he heard voices. I let my temper get the best of me. I’ve done it all my life. I blew up at her and almost hurt her, back when she was still Dag. I threatened to drain her dry when I found out that she had been hiding from me for two years, when I was still a vampire. I scared her half to death down in Hammerfell when I got angry talking about Brunulvr – and thank the Eight I took it out on a rock instead of on her. And here I was throwing a fit and threatening to get turned again – which would have been the single stupidest thing ever – just because…
He looked up at the gazebo just as Sayma’s low chuckle rippled across the open space between them. There they were, Sayma and Coyle, standing close together under the canopy. He couldn’t see exactly what was happening, but he saw Coyle’s broad back, and saw his hand on her arm.
Brynjolf opened his mouth, and shut it again.
I’ve lost her, haven’t I. All these years and just like that, I’ve lost her.
He took a deep breath and let it out, quietly, not wanting to attract their attention. Then he turned and slowly walked back the way he’d come, not knowing exactly what he was going to do but knowing that he needed the company of friends.
The Cistern was quiet and peaceful when he stepped into it. A few of the men were there, gathering near the food; but he found that he didn’t have the heart to go visit with them. All he could think about, looking at the space, was how it had looked twenty years earlier – dim and dirty and full of cobwebs.
Cobwebs and grunge.
She came here because of him. And now he’s here.
He heaved a sigh and left the way he’d come, quietly, without speaking.
A few minutes later he found himself back at the head of the Crypt’s stairs. “Are you still here?” he called, making his slow way down them.
“Of course, boss,” Tyna called up. “You don’t need a special invitation, you know.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “But I guess I always want to be sure I’m not in the way.”
“You’d never be in the way, Brynjolf,” Agryn said. “But I’m still not going to turn you.”
In spite of himself, Brynjolf chuckled. “No, lad, that’s not why I’m here. I went home and, well, I’m not exactly sure what was going on but I…” He trailed off and shrugged. “I needed to be with friends.”
“And so you are,” Agryn told him. “I’m sure you’d be just as welcome with Serana, too, but I’m not so…”
“Sanguine?” Vyctyna chimed in, giggling.
“Tyna,” Agryn groaned. “That was awful.” He grinned up at Brynjolf. “Yes. I’m not so sanguine about the rest of them out there. I’m sure some of them would love to get a taste of the blood that was next in line after Andante.”
“I’m sorry things are unsettled right now, Bryn,” Vyctyna said. “But try not to worry. Anyway, what can I get you? Mead? Water? A blood potion?”
Brynjolf was amused at Tyna in spite of himself. He found himself cracking a smile. She can tell I’m upset and is doing her best to make me feel at home. He’d just about opened his mouth to reply when a bright Imperial voice called from the entryway above.
“Greetings and salutations, all ye who are below! Who’s home?”
Brynjolf froze. That voice was far too familiar.
“We are, as usual,” Vyctyna replied. “Come on in!”
He heard the light but irregular tapping of the man bounding down the stairs. A young man’s footsteps. A young man’s voice.
“You’ll be pleased, I hope, to learn that I not only eliminated the feral you sent me after, but also took out that completely odious mage you mentioned, who was in the same place. It really was a good thing that…”
Ondale Perdeti stopped in mid-sentence and mid-stride as he looked up to see Brynjolf standing there with Agryn and Vyctyna.
“You!” he said. “You’re here?”
“I might ask the same thing, lad,” Brynjolf answered, wondering how he could contain his dismay. “I’m glad to know that my hunch about you being a vampire was right but I can’t say that I ever expected to see you here!”
Dale looked at all three of them in turn and shook his head. “Likewise, I’m sure. Particularly since it’s rather obvious that you are not a vampire.”
Agryn and Vyctyna looked at each other in confusion and then back at Brynjolf and Dale.
“You two know each other?” Vyctyna blurted out.
“I wouldn’t say we know each other, exactly,” Dale said slowly. “We’ve met. We’ve spoken over a drink. I’ve met Brynjolf’s utterly delightful daughter. I’m aware that he knew my father.”
Agryn frowned. “Who was your father? And why would Brynjolf know him?”
“His name was Vitus Perdeti,” Dale said, staring at Brynjolf.
Yes. Yes it was. And how painful it was to get that name back to him.
“Should I know that name?” Agryn asked. “Aside from the last name being the same as yours, of course, but that’s hardly unusual. Many people share surnames, and I’ve known of several Perdetis over the years.”
Brynjolf looked at him and shook his head. “You never met him, Agryn, even though we’ve just recently been speaking of him.” Agryn’s frown deepened. “But you’ll know who we’re speaking of if I tell you that he used a different name when we travelled together. He called himself Andante.”
“Wait, what?” Vyctyna exclaimed. She turned to stare at Dale. “Your father was the one who took down Lord Harkon and you never told us?”
Dale looked confused. More than confused, actually, Brynjolf thought. Poor lad is trying to sort out half a dozen things at the same time. If he didn’t remind me so much of his father I’d almost feel bad for him.
“I…” Dale began speaking and then stopped, shaking his head. “I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t know. I never met my father. I had only a few nuggets of information about him that I received from my mother; and of course Brynjolf here was kind enough to supply a few more. I can’t say that I ever thought much about him in any respect, truthfully.” He rubbed his chin for a moment, looking back and forth between Brynjolf and Agryn.
“I can’t fathom what reason I would have had to give you the name of my father. It would never have occurred to me as being remotely relevant to anything at all.”
Brynjolf sighed. “I think I can shed some light on this.”
“Not too much light, please,” Dale said, earning himself a glare from Vyctyna.
I’d laugh, but I can’t. He reminds me too much of his father when we first met.
“I’ll keep it brief, then,” he said quietly. “This is all happening because a couple of years before Harkon passed – before you and Edwyn arrived, Agryn – Vitus Perdeti failed a contract in Markarth. He was taken and tortured by the Thalmor, and he lost his memory. That’s why everyone knew him as Andante. That was the name he used because he’d lost his own. That was the name he used when we found Serana. That’s the name he used when we killed Harkon.”
“Huh,” Vyctyna said. “So everyone at the castle kept talking about Andante because…”
“Because he died before you all showed up in Skyrim, and nobody in the castle ever knew his real name. He didn’t, either, until just a short time before he died. I don’t remember mentioning it to Serana, though I might have in passing. There wasn’t a reason to. I knew who Andante was, they knew who Andante was…”
“Let me see if I have this straight,” Dale interrupted. “My father, the man who never so much as darkened my mother’s door for my entire lifetime, was the one who took down the legendary Lord Harkon? He was a vampire strong enough to take down Harkon?”
Brynjolf nodded. “Aye. That about sums it up.”
“And he called himself ‘Andante’ because he failed a contract given to him by…”
Brynjolf sighed. “I suppose there’s no point in trying to keep that a secret after twenty years. He was in the Dark Brotherhood, lad. Both before he came to Skyrim and afterward. I guess some things just stay with you.”
Dale stared at them for what felt like an eon. Then he tossed his head back and started laughing, a full tenor belly-laugh that made Brynjolf’s heart hurt because he remembered Andante’s nearly-identical laugh so very well.
“Well isn’t that rich,” he chuckled, wiping a few tears of laughter away with the back of his hand. “Like father, like son, it would seem. It’s not as though I aspired to grow up just like dear old Dad, though.”
Brynjolf frowned. “Wait, what are you saying?”
Agryn heaved a huge sigh. “Bryn, Dale is our contact in the Brotherhood. Our… other contact, after Babette.”
Brynjolf’s mind spun. And so did his head, nearly to the point where he needed to sit down. Dale Perdeti is in the Brotherhood and Sayma never told me? What is going on?
Am I completely irrelevant to her, now?
“Alright,” Dale said. “Let me be certain that I have this clear in my mind. My father was in the Dark Brotherhood. And a vampire.”
“In the Brotherhood since he was a boy,” Brynjolf said, feeling somehow apart from his own voice as if someone else was speaking. “Back before the Sanctuary in Bravil was destroyed. He operated as a – lone contractor, I guess you’d say – until he ended up being taken out by the Thalmor.” He looked at Dale and nodded. “And he was a very powerful vampire, one of the strongest I’ve ever known.”
Dale smirked. “And you, the very human father of the delightful Miss Qaralana, are here in the presence of three potentially hungry vampires because…?”
“Watch your tongue, boy,” Agryn said, the tone of his voice sending chills up Brynjolf’s spine. “Brynjolf was Andante’s – that is, Vitus Perdeti’s – second in command. I never saw Perdeti in action but I have seen Brynjolf. He was a much more powerful vampire than you’ll be for a very long time to come. He was the rightful Lord of the Volkihar after my sire died.”
Brynjolf watched Dale’s eyes widen for a moment as the two of them stared at each other. Then Dale’s eyes narrowed.
“But you’re no longer a vampire.”
“That is correct. Of course, if you were interested in providing me the use of your fangs, we could remedy that,” Brynjolf found himself saying with a tiny smirk, the nagging desire to experience that power once more rising up yet again in spite of his best intentions.
There was an enormous sound. Suddenly Agryn filled the space, roaring, his huge gray wings keeping him just above the floor. Brynjolf’s hands flew up defensively, and Dale, caught completely off-guard, cowered beside him.
“NO,” Agryn growled. “You will not. You will not offer, Ondale. And you will not ask, Brynjolf. Not now. Not ever. Never again. Do you understand?”
Brynjolf and Dale looked at each other again, neither of them able to speak.
“Aggie,” Vyctyna said softly. “This is a little much. Put away the wings now, okay?” She touched him on the arm and smiled.
She’s afraid. She’s seen him act this way before, and she’s afraid. Maybe he’s right, and he’s going to go mad the way Edwyn did.
Shor’s beard.
The fearsome gray creature that was Agryn Gernic snorted, shook his head, and reverted back to his human form. He dusted off his armor and cleared his throat.
“Sorry about that,” he mumbled. “I got carried away.”
“That’s alright, lad,” Brynjolf said gently. “So did I. It’s been a long day.”
“Maybe it would be better if you left us for a little while, Boss,” Vyctyna said, looking at him apologetically. “I think we’ve all had a bit of a shock just now.”
“Aye. I’ll just be on my way then,” Brynjolf said, heading for the stairs. As he climbed them, he heard Agryn.
“Dale, sit down. Tell me how it went, and then we’ll give you your next assignment.”
“Right away, sir.”
Brynjolf emerged into night, wondering where he should go. And wishing he had the company of his very best friend.