“And yet how far you have outstripped her, and how slowly she is learning the ways of my kitchen. Do you really believe she has any business being here?”

“She saved my life,” Annaïg said. “Qijne would have killed me.”

“Yes, I know that,” he replied. “In that moment she was very useful to me, and to you. But that moment is gone.”

“I pray you,” she said.

“Don’t pray to me,” he said. “I give this decision to you. You could have Sarha or Loy for assistants—with them you would learn quickly, rise quickly. You could work directly for me, as my understudy. But so long as Slyr is here, she will be your only assistant. But if you ask me to rid you of her, I will do it in an instant.”

“Let her stay, please.”

“As I said,” he went on, disappointment evident in his voice, “it’s your choice, and remains your choice. I hope you will try to consider that decision without passion or sympathy. I hope you will be great.”

“I will try to be great,” Annaïg said. “But I hope to do it without betraying my friends.”

“Does this work, where you are from?”

“I … I don’t know. Sometimes, I hope.”

He nodded and his gaze found hers, and in his eyes she saw something both frightening and compelling. She felt again the caress on the back of her neck, and her belly tingled.

“There is another decision I give you to make,” he said, very softly. “Like the first, you are free to make it on any evening I have you here.”

She couldn’t find any words, or even think straight. She had flirted with a few boys, kissed a few, but it had always seemed clumsy and ridiculous, and she’d certainly never been swept away by the sort of passion she had read of.

But this wasn’t a boy. This was a man, a man who wanted her, wanted her very badly, who could probably take her if he desired it.

She realized she was breathing hard.

“I—ah …” she started. “I wonder if I can have some water.”

He smiled, and leaned back, and signed for water to be brought, and she sat there the rest of the evening feeling drunk and foolish and very much a little girl. He could see right through it all, through any manner and bearing she tried to fabricate.

But beneath all of that there was this other, little voice, the one that reminded her that it should always be her choice, that it shouldn’t be something someone could condescend to give you. And that voice didn’t go away, and when dinner was over she returned to her room, where Slyr had passed out, alone.

FIVE

A short morning’s ride brought them to a hill overlooking Water’s Edge, a bustling market town that—like Ione—had done most of its growing in the last few decades. During the years when the old Empire was collapsing, it had served as a free port when Bravil and Leyawiin were independent and often at odds with each other, and Water’s Edge had been protected by both and by what remained of the Imperial navy. Even enemies needed some neutral ground for trade, a place where conflict was set aside.

And now that the Empire was reunited, it was growing still, attracting entrepreneurs and tradesmen from crime-ridden Bravil especially.

“I don’t understand why we didn’t just go to Bravil,” Attrebus complained to Sul. “That’s at least in the right direction.”

“This was closer,” Sul replied. “Distance doesn’t matter so much as time. We’re short of time as it is. If I can get the things I need here, we have a far better chance of succeeding.”

“And if you can’t get what you need?”

“The College of Whispers has a cynosure here,” the Dunmer replied. “The things I’m after aren’t terribly uncommon.”

“I should think opening a portal into oblivion would require something rather extraordinary.”

“It does,” Sul said. “But I already have that.” He tapped his head, then swung himself up on his horse.

Attrebus began saddling his own mount.

“What are you doing?” the Dunmer asked.

“You said you wanted allies. I’m going to see what I can do.”

Sul looked as if he tasted something bad. “Let me check things out first,” he said. He switched his reins and rode off.

Attrebus watched him go, then resumed making his horse ready.

“You’re going into town, too?” Lesspa asked.

Attrebus nodded. “Yes. There’s a garrison there, and I know the commander. I need to send word to my father I’m still alive. I might even be able to recruit a few more men.”

“We aren’t enough for you, Prince?”

“Yes,” Attrebus said. “About that. I appreciate your help up to this point, but you deserve to know what we’re up against. When you’ve heard me out, if you still want to go, that’s great. But if you don’t, I’ll understand.”

“My ears are twitching,” she replied.

And so he told her about Umbriel—or at least everything he knew about it—and about Sul’s plan to reach Morrowind. When he finished, she just regarded him for a moment. Then she made a little bow.

“Thank you,” she said. Then she walked back over to her people.

He finished saddling, then splashed a bit of cold water from the stream on his face and shaved. By the time he was done with that, he noticed one of the Khajiit tents was already down.

He sighed, but part of him was relieved. He needed them, yes, but the thought of leading more people to be slaughtered was a hard one.

His mood lifted a little as he entered the town and felt—for the first time since crossing the border—that he was really back in the Empire, in his element. The shops—many with freshly painted signs—cheered him, as did the children laughing and playing in the streets. A question merrily answered by a girl drawing water from the well at the town center sent him toward the Imperial garrison, a couple of wooden barracks flanking an older building of dark stone. A guard stood outside the door, wearing his father’s colors.

“Good day,” the guard said as he drew near.

“Good day to you,” Attrebus replied, watching for the glimmer of recognition, but either the man did not know his face or was good at concealing his reactions. “Can you tell me who is on post here?”

“That would be Captain Larsus,” the fellow said.

“Florius Larsus?” Attrebus asked.

“The same,” the guard replied.

“I should like to see him,” Attrebus said.

“Very good. And whom shall I say is calling?”

“Just tell him it’s Treb,” he replied.

The guard’s eyes did widen a bit, and he went into the building. A moment later the door swung open and Florius appeared. He looked irritated at first, but when his gaze settled on Attrebus, his jaw hung open.

“By the Divines,” he said. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

“I hope I get to have my own opinion about that,” he answered.

Larsus bounded over to him and clapped him on the shoulders. “Great gods, man, get in here. Do you even know how many men your father has out looking for you?”

Attrebus followed him into a simple but ample room with a desk, a few bookshelves, and a cabinet from which Larsus produced a bottle of brandy and two cups.

“If everyone thinks I’m dead, then why does my father have men out searching for me?”

“Well, he doesn’t believe it. But the rumor is they found your body.”

“Some rumors are better than others.”

Larsus poured the brandy and passed the cup to Attrebus.

“Well, it’s good to see you alive,” the captain said. “But don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me what happened.”

“My companions were all slain, and I was taken captive. They took me to Elsweyr with the intention of selling me, but they ended up dying instead. And so here I am.”

“That’s—I don’t know what to say. Are you alone?”

“Yes,” Attrebus lied.

“Well, you look well enough. A little battered—listen, I’ll arrange for your transport home immediately, and send a courier ahead to let your father know the good news.”