Sun’s Height was Sloan’s least favorite month. The height of summer brought with it boiling heat and constant sweat and ripened the canal to its most pungent. She wrinkled her nose as she strolled with Gilna along the upper boardwalk.

 

“It stinks here. Now that the Stormcloaks have captured Whiterun, maybe we could open a new location there.”

 

Gilna laughed. “Whiterun is nice, but perhaps it would be best to wait until the war is truly over.”

 

“That’s true. It would not be good to be there if the Imperials took it back.”  Sloan frowned as a question she had been meaning to ask for months popped into her head. “Why don’t you talk right? Or maybe I should say, why DO you talk right?”

 

The Khajiit raised an eyetuft. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, most Khajiit…actually, every other Khajiit I’ve ever met speaks…different. ‘This one wants to fuck your ass,’ ‘this one wants a blow job,’ ‘this one just wants to be held, no never mind, this one actually wants sex.’”

 

“Wait, you slept with Khajiit males? But they have…”

 

“Barbs on their dicks, yes. Painful as it sounds. Well, maybe not to you. But if you agree to be available for them, you get more money, a healing potion, and the next day off.”

 

“Ah! Well, I do not speak that way because, like you, I was an orphan. Only, instead of living in the orphanage, I was taken in by Kira at a very early age. So I learned to talk from the people at the Vixen.”

 

“I see!” They rounded a corner as Sloan thought of her childhood under Grelod. Her twentieth birthday was in nineteen days, which meant it had been nearly two years since Mirren had left her, alone and unprepared, in the middle of the Bee and Barb. So much had happened in such little time! It felt like it had been twice as long. “Lucky you.”

 

“Indeed. Let us sit for a time.” Gilna sat on a bench and patted the seat next to her. Sloan shrugged and joined her.

 

“Tell me.” The Khajiit smiled. “What did you see?”

 

Her smile was always just a little off-putting – her sharp teeth somehow layered Gilna’s countenance with…Sloan wasn’t sure. Something less than malevolence but certainly more than mischievousness.

 

“Um…” Another of her strange friend’s little games. Sloan thought back to when they had first entered the market. “A small girl in a red dress eating a sweet roll while holding on to her mother’s hand. Her mother wore a blue dress with a red sash that was slightly too bright of a shade for the blue. Her hat was black and had four pink feathers. She was talking to Brand-Shei. Then…”

 

She continued, describing every detail she had observed. She was sure she had caught everything this time. Of course, every time they played this little game, she was sure she had seen everything. And every time, the Khajiit pointed out all the things she had missed.

 

The cat never missed anything.

 

“…and,” on a triumphant note because it had only happened the split second before they turned the corner, “…Mjoll punched a balding man in the face.”

 

“Ah, you saw that! You are getting so good at this! I am impressed. Should I say ‘this one is impressed’? Would that make you feel better? No?” Gilna laughed. “So you didn’t notice the rat going into the crack in the foundation of the inn?”

 

Dammit!

 

“Keerava would not like to hear about that! What about the small man with the green cloak? Well, I don’t blame you. He was busy picking pockets, so he was trying to stay hidden. And then there was the…”

 

“Why are we doing this?” The question blurped out without thought, though it had been in the back of Sloan’s mind for…however long they had been doing this. Over a year, it had been since her banishment to the kitchen.

 

“…in the yellow…what? What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, why do you insist on these strange games? This...” Sloan made a general motion with her hand, “…and the knife hunting and…all of it.”

 

“And don’t tell me it’s so we can help the Ladies!” She threw this in with haste as a familiar cunning look crossed her friend’s face as her mouth opened. “They don’t need this level of observational detail. I don’t see you doing this kind of thing with anyone else, so what’s going on?”

 

Gilna closed her mouth and set her hands on her lap and gave Sloan an amused twitch of her ears. “Why couldn’t it be just because I enjoy spending time with you?”

 

Sloan snorted and tilted her head. “Perhaps you do. But something else is going on. Tell me what it is.”

 

A long silence as they studied each other, then Gilna shrugged, stood, and said, “Very well. Follow me.”

 

She began to walk away at her usual Loredas stroll about town pace. Sloan blinked and hastened to catch up.

 

“Slow down, now,” Gilna said in a quiet voice. But that voice held a new tone, one Sloan had not heard before. “How many times have we talked about not drawing attention to ourselves? Nice easy steps.”

 

“Of course.” Sloan slowed into pace beside her friend. She wanted to ask questions, but this new Gilna did not seem assailable by query.

 

“What did you think of last night’s dinner?”

 

The question caught Sloan off guard. “Wh…um…I don’t even remember what we had.” She laughed. “Oh, wait, it was that stew with the weird meat that Jorg made. What was that?”

 

“I think it was wild boar.”

 

The Khajiit sounded more like herself which helped Sloan relax. Whatever this was, there was nothing to get nervous about.

 

“But we’ve had boar, haven’t we? I don’t remember it tasting like that.”

 

“Yes, I wonder what spices he used. That’s why Orcs shouldn’t be allowed to cook!”

 

They laughed as they crossed the bridge that separated the market area from the south-western residential area and turned left, toward the city gates. Sloan wondered if they were going to leave the city, but then Gilna turned another corner into an alley between two houses. Sloan followed her about halfway along before the Khajiit stopped and turned.

 

“This is important. You can turn around now and go back to the Vixen. Continue to do what you have been doing. Live your life in the kitchen. It is not a bad life, as you have seen.”

 

Sloan nodded. “Or?”

 

Gilna shook her head. “No, I want to emphasize this. If you proceed with me, I cannot guarantee your safety. You may die. In fact, there is a very real probability you will die. I will think no worse of you if you turn around now. You will never see me again, but you will also no longer need to…” that smile again “…play these strange games.”

 

Sloan’s heart seemed to be attempting to leap out of her chest but she forced herself to remain outwardly calm. “Do not draw attention to yourself” had been Gilna’s first lesson and the one most recently repeated. Sloan wasn’t certain what this test was, but she was very certain that’s exactly what it was: a test. A deadly one, at that. What was going on?

 

There was only one way to find out. She began to take a deep breath but stopped herself – she needed to appear as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Part of the test. She nodded and smiled as if they were having a simple afternoon conversation.

 

“I am ready to see what you have to show me.”

 

The Khajiit’s smile widened into something almost feral. “Very well. Let us proceed, then.” She turned and continued down the alley.

 

Sloan kept pace, trying her best not to walk like someone who was trying to walk like they normally walk but some strange combination of excitement and fear was making it difficult.

 

They came out in a grassy area behind the row of houses. The wall of the city loomed overhead and several iron-wrought fences portioned out sections of the land behind the houses. It was deserted; at midday in the hottest month of the year, most people were indoors. A single man walked through the grass, some distance away.

 

Gilna ambled, looking up at the sky and occasionally pointing out birds with an excited tone. Sloan did her best to play along with whatever this game was. They came to an area near the wall and Gilna pointed.

 

“Ooh, flowers! Why don’t you pick some for the table tonight?”

 

Sloan blinked at the flowers. They were little more than weeds, certainly not the quality they normally had, but she beamed and said, “That’s a great idea!” She flounced to them and knelt to begin.

 

Gilna took off her apron and began tying it to make an impromptu basket. “We can carry them in this. Oh, hello, sir!”

 

The man had made his way to them. He smiled and nodded but, just as he was about to respond, the dagger hidden beneath Gilna’s apron flashed up, slid into the man’s throat, then flashed back under the apron. It happened so quickly, Sloan wasn’t certain she hadn’t imagined it, but the man’s expression and the blood that began to burble from his neck told her it was all too real.

 

“Well, you’re not screaming. That’s a good sign.” Gilna held out a hand to Sloan as the man crumpled to the ground behind her. “I’ve changed my mind about the flowers. They wouldn’t really suit. Let’s go home.”

 

Sloan felt tremors begin in her limbs and her mind was racing along a thousand tracks at once, but she had spent two years pretending in one fashion or another. She smiled up at her friend, took the assassin’s hand, and climbed to her feet with a graceful sway.

 

“I agree,” she forced her lips that wanted to chatter to talk instead. “They aren’t really suitable for our table.”

 

They stepped over the still-quivering body of the man and made their leisurely way along the greensward. It took every ounce of willpower in Sloan’s body not to run.

 

As they entered an alley leading back to the city proper, Gilna whispered, “You did not scream and you did not panic or run or do anything else to draw attention. I am so glad I didn’t have to kill you.”

 

Sloan didn’t trust herself to speak, so she just reached out and gave Gilna’s arm a squeeze. The Khajiit laughed softly.

 

“Fear not, my friend. A whole new life awaits you, but we’ll give you time to come to terms with what we are. Then you can choose whether you want this life for yourself.” She patted Sloan’s arm. “I’m certain you will make the right choice. Kira will be pleased.”

 

“Kira?” The name popped out of Sloan’s mouth before she could think. “So she knows…”

 

“Of course. Kira is one of the greatest master assassins in the world.”

 

“I…I never would have guessed.”

 

“I should hope not! If you were able to guess, she wouldn’t be one of the greatest in the world! But this is not the place to talk about such things. Let’s go home. We’ll have plenty of time to talk there.”

 

Sloan nodded but she continued to hold the Khajiit’s arm as they walked. She needed the support. She hoped there wouldn’t be a test on what she observed in the market this time, because her swirling mind didn’t pay attention to a bit of it.

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, they entered the Vixen once again and Gilna led the way along a hall Sloan had never been down before. They entered a large room that was dominated by a large table with a three-dimensional relief map of Skyrim but what Sloan noticed first was Jorg, who beamed as they entered and gave her a crushing Orc hug.

 

“You made it!”

 

All Sloan could manage to say in response was, “Mmmph!” as her air was squeezed out.

 

“I never doubted it. Kira, you owe me ten gold!”

 

“Perhaps.” The Matron stepped around the table and laid a hand on Sloan’s shoulder. Her smile was as beautiful as a sun-kissed evening and her eyes were as cold as the Sea of Ghosts. “Welcome to the real reason for the Vixen, child. You have grown much in your time with us and have shown enough potential to warrant all we have done for you. Now we shall see if you can live up to it.”

 

Sloan nodded. “I understand, Matron. I owe you my life three times over. I won’t let you down.”

 

“Oh, yes you will. No one is perfect – you will make mistakes. It is how you respond to them that will tell your tale.” That cold smile again. “I trust you understand there will be no more bailouts.”

 

Sloan bowed her head. “Of course.”

 

“Very well, then. Let the real training begin.”