The marketplace thrummed with noise and movement. People of all species went about their busy lives, making the perfect cover for a little murder.

 

It’s not murder, Sloan reminder herself. It’s assassination. It’s different. Somehow.

 

She eased the small knife into her palm from the sheath hidden against her forearm. The mark’s path continued in the same general pattern as it had for the past two weeks, which would put him where she needed him in three more paces. Just a little…

 

“Sian!”

 

Someone’s voice cut through the sound of the crowd, which was impressive given the amount of noise. Nothing to do with her, of course, and her mark seemed likewise uninterested. Two more steps and…

 

“Sian! It’s me!”

 

The voice again, louder, closer. Now the people in her area were beginning to take notice, including her mark. A welcome distraction – it would make her job easier if everyone was looking away. She took the last step but before she could strike, her mark turned towards her at the exact moment a hand gripped her shoulder.

 

“Sian?”

 

What? Sloan slid the knife back in her sleeve with all the haste she could muster while turning toward the hand’s source. She didn’t have to fake her befuddlement but her racing mind caught up in the nick of time to forestall the words she intended to say.

 

“Hey!” She clapped her hands together as if excited to see…a woman, a Breton with dirty blonde hair wearing worn leather armor, and an old man, spry for his age, not surprising because he was a Nord.

 

Sloan took both their shoulders as if in greeting, noting in passing that her mark had moved away. It was impossible to tell whether he had seen the knife. She had to assume he had, which meant this mission was a bust. She would have to inform the Tong; he had surely seen her, so someone else would have to do it. Weeks of study and work down the sinkhole!

 

“It’s good to see you again!” She pushed with her hands to try to get them to move in the direction she wanted, which was away from the marketplace to somewhere a little more private. The Breton began to speak; by her expression, Sloan deduced the woman had realized her mistake.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you…”

 

Sloan shook her head, still smiling, and overrode her. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear in this noise! Let’s get somewhere quiet!”

 

It took some finagling but she finally got them out of the market and led them to the Ogre King, a tavern known for its beer and quiet corners. And, if you knew the right people, a bolthole or three.

 

When she had them seated across from her, she gestured to the barkeeper then smiled and placed her hands on the table.

 

“Hi. I’m sorry, I lost some hearing when I was a child after a long fever. I can never hear a thing in crowded places.”

 

The bartender came by and set three tankards and a bottle of beer on the table. Sloan thanked him and poured herself some, then offered it to the other two. The man seemed inclined to accept but the woman shook her head and he acceded.

 

“It is no trouble,” the woman said.

 

Her gaze was direct and no-nonsense and there was danger in her slate-colored eyes. Sloan sat a little straighter – whoever this was, she was no normal woman. Best not to let her guard down.

 

“I need to apologize to you. I thought you were someone else. The resemblance is…uncanny. You don’t happen to have a sister, do you? No? Does the word ‘Earth’ mean anything to you?”

 

Sloan shook her head through both questions, although the former struck a chord. She ran a finger down the water droplets on the side of the bottle and traced idle shapes onto the wood as she thought.

 

Hadn’t she been asked that before? She was sure she had – it rang the same bells in her head about an even longer-ago conversation about a family she may or may not have, and which she had once again forgotten about.

 

“I’m sorry, if I have siblings, I do not know about them. And I do not know this word…erth? Is that an elven word?”

 

“I don’t think so. Never mind, it doesn't matter. It’s unfortunate that you’re not her, though, because that would have solved so many problems.”

 

“Oh? Did this woman owe you money or something?” She gestured at the barkeeper again and, when he arrived, ordered some cheese and bread.

 

“No, she’s the only one in the world who can kill dragons and make them stay dead.”

 

“What?” Of all the things the woman might have said, that response was one Sloan would never have been able to anticipate.

 

“We’re looking for the Dragonborn. Her name is Sian Fraser. She was arrested in Falkreath just over a year ago and given a seven month’s prison sentence for something that should have just been a small fine. But she disappeared after thirty-three days and we have not seen her since.”

 

Sloan had so many new and unexpected questions, she didn’t know where to begin. She took a drink of beer to give her time to sort her thoughts.

 

“Let me start at the beginning. Did you say this Sian person who looks like me can make dragons stay dead? What does that mean?”

 

“It means just what it sounds like it means. When a dragon dies, it comes back to life in about a week. Unless Sian is there – she can take their souls, killing them permanently.”

 

“How?”

 

“She’s the Dragonborn, that’s how. It’s just something they can do.”

 

“I have never heard of such a thing.”

 

“Well, now you have. I can assure you it is true – I have seen it happen.”

 

Dragons had become more prolific over the course of the last two years. Sloan had never fought one – she and her daggers would have little chance against such a monstrosity – but she had seen the occasional slain one. Although, come to think of it, those bodies were rather neatly cleaned up when she passed those places again. She didn’t know what to say.

 

“I don’t know what to say.”

 

“I do.” The woman waved at the barkeeper. “Hey, Jolin! Got any of that Elven brandy hidden back there?”

 

“You know I always keep a bottle for you!”

 

The barkeeper went through a door while Sloan struggled unsuccessfully to keep her mouth from gaping open.

 

“It’s good that we ran into you, actually.” The woman picked up the beer bottle and took a swig. “I should have thought of this before. I want to hire you.”

 

“Hire…” Sloan tried to rally her shaken mind. This was a haven for the Tong, but the woman seemed to know more about it than Sloan did. “What do…”

 

“Well, not you, necessarily. Your Tong. How is Kira, by the way?”

 

Sloan’s attempts at speech became further stilted. “I…she’s…good.”

 

“Good to hear. Amazing woman. I taught her all she knows. Ah, thanks, Jolin. You’re an Aedra. How’re the wife and kids?”

 

“They’re great!” He set a decanter of amber liquid and a small clear glass in front of her “Thanks again for the practice swords – they really enjoy playing with them.”

 

“Well, you know what I always say – it’s never too early to learn how to smack someone.”

 

“So true!”

 

They both laughed while Sloan watched in stunned silence. The barkeeper – whose name was Jolin, apparently – set down the cheese and bread and headed back to the bar as the woman unstoppered the brandy.

 

“Ah, I love that smell. The Elves can go to Oblivion but they can leave their brandy here.” She poured a small amount into the glass and took a sip, then closed her eyes. “Ah, better than Sovenguard. Oh, I saw what you wrote on the table. I’m sorry we interrupted your assignment. I should have realized sooner, but your looks distracted me.”

 

“I…it’s fine.” Even the code had not escaped the woman’s eyes. Who in Oblivion was she?

 

The woman laughed once again and this elicited a grunt from the old man, who had, to all appearances, been asleep at the table. Now Sloan eyed him with wary speculation; was he acting as well? She had thought she could read people but she felt entirely sideswiped and no longer trusted her instincts.

 

The woman took another sip, then set the glass on the table and stood. “Well, we should get going. Try some of this brandy before you leave. Sip it, though – it’s not a gulping drink.” She made room for the old man to stand before adding, “When you get back to the Vixen, tell Kira that Delphine says hi, and that I’ll be visiting soon.” She squeezed Sloan on the shoulder and the two left, leaving a flabbergasted and wholly shaken young assassin to try to make sense of what had just occurred.