Swordsinger grunted in annoyance as her hands reflexively tugged at the gown. Acting as a noble was more difficult than she remembered. Mingling in courts had been part of her training (albeit the part she had been worst at) but now, after six years of war, her body had forgotten how to move in the silken clothes. And every step with the heeled shoes made her ankles shake. She was just one misstep away from a nasty sprain. She couldn’t remember the last time she had worn such an outfit.

 

Actually, she could – the day of her wedding. Also the day of the attack that was the impetus that put her where she now.

 

She sighed and gave up on mingling. It had seemed a stroke of luck to stumble across the invitation to this swanky event in the ex-Jarl of Morthal's desk, but she could barely move in the dress and heels she had liberated from the same ex-Jarl's wardrobe. She was never going to be able to blend in like this.

 

New plan! She would find a seat somewhere and let others mingle toward her. Then she wouldn’t have to…

 

“Stop fidgeting. You are terrible at this.”

 

Swordsinger whirled toward the unexpected voice in her ear…or tried to. The heels turned the spin into a stumble and she found herself in the arms of a woman, who helped her hobble to a seat on a divan in a corner of the room, all the time apologizing to those they passed. “She had a fainting spell, poor thing.”

 

The woman had high-curled blonde hair and a face painted within an inch of its life. She perched with demure ease next to Swordsinger, every move a symphony of grace. Swordsinger had never been so jealous in her life.

 

“Thank you, I…um…” She stopped, unsure what to say. What excuse would a noble give for such un-noble-like behavior? Fortunately, it turned out she didn’t need to find one.

 

“It is good to see you again, my pseudo-sister. No, don’t slouch. Sit up straight. Good. Put your hands together like this. No, fingers…that’s right. Now smile and try to keep it there. Just nod if anyone tries to talk.”

 

Swordsinger did as she was bade and the attention soon shifted away from them. Her mind was reeling even as she concentrated on holding the pose.

 

“Do I know you?”

 

A soft laugh. “I should hope so after all that time we spend in Labyrinthian together. No, keep steady and smile. That is a grimace, not a smile. Pretend you see someone you like. Or, for you, someone you don’t like getting a justly deserved sword through their gullet.”

 

A picture of Jaunty impaled on her swords came to mind.

 

“Yes, that’s better. Now, how did you get in here? This is an invitation-only event.”

 

“We…um…found an invitation.”

 

Another soft laugh. “Did you, then? And you decided to pause the war to come to a party?”

 

“No to the first part, yes to the second. The war is here. I just need to find it.”

 

“Truly? Do tell.”

 

Swordsinger sighed as she shifted, trying to ease the ache in her back. Who knew just sitting could cause so much pain? "The invitation came with a guest list. Imagine our surprise when a number of high ranking Stormcloaks were on the list of a party deep in enemy territory!”

 

“Indeed! Have you seen any of these people here?”

 

“Not so far. I’m thinking maybe they’re in a different part of the mansion. Maybe some dignitaries section. I was going to…” She stopped and sighed. “Well, I was going to try to find it.”

 

“I see. Is there anyone is particular you were hoping to find?”

 

“Aye. Benrad Gray-Mane.”

 

“I hear the tinge of hate in your voice.” Sloan – for it must be her, though she looked nothing like her – smiled. “I have a proposition for you.”

 

“I am listening.”

 

“It has surely become clear to you that you won’t be able to infiltrate this august group. However, that is exactly the sort of thing I am trained to do.”

 

“That is an interesting idea, but you wouldn’t know what information to listen for. If it even comes up.”

 

Sloan’s smile grew larger and she paused to greet a couple passing by before responding, “I don’t need to. I’ll bring Ser Gray-Mane to you.”

 

Swordsinger gasped then turned it into a cough. A demure one, she hoped, though it likely sounded like a choking mule compared to what these people were used to. “You can do that?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“All right. What do you want in return?”

 

Another laugh and Sloan inclined her head ever so slightly toward a stark but gorgeous dark-haired woman standing near the banister of the wide sloping staircase.

 

“Remember when I said I was no longer employed? That woman is Mishi, and she is one of the reasons that happened. She is going to attempt to kill me later tonight.”

 

“Oh, Aye?”

 

“Indeed. I was also going to try to kill her but, though my skills have improved over the years, I am not certain I can. You, on the other hand…”

 

“I’ve seen you at work. I find it hard to believe you would lose.”

 

“It would be a tossup. But I have likewise seen you at work. I have no doubt you would win.” Sloan paused again to greet an elderly man, smiling up at him as if they were the only two people in the world. After the man shuffled away, Sloan added, “That said, do not underestimate her. She is…very quick.”

 

“If you’re not sure you could beat her, she must be. All right, I’ll accept your proposal. How do I do this?”

 

“You only need to leave. She will soon follow. She likely believes you to be me, and further believes I am making myself stand out on purpose to lead her to a trap. But she is arrogant – she will believe herself able to defeat any trap I might lay down.” A final laugh and a shake of her head. “Little does she know.”

 

“And how will I find you after?”

 

“I’ll meet you on the hill opposite your camp at midnight. And I’ll bring your jaunty little friend with me.”

 

Trendil’s eyes narrowed as a small jolt went through her at the phrasing but she only leaked a small laugh. “I won’t even ask how you know where our camp is. I’ll see you then.”

 

Sloan stood and dipped a small curtsey toward Swordsinger before moving away. Swordsinger waited a few seconds then, with a groan, stood back on the shaky heels and began to hobble her way toward the door. After two steps, she decided she had already made a scene and wasn’t fooling anyone anyway, so she kicked off the damn things and strode with much relief out the door in her bare feet.

 

*******************

 

Swordsinger knelt, blades across her knees, head bowed, and concentrated on her wi, guiding the energy along her inner paths, letting it relax and energize each part of her body in turn. It brought her in perfect attunement to her surroundings and always helped her to relax in times of stress. Someday, it would be the key to manifesting her gift, the y̌êz buud, the swords made of pure spirit that were the culmination of the vemnyi shî yee y̌êz.

 

She was not there, though. Not yet. But every time she felt the wi flow through her, it moved a little easier, a little freer. Once she was able to let go and it moved on its own without her conscious thought – then she would be ready.

 

Or so she had been told, at any rate. Of course, her mother had manifested her Spirit Swords before she turned…

 

Movement from behind, and Swordsinger stilled her thoughts. Someone approached through the trees with the predatory silence of a cat.

 

A pause, then something flicked. Swordsinger twisted to the side incrementally, just enough so the dagger that had been meant for her back stuck in the hard wood of one of her scabbards instead.

 

“So sloppy, as always.”

 

The voice seemed to come from the right but Swordsinger could feel the figure shifting through the trees, still behind but arcing toward her left.

 

“The Matron saw potential in you but I knew it was only a matter of time before you failed.”

 

Step. Step. Step.

 

”Nothing to say? You were always so mouthy during your debriefings. Always trying to defend your actions.”

 

Step. Step. Now she was directly to the left, where she paused, but her voice appeared to come from the front.

 

 “But you know you’re not good enough. Don’t you. Still the little orphan street rat. You thought you found a family in us, in the Vixen, but now you know the truth – you never had one. You were always only a pawn in a larger game. A game you thought you glimpsed. But you only saw what we wanted you to see.”

 

Another step, and now the voice seemed to come from every direction at once.

 

“I know you have traps laid out all around you. But I will join your game.” A throaty laugh. “You are just a child at play. Your traps are as meaningless as you are. Let us see how they fare against this!”

 

Figures leapt out of the trees from all directions. Each held a pair of glistening deadly-sharp daggers. With a single cry, they rushed toward her.

 

And, at last, Swordsinger moved. She twisted to her feet, braced herself, and shoved both swords upward into the woman who was descending from the sky. The illusory circle of attackers disappeared in an instant as Mishi’s daggers scattered from numb fingers and she crashed to the ground.

 

They stared at each other for a long moment as Mishi’s life pumped out of her body, until finally the assassin whispered, “You’re not her. Who are you?”

 

Swordsinger smiled as she lifted her sword.

 

“I am her family.”

 

The blade flashed down and Mishi’s head rolled free from her body and the forest once more grew quiet.

 

 

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