Sloan sighed as the gates of Whiterun faded into the distance. “I am glad that’s over. Being a member of high society is exhausting.” She gave her companion a smile. “You did well – I might have believed you a noble, albeit perhaps one from the edges of society.”

 

Merks shrugged. “It’s tiring but not too hard. I just imagined I had a poker crammed in my ass to remember to stand straight and tried to say as little as possible.”

 

“Saying as little as possible is the biggest key to any infiltration endeavor. Listen, don’t speak, and you will likely learn more than a dozen questions could garner. Speaking of questions, you said you grew up at the College of Winterhold, correct?"

 

“Yes, I was left there when I was very young.”

 

“So you don’t…” Sloan stopped as the carriage chose that moment to slow then shudder to a halt. She frowned and glanced out the window as she eased her daggers from their concealed thigh sheaths but kept them hidden beneath the folds of her dress’ skirt. “We have no scheduled stops until the manor. Be ready.”

 

Voices, that of the driver and another Sloan did not recognize, then the door to her left opened unexpectedly, revealing the driver, who touched his cap at her. “Pardon, ma’am.”

 

Sloan waited for more – this was hardly the way carriage drivers normally treated their high society passengers! – but he stepped aside and, a moment later, two disheveled young women, dressed in simple tunics and trousers, climbed in and seated themselves without a word on either side of Merks, who looked from one to the other with an expression of confusion that matched Sloan’s own feelings. A moment later, a grey striped male khajiit slid onto the seat next to Sloan. The door to the carriage closed, there was a dip from the driver’s weight as he clambered back to his place, then the carriage began moving once again.

 

Sloan gripped the dagger closest to the cat, studying his every move to anticipate whatever he might be planning, but took the advice she had just given Merks and kept her mouth shut so the cat would make the first move.

 

As if he knew what Sloan was thinking, the khajiit smiled as his bright golden eyes locked with Sloan’s. “M'aiq wishes you well.”

 

“Does he, then?”

 

“He does, indeed. You have no need to fear M’aiq; you may put your daggers away.”

 

“So Mai’q says. I think I’ll hold onto them for a bit longer.”

 M’aiq shrugged. “You may suit yourself, of course.”

 

“So I see. How much did you bribe the driver to pick you up? It must have been quite a sum.”

 

“M’aiq paid nothing – he merely asked for a ride for himself and his friends.” He gestured at the girls, but neither responded; indeed, they had moved not a bit since sitting and they kept their eyes on the floor of the carriage.

 

“You friends, are they? Isn’t slavery illegal in Skyrim?”

 

“It is indeed, for which M’aiq is happy. M’aiq has rescued them from their plight and is bringing them to their home. However…” he leaned forward until his snout was mere inches away from Sloan’s “…these are but the first raindrops of the torrent yet to come.”

 

“Of that, I have little doubt.”

 

The khajiit laughed. “You are more guarded than your sister, M’aiq sees. Here, have some tea while you tell M’aiq your story.”

 

“My story? There is little enough there to interest you.” Sloan accepted the tea cup, a dainty thing painted with pink flowers, but only held it as she added, “After all, who wants to hear about an orphan?”

 

“M’aiq is very interested, he swears!” The khajiit resumed his place on the leather couch in front of the fire.

 

“I…fine. I don’t remember my parents – I thought I knew who one of them was, at least, but even that might not be the case – and spent my childhood at the Honorhall orphanage in Riften.”

 

The room was warm, so she began to peel off the dress as she continued, telling him about her desperate hours once free of the orphanage, of the loss of her money to a thief and her own clumsy attempted robbery. Her underthings came off as she told him about her crashing entrance into the Vixen and they began to stroke each other while she recounted her first time with a man and her training in the arts of pleasure.

 

She moaned her way through the months of working as a whore as the cat’s rough tongue stroked her nipples, then made her way north to Windhelm as his tongue made its way south on her. She shuddered through a rising fire as she recounted her time with Aventus and her night on the streets, her brief stint with slavery, of her fulfillment of her promise to Aventus with the killing of Grelod.

 

She rolled the cat over and stroked his cock while her past self went through the secret training and came out the other side as a fledgling killer, then sank herself on his cock while she talked of her missions. They rocked together in growing speed as she discovered what she had thought was her family, of the search for Melissa, of the betrayals at the hands of her closest comrades and the meeting of her sisters.

 

They climaxed together as she screamed of he luck-filled victory over Kira, then she collapsed on top of him and panted through the denouement; the start of her life all over again, and all that seemed to portend.

 

“That was quite a tale. M’aiq wonders at the things you have endured.”

 

The room had grown chilly, so Sloan pulled herself away and began to pull her dress back on while the room began to creak. “I haven’t been through nearly as much as some of the others. From what I can tell, Sian spent at least a few years as a slave in a mine.” She heard the distinct sounds of horses’ hooves as the room seemed to move beneath her as she sheathed her daggers. “And I’m pretty sure Aithne has gone through something really bad as well.” She squinted at the setting sun through the window of the carriage. “Some day, I’ll find out what it was.”

 

M'aiq’s voice laughed, though Sloan could not see him. “Some day, perhaps. But it is you for whom M’aiq worries the most. Remember: it is when the storm is at its fullest that the first signs of its end begin.”

 

“My lady? We’re at the manor.”

 

Sloan blinked and looked around. Merks sat alone on the bench across from her. “What…where did they go?”

 

Merks frowned. “Where did who go?”

 

“The women and…and the…” She frowned as well. “…someone? Wasn’t…didn’t we pick up travelers?”

 

“No, my lady. We haven’t stopped since we left Whiterun, nor has anyone joined us. You…you fell asleep a few hours ago.”

 

“Did I?” Sloan laughed as the door opened and the carriage driver extended the steps, though Mishi cast dispersions at her in her head for her laxness. “That was careless of me.” She shook away the vestiges of whatever dream she had had and shifted to step out of the carriage. As she did so, a dainty teacup with delicately painted pink flowers fell from her skirt and tinked on the floor of the carriage but did not break. She frowned at it. “Where did that come from?”

 

“I…don’t know, my lady. Maybe Ser Grey-Mane snuck it into the carriage somehow? He seemed quite taken with you.”

 

Sloan laughed as she picked up the cup and, after a brief glance-over, stowed it in her purse and moved toward the door. “He did seem that way, didn’t he? And I’ll be sure to take advantage of that in the future. For now, we need to get to Riverwood.”

 

“Yes, my lady.”

 

Sloan sighed as she started walking toward the manor Delphine had somehow procured for their cover. She had gathered the information they needed from the Thalmor; she put strange cups and hazy dreams out of her head and focused on the job. It was time to decide what came next.

 

 

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