V - Disloyalty

It had been over a year since Fen had last been in the Palace, but her memory served her well as she and Julan made their way through the finely tiled reception chambers.

IV - Temple Informant

“This is perfect, Princess,” Delitian said as she handed him the folded copy of The Common Tongue. “Just what we needed to sort out these rumours.”

Thank you!

Today is the one year anniversary of OoM, and I just wanted to post a quick message to thank all of you for reading. I love getting your comments and emails, and I love writing for you. Hopefully you'll stick around with Fen and me for another year :)

Celestina

III - Of Public Opinion

At some point, Fen and Julan made their way silently back through the sewers and up into the warm bustle of the Great Bazaar. Fen carried the crumpled writ in one hand and kept her eyes down as she led the way back to Godsreach. Julan said nothing when they returned to the inn and Fen went straight to her room, shutting the door firmly on lunchtime diners. She sat at the round table, reading the writ over and over again until she could repeat the words in her head. There was no denying – Helseth had hired the Dark Brotherhood – twice – to kill her. His daughter. Fen pushed sharply away from the table and started to walk circles around the room, her head pounding.

II - The Dark Brotherhood

Fen’s feet touched solid ground. She kept her eyes closed, breathing in the sweet, familiar scent of Timsa-Come-By and feeling the sunlight warm her face. Slowly, she looked up, and found herself clasping Julan’s hand in one of several Reception Chambers of the Royal Palace of Mournhold. The chamber was empty and quiet, the late evening light filtering in gently from the rippled roseglass windows.

I - The Assassin

Far away from the brightness and noise of Mournhold, the New Life Festival in Caldera was being celebrated in a similar fashion. Lights were strung across all the houses, people danced and laughed in the chill of the streets, and the doors of the local tavern were thrown open invitingly despite the cold. The cacophony of sound was dulled, however, inside the dimmed front room of a modest manor just inside the city, where a young Dunmer woman sat before the fire with her legs curled under her, a book open in her lap. Her eyes, however, were closed, the book unread, her head leaning against the wing of her armchair. The tea on the table beside her was undrunk, long grown cold, and the fire in the grate burned low. There was a general silence throughout the house, only permeated when a loud bang issued from outside, followed by several people cheering.

PART TWO: Prologue

The streets of the Great Bazaar were alive with colour and noise. Ropes of bright flags were strung from lamp to lamp, trees were wrapped in vibrant paper, and lanterns with different coloured glass threw circles of red and gold and blue light onto the cobbles below. A thick string of people shifted slowly up and down the narrow paths between street shops, their excited voices rising high into the night air. They were all dressed in clothes that varied from dazzling splendour to thin rags – all manner of people moved throughout the festival, including a man in a dark cloak that pushed impatiently through the crowds.