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I couldn’t stop shaking. My nerves, which had become frayed since Benezia’s unflinching demand that I plot against the Mane, were now shattered beyond hope by the encounter with the shapeshifting Lunar Priestess, and seeing the creature of the wastes circling the palace like a shark. I drank khri’tal warm, straight shots of bitterness from the bottle, as I paced my midnight dark apartment, unable to sleep and fighting the constant temptation to look out from the balcony to see if the creature remained.

I was trapped on an island of sorts, and with not a soul I could confide in. By now it was apparent to me that Benezia saw me as a mere instrument, for she certainly hadn’t shown any interest in old Berry’s long fellow since that first night! The Mane and his court would likewise have tossed me into the desert without a care if it furthered their own goals. And my deviator brother, borne of that horrible mirror ( as I was) did not and could not know of my engagement with the Blades.

My dearest friend, my real brother, was long dead because of my own foolishness in whatever cursed timeline I seemed to bend into being, killed by the same mirror which had begotten me. In this way, at least, we were together.

And now the Bosmer delegation was due any moment, to potentially join with the mad Mane of Dune or force my hand in supporting an assassination in collaboration with Benezia and the Lunar Priestess.

All the forces of the world moved against me and each other, and I felt helpless to influence them. It was the moment of my greatest loneliness and yet, strangely, I wanted only greater solitude. I drank and I drank in darkness, but when I slipped from the world I still dreamed terribly.

The sun rose and I didn’t care. The room sweltered and I did not care enough to open a window. I buried my face in the pillow, tight knit cotton rubbing the length of my nose. Only Percy’s puttering footsteps dragged my face from the mattress, sitting to dust myself off, suddenly aware of myself and attempting to not appear too much of an embarrassment.

The old Khajiit man simmered at the threshold for a moment. “Master Fate Weaver’s presence will be expected in the small council soon.”

“Of course,” I conceded, punctuating my certitude with a belch. I stood firmly so as to establish my commanding drive, and (still heavily under the burden of the dog that bit me) performed a slovenly pirouette before face planting on the floor.

He rushed towards me crying: “Master!”

“All to expected, Pershy! Your master has had a long night of ru-ugghhh-minating on the mysteries of the universe.”

The gaseous expulsions from my mouth proved difficult to control, but at least Percy helped me rise and sat me back upon the bed.

“This is a problem. Master must be ready for what is to come…”

“What is to come is what put me here.” I sulked as he stood over me before padding off to dispose of several clinking bottles. “And what else am I to do,” I continued, “to prepare for what comes? Oh to be a mere innocent as you are Percy! You are wise to remain so content in your station.”

“We are grateful the master thinks so.”

“Am I mistaken, Persh—ahem, Percy? You will have to forgive me, a stranger to this land and your people. I’m not oblivious to what a great ass I must seem to you. Ignorant of the language, ignorant of the religion, ignorant of your people.”

That long suffering curve of his furry brows softened for the first time. “Master is not so ignorant as that. And it wishes to know, which is more than most.”

“I do wish to know, but I just know so little — of everything really. I just feel like such a fraud. All my talk of reading fates and fortunes I have no clue where to turn to know what comes next — I feel less sure of what to do next than anyone else here it seems!”

“Among our people, it is said that all circles back to the ja-Kha'jay, the lunar lattice. Perhaps look towards that, my master.”

My eyes darted to the corner of my room, where my satchel containing Eophele’s treatise had remained untouched for some time, then towards his confused cat eyes.

“Percy, you may be onto something.”

***

I slipped (tripped) into my seat at the round table of the small council. It was one of those days where you can feel everyone’s eyes on you even as they turn away, like the red of your eyes and burp stink of your breath somehow reach across the room to hold their gaze.

I managed to stay composed enough, if silent, as we discussed the coming celebratory festival to mark the Bosmer delegations imminent arrival. The prudent words of Percy echoed in my mind as Do’Qanar and some Moon Bishop I did not recall the name gibbered on half in their growling language, quoting the Riddle'Thar and something else about why it needed to be on a certain night. I asked the Moon Bishop if he could explain it to us outlanders more simply.

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“A Rajhin eclipse, when both Jone and Jode are new and the lord of thieves rules the darkest of nights. It will be the perfect night for us to steal our success in the coming war against the pretender.”

“Or the perfect night to have it stolen from us,” interjected other Berry.

The Moon Bishop’s whiskers twitched. “All the more reason we must prepare everything. Perfectly.”

“So it will be perfectly dark?” I asked.

“To your eyes—yes.”

The perfect night for an assassination, I thought. And in my mind I could see the web of a thousand strands of fate which held that dark night suspended aloft, each tugging this way and that, and myself uniquely positioned to see them all and wonder how I might pull them and play them against one another and so decide the way the night fell, and in so doing determine the fate of many thousands of souls. Aloud I muttered, “huh.”

“The prince,” said my deviator brother, “is known as a man of character, as well as appetites. I believe you will be uniquely capable of persuading him to our cause, brother. For my part, less orthodox in my theories of lunar causality, I am unsure of this chosen night, but we must make the most of it. We only have one chance.”

“As is the case with all nights, no?” I asked.

He shrugged, and the group went one to discuss the menu and timing of various happenings in regards to the feast as my eyes glazed over. More than anything, I needed sleep.

* * *

After the council adjourned, I asked my brother to stay after to discuss a sensitive matter. I reasoned that while Eophicles’ Treatise of Lunar Causality may have offered me grander wisdom, I had more immediate threats to my person, to wit: the shape changing Lunar Priestess who meant to kill our Mane and the twisted mouthed monstrosity that had followed me in from the wastes.

I waved him to sit beside me, the stone table suddenly feeling inordinately hard against my elbows, the room overlarge.

“Well? What in Oblivion is it?” he asked.

I eyed the closed door before murmuring. “It’s the Lunar Priests. I met one.”

“Who?”

“Well, a priestess really. The shape-shifter.”

“So the reports are true. How on Nirn did you end up alone with their leader? And somehow without getting killed?”

“Without meaning to actually. I sent a letter that I thought might grab their interest, and when I went to meet someone about it, it turned out that I was speaking with the priestess in disguise. She somehow made herself appear so perfectly to be the other person too, and a few others as she departed…”

His brow furrowed. “Well how did you know something was amiss?”

“She smelled different.”

“Huh. Quite. Who was it you said you were meeting?”

“Oh it doesn’t really matter, I think. What’s important is what she said: they’re going to attempt an assassination unless we can get some sort of tolerance for traditional Daedric worship.”

My brother’s face went beat red, quite an amusing thing to witness on your own borrowed visage, and one that makes you less inclined to blowing a top. “The damned nerve of that cat! You know I tried negotiating with her once before? She called me a liar! And now she has the nerve to demand we kowtow to her demands or else she’ll use violence. Is that the kind of allies we need?”

“She seemed to have a rather high opinion of me.”

“She—” he took a breath. “She’s trying to play you, trust me.”

“Have a little faith in me, brother. I’m not a total babe in the woods, but I do think we should consider her threat as credible. It was incredible the way she flitted between appearances as I watched her escape down the street. I suspect she could very easily penetrate the palace, if she hasn’t already. As for the rest of her followers, I assume there are some decent casters about the city that would answer her call.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “And what would it really cost us to show some tolerance?”

“The cost—” he quieted as I gently squeezed, reminding him where we sat. “The cost is our dignity. Don’t laugh! And there is also the coherence of the new faith we are establishing, the faith of perfected fortunes. Daedra are strictly beyond our world, and their interference can only muddle our ability to control the flows of destiny along the more predictable paths of Nirn.”

I assured him that I understood, but that fate would be far more disturbed by the murder of the Mane by a Daedric cult than by the mere tolerated presence of moderate worshippers.

“You’re right,” he admitted, “as much as it’s salt in my cut, you’re right. We have so many real enemies that we really aren’t in a position to fight this one conservative sect. Okay, I’ll talk to His Perfection. Contact them and let them know we’ll do our best to come to an arrangement.”

I was unsure if a commit to commit would suffice, but promised I would try. An enormous weight was lifted from my shoulders and I told my brother as much, thanking him profusely for being open to my suggestion. He shrugged it off and we walked on through the palace, down a long passage that overlooked the parade ground below, sunlight streaming through the many windows, baking little islands of tile before us.

“There was one other concern I wanted to share with you,” I said. “Do you remember that creature I described to you, the one that followed me through the wastes? I saw it again. It’s in the city.”

My deviator brother was silent as he took ponderously slow steps besides me. Finally he chuckled. “It’s obvious isn’t it? She’s the monster. The shape shifting priestess was following you through the desert.”

I confessed I did not follow his reason.

“With our rather unique nature, what are the odds anyone or anything would have had the insight to seek you out besides the Daedra? Even the emperor’s top agents had barely a clue of your importance, which is the only reason I’m blessed with your presence at all. No doubt our priestess foe received some keen insight from one of her masters, who no doubt watch the two of us with great interest, with the task to either monitor, kill, or scare you off.”

“You’re confident they’re one and the same?”

“Positive.”

“Because they seem completely unalike.”

“Tis the feminine way, is it not?”

We parted in good spirit, although I was in truth only half convinced of his claim that the creature of the wastes would not be a concern once the priestess issue was resolved. Unfortunately for me, Benezia (the real one) was waiting for me in my chambers. She had a permit to enter the fortress in her role as a mercenary, and Percy gave me a pitying look as I entered. Hell hath no fury like a Blade taskmaster whose supposed attendant appears to be shirking his duty.