The Rose and the Azalea - Chapter Nine

• Posted by The Sunflower Manual June 2, 2018 - Filed in TSC: Long Story - #Harrow  #Sabina  #Rose/Azalea  - 1,234 views

  

   

   

  

   

   

   

   

  

  Information compiled over the ages seems to suggest that the Sanguine Rose - the fabled artifact of the Daedric Prince of Debauchery - is actually a common organism found in one of the Prince's Myraid Realms.
  

   

   

   

   

  

   

   

   

                  I stared at Azalea, and he at me.

   

                  ‘Sabina… Flavana,’ he murmured, and despite myself, I felt a thrill run down my spine as he said my full name. ‘So that means… you’re the-’

   

                  ‘Yes,’ I said, steeling myself. ‘I’m the fifth head of the Flavana family.’

   

                  I fully expected him to lash out, to rage at me for what I’d put him through. Instead, his brow loosened, his lip trembled, and he took a few steps closer to me. ‘So it’s you they’re after, then?’ he whispered, his face becoming gentle, sad. ‘But you’re still so young…’

   

                  I felt my throat tighten. Even now, he was thinking of me.

   

                  ‘More importantly,’ I said, equal amounts of self-hatred and self-pity crushing down on my shoulders. ‘It means that they’ll come after you as well; try to hurt me through you.’

   

                  Azalea’s expression grew downcast. ‘I see.’

   

                  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said bitterly, haltingly. What else was I supposed to say? ‘I didn’t mean to put you in danger’? ‘I never wanted any of this’? I knew full well what would’ve happened if word of my involvement with him got out. I should never have gone to the Bouquet in the first place.

   

                  ‘What…’ Azalea slid numbly to the floor, the skirt of his robes pooling around his legs. ‘What am I supposed to do now?’

   

                  Edwin tapped me on the shoulder, jerking his head towards the body of the healer, growing cold on the floor of his own clinic. I took his meaning.

   

                  ‘You can’t go back to the Bouquet,’ I said, marching over to the open window and checking the alleyway behind it. ‘Do you have anywhere you can hide? A place to lay low?’

   

                  ‘No, I-’ Azalea’s mouth tightened and he looked away. ‘The Bouquet is… w-was my…’

   

                  Edwin tapped me on the shoulder again, giving me an urgent look.

   

                  ‘I have to leave now,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Maybe that will pull some of their attention off you.’

   

                  As I turned, Azalea reached out and tugged weakly on my sleeve. I turned back, feeling my chest throb at the sight of him sitting helplessly on the floor, broken and frightened out of his wits.

   

                  ‘What will happen to me now?’ he pleaded. ‘I’m all alone in this city…’

   

                  A thought crossed my mind, and in a flash the world of dark, grey violence exploded into one of bright possibility.

   

                  ‘Azalea,’ I said hesitantly. ‘I could take you with me... if- if you want.’

   

                  Hope and life returned almost instantly to his eyes and a small, relieved smile crept up to grace his lips. ‘Of course,’ he said softly, breathlessly, as my heart melted.

   

                  I pulled him up by his hand and walked him to my carriage waiting outside, trying not to laugh – it would’ve been in bad taste, but I had never felt happier.

   

                  ‘Home,’ I told the coachman as I slid inside after Azalea. ‘And don’t spare the horses.’

   

  

   

   

                   It was an hour into the morning by the time we got back to Flavana Manor. I groaned inwardly as the coach rattled to a stop outside my door. Three other carriages were stopped in front of the mansion. My underbosses were here.

   

                  ‘Looks like I won’t be able to get some sleep right away,’ I sighed, reaching up to give Azalea a light shake. He had nodded off, resting his head on my shoulder. ‘Hey, there. We’re here.’

   

                  Azalea sat up, yawning – he sounded remarkably like a kitten – and rubbed his eyes blearily. Then he looked out at the manor and gasped.

   

                  ‘This is where you live? It’s massive!’

   

                  ‘Is it? It’s not as big as some of the other houses the richer nobles have in the city,’ I said, suppressing my own yawn. Contagious thing, yawning.

   

                  ‘You must have an army of maids and butlers in there,’ Azalea said as he stepped out of the carriage, looking left and right in wonder.

   

                  ‘Uh, yeah,’ I said, temporarily distracted by the way his hair shone in the sun. The light brought the deep purple to the front, giving it a glow. At the top of his head, however, the base of the strands was completely raven black, which must have been their original colour. I studied the contrast as I spoke, strangely riveted. ‘I mean, no. Not really; after my father’s passing we laid off quite a few of the servants. There’s only about half a dozen left to tend to the place. Still just as many guards, though, I’m glad to say.’

   

                  Azalea nodded, seeming quite overwhelmed.

   

                  ‘Come on,’ I chuckled, patting him on the back and taking his hand. ‘Let’s go in.’

   

                  My underbosses were waiting in the main hall. I tried not to tut. I’d wanted to get Azalea out of their way first.

   

                  Denholm waddled up to me first, leaving S’hni and Rhansan staring at each other from behind their helmets. I couldn’t see their faces, but they seemed to relax as they turned to look at me. Simply relieved that I was alive… or something else? I thought back to my discussion with Edwin only a few hours earlier. Someone on the inside was behind the assassination attempts.

   

                  Could one of my underbosses be plotting against me?

   

                  ‘Lady Flavana, you’re all right,’ Denholm puffed, mopping his brow. ‘We heard there was an incident of some sorts in the Bouquet, and you’d been visiting last night…’

   

                  ‘And not three hours later Sossio gets knifed in his own clinic,’ Rhansan said, sidling up behind him. ‘You must’ve had a very eventful evening, my lady.’

   

                  ‘Yes, but I came out of it just fine,’ I said, mulling my next words in my head as I stared from Rhansan to Denholm to S’hni. One of them – or two of them or perhaps even all three – could be trying to have me killed.

   

                  As I paused, Denholm turned his gaze on my fair companion and the skin behind his eyes softened. ‘Why, hello there. You brought company with you, Lady Flavana?’

   

                  ‘Yes,’ I said, smiling. ‘This is Azalea, from the Bouquet.’

   

                  Denholm stretched out a set of flabby, oily fingers and took Azalea’s hand, bending over – well, as much as an obese Breton quill-pusher could bend over – and kissing it. ‘A… pleasure… to meet you, miss.’

   

                  I tried not to vomit as I saw the grease spot left staining the porcelain skin on the back of Azalea’s hand. It felt as if I was watching a warty toad defile a swan.

   

                  ‘Thank you, sir, you’re very kind,’ Azalea said sweetly. ‘But I’m a boy.’

   

                  Denholm’s corpulent face seemed to freeze solid. His left eye narrowed into a squint, his nose wrinkled, and his lips drew back into a perfectly horrified grimace as he let out a single, fat croak. ‘What.’

   

                  S’hni and I both burst out laughing. I laid a hand on Azalea’s shoulder after a moment. ‘Bedroom’s upstairs to the right. Get some rest, okay? You’ve had a long night.’

   

                  Azalea nodded at me, then winked at Denholm – who turned a curious shade of green and gagged – and glided up the stairs, silent and graceful. Even for a dancer, his footsteps were strangely quiet.

   

                  ‘Back to the topic at hand,’ Rhansan said, a note of impatience in his usually detached voice. ‘What happened, my lady?’

   

                  ‘Let’s talk in my study.’ I motioned at Edwin, and he closed the doors to the mansion behind us as we took another flight of stairs up directly to my office.

   

                  ‘Someone tried to poison me,’ I said, shortly, briefly, as I sat down in front of my desk. ‘They got Azalea instead. I took him to – what was his name? Sossio? – Sossio’s clinic for treatment, then the assassins tried for another hit in person. Killed the healer before I could get to him in time.’

   

                  ‘Sounds like they know what they’re doing.’ S’hni was being serious for once. ‘Professionals, most likely. Who could be behind this?’

   

                  ‘Who indeed,’ I said quietly.

   

                  The three underbosses shifted, exchanging looks. After a while, I smiled. No use getting them to raise their guard so soon, while I still knew so little. ‘Well, whoever it is will soon discover what it means to cross the head of the Flavanas. Before I let you leave, any thoughts?’

   

                  ‘If it had been a month ago, the ones I would most suspect would be the Iron-Tooths,’ Denholm said. ‘But as of now, I can’t say I think they’d be as foolish as to jeopardise our truce. Fjorn needs to rebuild as much as we do.’

   

                  ‘A remnant of Eburio’s old gang?’ S’hni suggested. ‘They’re the only noteworthy people we’ve… upset… lately.’

   

                  ‘Could just be the locals wanting us out of the way,’ Rhansan shrugged. ‘It’s happened before, a gang goes too hard on a city’s population and they pool up their resources to take it down.’

   

                  ‘Anvil’s too scared of us to do that right now,’ Denholm said.

   

                  ‘Hiring thugs isn’t a very upfront way to do things. Could still be some citizen trying to “set things right”.’

   

                  ‘True enough. But my point stands.’

   

                  ‘Seems most likely it’s the Empire. Word is the Legion’s out to do a bit of… housekeeping.’

   

                  ‘I’ve heard it too, but we can’t act on rumours...’

   

                  ‘So, in short, you have no idea,’ I said dismissively, becoming more suspicious of each underboss now. None of them seemed to want to bring up the possibility of it being someone in the family. ‘Put your eyes and ears to work, people. Find out who wants my head so badly. If your investigations turn up anything, come to me directly. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve business to attend to.’

   

                  I was actually about ready to drop flat on my face and fall asleep, but I wasn’t going to tell them that.

   

                  As my underbosses left the office, I caught a glimpse of Azalea standing on the walkway outside between my office and the bedroom, leaning on the railing overlooking the main hall. He seemed uneasy, skittish. I felt a twinge of pity. Probably wasn’t expecting all this when he got dressed up for work yesterday. And he looks so frail on his own…

   

                  Rhansan closed the door behind him, leaving me staring at an empty office. I frowned and reclined in my seat, drumming my fingers on the desk. So much to think about. After a while, I got up and left. I could think about them after a good, long nap.

   

                  Azalea was still standing outside as I locked the office behind me.

   

                  ‘Trouble sleeping?’ I said, bringing one finger up to stroke his cheek. He’d undone his hair and washed his face, which somehow made him look even prettier.

   

                  ‘I…’ His eyes watered, and without his eyelids painted I could appreciate fully the way his eyelashes were framed. ‘I keep seeing him fall... couldn’t even make a sound. And that horrible man with his knife…’

   

                  ‘Shh,’ I said, hugging him to my chest. ‘You’re safe here, got it? No one’s going to hurt you anymore.’

   

                  He nodded soundlessly, and I steered him leftwards, towards the other end of the walkway.

   

                  ‘Come on,’ I said lightly. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

   

                  I tucked him in, then washed, changed, and snuggled under the covers myself, holding Azalea from behind like a little stuffed doll. The bed only had one pillow, but I was perfectly fine sharing. He still had that intoxicating lilac scent about him. Not a bad thing to fall asleep to…

   

                  Before either of us closed our eyes, Azalea shifted in my arms and turned around, gazing at me with barely an inch between our faces.

   

                  ‘Thank you,’ he whispered, his breath tickling my nose, as sweet as the rest of him. ‘I don’t think I could sleep alone now.’

   

                  ‘Well,’ I sighed, hugging him closer. ‘You’ll never have to worry about that ever again.’

   

  

   

   

                  When I finally woke, it was late afternoon, judging from the dull yellow light streaming through the drapes and the chirps of sparrows and wrens coming from the woods. The sun was beginning to go down earlier. Summer was giving way to autumn.

   

                  I sat up groggily, a few long strands of fragrant, dark purple hair sticking to my skin-

   

                  Long… fragrant… hair…

   

                  Azalea was gone.

   

                  I jerked upright, feeling a ridiculous panic close around my throat. After a few seconds, I calmed down. Of course he wasn’t about to leave the mansion. Azalea would never. And Edwin would’ve alerted me.

   

                  Speaking of Edwin…

   

                  I donned a pair of slippers and staggered out of the bedroom into the walkway. As expected, my bodyguard was still standing watch outside. Did he ever get tired?

   

                  ‘I was wondering when you’d be up,’ Edwin said. He was wearing a sardonic smile.

   

                  ‘Something funny?’ I stretched and shot him a look.

   

                  ‘No,’ Edwin replied, still smiling. ‘It’s just that your… lover is quite the catch.’

   

                  A new series of pleasant smells wafted into my nose from downstairs. I took a deep sniff and my stomach rumbled. Cheese. Butter. Garlic and onions.

   

                  ‘Oh, he didn’t…’

   

                  I rushed down the stairs, delighted.

   

                  There, plonked square on the dining table, was a full-course, piping hot meal for two. The silverware had been polished till gleaming; a bottle of Corbolo was propped up next to two wineglasses. Azalea was just coming out of the kitchen, a flowery apron draped over his petite frame, holding two plates of rich, steaming goodness.

   

                  ‘The cook is out,’ I said, amazed. ‘You made all this?’

   

                  ‘I did tell you that I’m good at what any courtesan should be good at,’ Azalea said mischievously, setting the last dishes on the table. ‘This is the least I could do. You did take me in, after all…’

   

                  I sat down, shaking my head. ‘Well, talk me through,’ I grinned, waving at the banquet laid out in front of me. ‘What am I looking at here?’

   

                  His playful smile widening, Azalea gestured at each dish. First was a large bowl of green, juicy grapes, glistening with moisture.

   

                  ‘For the appetiser, Yeomcroft grapes, fresh off the vine…’

   

                  Next came the dishes he’d just brought out, two platefuls of creamy brown rice, with scattered clusters of diced mushrooms.

   

                  ‘For the main course, mushroom risotto…’

   

                  After that was a platter of golden dumplings, arranged neatly atop a layer of bright yellow sauce.

   

                  ‘Accompanied by a serving of ravioli, with butter and Leyawiin pale cheese,’ Azalea finished shyly, then drew a pensive circle with his foot. ‘I… wanted to do a salad dish and bake something for dessert, too, but the pantry was all out of fresh vegetables and I didn’t have time to mix- iyaa!’

   

                  He let out a little squeak as I dove at him, forcing him down on top of a rug.

   

                  ‘T-the food will g-grow cold…’

   

                  ‘Forget that,’ I growled hungrily as I slid his collar down his arm and gnawed on the soft and supple bun that was his shoulder. ‘I have my dessert right here, and I’m eating it first.’

   

  

   

  

  For a period of time in the early Merethic era, azalea flowers were thought to wilt when healing spells were applied to the plant. It took centuries for Tamriellian healers to figure out that the death of the azalea was caused by the magic accelerating the growth of a common parasite within the stem of the flower.
  

   

   

  
  

   

   

                  The Flavana family’s underbosses were remarkably well-informed. They knew that the Empire was planning an operation targeting the corruption in Anvil. Fortunately, shinobi involvement remained secret.

   

                  Some of the voices behind the door grew too muffled to make out distinct words, and I tried not to snarl with annoyance. I could get closer, perhaps right next to the office… but Edwin Lysanders was right outside the bedroom, watching me out of the corner of his eye.

   

                  So I simply leant forward on the railing and bit my lip, acting like the frightened little boy I was playing. The voices grew final, decisive. The meeting was adjourning.

   

                  A few seconds later, the door opened and the three underbosses filed out. The fat Breton bustled past me first, trying his hardest – and failing – not to stare. I shot him another wink as I committed his face to memory. Neither Tsukikage nor the Legion had a file on this one. S’hni was next. The Khajiiti slaver gave me a rather sinister slap on the hindquarters, then pranced downstairs giggling. Rhansan was last, walking up to me directly.

   

                  I knew his name and that he was a Redguard smuggler from his Penitus Oculatus file, but other than that, he was even more of a mystery than the Breton. At least the Breton wore his identity on his sleeve. But Rhansan? Put him in a crowd of other Flavana foot soldiers in the same outfit, or better yet, take his armour off entirely, and he would be practically invisible.

   

                  The smuggler stopped right next to me, then leant in very, very close.

   

                  ‘S-sir,’ I said meekly. ‘This is a little, um, intimate…’

   

                  ‘Drop the act, lad,’ Rhansan sneered into my ear. ‘I know what you are.’

   

                  I tilted my head in confusion, turning my brow and lips upwards in an innocent pout as I weighed my options. Killing him was out of the question… could I talk him down? The closest escape route was through the window. There were horses available to the enemy, but if I could make it to the woods, the trees would assist in my escape…

   

                  ‘I know what you’re here for,’ the Redguard continued. ‘And if you don’t want your cover blown straight to Aetherius, listen close. Stay put. Do nothing. Meet me behind the stables at sundown on Loredas.’

   

                  Before I could respond, Rhansan stalked off down the stairs. ‘Just some advice for Lady Flavana’s new friend,’ he called, answering Edwin’s questioning stare.

   

                  The bodyguard turned his stare on me. I looked back at him and inserted a small, quailing note of fear into my eyes, suggesting that it hadn’t been a very pleasant talk.

   

                  I didn’t seem to garner any sympathy with that, but Lysanders swung his head around and went back to looking like a statue.

   

                  The underbosses’ carriages trundled away, the sound trailing off into the distance. They were headed back to the city, no doubt to oversee another bout of criminal activity. I began to realise just how advantageous my position was for gathering intelligence. Flavana Manor was the heart of the family’s operations, and the underbosses all came here regularly to report on the status of the organisation. With a little finesse, I could come to know everything that Sabina knew herself.

   

                  The trouble, of course, would be leaving to report on everything I’d learned… judging from Rhansan’s tone, he did not intend to raise the alarm, and I deemed it highly unlikely that he knew exactly what I was. I had to admit to feeling some amount of trepidation as to what he wanted, but I could deal with that as it came. Loredas was half a week away. For now-

   

                  Sabina left her office, saw me standing there, and sauntered up to me just as Rhansan had done earlier, albeit far more tenderly.

   

                  ‘Trouble sleeping?’ She brushed my cheek with a finger. Her skin was smooth, warm. I babbled something about the horrible events of last night, and she wrapped me in a tight hug, assuring me that everything would be all right.

   

                  And I felt another inexplicable twitch of discomfort, bubbling up in my stomach.

   

                  The sensation persisted even as we bedded down, her arms circled possessively around my body. Perhaps an hour or so of sleep would remedy that. I closed my eyes.

   

                  Consumption of the Yellow Flask and training in meditative techniques guaranteed a good shinobi full awareness of his surroundings even when asleep, so I knew full well that I was dreaming when I opened my eyes and found myself in another bedroom.

   

                  I could have roused myself immediately if I’d wanted to, but this was a very familiar bedroom. Massive oaken doors. Glass windows opening to a balcony with a full view of the Imperial City’s Palace District. A luxurious bed. A roaring hearth. A bearskin rug.

   

                  And a wardrobe.

   

                  Yes, I knew that wardrobe very well.

   

                  I walked over and opened it, then stepped inside. Right foot first, then the left. I crouched down and shut myself in. I knew each movement, each individual contraction of my muscles by heart. I had had this dream so, so many times now. Not my first kill, but my first official mission. My first target in the field. My first… assassination.

   

                  The clothes around me were disproportionately large, the inside of the wardrobe abnormally tall, the curved blade in my hands thicker and longer than a usual katana. But of course. I was smaller then. I was only eleven years old.

   

                  The wardrobe opened and the outline of a man appeared. My training took over. In a split second, I took into account the target’s height and our respective positions, pinpointed the location of his heart, and performed a single thrust.

   

                  The kill had been clean. Almost instant.

   

                  I should have left.

   

                  Papa?

   

                  I should have left.

   

                  Papa, I think I heard you fall. Are you all right?

   

                  The balcony was right there.

   

                  The oaken doors opened, heavy, creaking, pushed by a weak pair of hands unaccustomed to their weight. Valessar?

   

                  There was a spare smoke pellet in my left pouch. Drop it now. Exfiltrate.

   

                  But the plump Imperial boy had been my-

   

                  My-

   

                  Aetius noticed the Adder’s body. Papa! Papa? Papa, what’s wrong? You’re bleeding… you’re bleeding, papa! Get up, get up!

   

                  I still had time. Break the windows. Disappear. The night would shroud me.

   

                  Someone help! Papa’s hurt… Papa? No, papa, please…

   

                  Aetius was standing up now. Drawing Wind-Cutter from his bulging waist. Act. Disarm him before he can get a firm grip. Run.

   

                  Valessar, why? Why? Why did you hurt papa?

   

                  His swings were wild. Untrained. Full of openings. Exploit them. His acupoints were exposed. Three consecutive Whispering Fang jabs to the nerve clusters on the base of the neck. Knock him unconscious.

   

                  But I didn’t know how to hit acupoints then, did I?

   

                  I was only eleven years old.

   

                  Instead of meeting his sword, my katana slid straight through his belly, parting it like thin silk. And his intestines rolled out, a mass of red and brown and yellow and blue.

   

                  Aetius was crying. Sobbing as he crawled towards his father. Smearing the fine bearskin rug with his insides. Papa, it hurts…

   

                  It ended as it always did. Me, standing there, numb from head to toe. Mumbling some pathetic apology.

   

                  And Aetius stood up, still clutching at the Adder, entrails still hanging from his open abdomen. His eyes rolled back and his mouth fell open.

   

                  You killed me.

   

                  ‘All right, that’s enough,’ I muttered, concentrating.

   

                  You killed me!

   

                  I opened my eyes again and I was back in Flavana Manor. Sabina was still using me as a body pillow. It had grown warm under the sheets. Her breath caressed the back of my neck. I tried to sit up, but her embrace was too tight and I didn’t want to wake her.

   

                  I had not had that dream for months… years. Why now? Aetius was dead. Dead and buried. Wallowing in what I had done and what I could have done would not change that. My mission had still been a success.

   

                  Behind me, Sabina’s arms began to shake. Her embrace grew even tighter. She shook her head, murmuring incoherently under her breath. I turned to look at her. She was trembling. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but her brow was arched into an intimidating frown and she was biting her lip to keep her teeth from clattering. Even while asleep and having a nightmare of her own, she was trying to look tough.

   

                  Barely nineteen years old. What things must she have seen – what things must she have done to get where she was?

   

                  I wriggled in her arms and reached out with a hand, brushing her cheek and sweeping a few wayward strands of hair behind her ear.

   

                  ‘Hush,’ I whispered. ‘It’s just a silly dream.’

   

                  Then I blinked and withdrew my hand, closing it into a fist.

   

                  What am I doing?

   

                  I steadied my breathing and slid from her grip, slipping noiselessly from the bed.

   

                  The mansion was eerily quiet without the underbosses around and Sabina marching about barking orders. The maids had already finished their rounds, it seemed, and there was only the butler walking around inspecting their handiwork.

   

                  Edwin Lysanders was still outside the bedroom when I left. I shot him a wan smile as I passed him. It did not seem to affect him one whit.

   

                  I walked downstairs, and the butler greeted me with much more enthusiasm.

   

                  ‘A pleasure to see you up and about, mada- sir,’ he bowed. Breton manservants were always very polite. He gave me some directions around the manor. ‘The library is back up on the first floor if you’re interested in some reading’ – I always was, but Azalea was not – ‘it’s a lovely afternoon outside, and the grounds have been freshly trimmed if you wish to go for a stroll’ – I would enjoy a quick stretch of my legs, and shinobi rarely had the opportunity to move at full capacity under the sunlight, but a small elfin boy zooming around the estate with the speed of a galloping horse would arouse suspicions, I think – ‘and the cook is out in the city getting groceries today, but you are welcome to anything in the kitchens.’

   

                  The kitchens it was, then.

   

                  I could see why the cook had to leave for groceries. The larders were almost fully depleted. A few varieties of cheese remained on the shelves, along with a collection of pickles. Fermented food always kept the longest. There were a few half-empty fruit baskets, but only the grapes were still fresh – courtesy of a nearby vineyard, I wagered. The remains of a doe had been strung up on one side of the kitchen. Did Sabina stalk deer in her free time? At any rate, the best cuts had all been taken. The only meat left were the scattered bits stuck to the bone. It would be a challenge to make an upperclass meal out of this.

   

                  And since I had nothing else to do…

   

                  I tied an apron over my furisode, and the sight of Aetius’ disembowelled corpse left my mind instantly as I found something to focus on.

   

                  Bengakhi had given me a few more cooking lessons than he had done for the other kits in Year 182. ‘You will find yourself in aristocratic society much, much more often than a Po’ Tun,’ he had insisted. ‘These techniques are just as essential to you as close-quarters combat and magic.’

   

                  As always, Bengakhi-ra’s foresight was inhumanly accurate.

   

                  If you can’t find much to work with, the simplest approach is often the best.

   

                  The grapes would do for an appetiser. Green, seedless, oval-shaped. Yeomcroft grapes. I plucked them off the vine and washed them in the basin, then arranged them neatly into a bowl.

   

                  Grain. There should still be grain left.

   

                  And there was. Rice and wheat flour. Those would be the base materials; my building blocks.
  

   

                  What else? Only a few more raw ingredients would do.

   

                  Mushrooms – hmm, woodtuft. They were beginning to dry. I would’ve preferred them a week or so younger, but that was fine. They would suffice. Eggs – they still had eggs, thankfully. A smattering of herbs, parsley and thyme. They were out of tomatoes – that cornerstone of Imperial cuisine. Shameful.

   

                  Now for the tools. As vital to a chef as they were to a Shadeclaw.

   

                  The knife I sharpened with five quick swipes of a file. I let it sit in the basin to dampen the taste of metal and got started on the dough. Most Tamriellian cultures cut and pounded their dough with a specialised tool. I found one after rummaging through a couple of racks.

   

                  Eggs, flour, just a pinch of salt and a drizzle of oil. Olive oil, of course; this was an Imperial household. It took a good bit of kneading to get the mixture smooth and flexible. I let the dough rest when I was finished, turning to the deer’s carcass. The meat was beginning to age, but luckily the kitchen was cool and dry. It was edible, and the toughness mattered little as I was about to pound it to a pulp anyway. The kitchen also came with a row of brick stoves, and there was a convenient pile of chopped firewood piled up to my left. I began heating up a large saucepan.

   

                  I scraped off an entire leg bone with the knife, collecting the shavings with a large bowl, then ground the meat into a rough paste. Then I cut the bone off entirely and hollowed out the bone marrow, split a clove of garlic, and diced it all finely. I also picked out a selection of mushrooms. The bone marrow, garlic and mushrooms went into the saucepan. As they sizzled, I tossed an armful of firewood into another brick stove and had a skillet heated up behind me.

   

                  With the meat done, I chopped up some parsley and a large onion, mixed them along with the ground meat into the skillet, seasoned lightly with salt and pepper, and tossed until it was light brown. A normal fire was much harder to control compared to magic. No wonder even Ambarro could cook basic dishes with his flames without burning anything. Speaking of burning, the saucepan was beginning to steam nicely. I added water and, after three minutes, hung it seven inches higher above the stove, bringing it down to a simmer. Now I had a broth base for a risotto.

   

                  I took the dough, cut it into two lines of regular squares, then planted a rich serving of the deer-and-onion filling on one line and sealed each square of dough with another.

   

                  Ravioli was not dissimilar to Akaviri dumplings, but we usually boiled our dumplings in broth, while the Imperial recipe only called for water. I replaced the skillet with a large pot of water as I began working on the rice, throwing in a few more lumps of firewood for additional heat. When in Cyrodiil…

   

                  The rice was short-grain, but still rougher than what we usually ate in Tsukikage. I gave it a good wash, then drained the moisture.

   

                  Behind me, the pot of water began to boil. I added in the ravioli. The deer meat was straight off the bone and aged to boot, so it already had plenty of flavour. A light sauce would complement it best without clashing with the taste. I melted a few chunks of Leyawiin and added a dash of butter. No garlic – there was enough of it in the broth, which was bubbling nicely. I brought the saucepan down closer to the stove, then heaped in enough rice for two.

   

                  Rice in broth, dumplings in water. Imperials cook their food exactly opposite the way we do.

   

                  The ravioli was ready first. I fished the dumplings out of the pot and stacked them neatly on a platter, then drizzled on the Leyawiin sauce and carried it out of the kitchen along with the grapes, setting them on the dinner table in the living room. I went back to give the risotto a good stir so the rice wouldn’t stick to the bottom of the pan, then picked out two sets of cutlery and arranged them on the table.

   

                  I checked on the sauce one last time, then chose a bottle of Corbolo red from a nearby shelf and rested it on the table. The risotto was ready in the kitchen, the rice having absorbed most of the broth. I spooned it out into two plates, then caught Sabina coming down the stairs just as I left the kitchen.

   

                  ‘I did tell you that I’m good at what any courtesan should be good at…’ I explained, smiling – perhaps a little too suggestively. She wrestled me to the floor and had her dessert before the main course.

   

                  When she finally attacked her food, she gobbled it down like a starving wolf, with none of the manners a proper lady was supposed to have.

   

                  ‘Ah,’ I said as I sat down in front of her, my face flushed from her earlier exertions. ‘It’s a simple meal, but I hope you lik-’

   

                  Sabina stopped eating for a brief second to look at me, her hazel eyes shining as she smiled bright and wide. ‘Mmph!’ she nodded vigorously, and went back to her plate.

   

                  As I watched her devour a dumpling, stuffing the whole packet down her throat, I felt another strange, bubbly sensation rising into my chest.

   

                  But it wasn’t uncomfortable… not like earlier. It was warm, pleasant, soothing…

   

                  It was-

   

                  I was-

   

                  I was happy.

   

                  I was happy that she liked my cooking.

   

                  I was happy that she was smiling at me.

   

                  What is this?

   

                  I reached up to touch my face and realised with a sudden jolt that I hadn’t been consciously faking my blush.

   

                  What am I doing?

   

                  I picked up my own silverware and impaled a dumpling with my knife. I stared at the fat little thing, leaking its innards all over my plate. With a jerk of my wrist, I sliced it in half.

   

                 What... am I doing?