Daughter to Dragons- a Skyrim inspired fantasy

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

My sister’s gaze bore into me, as if trying to crack through my skin and boil me from the inside.  It wouldn’t work.  Whatever intimidation factor she held over the others, she held none with me.  After all, I was the one our father chose.

“Your father had another child?” gaped Rhythe.  For someone who claimed to know my father, it seemed he didn’t know him well at all.

I nodded.  “He had several children.  Some his own blood, others he took on as his own.”  I gestured to Vulfa, standing before me in all her arrogant pride.  “Vulfa is older, but still a bastard child.  My father never married Aela.”

“I was still his daughter though,” Vulfa sneered.  “His eldest.”

I could help but roll my eyes at my dear sister.  My focus turned to Rhythe.  “You see why I don’t come here as often as I used to?  Having to deal with her has always been more difficult than dealing with a dragon attack.  Of course, you wouldn’t know about that, would you, Vulfa?” I said sweetly.  “You’ve never even faced a dragon.”

“Not for lack of trying, sweet Amelsa.”

“Look,” I snapped.  “As soon as I get what I came for, I’ll be gone.  You can go back to being Harbinger and doing whatever it is that you do.”

“How do you even know it’s still here?” she sneered.  “What makes you think I haven’t taken it for my own?”

“Because you’re not stupid.  And I’m not stupid.  You don’t have the key to open the safe because I have the only key.  And since that key was taken from me,” I shot a glare at Rhythe, “I know you can’t get in it.”

She snorted.  “You lost the key?  How do you expect to get in it now?”

I dug my hand into my pocket and drew out my lockpicks.  Her face fell which caused mine to light up.  “You mother trained you how to be a Companion.  But mine trained me in the finer arts.”  I shoved the picks back into my pocket with a satisfied smirk.  “Now if you’ll excuse me.  I have a safe to break into.”

I found the safe exactly where my father and I left it—right beneath the table outside the Harbinger’s quarters.  Except it had gathered a thick layer of dust.  I dragged my finger through it and balled it up, tossing it to the floor.  A parting gift to my beloved sister.

“It’s probably going to take a while,” I said.

Rhythe took a seat in the chair as I pulled out my picks.  “Take your time.  I’ve always wondered what it looked like in here.  I’ve heard stories, you know.”

“Mhm,” I mumbled as I delicately pushed the pick into the lock.  I was out of practice, I knew.  But what better practice than a master-level lock.

He sighed, leaning back in the chair.  It squeaked with the shift of weight.  A part of me hoped it would break.  Watching him fall on his ass would be hilarious to witness and breaking some of Vulfa’s things would be fun on top of that.

I jiggled the pick around, feeling the rigidity of the lock.  It hadn’t been used it years, so the gears were a little stiff.  I would probably have to get some more picks before the day was done.  With a pressed frown, I set to work.

“So what’s so important?” he asked suddenly causing me to flinch and break the pick.

I shot a glare at him as I picked up another one.  “You’ll see soon enough,” I grumbled.

He gave an exaggerated sigh and picked up a book lying on the desk.  As he flipped through the pages, I set my mind on this lock.  I tried to remember the last time I had even picked a lock.  It had to have been during my time in Cyrodiil, before my father’s death.  If I remember correctly, I was trying to break into a house of a supposed Thalmor supporter.  Oh yes, that was it.  An Imperial merchant by the name of Drusius Solesium.  The dumb bloke was selling weapons and information to the Thalmor.  Some poison in his wine put a stop to that.