Episode 3: An Invitation

  Chapter 4

  The Taloris went all out with dinner. Appetizers of fried saltrice strands and gelatinous eyestars paved the way to a heroic main course of ornada (a cat-sized ant that tasted like lobster) braised in comberry wine and served in its still bright-red carapace, its fat legs curled tightly under its thorax. Bowls of marshmerrow pulp mixed with shredded ash yams served as dessert. Servants refilled emptied cups with imported rice wine from central Cyrodiil. Having grown up off the coast of western Cyrodiil's grape country, Daria reasoned that she probably found the drink just as strange as the Dunmer did. Strange, but by no means bad.

  And a welcome relief.

  Some of the families put aside bits and pieces of their meals for their servants, who stood in a state of famished torment as the feast's riot of sweet and sour smells filled the enormous room. Other families didn't bother.

  Daria kept staring guiltily at Jane, who looked completely absorbed in her artwork. Jane's plan had been to make a quick and flattering painting of the Morgendorffers and show it around to advertise her skills. Never a big eater, Daria put aside a generous amount for her only friend.

  All the while, the room buzzed with conversation. Words snapped in and out of her ears, never enough to piece together a full conversation. Mom took note of every missed opportunity, she was sure, but how could anyone talk on and on about getting good deals on Solstheim furs or exactly how much money the Sloan family had? Quinn and Jolda talked, or at least Quinn did, Jolda nodding and smiling in response. Dad seemed interested in whatever Jolda's father had to say.

  Thoughts of the attack kept replaying in Daria's mind, undeterred by her cup of rice wine. All the while Synda ate her meal at the neighboring table in complete serenity, Daria's pain no more than an amusement.

  How many of the other Dunmer would find it equally amusing? Not fair to think that, she noted. But she couldn't quite get it out of her head.

  Finally, the meal ended, and the social mingling began. Daria stood up and took the bowl she'd reserved for Jane, complete with a full ornada leg.

  "Hey, give Jane some of ours, too," Dad said, piling some marshmerrow into the bowl. Mom and Quinn followed suit until the small vessel threatened to overflow.

  Pleased at her family's generosity, she added a spare fork to the meal and walked over to Jane, who was still busy at work.

  "Got this for you," Daria said. "Sorry it's so late."

  Jane's eyes widened as she took the bowl. "Wow, I was not expecting—a whole ornada leg?"

  "I think so?" Daria said. "Hard to know, given I've never seen an ornada before tonight."

  Jane grabbed the segmented leg and ripped into it with her teeth, tearing off the translucent red carapace before biting into the white flesh beneath, flecks flying off the side of her mouth.

  Daria blinked in surprise. "Uh, I also brought you a fork," she said.

  "Forks are for rich people," Jane mumbled between bites.

  "I don't think socioeconomic status affects one's ability to use utensils."

  Jane paused. "Seriously, Daria, I don't know how to use one. And I'm not going to waste time learning when there's this delicious meal in front of me. And thank you again for bringing me this!"

  Daria looked at the drying painting while Jane ate. Jane had made the image in swift, broad strokes, trying to capture as much as she could in the limited time available. For all that, her intent had come through: the Morgendorffers as refined and tasteful members of the merchant class. The painted Daria, smiling and sans glasses, engaged in conversation with a Quinn who noxiously managed to look even more graceful and lovely on canvas than in reality.

  "It's beautiful. But if you think that's how we look, then I think you might be the one who needs glasses," Daria said.

  Jane shrugged. "Hey, most people hire artists to flatter."

  "Kidding aside, it is excellent. How did you do it so quickly?"

  "I took a few shortcuts. Most won't notice." Jane tossed the now-empty carapace on the floor. "That's the nice thing about selling to the artistically illiterate."

  "Not to mention ethically bankrupt," Daria added.

  "Now come on, I’ll need your help once this dries out," Jane said. "Remember, I'm your menial, so you’ll need to break the ice for me. Wouldn't look good to have a lowborn like me pestering all these good people. Plus, it gives you a chance to network."

  "Mutual exploitation is the foundation for any good friendship."

  Jane shrugged. "Seems to work for Hlaalu and the Empire."

  "Let me get another one of these, first," Daria said, taking her empty cup and filling it to the brim with warm rice wine. A nearby servant watched her initiative with a disapproving frown, which she chose to ignore.

  *********

  Karl the Unctuous (though he knew he'd one day be called Karl the Lover, or perhaps Karl the Golden like his father) observed the wondrous array before him and hid his gut-wrenching terror behind a smile.

  Dinners like this were the perfect opportunity to meet new and interesting people. And from there, well, anything could happen, and his heart soared at the thought of soft kisses and perfumed arms. He'd left nothing to chance, styling his curly red hair and shaving with great precision to avoid any unsightly nicks or scratches. His extravagant yellow coat gleamed in the lantern light. And he had one more way to make himself (hopefully) sound and look like the man he wanted to be.

  The three lunkheads from Drenlyn were again drooling over Quinn and arguing as to the best way to woo her.

  "Girls like dancing, so we should ask her to dance!" Jonus said, drink and heat rendering his face almost as red as his coppery hair.

  "There's no music, dummy! I don't think this is that kind of party," Julien disagreed, perspiration causing his lank black hair to stick to his brow.

  "So two of us could like, sing, or something," blond Jeval suggested in a voice that sounded too deep to come from his skinny frame. His black Bosmer eyes were fixed on the object of his fascination. "And the third one dances with her."

  "Sure," Julien scoffed. "I volunteer to dance with her while you two suckers sing!"

  "No way!" Jeval protested. "It was my idea; I should be the one to dance with her."

  Karl announced his presence with what he hoped was a knowing chuckle. It got the trio's attention, at any rate.

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  "What's so funny, weirdo?" Jonus demanded.

  "Simply observing your intense but perhaps myopic ardor for the admittedly stunning Quinn Morgendorffer."

  "Does anyone know what the hell he's talking about?" Jeval asked.

  Karl straightened up and tugged at his coat's silver-threaded lapels. If he spun this the right way, he could make a tidy profit from his plan.

  "Gentlemen, I believe we pursue the same goals," he announced, thrusting a bony index finger into the air.

  "Get lost! We saw Quinn first!"

  Karl cleared his throat and let his arm drop. "I mean, we'd all like to win the hand of a lovely maiden. I certainly would not intrude on your quest for the luscious younger Morgendorffer. But mortal Men and Mer that we are, it'd certainly behoove us to smell our best, so to speak."

  The three stared at him with blank expressions. Karl waggled his eyebrows and reached into his coat, taking out a long-necked porcelain bottle he'd carefully tucked away.

  "I present to you none other than genuine Telvanni bug musk, the finest cologne in all of Morrowind—nay, all of Tamriel!"

  He uncorked the bottle and held it out just a bit so that he could pull back if any of the goons tried to grab it. A spicy and prickly scent drifted out from the open vessel, redolent of eastern Morrowind's arcane darkness.

  Jonus sneered. "There's no way you got your hands on the real thing."

  "On the contrary, my good man. My father's a deputy of the East Empire Company after all, and I am something of an, ahem, unofficial company agent," Karl said, following his words with a grin.

  Being an intern was just like being an unofficial agent, he was pretty sure.

  "So, are you going to share that with us?" Julien demanded.

  "Share? No, not share; there are limits to even my generosity. But I may be willing to sell some portion of this enchanting aroma. There should be enough here for the four of us."

  That way, if wearing the musk failed to win him any lovelies, he'd still have coin to go toward a finer suit of clothes. Another brilliant plan!

  The three went into a huddle, voices low and murmuring. They turned to face him once they finished, eyes wide with hope and mouths set in doubt.

  "Before we pay for this, we want to see you try it out. Put some on yourself and then ask Quinn to dance," Julien said.

  "No, you idiot! What if Quinn decides she likes him?" Jonus interjected.

  Jeval settled it. "Put some on yourself and ask some other girl. Maybe that sister of hers or whatever."

  Karl smiled and bowed. "Very well. Prepare to see the power of bug musk in action!"

  He didn't actually know if this would work. Everyone said it smelled enchanting, though it hadn't smelled all that great to him. Taking it from his father's cabinet had been a big risk—but how could he deny opportunity? Karl opened the bottle again and poured out some of the clear liquid onto his right hand. He dabbed it on his neck and brow, stifling a sneeze as he got a stronger dose of the stuff.

  Now or never. Puffing out his chest, he headed straight toward Daria Morgendorffer and the Dunmer girl she was often with. He ran his fingers through his hair, dreaming of the passion the two (or maybe three) of them would soon enjoy. Daria was no beauty, but she certainly wasn't unattractive, in spite of the awkward spectacles barely balanced on her nose.

  "Ah, if it isn't the lovely Miss Morgendorffer," he said, giving a florid bow. Already, he imagined her senses intrigued by the powerful fragrance that clung to his body. "So often I've seen your beauty gracing the drab spaces of Drenlyn Academy, yet we've never had the chance to interact. So, pray tell, where have you been all my life?"

  He leaned close. Would she go in and kiss him after the preamble? Did girls do that?

  No expression stirred her stoic face, her eyes cold and distorted behind the thick lenses. "I've been staying as far away from you as humanly possible, something I intend to continue doing for the rest of your life."

  She turned and walked away with her friend.

  Karl tried to halt the panic rising within his chest. "I'll be here when you lovely ladies are ready," he said.

  The trio was already jeering.

  "I knew it! Whatever he has in that bottle isn't the real thing," Jeval huffed.

  "It absolutely is the genuine item!" Karl protested, his voice getting reedier as his words quickened. He knew that for a fact.

  Brainstorming for an excuse, he continued. "But perhaps I didn't use enough. I know exactly what to add to the mixture to make this bug musk live up to its reputation. Rest assured, I am a proficient alchemist!"

  He'd taken a few alchemy lessons, at any rate. Karl looked for an escape route. "I'll be back shortly!" he said, hurrying deeper into the manor home, heart pounding and very much needing a few moments to recalibrate himself and his cologne.

  *********

  "I guess you had to run into Karl the Unctuous sooner or later," Jane said as the skinny Nord hurried away.

  "Whatever connections he has can't be worth it," Daria said. "And I think even my mom would back me on that."

  "His dad does run the East Empire Company's Balmora office."

  "All the more reason to avoid him."

  "It's a pretty dinky office, anyway. So one unworthy prospect shot down; a few dozen more to go." Jane eyed the crowd.

  Daria sighed. "You know these people better than me. Who isn't awful?"

  Jane frowned. "Hmm, that might not be the best metric by which to pick. Hey, how about Serjo Talori himself? Since you're already giving into corruption, you might as well go all out."

  Daria glanced at the master of the house, who was chatting with a wealthy-looking Imperial couple. He did seem at ease with outlanders. Though his own wife had still been seated at the other outlander table, matrimonial bonds be damned.

  "I guess I don't have a choice."

  "Just remember to bow," Jane said. "Both when you meet him and when you leave. Refer to him as Serjo Talori—nobles always get the 'serjo'. Keep your eyes a little downcast, like you can't quite bear to bask in his radiance. Give your parents' names before you give yours. Talk him up about being part of Hlaalu; he'll love that. Make sure your hands are open, not balled up in fists like they are right now. I think that's it?"

  "You think? Maybe you should do this, Jane."

  "You're not noble, but you are respectable. Us Llayns are proud menials. Come on, you'll be fine. Serjo Talori does a lot of business with outlanders, so he's used to the occasional screw-up."

  Jane put her hand on Daria's back and nudged her forward. Daria's booted feet shuffled on the flagstones.

  "Oh, don't shuffle either," Jane warned. "Forgot to mention that."

  Resigned, Daria took proper steps, her stiff clothes fighting her every inch of the way. When she reached Sedrane, she bowed and waited expectantly. He continued chatting. Daria glanced at Jane, hoping for a hint. But Jane had her gaze on the floor, hands clasping the edge of her canvas.

  "Excuse me," Daria said, a bit louder than she'd intended to.

  Sedrane stopped in the middle of describing saltrice investments in the Ascadian Isles.

  Trying to strengthen her position, Daria met Sedrane's gaze head-on. "Uh, good evening, Serjo Talori. I'm Daria Morgendorffer, and I wanted to thank you for this lavish meal and for inviting me and my family. Uh, congratulations on being a part of House Hlaalu."

  Only then did she remember that she wasn't supposed to look him in the eyes and that she wasn't supposed to have her hands clenched. She released her grip but didn't turn her gaze.

  "And who are you?" Sedrane asked.

  "I just said—" she stopped, remembering that she was supposed to introduce her father. "I mean, I'm Jake and Helen Morgendorffer's daughter." Her words came out more acidly than she'd intended.

  "Oh, of course. My daughter suggested your family." Sedrane chuckled. "I've heard of your father; he helped the Hlerso family close that deal in Seyda Neen a few months back. Impressive work."

  "He did," Daria said, remembering the transaction in question. "Anyway, I'm training at Drenlyn to be a savant. And uh, this is my friend Jane, who is an artist."

  Weight lifted from Daria's shoulders the moment she diverted Sedrane's—she'd be damned if she ever thought of him as Serjo Talori—attention to Jane.

  "Thank you, Mistress Daria," Jane said, her voice suddenly crumpled up like old parchment. "The Morgendorffers were kind enough to request my services so that I might capture the honor of your invitation in paint. This is but a practice draft, but I pray I was able to portray the refinement and grace of my employers."

  Chills ran down Daria's spine. The confident Jane was gone, replaced by a bowing and cringing girl she barely recognized. Sedrane leaned in for a closer look at the painting.

  "Not bad," he said. "The brushwork gets a little lazy at the edges."

  "My apologies, Serjo Talori. And to you, Mistress Daria: I assure you that the finished product will not be marred by such carelessness."

  "I'm a bit of an art aficionado myself," Sedrane said. "I tend to prefer traditional Dunmer styles. In painting, if not in wardrobe," he added with a chuckle, turning slightly to show off his coat.

  "I've seen some more traditional work from Jane. It's excellent," Daria said.

  Sedrane faced her. "Given that you're an outlander, how would you know what makes for good Dunmer art? Anyway, I have plenty of native artists I can choose from. I can tell that your artistic menial isn't from Morrowind. But I'm sure plenty of other outlanders would love to hang her scribblings on their walls. Good evening, ladies."

  Daria was too angry to remember to bow.

  "How could you stand that?" Daria demanded as they walked away.

  "It's just how it is."

  "And how did he know you're not from here? You're both Dunmer. You're wearing Imperial clothes, but so is he."

  Jane shrugged. "People talk. Plus, I don't have any scars or tattoos to show off where I'm from, not even tiny ones. That's a giveaway. Anyway, one more on the reject pile. Who else?"

  "Is 'nobody' an option?" Daria asked.

  Musical Closer -