#velsa

"Strange way to show hospitality to an invited guest," she said. "Aren't you an alchemist? Couldn't you have just offered me poisoned tea?"

"Please, that would have been obvious."

"Unlike your current methods, I suppose?"

Velsa glowered.

"Okay, clearly you see me as some sort of threat," Milia said. "I'm here on your turf, on your terms. Is that not enough? I'll even disarm myself." She tossed her weapons and the Dwemer rod on the ground in front of her. Velsa was more bark than bite. She was fairly confident she could handle herself against her if it came to it.

"You have magic," Velsa said.

"And you have my word that I won't use it against you unless you make me. Now, can you tell me why I'm here?"

Velsa sighed and motioned her to a table.

"Who do you work for, Mivynea?"

"I work for Zeira," she said nonchalantly, taking the seat across from her host.

No suspicion on the concealed identity front, then—or at least the name. That was good.

"Spare me," Velsa snapped. "A mysterious Dunmer with a glass staff and a Morrowind accent shows up, hardly showing her face, whose skills in stealth frankly leave a lot to be desired, and days later someone slips this letter in my pocket, and you expect me to believe you're not sent from House Dres? What do you want? To spy on me? To kill me?"

Milia ignored the barb. Of course her skills in stealth were lacking—that was why Vivec had sent her to train.

"May I see that letter?" she asked.

Velsa handed over the letter slowly, her eyes tracing Milia's every move. Milia tried to ignore the piercing gaze as she scanned the letter. It was a brief well-wish written in Cyrodilic. There was some strange residue on it, but she could ask about that later. She wondered what about it was so frightening to Velsa.

"First of all, Velsa, you're reaching," she said, softening her voice now. "Dres is a mainland house. I have a Western Vvardenfell accent. In fact, I am an upstanding member of House Redoran. I dislike House Dres as much as you seem to think they dislike you."

Velsa kept scanning her face as if searching for the lie, though none was to be found.

"In that case," she said after a long moment, "what brings House Redoran's most average thief all the way to the Guild?"

Milia smiled under her mask. She was starting to see why so many of her colleagues—thieves and Armigers alike—liked when they had a chance to engage in subterfuge. The reveal was exciting.

"Well, I suppose there's no harm in telling you," she said dramatically. "Assuming you can keep a secret, that is."

Velsa rolled her eyes. "I'm not in the habit of gossipping with guildmates."

She leaned in close and whispered, "My patron sent me to train my thieving skills with some of Tamriel's best."

Velsa raised an eyebrow, poorly feigning disinterest. "Your patron?"

Milia inclined her head pointedly toward her glass staff on the ground. "The Thief hirself."

Velsa's eyes widened. "You're a Buoyant Armiger?"

"I am," Milia said. "And in addition to training my skills, I suspect I'm also here to help you deal with this Dres issue. What else can you tell me about it?"

When Velsa had given Milia all the information she needed to pursue the half-naked Nord, Milia picked up her weapons and made to leave. She hopped up on the wall overlooking the garden, then paused and turned partway back to face Velsa.