His life had been torn to shreds for the third time in as many years. He held it until the paper felt moist on his fingers where the dampness of his grieving hands held it tightly. Perhaps Cicero could have saved Alisanne as well.Ĭicero sat with the letter for what felt like hours. Perhaps they were outnumbered, but Garnag managed to make it out. He had begged Rasha to let him join Andronica and Garnag at the crypt. His sweet Alisanne, with whom he had gone to sit with many times at the statue of the Lucky Old Lady, had indeed cared as much for him as he had her. He was grateful to have already been crouched down with not far to fall.Īlisanne….had loved him. He had to reread it twice more to even begin to put the words together.Īs he finished the letter, he felt his legs collapse beneath him. He reached in and pulled the paper out, gently unfolding it.Ī letter! A letter to Cicero! He read through it quickly, his eyes moving faster than his brain could comprehend. In the safe was a single sheet of paper, folded neatly and placed centered in the bottom of the safe. Surprisingly, the door swung open freely. He contemplated skipping the safe, as any weapons of value would not have fit in the safe, nor would any armor, but curiosity got the best of him and he crouched down once more to pick the lock. He retrieved the contracts and placed them in the satchel behind the flower. Until the Night Mother chose a new Listener. Though they were under heavy threat, the Dark Brotherhood could at least survive on these for awhile. The strong box contained a stack of contracts, as expected. He knew that it had the best lock available because of course Alisanne would not have gone for anything less than perfection, but still, he opened it with ease, not snapping a single pick in the process. Tears formed in Cicero’s eyes as he pulled out a lockpick and began to work on the strongbox. Even if it was not the same bunch, at least it was something of hers.
He plucked one from the basket and tucked it into his satchel. Cicero wondered if these had been the same bouquet he had brought to the Lucky Old Lady just weeks ago. The basket contained dry Nightshade flowers. Beneath he found a safe, a strong box and a basket. He came to a table that had suffered very little damage. Something that would have been difficult on a good day, made exponentially worse while grieving. He had never been inside Alisanne’s house before and had no clue where to find anything that he’d been tasked with retrieving.
The only comfort was that her soul was with Sithis now.Ĭicero lifted boards and shuffled papers, attempting to make sense of what was now utter chaos. The gratefulness he had held that she was not there when the violence came to her home had fled when he learned that she had been unable to escape fate by the crypt. The flames must have been set mostly to the outside of the structure. There had been fire, though less than he had expected. Ruined books scattered the floor, broken dishes and smashed furniture lay tossed about. He could barely stand to approach the residence and took his time entering. And not just any errand, but to parse through the belongings of someone with whom he had fallen deeply in love and who had been horrifically burned defending the only other woman he held dear to his heart. He had barely learned of his beloved Alisanne’s death coupled with the destruction of the Lucky Old Lady statue and he had been sent on an errand. Notes of contracts, weapons, armor, training techniques and the like, mostly. Cicero had been sent to the charred remains of Alisanne’s residence in Bravil to claim any salvageable items that may be of value to the sanctuary.