I caught up with Taarie halfway down the street. She hadn't looked back once, but when I finally managed to fall into step beside her, she gave me the sort of glance one reserves for a stray dog that won't stop following.
"You're still here," she said flatly.
"You said you could help," I answered, breath misting in the air. "I'll take it."
That earned me a faint tilt of her head, lips twitching at the edge of a smile. Not kindness, but amusement. "Good. I wondered if you had enough sense to swallow pride."
"I'm not here to play games," I muttered.
"Then you'll do well." She smoothed an invisible crease in her robe, already looking ahead again. "The High Queen Elisif has already purchased several gowns from us. They're finished, waiting at the shop. Normally we'd hire a porter to deliver them, but frankly—" She paused, flicking her gaze at me again. "You'll do. Consider this your test."
"Test?" I asked.
"Carry them to the Blue Palace. Without dropping them. Without wrinkling them. Without tripping over your own boots." Her tone made it sound like she doubted I could do even one of those things correctly.
I let out a slow breath, but I didn't argue. It was work. It was a way to step toward the Palace without being dragged off by guards. That was enough.
We turned a corner, and she stopped before a tall, narrow building with carved stone pillars at its front. The sign above the door read in careful script: Radiant Raiment.
Inside, warmth and perfume struck me immediately—like stepping into another world. Fabrics hung on stands in shimmering folds, silks and velvets I'd only ever seen from a distance. Mannequins stood dressed in gowns embroidered with gold thread. The air smelled faintly of lavender and wool, sharp enough to make me aware again of how much I smelled like sweat and iron.
Behind a counter, another Altmer looked up from a spool of thread. Her hair was darker than Taarie's, her expression sharper. Endarie.
"Oh, marvelous," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm the instant her eyes landed on me. "You've brought me a filthy sellsword to drip on the rugs. Did the stables throw him out?"
Taarie didn't flinch. "He's agreed to carry Elisif's gowns to the palace."
Endarie blinked. Then, slowly, her gaze swept over me, pausing at every dent in my armor, every stain, every fray. By the time her eyes met mine again, the weight of her disdain felt heavier than my steel cuirass.
"No," she said simply.
I frowned. "What?"
"No," she repeated, folding her arms. "The High Queen's dresses will not be carried through the streets by someone who looks as though he wrestled a mudcrab and lost." Her eyes narrowed. "You'll take a bath first. Here. And for the Divines' sake, take that armor off before it contaminates the silk."
Heat rose in my face. "I—"
"She's right," Taarie cut in smoothly, already moving past me to pluck a folded gown from a shelf. "No one will look twice at you while you're dressed like that. They'll only see filth, and the Palace doesn't tolerate filth." She glanced over her shoulder, lips curving into that faint smirk again. "This is me helping."
The words stung. But I couldn't argue. Not here, not while the smell of lavender clung to everything, highlighting just how sour I reeked.
I unbuckled the first strap of my cuirass. The sound of leather snapping free felt loud in the quiet shop. Endarie gestured impatiently to a side door. "There. Water's already heated. Use soap. Scrub until you no longer smell like mildew."
I swallowed and nodded.
The bath was simple—a wooden tub half-filled with steaming water, a bar of rough soap on the stool beside it. Steam curled against the stone walls, already fogging the air.
Peeling off the armor felt like stripping away another skin. Sweat-soaked padding clung to me before I finally threw it in a heap on the floor. The smell hit me then, sour and heavy, and I understood fully what Endarie had meant.
The water burned at first touch, but soon the heat sank in, easing muscles that had been stiff since Kilkreath. I scrubbed until my skin stung, until the water clouded gray. The soap smelled faintly of pine.
For the first time in weeks, I felt… clean.
When I stepped back into the shop, toweling my hair, Endarie was waiting with folded clothes in her arms. "Put these on," she said briskly, shoving them against my chest before I could speak.
I glanced down. A tunic of dark blue linen, trousers of soft wool, a leather belt. Plain compared to the silks around us, but clean, fitted, and worlds better than my shredded underpadding.
"Where's my armor?" I asked.
"Being scrubbed," Endarie replied curtly. "If you want it back with half the grime still welded to it, you'll wait until tomorrow."
I hesitated, fingers brushing the tunic. "And in the meantime?"
"You'll deliver Elisif's gowns as you are," she said. Her eyes narrowed again. "No armor. No stench. No embarrassment."
I sighed, tugging the tunic over my head. The fabric settled light and soft against my skin, a stark contrast to the weight I'd grown used to.
When I stepped out, Taarie was waiting with a bundle. Dresses, carefully folded and layered in cloth. She pressed them into my arms without ceremony. "Handle them as though your life depends on it," she said. "Because if you stain even one hem, I'll see to it you never show your face in Solitude again."
Her eyes lingered on mine, sharp and knowing.
I shifted the bundle in my grip, its weight awkward but not unbearable. My heart beat faster anyway.
This was it. My first step toward the Palace.
Not as a hero. Not as a thane. Not as some chosen warrior with guards bowing in respect.
As a delivery boy.
I stepped into the fog-damp street, clutching gowns worth more than anything I'd ever owned, and started toward the Blue Palace.
For the first time, I felt like the world was testing me in a way swords and shadows never had.