Ancano’s eyes narrowed. “And that serves what purpose?” He wouldn’t object to leaving Winterhold—between the people and the cold, the place could do with a full-on apocalyptic scourging. But last he’d checked, his distant cousin was still commander of the garrison of Imperial soldiers in Riften and he’d rather not deal with family drama.

Ondolemar swirled his wine in his goblet again. “For one thing, it puts you nearer Maven Black-Briar and her interests. And nearer the Thieves’ Guild.” He offered a small smile. “And when our Lady Katrin returns, it will be better to be seen as her friends and allies than not. I know this woman, Ancano—her rage will not be sated with a few quick deaths.”

Ancano nodded. “Then best I get to Riften, Ambassador.”