7. long live (1/2)

a/n thanks to rosa for helping me with this! sandry has arrived in summersea, and has hired

iar to help her, as we have seen in always us. they have started making their moves towards sandry's coup, but are still living in the city and have not yet found either daja or tris.

summary what did he want?

iar hadn't thought to wonder for weeks, now, since sandry had stepped off her boat, onto his docks, and had drawn him into the darkness.

iar sat on the bed to tug on the soft leather boots sandrilene had delivered to him. it was nearly dark in his room, the light set in the furthest corner and lowered to a dim flicker as the bag-girl herself was standing by the door, watching as

iar stood and tested the boots out, making sure they fit snugly and would make no sound. they were stained dark, just off black, like the rest of his clothes. his tunic had a hood that he could pull up over his head, but the rest fit on the tight side of fashionable, leaving no extra material to get caught in a fight or while he snuck about.

"i didn't want to put you all in black," the noble said, looking him over. "it looks too suspicious, if the provost's guard sees you in the street."

"black isn't best for sneakin', anyhow,"

iar muttered, checking the knives he had secured on his upper body, making sure each and every one was easy to draw. he had sharpened them already that evening. "no shadows are pure black, you know."

"i suppose not," she answered distantly, that shadows-child, and

iar didn't look up to mark the expression on her face. some things were private. "you're sure you have the address, the right room marked – "

"for the last time, duchess, yes,"

iar snapped, moving on to check the knives on his legs and in his boots. "if you don't stop fretting, i'm not going to do this at all."

"you don't have to," she said quietly. "i mean, if you don't want to."

he froze, one hand on the knife he had just slipped back into his ankle sheath, the other

aced against the bed. they didn't do this, the two of them. they didn't do quiet concern and doubts and what they wanted. she had her madness and her darkness and her single-minded purpose. he had his ruthlessness and her money and his anger and that was what they were.

so he snarled, roughly: "just like a girl, to get cold feet at the last possible moment. you don't want to go through with this, duchess, just give me the say-so." he pushed himself up to standing and stared at her. "but do it now, so i can get some sleep instead."

she stepped forward, turning her head away from the light, however dim it was. she looked up at him. "good," she said, the quiet expression gone as if it had been in his imagination. the guards kept to the outer guard-room of this merchant's estate, out of her way unless absolutely necessary and

iar – skulking in dark corners – had seen more than one of the namornese men make the gods-circle behind her back when she couldn't see them do it. she made them nervous with her darkness and her rags and her resolve to take this country, no matter what it took, no matter who paid the price.

but

iar understood that. why should she care about these people? when had any of them ever stuck a neck out for people like him, like this bag-girl with her shadowed eyes? she made sense to

iar; it only made him nervous to see this shadow-princess show her human side. "good," she repeated, and he didn't

eathe a sigh of relief that she was back to her normal self, no, he did not.

she handed him small dried rose, the previously red flower turned rust. the thorns were still sharp; he pricked himself as he reached to take it from her. she looked up at him, the blue he knew was in her eyes masked by her pupils, large and dark as they tried to pick up the little light she'd give them. "leave this there, when it's done. when we do the others, i want them to know why."

iar grinned, all teeth and malice instead of mirth. he tucked the rose into the pouch he would strap securely to his side. the clock tower in market square chimed the hour and

iar did a last quick check before he moved towards the door.

"be careful," she said softly.

"don't worry your neb about me, bag," he said, slipping into the darkness. "i'll not lead them back here to you."

she snorted. "just be careful,

iar."

"don't wait up," he quipped and then was gone, down the staircase and out through the back door, into the small courtyard of the house sandrilene had bought, one that led into a barely-used alley off bowler's lane. it was a quick walk up fountain street, into the emerald triangle where the nobles supporting the current duke lived.

where one less would live, after tonight.

iar touched a hand to one of the knives he wore and walked at a sedate pace through the darkness, as if he owned it.

he passed only one pair of harriers, and they didn't look twice at him as he walked by, intent as they were on reaching fountain square and the food offered up free and hot for the guards.

iar found the small street he and sandry had strolled down last week – more an alley than an actual street, and one barely used during the day and neglected by the lord's guards in the evenings. he planned to climb over the hedge that protected the nobleman's property from riff-raff like

iar, but glanced around himself quickly first. if he was seen here, he would have to try to fight his way inside. he had

ought multiple weapons for just that purpose, but knives would hold only so long against swordsmen, and he was unlikely – at best – to succeed, and survive.