Hi, everyone! I'm so sorry about posting during the normal time-especially after teasing about posting early! This past week was absolutely INSANE, and I barely had time to breathe! But enough excuses! Here's Chapter 30!
This was a mistake, Iris thinks as she creeps down the stone stairs, clutching her new armor in her hands. She blinks against the warm lighting as she descends into a cavern-like room, complete with a small pool of water. A group of assassins stand in a circle, all wearing the same armor Astrid had just given her.
"Oh Babette, but you are so wicked," an older woman chuckles.
Iris stops just behind the group, shuffling her feet.
"What about you, Festus?" a Redguard man asks. "How did that last contract turn out?"
"Oh, yes, please, old man," a large, bearded Nord says. "Regale us with your tales of wizardry."
"Ah, the young and stupid." An old man in robes, Festus, scoffs. "Always mocking the experienced and brilliant. My contract when very well, I'll have you know. Tried a new spell. Little something I've been working on in my spare time. Came this close to turning that priest inside out. Damned messy."
Iris's stomach churns. What was she thinking? She doesn't belong with these…psychopaths.
"And what of your latest, Arnbjorn? Something about a Khajiit? Merchant, was it?" the older woman asks the Nord.
"Oh, a big doggy chasing a little kitty! How adorable!" Iris's heart stops when she finds the source of the high-pitched voice. A little girl. A little girl no older than ten.
"I am not adorable, it was not funny, and he wasn't a merchant," Arnbjorn retorts. "He was a Khajiit monk, a master of the Whispering Fang style. But now, he's dead. And I have a new loincloth."
The assassins erupt into raucous laughter at his words, and the sinking feeling in Iris's stomach intensifies when Arnbjorn spots her.
"Oh, who's this?"
Iris's lips part silently as each pair of eyes finds hers.
"You must be the contract stealer," an Argonian muses. "What's your name?"
"I'm Iris." She forces herself to swallow her fear.
This is just another disguise, she thinks. Just pretend this is for a job.
She shoves a smile on her face and takes a few steps closer to the group.
"Really? You're the one who killed Grelod?" Arnbjorn asks, arching his eyebrows before huffing. "You don't look like much."
Iris scoffs. "I know who'll be eating their words soon enough."
He scowls at her as the other laugh softly, but she doesn't break eye contact.
"So, Iris, what do you think of your potential new home?" the older woman asks.
Iris furrows her brow. "Potential?"
"We don't know if you'll last. Every new recruit is sort of up in the air until they prove themselves," the Redguard says.
"Well, it'd be more homey if I knew your names." The Breton ignores his words.
"I'm Nazir," the Reguard introduces himself.
"Gabriella," the older woman says.
"Veezara," the Argonian bows his head.
But Iris doesn't catch the rest of their names because a sudden chanting takes up space in her head. Gasping softly, she looks around herself, trying to find the source. She feels the pull on her chest, urging her forward, and her eyes widen when she finds it. A Word Wall. Right in the center of the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. All other sounds muffle as she moves toward it, the Thu'um already glowing and searing into her soul. The chanting grows louder, echoing in her ears as she absorbs the new Word, feels it enter her very being, the new Word on her tongue.
"Krii," she Whispers as the chanting dissipates.
"Well, looks like our new recruit is more than what meets the eye."
She flinches and whirls around, remembering the crowd of assassins.
"I'm—I'm sorry," she sputters.
Most of them shrug it off and walk off. But one pair of eyes locks with hers, as if to say he knows her secret.
She looks away, moving away from the Word Wall.
"Dragonborn, huh?" Veezara catches up with her.
"So much for keeping it a secret," Iris mutters.
The Argonian chuckles warmly. "Makes no difference whether you're the Dragonborn or not. If you're a good assassin, that's what matters."
Iris bites her lip, feeling uncomfortable. "How long have you been in the Dark Brotherhood?"
"I have been a part of the Dark Brotherhood from the day I first hatched. I am a Shadowscale, you see. Born under the sign of the Shadow."
"A Shadowscale?"
Veezara nods. "I was an assassin in service to the King of Black Marsh, trained by the Dark Brotherhood since the day of my hatching." He sighs. "But that was a lifetime ago. Today, I am the last of my kind. My order is extinct."
"Oh…I'm sorry." Iris frowns.
He waves his hand. "I happily serve Astrid now. After all, I am still a trained killer, and once again have been given purpose. Life is good." He chuckles lightly.
Iris forces a smile. "Do you know where Nazir is? I'm supposed to talk to him about some contracts."
Veezara directs her to the dining area where she finds the Redguard.
Nazir tells her about three different targets, each a seemingly 'easy' mark to get her warmed up. She gulps down the lump in her throat and takes the contracts from him. She makes to move past him to leave, but he catches her arm.
"Listen, I have no intention of getting invested in someone who may be dead tomorrow."
She rolls her eyes, jerking her arm out of the Redguard's grip. "We'll see about that."
And she ascends the stairs back out into the wilderness.
Twigs crack under his feet as Brynjolf reaches the Standing Stone and ducks into the Sanctuary. His brow creases with worry as he makes his way through the cavernous structure, reaching the bridge.
"Karliah?" his voice echoes.
Nothing but silence answers his call. Frowning, he wanders into the stone hallways, looking for the Dunmer.
After searching the entire Sanctuary, he has no choice but to accept that she is not there.
Cursing under his breath, he sinks onto one of the beds, rubbing his weary eyes. Iris had to have returned the Key. She told him that she did it a while ago, but he can't seem to remember her telling him about it. Unless, she never did. Unless, she never returned the Key. But why in Oblivion would Iris blatantly harm the Guild by not returning it? She would never do that. But…Brynjolf sighs, remembering the guilt in her eyes, the absence of grief. What if she did lie about it? What if she still has the Key?
Frustrated, he groans, collapsing onto the soft mattress. He needs to confront her about it, but who knows when she'll return from the Tower of Mzark? She said it may take a while and that she didn't know when she'd be back. He rolls onto his side, closing his eyes. He hopes he's wrong about Iris. Gods, he hopes he's wrong.
Iris bites her thumbnail, twirling the quill in her hand and staring at the blank parchment resting upon a book in her lap. She hasn't written Ianthe since she arrived in Skyrim. How is she supposed to start? A wave of homesickness washes over her, leaving her with a forlorn weight in her gut. Shifting closer to the crackling fire, she dips her quill in ink and begins to write to the priestess.
Dearest Ianthe,
I hope all is well in the Temple. I am sorry that it has taken me this long to write. I hope you haven't been too worried. Skyrim…isn't what I thought. It's not all bad, though I've certainly face many challenges here. I've sort of gotten tangled up in something much bigger than myself. But do not worry, dear Ianthe. I will cope as I always do.
I've made a few friends here, some closer than others, though it's difficult to keep them. There is one in particular I am most worried about. We've become very close, and I tell him almost everything. But it's the 'almost' that worries me. He tells me all his secrets, but I can't bear to do the same. I'm not sure why. He is my best friend. Then again, it's strange to have a best friend that isn't you.
I miss you so much that it aches my bones. I long to visit soon, but because of my duties, I do not think it will be anytime soon. Please keep yourself safe and healthy—be sure to keep taking your tonic every night. I know how much you conveniently forget. I can hear you now. Yes, I know you can take care of yourself and that you don't need me to function. But sometimes, it feels as though I need you. Especially now. I miss you very much and pray that all is well. Send my love to the others, and I will visit when I can.
All my love,
Iris
She sets down the quill, quickly reading over the letter. There's so much more she wants to tell Ianthe, but it can't be written down. She wants to ask about love, trust, guilt, but she can't risk writing any of it down for fear of it being intercepted. After waiting for the ink to dry, Iris carefully folds the letter, addressing it to Ianthe and stowing it in her bag. A sigh leaves her lips as she settles back into her bedroll, scooting closer to the fire. She closes her burning eyes, the black tinged red behind her lids, tinted by the fire, and shivers in the cold.
She's supposed to arrive at the Tower of Mzark tomorrow. She's supposed to find the Elder Scroll and learn the Thu'um to defeat Alduin. She's going to be one step closer to fulfilling her destiny. She should be ecstatic, a little scared, but excited. So, why does she feel so unmotivated to go? Her thoughts wander to the three contracts. Beitild lives in Dawnstar. The Tower of Mzark is close to Dawnstar. What if she made a little pitstop?
An unbidden sob escapes her lips. What is happening to her? She isn't a killer. She isn't an assassin. And here she is, considering killing one of the targets on her way to fulfill her Dragonborn destiny. Bile rises in her throat; she's disgusted with herself for thinking such things. Her eyes flit to the red and black armor haphazardly stuffed in her bag. She joined the Dark Brotherhood yet she still can't understand why. It's like two parts of her are fighting, battling with each other. One side begs her not to kill, the other says why not? And, Gods, what would Bryn say if he knew? The sting of tears pierce her eyes at the thought. He would hate her. Disown her. Leave her. Just like her parents.
But, a small voice says, are you keeping yourself from doing it because of him? Or you?
She shakes her head, burying her face into her pillow. She can't afford to think these thoughts. Not now. Not when she's so close to continuing on her Dragonborn journey.
A shuddering exhale blows past her lips as she forces her eyes closed. For now, she just needs to sleep.
An elongated howl permeates Iris's subconscious as she rouses. Bleary-eyed, she sits up in her makeshift tent, blinking against the bright snow as the howl sounds again.
Cursing under her breath, she forces herself to her feet, brandishing her sword and hunting for the wolf. Shivering in the cold, Iris turns in a slow circle, her eyes straining to adjust to the blinding snow. Just when she begins to think the wolf has left, a growl rumbles behind her. She whirls around, but the wolf is faster. It leaps on her from behind. Its teeth sink into her sword arm. She cries out in pain and tries to swat the wolf away, but its teeth only tighten its grip in her skin. Twisting her other arm around, she blasts flames in the wolf's face. It cries out, letting go of her arm. With a pained gasp, Iris raises her sword and impales the beast in one quick stroke. She immediately straightens up, her eyes darting around to see if more come running. When nothing meets her gaze but softly falling snow, she drops her sword, nursing her arm. Crimson blood drips onto the fresh snow as she examines the wound. She's relieved to find it isn't too bad, just a shallow bite wound. She shuffles back to the tent, rummaging in her bag for a roll of bandages. After cleaning and wrapping her arm, she packs up the rest of her things and heads out.
And when she reaches the fork in the road, right taking her to the Tower of Mzark and left taking her to the target in Dawnstar…
She goes left.
What do you guys think of the story so far? It's definitely taken a turn compared to where we started! What do you think will happen next? And how do you think Iris and Bryn's relationship will fare with all these lies? Let me know in the reviews!
As always, thank you so so much for reading, and please favorite, follow, and review! :)
