Never let me go

19

A/N: Thank you to everyone who's upvoting and reading this story. It's bit of a labour of love for me. :) 

An empire rises from the ashes  – Year 850

A crease formed between the guardsman's brows, and the many lines across his leathery forehead deepened as he frowned. The wispy hairs in his moustache moved as he read through the identification papers that she had provided him with. Perhaps his eyesight was poor, or he just found reading a daunting task because his lips moved with every word. People would usually not mouth out what they were reading, but children often did before they learned to read fluently. Her military trench coat was unbuttoned, stirring slightly with the breeze that made locks of her hair fall into her face. She waited patiently for the guard to finish.

"What's your business here cadet Bachmann?"

"I am here to visit Mr. Sannes" She removed her pistol from its holster and offered it to the guard in the booth by the gate. Questioningly he looked at the weapon, then to her.

"What would a nice girl like you want with that cur?" He made no move to accept the pistol. Iris let her eyes meet his, knowing how unrelenting hers could be made to look. The guard blinked, as if her gaze made him feel deeply uncomfortable.

"I am here to speak to him" was all she answered with. A man like him, nearing fifty years of age should at least take care not to seem too interested in the affairs of young girls. He took the pistol, putting it into something on the floor to the right side of his guard's chair. His mouth gave a small nervous twitch.

"Any and all weapons need to be surrendered here at the gate."

"That was all I was carrying. My papers?" She looked to the documents on the tabletop in front of the guard. He pushed them towards her. She rolled them back up, putting them into the inside breast pocket of her coat.

The guard exited his booth and made his way to the gate. He fumbled with his keyring. She would estimate he was 5'6", out of shape, and those red splotchy patches on the skin on his neck could suggest he liked his drink. His eyes were slightly sad now that she thought of it. They signaled the sense of self-worth that came with a crippling feeling of worthlessness and impotence. He found the right key, breathing a little harder than he had a minute ago. The door opened, and the guard motioned for her to step inside the fenced area around the prison facility. The sun hung low in the sky, and most of the people held here had finished their work shifts for the day. The majority were men, but apart from the fact they were all criminals they had little in common; old and young, high born murderers and low born scum, some scarred, other fresh faced and orderly.

She saw Sannes in amongst the others almost right away. He was at least four inches taller than most other men, and his broad shoulders and jet black hair made him stand out. As she made her way towards him it became clear to her that he was aware of her presence. Perhaps he'd made her the moment she showed up at the gates. The man looked oddly naked in his prisoner's jumpsuit. He still looked like a man who ought to wear a uniform, not this grey ragged outfit that slightly resembled pajamas. She made an effort not to let her tension show on her mouth. She was prone to purse her lips, pushing down the corners of her mouth whenever she was anxious. Old pa' would call it a "tell" – All people had them, and most did not know which theirs were. Someone who needed to hide their intentions needed to master their faces, masking their 'tells' and create false new ones. She had never been good with any of that but perhaps she was learning now, little by little.

Sannes was leaned against the side of the outer wall of the massive complex that housed the prisoners. It was one of the three facilities that had been established where military men and former nobles were sentenced to incarceration after the new monarchy was established. For his own safety, Djel Sannes had been separated from his former colleagues and was held here together with the worst dregs society had to offer; though Iris supposed he was no better than most of them. Sannes himself had let the word slip that he was the one who'd broken the secret of the true royal bloodline, perhaps hoping for a shiv in between his ribs and the cold embrace of death. They had thwarted any such plans by placing him here. He would have to live with his sins, now laid bare as the shield the royal family had provided him with had fallen.