#fancy dresses

Inej supposes she’ll have to get her answers when she sees him. And despite her annoyance at the circumstances under which it’s happening, her heart skips a beat at the thought of being with Kaz again. It’s been far too long since she last docked in Ketterdam, having been kept away by the constant slavers she’s been thwarting and the terrible weather of the open seas. She’s successfully kept in touch with Jesper and Wylan through their joint letters to her, and with Nina, who, despite often being out on assignments, keeps Inej updated whenever she can. There’s even been a scarce exchange of letters between herself and Kuwei detailing the latter's continued studies as an Etherealnik within the Little Palace. But Kaz has been oddly silent during her most recent voyages. His letters have been few and far between, and whenever they do come, they’re often undetailed and impersonal, a far cry from his first few letters to her. Not that Kaz had ever been forthcoming in that way, either in writing or in person, but his letters had become much more distant, which had hurt her more than she’d care to admit.

It still doesn’t change the fact that her heart belongs to him — an undeniable truth she had realized long ago – and that she’s excited to see him, even if she does also want to smack him over the head with his own cane. Kaz can be obtuse when it comes to understanding his own feelings, and even worse with expressing them. Though the two of them have progressed at their own speed, Inej can’t recall anything bad happening the last time she saw him that would prompt such a stark change in his behavior. Kaz Brekker may not always need a reason, but he sure as hell always had one.

I’ll just have to find out for myself, she thinks as the sign for Ptitsa-Sinitsa comes into view. The tavern itself is packed, much like the various buildings around it, with people from all roads of life coming to see the Queen’s festival. Inej skirts around a group of excited Ravkans and notes a few poorly-disguised Fjerdans on the edges. Of course, an event like this would be crawling with foreign spies. None to worry about yet, but she vows to keep an eye out anyways. 

There’s also some Kaelish folk around, evidenced by their bright hair and loud voices ringing out over the crowd of people eating and talking.

Finally, she spots Kaz at a table near the back with a plate of smoked cod and skillet bread and heads towards him. He’s wearing a hat she knows he hates, but refuses to get rid of. All the better a disguise, she supposes with a sigh. Kaz looks up from his food, and although his face doesn’t change, the edges of his eyes grow softer at her approach. 

“Isla, good. You found it,” he says in greeting. Inej smiles warmly at the sight of him, her overwhelming happiness at seeing him in the flesh overriding her annoyance for the time being. 

“Of course. It wasn’t too hard, your instructions were quite clear. Did you have a good journey?” she asks, sitting down opposite him. His body relaxes, a sight Inej doesn’t see often, though she knows he’s still on high alert to their surroundings.

“Tolerable. I took Rotty with me, as he’s the best sailor I’ve got now, and the man wouldn’t shut up about how he needed to be back in two weeks’ time for the annual plink-drop competition.”

Inej rolls her eyes. “Trust Rotty to stick to routine. He loses every year, I’m not sure why he bothers to play anymore. One would think six straight years of losses would make the whole thing not enjoyable, but alas.”

They fall back into familiar territory with ease, chatting harmlessly whilst they eat, all too aware of the many eyes staring into the backs of their heads and ears tilted ever-so-slightly in their direction. Once they’ve had their fill, Kaz guides her to their room where they retire for the evening. It’s definitely one of the nicest places Inej has stayed in for a heist of any kind, with a double bedroom, a small lounge area in the front, and a balcony looking out over the port.

Once they’ve inspected the room and secured all entries, she takes a seat next to Kaz on the plush red couch. “Who’s bankrolling this one?” she asks without preamble.

“Our friend, the demon.” Kaz’s voice is dry, but Inej can sense the humour in Kaz calling someone else what he himself has often been named. “He’d like us to relocate a foreign dignitary's documents.”

“Your friend, you mean. I’ve not become as well acquainted with Nikolai on the sea or land, despite his many roles in his country.” Kaz has kept her informed of the former king’s whereabouts, such as he knows them, but news travels slowly at sea (as opposed to rumors which spread like wildfire), and it hasn’t been a top priority for Inej. 

“In any case, he asked me to get some documents a Fjerdan official will be carrying.” Kaz’s face is set into scheming mode, and it once again makes Inej’s heart stutter. She hadn’t realized just how much she missed seeing him in his element; a slight smirk on his face and a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.

Inej shoves that thought away. Not the time, she admonishes herself. “What kind of documents?”

Kaz eyes her carefully, as though hesitant to say. It’s a strange look on Kaz; he’s never hesitant about anything. Careful, yes, but not dubious. Not like he wants to hide the information from her.

Inej keeps her gaze steadily locked with his, unwilling to back down until he relents. “It’s the instructions for a drug to render any individual catatonic in seconds. They plan to use it in hunting Grisha, and selling them to slave traders in Ketterdam.”

Saints, she thinks. Her mouth goes thin, mind racing, because of course things wouldn't stay good for her. She’s been bringing down slavers and saving people with surprising speed and efficiency (surprising only to those who don’t know the Wraith from Ketterdam’s rooftops), and her name is getting around through rumors. It makes sense that the twisted people who trade in human lives would look for new ways to get easy captives.

“Is that why you didn’t inform me in your letter?” Inej asks, half hoping that he will catch on to her annoyance about his lack of general communication in the last few months. Kaz nods in answer to her question, and Inej decides to let it go for now, sitting back against the couch in contemplation. “I assume you have a plan,” she says, and Kaz nods once more. “Tell me.”

“The Harvest Festival begins in two days. The plan is, we sneak in as guests and find the official with the documents. My plan is to steal them, leave in its place instructions for a … friendlier alternative, so as to not arouse suspicions, and make our getaway.”

“So simple,” Inej says with raised eyebrows. She’s used to Kaz only sharing parts of a plan, so it is a miracle that she even gets that much of an outline all at once. (The mention of a friendlier alternative, one she somehow doubts is as friendly as he implies, also has her curiosity piqued). Still, she knows he’s got backup plans galore, and Inej trusts him implicitly.

Kaz gives her a begrudging twitch of his lips. “For now, yes. We have two days to find clothes and fill in some additional details. Get some rest, and we can begin in the morning.”

The next two days pass in a blur of planning, laying low, and shopping. The formal gala that is set to open the Festival requires nicer dress than the two Dreg members usually wear, and Inej gleefully picks out a range of horrific colors and patterns for Kaz to try on (which he declines in a variety of ways: with an eye roll, a smirk, a sarcastic comment, or outright disgust). 

His reactions do nothing but spur her on, and for those small pockets of time, she is simply a girl shopping with a boy she likes; she’s living a future she had only imagined for herself as a small child in her family’s caravan, excited for a whirlwind romance with the perfect man as only a little girl can imagine. 

The thing that truly drives her fantasy home, however, is the moment Inej spots an honest-to-saints lehenga, one of her people’s favorites for fancy occasions. She’s never worn one, having been deemed too young by her mother before…everything. Traditionally, they are worn most often at weddings and official gatherings, held once every five years where all the Suli come together to celebrate and tell stories. The sight reminds her so vividly of her mother that her heart aches as she reaches out to grasp at the fabric. The lehenga she holds in her hands is made of well-made silk, embroidered with intricate floral and paisley resham. It is obviously worn, but has remained in good condition.

Inej runs her fingers over the pieces and marvels at how this seems made for her. It’s her favorite shade of purple, the detailing done in neat rows. The lighter fabric of the shawl flows over her, and Inej trembles as she realizes that there’s nothing stopping her from buying and wearing this to the festival tomorrow. When she tries it on in the small stall of the dressmaker’s, her mind works quickly to pick out places for her knives, how the skirt doesn’t limit her motions, the way she can tie the shawl part of the lehenga in specific places to keep it from being a hazard if she should need to run. 

A thought occurs to her then. She remembers distinctly the coy look the older girls would get once dressed in their lehengas, the heavy blush riding on their cheeks, as they’d wait for their lovers to see them decked out in their finest, playing teasing games for minutes if not hours on end, before not-so-secretly escaping with them into a dark corner somewhere, far away from the rest of the caravan. 

It’s such a silly, random memory to come to mind, but suddenly it’s there, in her heart: a desire to have Kaz look at her like a boy in her caravan once might have – as she could have been, maybe, if her life had turned out the way it was supposed to. 

Yes, she has made her peace with who she’s become, the feared Pirate Queen of the Seas. But in this moment, she feels a strong pull back to who she could have been. Inej feels strong and beautiful in the lehenga, and although she thinks Kaz already knows that about her, she wants to hear him say it. She wants it to be acknowledged openly, for him to take off a piece of armor that he’s kept clutched firmly to his chest since she left Ketterdam. 

So Inej buys the lehenga, keeping the purchase a secret from the boy she came with. He’s never bothered about her clothes before, and he doesn’t break that streak when they reunite, both carrying bags with their new clothes. She drags Kaz along to buy jewelry to complement the outfit, forcing him to purchase new cufflinks for the suit he’d picked out for himself. For her part, Inej is immediately drawn to a set of golden earrings and a matching tikka, and doesn’t let herself second-guess the decision, purchasing it quietly while his eyes are elsewhere. 

She can be devious in her own right, and finally, this festival is something she can look forward to.

They do not – cannot – enter the gala together. Cannot, because, as Kaz had explained to her, should their covers come into question, both need some modicum of plausible deniability. 

(She hates that he’s right about that.)

But maybe that’s for the better. Without him by her side as she gets ready – he leaves their shared room early, claiming one final errand to run without her –  she finds herself able to gather some much-needed nerve. To put on her battle armor, so to speak.

It helps to start with her knives first – she carefully straps those to her legs, murmuring prayers to each Saint as she fixes them in place. 

(The lehenga, however tempting and beautiful it might be, is still a hard sell. It reminds her of the home she used to have, the life she used to live. But she’s determined to reclaim that piece of her that was stripped away.)

So Inej runs her fingers over the embroidered edges once more. The obvious care that was put into the details suffuses her with a much-needed sense of calm.

Yes, it would’ve been nice to have him here, to help her with this part. 

But she’s always known, deep down, that this is something she has to do alone. 

So she pulls herself together. The skirt goes on first, her trustworthy knives disappearing beneath the heavy layers. She works the blouse on next, lacing up the back of it securely, ensuring no wandering fingers will take it apart. Finally she wraps the dupatta – a gorgeous, shimmering, delicate thing – over her shoulders. A fitting last touch, the cherry on top.

She’s relieved to find that she still looks and feels like herself, beneath it all. Even if that’s not what anyone else will see.

It paints a perfectly duplicitous picture, in the mirror. A glittering, distracting facade on Ravkan soil.

And if this night goes the way she hopes – no one else will ever have to see what lies beneath.

—---------

So she enters the gala alone.

Well, correction – the gala doors have not officially opened yet, so she’s here in the large banquet hall that serves as a makeshift waiting room alone.

That is unusual in and of itself, but that’s by design. She doesn’t look like a working girl (not that any would have been allowed in at this kind of event), but she does pique some immediate interest amongst the well-dressed attendees in the room. Inej firmly ignores it, choosing instead to take in her surroundings.

It’s a magnificent hall, if darker than she’d expected. But the low light will work to their advantage, and it gives the event an air of mystery. The floor is a rich, dark wood (perfect for hiding stains of all kinds, she thinks grimly) and the furnishings are ornate and well-worn. There are small candles everywhere, reminding her, counter-intuitively, of the inside of a church.

If only this could be as safe.

Inej turns now to scan the crowd, and mercifully, most eyes have since fallen off of her, the thrill of novelty long gone. But she can pick out a few who stand out, their movements not quite casual. And just like that, her previous suspicions are confirmed: they’re not the only ones with their own agendas on the loose tonight.

That’s fine, expected really, but it adds a lovely new wrinkle to their mission: not only do they have to swap out the documents, but they have to make sure they’re not observed by anyone else looking to do the same thing. Of which there are likely several. 

That’s her job for tonight, and just as well. She can handle it, easy. 

Now as for the man of the hour. Their diplomat – where is he?

The Fjerdans are difficult to miss, generally speaking. She’s looking for someone who, by Kaz’s description, is a tall, blonde, older gentleman, one who’s covered in military regalia. Currently, nowhere to be seen.

That’s when, of course, she feels what can only be described as someone’s gaze on her. 

Inej turns, and there he is: Kaz Brekker, looking quite unlike she’s ever seen him before. He’s dressed in a more traditional Ravkan-style suit-coat, a stormy grey-black color, but it’s the look on his face that stops her where she stands: there’s a hunger, a greed on his features she’s never seen before. Never directed towards her, anyways. 

It’s so much coming from him, a man who never tells her bloody anything if he can avoid it, but it doesn’t scare her like it probably should. Instead, it sends a thrill down her spine, tilts her world on its axis. 

He’s looking at her as she could have been, yes, but he doesn’t see it that way, she realizes. There’s no bitterness in his eyes, no lingering regret over what had been taken from her. 

No, for once there’s just pure, unadulterated want from the boy she loves, the feeling it evokes is every bit as magical as those starlit caravan nights she’d always dreamed of.

And yes, maybe that exact dream had been stolen from her past, but every choice she’d made since had brought this part of her life back to her, even when she’d thought it impossible. 

The world kept changing, just as they both had. This could change, too.

It’s what emboldens her to draw closer to him, all covers be damned. 

He meets her as if he can read her mind, the two of them moving into a secluded, dark corner. (Some things, perhaps, always stay the same.)

But this part will be different. Because she has a question she needs answered, and she knows when to pull her advantage. 

“Why didn’t you reply to my letters?” She doesn’t let her gaze leave his, can feel the way he suddenly stiffens beneath it. His eyes avert from hers, on some faraway point on the wall.

“I wrote you letters,” he responds slowly. 

But it’s not a complete answer, not really. He’s leaving out something, he most certainly is. So she waits until he looks at her again, eyebrows raising in an unspoken question.

Kaz’s eyes bore into hers, daring her to look away, but Inej has held many a contest with him, and he can’t scare her away this time. Once, the challenge might have frightened her, but she knows his feelings are something he doesn’t feel comfortable expressing outright unless she pushes.

So she does.

“Why didn’t you reply to all my letters? I heard more from Nina than you this past voyage.”

A brief moment of hesitation, then – 

“I didn’t think you would want to hear from me.”

Inej snorts. “I always want to hear from you, even when you’re being an insufferable idiot about it.”

The boy lets out a small laugh, and the sound lifts Inej’s soul into flight. Kaz doesn’t laugh easily, and she treasures each and every one she creates in him.

He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for whatever admission he is about to make. “I…thought that hearing from me might be too much of a reminder of the life you left behind. I didn’t want to pull you under the weight of Ketterdam once more.”

She’s startled, not having expected that at all. It’s complete nonsense, of course, but she’s touched that Kaz is worried about that. Inej knows he has his demons, and his course of action is to fight through them by sheer force of will and by conquering the streets of the city that never gave him an inch, but she isn’t like that. 

“My demons are strong, yes...but Ketterdam has never been a reminder of that,” she shares, willing him to realize that when she said Ketterdam, what she really means is Kaz Brekker. 

The boy who saved her from a living nightmare, who had bought her freedom with the last of his funds, and who had been willing to let her leave him behind to fulfill what she was born to do.  

But she’s not leaving him behind. Not now, not ever again. Not even if he wants her to.

“You are a part of the life I want to keep, Kaz,” she says simply. “So don’t keep yourself away from me.”

“Or what?” he says, and though there's a challenge in the low pitch of his voice, she can also see the beginnings of a smile on his lips. It’s a look that makes her want to do to him what those older girls would do with their clandestine lovers, mission be damned. One day, maybe.

“Or I’ll have to steal you away, of course,” she retorts, and there’s a fully-formed smile on her face, one she’s certain doesn’t hide her inner thoughts in the slightest. “After all, I learned from the very best.”

Around them, the crowd starts moving with a shout – the gala doors have finally opened, praise the Saints! – but neither pays it any heed.

Kaz nods once, gaze never leaving hers, before slowly moving his arm upwards to hover it in the air between them in an offering. Not everything, but enough.

As long as he reaches for her, she will always reach back. 

So Inej slowly, gently wraps a henna-covered hand around his outstretched arm. She feels Kaz stiffen momentarily before forcing himself to relax, feels a warm surge of pride at the effort made. 

He’s doing this for her. They both are.

So together, arms linked, they push through the heavy wooden doors and enter the gala. 

It’s finally time for real work to begin.