#gvbbfic20

“Mister Van Eck, I simply must inform you that you are not qualified for this job,” said the man. Wylan sighed and glared at the stout man sitting before him. “Mr. Rollins, I really need this job. I don’t have anywhere to go, and I-” Wylan started but was quickly cut off. “Van Eck, I couldn’t give a damn. Now, please see yourself out of my office,” Mr. Rollins said, spit flying out of his mouth. He didn’t give Wylan another look, proceeding to make a ‘shooing’ gesture and turned back to his records. Wylan grimaced and wiped his face with his sleeve.

Wylan stood, smoothing out the wrinkles in his tweed blazer. He grabbed the strap of his leather bag as Mr. Rollins lit a cigar. The beady gaze of the older man followed Wylan out of the office, and as Wylan stepped outside into the cool autumn breeze, the noisy bustle of London streets overwhelmed him. Wylan resisted the urge to plug his ears, which were not accustomed to the din. The countryside was never this loud. He missed the scent of the rolling fields, the clean autumn breezes, and the subtle hints of life on the farms nearby. He sighed disdainfully and stepped into the chaotic streets of London.

The intricately built buildings arched high above Wylan, seemingly watching his every move. What am I supposed to do now? His bag thumped against his side as he strolled the uneven cobblestone, dodging other pedestrians in long coats and large skirts. He was alone in this damn city with no steady source of income. If only my dad could see me now, Wylan thought, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth. He walked down Fleet Street, a sour expression stuck on his pale face. He strolled past the brightly lit shops of 36th street, the warm smells of the bakery wafting towards him. He stopped in front of the shop, observing the buttery pastries and golden rolls in the shop window. The soft light emanating from the bakery illuminated workers bustling around inside, putting more dough in the oven and piping thick jam on top of fluffy cakes. His mouth watered at the sight of flakey scones and he longed to taste at least one warm confectionery but tore himself away from the shop, turning back to the crowded streets. He certainly didn’t have the money for those types of luxuries yet.

He continued down the street, avoiding the large skirt of a beautiful fair-skinned brunette who strutted as if she owned the town. Her red dress flaunted her generous, soft body. She was fairly plump, and Wylan could tell her corset was laced far larger than customary. He stared as she bounced down the street, entering the bakery with a wide grin on her face. The other patrons stared after her, their expressions a mix of disgust and confusion. Wylan grinned to himself.

Loose pebbles skittered down the path as Wylan continued to make his way down to the run-down hotel that he called home for the time being. He’d managed to make enough money doing odd jobs between university classes to keep himself out of the streets, but if Wylan didn’t find steady work soon, he’d surely be down on his luck. He hurried down the cobblestone streets until he reached the hotel. The front needed a new paint job and windows were in a serious need of cleaning, but the rooms were in good enough condition. He stepped inside the lobby, which was empty save for a Suli family who waited on the moth-eaten couch and a tall, well-dressed man speaking quietly with the concierge. Trudging up the stairs, Wylan searched for his room number, turning right and then forward. He slid his key into the lock, taking off his jacket as he stepped into his hotel room.

He examined his belongings, anxiously making sure nothing was missing. Earlier in the week, he had experienced a run-in with a maid who had taken a liking to rifle through his belongings, looking through his music notebooks and pockets for spare change. He sighed in relief as he realized none of his belongings were swiped. Wylan could hear horses trotting along the street below him, barkers shouting at passerby and the mumble of conversations over watered-down tea and lumpy rice pudding. He still couldn’t believe he was in London. It felt a lot bigger, even though it was barely big enough to fit a fraction of America. He sat down at the tiny desk in the corner of the room, lit by the setting sun. Sunlight streamed through the dusty window, illuminating his fiery copper-red hair. Setting his head in his hands, he rubbed his temples, willing the stress of the day to disappear.

He had no idea how he was going to sustain himself for much longer. The funds that his dad had sent him off with were running low, and it would only be a few more weeks until he would be kicked to the streets with only the clothes off his back and a university scholarship, forced to feed himself and fend off the rats and pests that lurked in the dark alleys. According to his calculations, he would be able to afford his room for three weeks if he cut back on his food budget and skipped meals. He groaned as he pushed himself out of the creaky wood chair, the moth-eaten upholstered cushion leaving dust on his nice black pants. Brushing himself off, he collected his school work from his leather bag. Thick leather-bound books and spare pieces of paper stared up at mockingly, the neat font gleaming under the setting sun. Rubbing his eyes, Wylan attempted to make out the words written on the crisp pieces of parchment but gave up after a few tedious moments.

Mind still preoccupied, Wylan grabbed his flute. The cool metal was familiar to his smooth hands, the brass instantly calming his nerves. Grabbing a few sets of sheet music that he had already memorized, he brought his flute to his mouth and began to play.

As the stars twinkled in the midnight blue sky outside his window, Wylan fought to ignore the rumble of his stomach. He had played for hours, taking breaks to try to read the work he was assigned but he quickly gave up; the frustration consumed him as simple words mocked him. He craved a flakey pastry from the bakery he’d passed earlier, but the almost non-existent weight of the money in his pocket reminded him that indulging in such luxuries would not suit him well. He fiddled with the cuff of his shirt, wondering if he could afford to buy potatoes at the grocer. Deciding to go food shopping tomorrow, Wylan got himself ready for bed, humming under his breath as the crows chirped in the distance.

*** The streets of London were never quiet at night, Wylan had soon realized after his first night at the hotel. The drunken steps of men stumbling out of bars and their loud, slurred voices filled the streets night after night near the gambling halls and pubs while the sound of horses trotting through the cobblestone alleys mixed with quiet sighs of private theatricals. Tonight, Wylan caught wind of a few conversations, most of them noisy neighbors complaining about the prices of tea and whatever was in the paper that morning. Curling up on the window sill, he felt the cool London air blow into his room.

“Brekker said he would be here by now,” mumbled a gruff voice. The voice was coming from a stocky man, leaning against a building with a few companions by his side. The man to his right drawled in a kaelish accent, “Damn that kid. I can’t stand him.” “Did you hear what happened to Thomas today?” a blond man asked, rolling his neck. Fiddling with the pistols at his hips, a Zemini man replied, “Did Brekker con him?” The blond man nodded and replied, “Got ‘em good, too. I heard he got all of Thomas’ inheritance. Didn’t even see it coming.” The group of men continued to converse, loudly complaining about “Brekker”.

Wylan tuned out the rest of the conversation, opting to watch the early morning carriages drive across the roads. He watched rats scour the streets below, rotten apple cores littering the darkest corners of the alleyway. A young couple took a stroll along the other side of the street, speaking to each other in earnest. Wylan wondered what that was like. To have someone to tell everything to. Try as he might, Wylan’s father never could seem to get Wylan interested in the town girls. He just didn’t fancy any old girl, right? That had to have been the explanation for his blunt taste in women. They were just so peculiar. He often felt as if he never really liked any of them.

“Damn Brekker, can’t seem to keep his nose outta people’s business,” complained the man with the kaelish accent, snapping Wylan out of his daydreaming, “Do you reckon The Dregs will write something about Thomas?” Wylan knew that The Dregs was a popular newspaper in London, published by Crows Publishing. The Zemini man snorted and replied, “It’s a newspaper and publishing company.” “So? They can’t possibly know everything.” “You would be surprised, and I don’t read their shit. You’re the one reading penny bloods from Crows Publishing.”

Wylan knew about the penny bloods that were taking the country up by a storm. His neighbors often gossiped about them with their friends and family, and his classmates read them at school. They formed clubs where they would read them aloud and catch up on the latest episode. Wylan joined a few of those clubs, enjoying the way the writing sounded and taking note of the masterful ways they were written. The most popular penny bloods were written by a man named Kit Young starring a plot of war- novels and by the sounds of it, they were almost the most popular penny bloods in London, second only to a series of detective penny bloods published by the Dime Lions publishing company. Wylan heard that they told tales of crime and detection in America, but he didn’t find the descriptions as intriguing as the bloods written by Kit Young. Wylan participated in one of the clubs for Mr. Young’s stories and he latched on to every one of his words, but he had to stop going to the clubs as he needed to find work more than participate in leisure. He laughed bitterly as he thought about the war bloods and continued to ponder the on-goings of Crows Publishing.

Wylan had dared to hope that he could potentially be hired at the publishing company. He imagined conversing with his coworkers, and hopefully friends, about the latest stories and articles looking to be published. He imagined laughter spilling out of him and his coworkers and them sharing a mutual love for stories, him hopefully writing successful penny bloods that took the country by a storm. He wondered what he would do if he met Kit Young, and how he would praise the man for writing the stories that kept almost all of London intrigued. He let his imagination roam free until the sun rose over the gray city.

***

Though he was drowsy from his lack of sleep, Wylan tried to pay attention to the lesson his English professor was droning on about. He had yet to read the book assigned and he tried to understand what Professor Williams was saying about the metaphors in the book, but the encounter he witnessed from last night had been playing on repeat. The name “Crows Publishing” stuck out to him and kept nagging in the back of his mind. Wylan got chills down his spine each time he thought about how “Brekker” worked the gang and how disturbingly good he was at getting what he wanted. Doodling on the piece of paper in front of him, Wylan continued to ponder the mystery of Crows Publishing. Professor Williams announced that he would be calling on students, effectively breaking Wylan out of his stupor. Wylan silently prayed that he wouldn’t be called on as his professor scanned the room for participants. Though of course, Professor Williams decided it would be the perfect time to call on him.

Locking eyes with Wylan, his professor said, “Mr. Van Eck, what did you think about the relationship between Victor and his monster?” Wylan gulped nervously, the room feeling awfully hot and stuffy. “I found their relationship, uh, quite intriguing.” Professor Williams raised his eyebrow in expectation, “Anything else, Mr. Van Eck?” “Uh, I thought that Victor treated the monster unfairly and that maybe the author was commenting on the times,” Wylan said, balling his hands into fists. He thanked the lord that Mary Shelley’s work was popular enough for him to have known the plot. His breathing began to get shallow, and he focused on simply breathing in and out to avoid getting too worked up.

Professor Williams sighed, nodded, and called on another student. Wylan felt the eyes of his classmates burning holes into the back of his head. Wylan shifted uncomfortably, digging his fingernails into his sweaty palms. He focused intently on the paper in front of him, fighting the blush creeping up his neck and heating his ears. He silently wished for the floor to open up and devour him; anything would be better than sitting here embarrassed.

As the class ended and students were packing up their belongings, Wylan felt a firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him from exiting the classroom. “Van Eck. Hold on,” said Professor Williams. A few moments after all the students had sifted through the door, he leaned against his oak desk, crossing his ankles and watching Wylan intently. Wylan gulped and settled his hands on the strap of his leather bag. “You wanted to see me, Professor?” Wylan said, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. “In fact, yes, Mr. Van Eck. Your performance in my class has been… less than satisfactory. I am quite aware of your, ahem,” Professor Williams cleared his throat, “difficulties with reading and writing, and I would like to help you.” Wylan looked towards the ground, “I’m sorry, Professor.” “I have a tutor willing to help you. I hope you accept this offer, as I truly think it would help you.” Wylan nodded, “I accept. Thanks.” Professor Williams smiled slightly. “Let me know when you’re available and I will let your tutor know. Don’t worry about the finances, I have it handled.” Wylan walked out the classroom, cheeks hot. His professor was paying for his tutoring sessions, and Wylan couldn’t help feeling useless. He wanted to think that the tutor could help him, but he was too overwhelmed by the fact that another human being had to know about his inability to read and write. Wylan silently decided to somehow find a way to pay his professor back; his search for a job becoming his top priority.

***

Professor Williams had found Wylan a tutor, all right. He was a 19-year-old boy with hints of patchy peach fuzz along his upper lip. His blonde hair was gelled back and he wrote a purple bowtie, rather than the standard university’s blue. Wylan sat down at the library table his tutor, Joost, had found. Joost pulled out an intimidating stack of books and Wylan eyed the stack nervously. “I think we should start with the book Professor Williams assigned to us. Do you have a copy?” Joost asked with a pretentious air in his voice. Wylan smiled, narrowing his eyes. He already disliked Joost.

“I do. It’s required, you know,” he said, the fake smile slathered on his face. If his jab affected Joost in any way, he didn’t show it. Joost eyed Wylan up and down, waiting for him to pull out his book. Wylan gritted his teeth and grabbed it out of his bag. Joost smiled and opened his heavily- dog eared copy. “Let’s start with chapter one. Do you know what happens?” Wylan bit his tongue to stop himself from lashing out at the blonde boy. “I don’t remember.” Joost cleared his throat arrogantly. “Then open your book to chapter one.” Wylan groaned internally as he began his slow descent into hell. He tried to read the words printed on the smooth sheets of paper, attempting to keep up with Joost’s monotone droning. After ‘reading’ the first chapter, Joost looked at Wylan expectantly. “Now, can you finally tell me what happens in this chapter?” Joost looked at Wylan intently, and Wylan dropped his head into his hands, pulling on the strands of his hair. This was clearly not going to work.

*** No matter how well-intending Joost was, he was not the tutor for Wylan. Wylan endured two grueling weeks of his pretentious personality and he couldn’t stand how Joost treated him like the scum under his shoe. Wylan sagged in his seat, pretending to read Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein as Professor Williams directed them to a certain part of the book. He glanced at the pages, scanning the words printed on the cream pages. As the rest of the class went on, Wylan avoided eye-contact with Professor Williams and Joost. He couldn’t stand the way Joost kept glancing at him. Wylan silently hoped that the class would be dismissed quickly.

Professor Williams held Wylan back at the end of class, grabbing his shoulder as he tried walking out of the door. “I take that tutoring with Mr. Van Poel didn’t go well,” his professor said after the students cleared out of the room. Wylan internally rolled his eyes, heat crawling up the back of his neck, “Joost was… fine.” Professor Williams pursed his lips. “I’ll find you another tutor, Wylan.” Wylan nodded, embarrassed of his additional request, and quickly thanked him and sprinted out of the room. As he rushed down the hallway, he felt his spirits deflate. Wylan couldn’t believe he’d already needed a new tutor. He already felt bad enough that his professor was paying for it, and now he’d complained about his old one? In times like these, he thought that maybe it was a good thing he could no longer disgrace the family name.

***

Wylan was absentmindedly playing the piano when his father’s voice boomed through the Van Eck residence, startling him. 

"Wylan! Be ready to leave in ten minutes!" 

He jumped in surprise, causing the piano keys to make an awful sound. He grimaced, waiting for his father to complain about the noise, but he was met with just silence. The man didn't say anything else or come into Wylan's room, clearly he didn’t expect his son to question why he needed to get ready or ask where they were going, lest it made him change his mind. He knew Wylan wouldn’t risk missing out on the chance to leave the house. 

While he buttoned up his waistcoat, Wylan tried to think of the last time he’d been allowed outside but couldn’t come up with an answer. He couldn’t even remember when was the last time he’d talked to someone, other than his tutors, the house servants or Alys. He might not know where his father was taking him, but he didn’t care. Wherever that was, it would certainly be better than being locked up. 

He was standing by the door only five minutes later, playing with the strap of his bag while he waited for his father. Since he didn’t know where he was going, he had packed a few slender rolls of butcher’s paper that he used for sketching, the metal case containing his pen, as well as several glass bottles of ink, and finally, his flute. That way if his father needed to step away to attend to some merchant business while they were out, Wylan could keep himself busy. It was what he did when he was younger, back when his father still allowed Wylan to accompany him to his meetings⎯ back when his father still thought that Wylan would grow to take over the Van Eck empire.  

But as Wylan grew older and started to struggle with the basic tasks of reading and writing, his father started to bring him along less and less over the years. He would make up excuses to keep Wylan locked in the house instead, shipping in tutors from every city in Kerch, hoping one of them would be able to fix his son. But none of them could. And eventually Van Eck gave up on him, simply keeping Wylan away from the public eye, hoping that if he didn’t acknowledge his existence, everyone would forget he even had a son. 

The realization that his father was ashamed of him had hurt Wylan, but he never stopped hoping that one day he would stop being a disappointment and would make his father proud. Even after all he had done, Wylan wanted to be good for him. Maybe this trip was his chance to finally do it, maybe if he was good and didn’t embarrass him, his father would take Wylan with him more often. 

He straightened up when he heard his father’s heavy footsteps approaching. He walked around the corner one second later, wearing a perfectly cut frock coat and a black vest. He looked Wylan up and down and gave him a sharp nod. “Good, you’re ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s go. There’s a coach waiting for us.”

Outside, the sun was setting. The last of the light giving a warm orange tinge to the sky as Wylan climbed into the coach behind his father, taking the seat opposite to him. With a cry from the driver and the crack of a whip they started moving, silence falling inside the coach. Wylan didn’t dare to talk without his father’s permission so he sat there quietly, staring at his knees while he imagined all the places his father could be taking him. 

A council meeting. Dinner with another merchant. The church. His mother’s grave. 

Wylan wished the curtain windows weren’t closed and that he could see where they were headed, but even if he could look out the window, there would be nothing to see except the growing darkness and his own pale reflection.

Roughly an hour later, the coach halted to a stop. Wylan tried not to look too eager while stepping through the door, but he still gasped softly when he looked around.

His father had brought him to a carnival, though it didn’t seem like the kind of place a respectable mercher like him would want to visit. The people milling around didn’t look or dress like them⎯ most of them were wearing masks and costumes. And those who weren’t, cast curious looks at Wylan.

After mumbling something to the driver, Van Eck started walking, not even bothering to tell Wylan to follow him. He hurried behind his father, afraid that he might lose him in the crowd. They walked past tents and stands until they came to a stop in front of a tall, red and white tent. Wylan didn’t need to read the sign in front, not that he would be able to anyway, to know it was a circus tent. 

Wylan had been to a circus before, when he was a kid. His mother had begged his father to take them for one of Wylan’s birthdays and, even if he didn’t remember much of what he saw, he remembered how much he loved it⎯ the lights, the animals, the magic of it all. Wylan’s eighteenth birthday was still a couple of weeks away, but perhaps his father thought they could celebrate it a little earlier while the circus was in Ketterdam.

"Wylan, I need to take care of something before we go inside.” His father said, checking his pocket watch. Wylan bit down a smile when he realized they were actually going to enter the circus. His father narrowed his eyes at him, mouth tightening. “Can I trust you to buy us tickets in the meantime⎯ or is that too much for you?”

Wylan managed to hide the hurt from his face despite his father’s harsh words. He nodded, “I can do that, sir.” 

The sky was blue, but not quite. It was that reluctant, orange-tinged blue, the kind that begged the sun not to go; the kind that was ignored all the same. The princess stood atop a stone dais, looking out over the crowds gathered in celebration of her seventeenth birthday.

A flurry of bright dresses and uniforms had overtaken the palace courtyards. The townspeople were dancing like jolly madmen, the bright and cheerful music filling the air with warmth and joy. Smiling as she watched them, the princess hardly noticed the militant lines of suitors vying for her attention at the base of the dais. She had no interest in them. Though many of them were handsome and obscenely rich, she was sure, she valued her freedom over all else. It was too soon for her to even consider giving it up.

A server ascended the dais holding a tray of small pastries, from which the princess happily plucked a strawberry tart. With a contented sigh, she popped it into her mouth and closed her eyes, revelling in the sweet taste. She knew Zoya would disapprove, but she wasn’t all too fussed—it was her birthday, after all. Keep the sweets coming, she thought with a grin.

“Nina,” Zoya called from her place by the empty throne, tone laced with displeasure.

Nina tried to make the way the smile dropped off her face less noticeable. She schooled her face into a neutral, cordial expression before turning to face her regent. “Yes, Zoya?” she said, the false politeness in her tone evident to the both of them. Zoya just gave her an exasperated look and gestured for the princess to take her place on the throne.

Uneasily, Nina obliged. She hated the thing. It was a monstrosity of red cushion and gaudy, ostentatious gold, and the sensation of placing herself above all others had never sat right with her. An odd notion for a future queen, but there it was. She must have been grimacing, because Zoya leant in and said, “You could at least try to avoid looking as though you’re sitting on a pin cushion rather than a throne, Princess.”

Nina sighed. “I’d take a pin cushion over this old thing any day.”

“Nina,” Zoya reprimanded, but there was something a little resigned in her tone that had the princess frowning over at her in curiosity. Zoya was never resigned. She was cold and fierce and harsh and she could make you regret your own birth with a single word, so her weak scolding was more than a little out of character.

“Is everything okay? Your disappointment in me is lacking its usual flavour,” said Nina, her words teasing but her voice edged with genuine concern.

Zoya made no comment, instead reaching behind the throne and handing her a box wrapped with a red silk bow. Nina felt her brows furrow as she watched her regent curiously. She was looking anywhere but into Nina’s eyes. Well, that can’t be good. Suspiciously, Nina let her eyes drift from Zoya to the box on her lap.

“Happy birthday,” Zoya mumbled, her words as stiff as her posture.

Nina slowly lifted the lid of the box off to reveal a beautiful, dark oak crossbow, engraved with a pattern of flowers and vines. “Oh,” she murmured softly, blinking away her tears. Carefully, she picked up the crossbow, setting the box aside as she weighed up the gorgeous weapon in her hands. Perfectly balanced, as though designed specifically to fit her hands. Knowing Zoya, it probably was. The arrows were engraved with a matching flower pattern, their tips sharp and cold against her fingers. “It’s beautiful.” Nina was far from a master huntress, but Zoya above all others knew that the rides she took into the nearby woods with her friends were the only real escape that the princess had from this life and her ever-growing list of responsibilities.

She looked up to thank Zoya, but the regent still wasn’t looking at her. She felt her gut twist. “Zoya,” she prompted warily. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Still refusing to look over at Nina, Zoya cleared her throat. “You’re of age, Nina. Long since of age. I can no longer fend off the councillors,” she said, her tone controlled. “They are demanding that you marry and take the throne by the end of the month. You are to choose a suitor at the ball tomorrow.”

Perhaps it was merely her imagination, but suddenly the crowds of people and the jovial music filling up the palace courtyards seemed oppressive. Suddenly the sweet taste that the tart had left in her mouth was intolerably sour. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Oh, saints, she couldn’t breathe. There was no air in her lungs, no air around her. Her dress was too tight, the pins in her hair too sharp, the crossbow in her hands too heavy. Everything in her periphery faded into nothing. There was no crowd, no suitors, no Zoya. All she could see was the crossbow.

Nina was far from a master huntress. She was far from a huntress at all. No, in that moment, she was the hunted. The army of suitors ready to wage war for her hand stood before her. The bloodred cushion of the throne stood at her back, providing no comfort. Her regent, the closest thing she had to family, stood to her right, ever loyal to the hunk of gold and fabric on which the princess sat and never loyal to the princess herself.

This cannot be the price of sovereignty, she thought. How can I rule a country if I do not even rule myself?

She knew Zoya wouldn’t understand. Perhaps—couldn’t understand. She was so blinded by her sense of duty, her belief that this—denying Nina her own freedom—was what was right for Ravka, that she would never see that this would be the death of the princess. You cannot clip a bird’s wings and then demand it to fly. “Why?” Nina asked, and perhaps the brokenness in her voice was finally enough to warrant the regent to look at her.

Zoya swallowed, as though forcing her emotion back down her throat and into her heart. Her blue eyes were oceans of regret, but they froze over in a flash. “You knew this was coming, Nina. It’s for the good of Ravka. A strong match will solidify our might.”

It was the final straw.

“Am I not mighty?” Nina said, taking care to enunciate each scathing word clearly. Her grief was morphing into a slow, fiery rage. “Is that not the legacy that burns in my blood?”

“Nina—”

“Don’t. I understand the necessity of my becoming Queen, but marriage? You and I both know that the councillors seek only to tame me before I take my own throne,” Nina interrupted coldly. Zoya looked stricken—conflicted, even—but if her unease was supposed to comfort Nina, it was entirely unsuccessful. Their gazes were locked onto one another, and a small part of Nina was desperate for Zoya to say something, anything, to indicate even the slightest hint of remorse.

Instead, the regent turned her head away and said, “Perhaps that’s what you need.”

Somehow, the buildings seemed taller, the crowds more distant, the crown on her head heavier. For a moment, she was a child sitting on a throne that was too big for her, her feet dangling uselessly off the edge of the seat, unable to reach the floor. Never in her life had she felt so alone, so helpless. Then that familiar rage was back, and before she knew it she was tearing the crown off of her head and shouldering her way through the rows of suitors at the base of the dais, crossbow in hand, eyes only able to focus on the large doors that promised her freedom, however temporary. She could hear Zoya furiously shouting her name, could feel the eyes of the crowds of confused townsfolk, but all of it was muffled and distant, as though she was underwater. The doors were swung open, allowing her through, and the short walk to the palace stables went by in a blur. Sure enough, she found her best friend, Jesper, son of Lord Fahey, in a somewhat passionate embrace with Kuwei, the son of the Shu ambassador. Unflinching, she tossed their discarded coats at them from their place on the floor and said, “Eastern woods in ten.”

Jesper gave her a lazy grin with his swollen lips, eyes a little dazed. “Didn’t get the gift you wanted?”

The Mourners

Inej Ghafa was feeling relaxed, which then made her feel suspicious.

She'd been perched in the rafters of the Slat for several hours now, sharpening her knives with a sort of lazy precision, only half of her attention focused on monitoring what was going on below. Anika and Pim had started bickering with Bastian, and Big Bolliger was staring at them with an odd look on his face—she made a mental note to investigate that later. She knew Per Haskell was upstairs, reviewing the meticulously kept records Kaz had given him on the Dregs' profits; he'd want to talk to Kaz as soon as he got back. So did she.

The assassination of the Zemeni ambassador still unnerved her. She wanted to spin more theories about it with him, wanted to find a way it could make sense, because if this assassin could pull off something the Wraith couldn't fathom... she didn't like that at all.

But Kaz wasn't back yet. He'd taken Jesper and Seeger to East Stave to scout out something Inej apparently hadn't been privy to, but that had been at noon. Now it was nearing eleven bells, and he wasn't back yet.

That was... strange.

She was not Kaz's keeper. But this, just as much as that assassination, unnerved her.

The Slat came alive whenever Kaz Brekker came home. She'd been crouched up here for hours, observing it all; she certainly hadn't missed his entrance.

Something must be wrong.

He'd grouch at her for fussing, but... something was clearly wrong.

She stood, nimble and balanced as a crow on its perch, and scampered along the beam, then along the wall, dropping nimbly onto the flight of stairs that led to the upper levels. Then she made a beeline for the ground floor, where Anika and Pim were still caught in their argument with Bastian. Anika's crop of yellow hair was easy to pick out.

They jumped out of their skins when Inej cleared her throat behind them.

 "Do you know where Jesper is?" she asked lightly, but tactically. It wouldn't do to reveal that she was worried about Kaz, but Jesper? He might give her a few clues.

"Last I heard of him, he was going to the Crow Club," Pim said with a shrug, turning back to glare at Bastian. Inej nearly rolled her eyes; the Dregs could fight about the strangest things sometimes, and she was tempted to place a bet on how strange this disagreement would end up being as well. "Why?"

She shrugged. "He's my friend. And he owes me a game of cards."

"You'll find a game of cards at the Crow Club," Anika snorted, the corners of her lips curling upwards in a smirk. Inej ignored her and just pulled the hood of her jacket up, ducking out of the doors of the Slat to head on her way.

She kept her head low in the nighttime air, squinting against the dim yellow lights. The bridge over the canal, she crossed with speed, eyeing the cluster of people on the other side but walking straight forwards; they didn't look too dangerous, and if they tried anything she knew how to make them regret it.

But they didn't approach, and she continued on.

The Crow Club loomed; she gave a grim nod to the bouncers outside then ducked in. They knew her face well enough from whenever Kaz had asked her to run an errand and they didn't bother making a move to stop her.

She grimaced when she entered, squinting at the sudden change in light and noise. The music nearly blasted her off her feet, and the lamps on the walls and the glittering decor provided a stark contrast to the dull outside atmosphere no windows available to let in the night.

She glanced around. Most of the denizens were... not well-dressed but not poorly dressed either, out for a night of fun and pouring kruge into Kaz's coffers, while she was wearing the same dark clothes she always wore, but she passed unnoticed through the crowd anyway, like smoke.

Jesper... Jesper, where was—

She heard the spin of Makker's Wheel and glanced in that direction. He wasn't there. Instead, he was—

She heard raised voices.

Frowning, she headed for the toilets off the side where the back door onto an alley that wound its way to the canal stood open. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the... alley... that wafted in, careful to shut the door that led back into the main room of the club, and then she heard the voices again.

"You think I had any choice about this, Rojakke? I didn't know Kaz was gonna let you go! I can't stop him."

Inej started forwards. That was definitely Jesper—he leaned against a wall a little was along, his lanky body as disproportionate as the ramshackle Slat. And there was Rojakke with him. She hesitated, then just stood there a little way away from them—close enough that they could see her if they looked, they were her friends and she wasn't about to eavesdrop on them without giving them a fair shot at spotting her—and listened.

"He trusts you, you gotta tell him—"

"Kaz? Trust me?" Rojakke was grasping at straws there and they both knew it, because— "Kaz doesn't trust anyone."

Rojakke grunted. "Yeah, well. He's wrong. I ain't no cheat."

"You wanna say that to his face? Or his cane?"

"I wasn't." That was a lie, Inej was pretty sure, but she couldn't help but feel bad for him anyway. "I ain't no cheat, and I'll tell him myself—where is he?"

"I don't know."

"He was with you, now where'd he go?"

"Rojakke, I don't know, now get out of here and get another job."

"Where's the Wraith? I'm sure she'd—"

"I don't know," Inej said, stepping forwards. Rojakke damn near jumped out of his skin, and she was pretty sure she saw Jesper reach for his guns before he realised who it was. "That's why I was looking for you, Jesper; where's Kaz?"

"Why does everyone think I know that?" Jesper grumbled.

"Because you were with him last!"

"I—"

"Rojakke, you've been let go." Inej cast him a look. Weakness wouldn't help here, and he'd been close to taking out his gripe on Jesper with his fists. "Get out of here, bluster about Kaz isn't gonna help you."

"I ain't got paid for my last shift yet!"

"And you're not gonna get paid if you've been skimming."

"So what, Brekker kicks me out without having the guts to come do it himself? Sends a little girl and a gunslinger to do it instead?"

"Kaz didn't send Inej—"

"Yes," Inej said flatly, slipping her hand into her pocket. Her brass knuckles fit snugly around her fingers. "Get out, Rojakke."

Rojakke reached for her, scowling fiercely. "I ain't leaving until I get what I'm owed, from Brekker or from—"

She struck him in the cheek. Once, twice. He staggered back.

"Rojakke..." Jesper said.

Rojakke ignored him, staring at Inej. "I thought we was friendly!"

Inej ignored that. 

"You're a great dealer, Rojakke, you can get a job at any gambling den on East Stave. How about you just get out of here before Kaz comes looking to settle this debt himself, instead of sending a little girl and a gunslinger to do it, hmm?"

Rojakke scowled even more fiercely. She met his eye solidly; the only sound was the rhythmic lapping of the water against the nearby canal.

Finally, without a word, he left.

*

Inej led Jesper to an unused private gambling parlour before sitting him down in the dealer's chair. She didn't take one of the five seats around the table; instead she perched across two of the armrests, one boot planted firmly on the floor, the other perched at her knee.

"So?" Jesper raised an eyebrow at her, studying her. He could never tell much about her from her expressions, she rarely gave anything away, but something about the tension in her posture, her shoulders, her face, told him she was worried. "I appreciate the help with Rojakke, but what's this about?"

"You were with Kaz earlier. Where did he go? It's nearly twelve bells and he hasn't come back to the Slat since noon." She fixed her eyes on him: right now, she seemed so tense and taut that it was hard to imagine anyone ever not being able to notice her, but the shock she'd given him in the alley was proof enough of just how easy it was for her to vanish. Sometimes,  Jesper, wondered if she genuinely was part-wraith after all.

He shrugged, leaning back in the chair, his left leg bouncing where he sat. 

"Hell if I know. He just dumped me here, told me to let Rojakke go, 'cause he'd been skimming or something, then took off into the night." He tapped at his knee. "You don't know where he is? You know everything in this city."

Inej snorted. 

"I wish." Jesper couldn't but notice as her fingers ghosted across her forearm, the mangled scar there, but didn't dwell on it. "But no, I don't know. And I don't like it."

"Because Kaz always tells you everything?"

"As if. I usually tell him most things, and I get nothing back. But it's not like him to take off into the night like this."

Jesper raised an eyebrow.

Inej rolled her eyes, a short laugh escaping her. 

"Not for so long," she amended. "Not after he's spent so much time on some mysterious task with you. Did anything strange happen at... wherever you were, today? If he was distracted..."

"You think Kaz got jumped?" He shook his head. "You're fussing, Inej."

She wrinkled her nose.

 "No." She slid off the chairs and back onto the floor. She didn't pace, what she did was more graceful than that, but— yeah, no, she was pacing gracefully. "This is odd. Especially with the murder of that Zemeni ambassador."

"No one who goes after an ambassador is gonna go after Kaz."

She gave him a look.

 "What were you two even doing? I don't understand why Kaz is still being so secretive about it."

Jesper debated telling her for a few seconds. If Kaz hadn't already told her—and he told his Wraith everything—then he probably didn't want it shared. But he also probably didn't want Inej up and fussing about him all night, which would just harm his reputation.

"We were spying on the building works for the Kaelish Prince," he said easily. "Kaz is pissed off about something, he's intent on Pekka Rollins. There's no way he suddenly got the money to buy that building and start working on it, not from what we know about the Lions' coffers. Kaz wanted to check it out, see what Pekka's hiding."

Inej narrowed her eyes. "You were spying on Pekka Rollins?"

Right, he thought bitterly. That was usually her area of expertise. 

"Nah. Just scouting the place around. You know Pekka's got good security; he probably doesn't want to send you in unless he knows there's something worth investigating. Doesn't want to risk you like that."

She snorted, glancing away.

 "I could handle it."

Jesper winced. 

"Look, I'm sure it's not that Kaz doesn't trust you."

It came out more bitter than he'd intended, and Inej stopped her pacing to glance at him. Good; at this rate, he thought as he bounced his leg some more, they were both going to wear out the gaudily patterned carpet.

"Kaz doesn't trust anyone," she said softly, repeating back what he'd said to Rojakke. How long had she been standing listening to that conversation, anyway?

He sank back in the chair with a slight sigh. 

"I'm sure he'll be back soon, then you can interrogate him on wherever he's gone to your heart's content," he offered.

She took it as the joke it was, and smiled. 

"He'd sooner break my arm with that cane of his."

"Nah." He kicked his legs up and got to his feet, heading for the door. "Then he'd have to wait for you to heal before you could spider again, and he's too impatient for that."

"Thank you," she said abruptly, just after he opened the door and the noise crashed in. "Come back to the Slat with me?"

Jesper glanced back at the tables, at Makker's Wheel, then to Inej, and realised that had not been a question.

"Sure," he said, and slung an arm around her shoulders. She was smaller than him, so it was easy; it was also easy to feel the way she tensed up momentarily, until he relaxed his grip and she leaned into him properly.

They walked back like that, the song of the canal the only sound.

*

The next morning came, and Inej woke to the sound of Per Haskell's fury. Kaz was not yet back.

He was spitting, shouting something at Anika or Pim or someone, and Inej was fairly sure he'd be shouting for her next; who else would know where Dirtyhands had gone than the Wraith who kept his secrets?

But she didn't know where he was.

And that meant, she thought grimly, counting her blades where they laid tucked against her skin—Sankta Alina, Sankt Petyr, Sankta Lizabeta—she had to go and look for him herself.

The first plan of action she ought to take was to go to the Kaelish Prince herself, and scout out what had happened. That was the last place he'd been reliably, other than a brief visit to the Crow Club and disappearing, and... well, Inej would be lying if Kaz didn't always seem to have a vendetta against Pekka Rollins. From time to time he'd get a vicious look in his eye; he'd say nothing but he'd stare into the distance, hand tightening on his cane and mouth tightening in a way that made the harsh lines on his face even more severe, eyes narrowed minutely. It was a tiny expression that she doubted most people would pick up on, but he had been the one to teach her to notice things. He couldn't give her a knife then expect her not to use it.

So, by all realms of logic... the Kaelish Prince was where she'd be headed. To investigate Pekka Rollins more, and therefore investigate what by all the Saints Kaz was up to.

But she didn't. Kaz would not have returned there—she knew that. She'd go there as a desperate measure, but if Kaz had merely been on a night stakeout mission to watch a place, he would've told someone.

He would've told me.

Instead, when she climbed out of the tiny window of her tiny, ratty room and vaulted over ramshackle rooftops, she headed west—towards West Stave. It was morning, there would be a fresh wave of pigeons flowing in from arriving ships, ready to be plucked and ushered into various dens of iniquity, and wherever profit was being made, Kaz was right around the corner.

She clambered over the rooftops, just enjoying the way the crows swooped overhead and the early morning sunlight played against the still-dewy cobblestones. They distracted her from her worry.

She shouldn't be worrying. Kaz knew what he was doing. Kaz didn't need her to, as Jesper had so eloquently put it, fuss.

But she worried anyway. Something was wrong.

Was she just hurt he hadn't told her? she wondered as she shimmied down a drainpipe and landed in the street, striding through clouds of tourists like a shadow. She passed the White Rose, saw Nina Zenik striding towards it. When she caught her eye, Nina gave her a flirtatious wave and Inej returned the gesture, smiling exasperatedly.

Somewhat buoyed by that, she continued on, but she had to continue thinking—was she just hurt that she didn't know? The fact that she didn't know shouldn't be unusual. She hadn't known Kaz had had dirt on those guards at the standoff a few nights ago, she hadn't known he'd be able to look Geels in the eye like that and win, and she hadn't known he had dirt on Big Bolliger. Kaz Brekker didn't need a reason, but he always had one—it just so happened that none of the rest of the poor suckers who shared this city with him happened to have any clue what it was.

She ducked down West Stave, ran along Goedmedbridge, then onto the other side. Beneath her on the canal, a boat full of flowers punted past; she could smell wild geraniums, flamboyant roses, orange lilies...

Inej appreciated flowers, but few with sweet, notable scents were hardy enough to be grown in Ketterdam. The artificial perfumes slathered on them stung her nose, and she turned away.

Perhaps it was a good thing there was no boy in this city who would buy her flowers.

She ducked into the crowds and just... observed this time, hanging around the Anvil in particular, watching people come and go. Cobbet, Tante Heleen's favoured bruiser, was stationed outside the Menagerie as usual, and Inej ducked her head to avoid meeting his gaze before she melted back into the shadows. She climbed back onto the rooftops and watched from there.

Kaz wasn't anywhere around here; she'd know the distinctive tap-tap-tap of his cane anywhere. But she still let herself scan the crowd, and listen closely at every door before she took off back towards the White Rose again, hopping back down—again—to street level. Perhaps, if Nina didn't have a client, she could talk to her; she served some of the richest and most well-connected men in the city, soothing their pains and anguishes, and it was perfectly plausible that she'd have heard something during those sessions. There was nothing entitled men liked doing more than talking.

She was heading back over the canal when someone grabbed her wrist.

She didn't cry out. She just instinctively drove her elbow back to wind them, stomping on the arch of their foot, sliding Sankta Lizabeta out from her sleeve to jag against his jugular—

And Cobbet wrapped his massive hand around her throat. Tight enough that she couldn't escape. Tight enough that it sent shivers and shudders racking through her, terrified. She could breathe, but... it was tight enough that he could change that in a heartbeat.

The edge of her blade caressed his throat in return; she was at eye level with the thin stream of dark blood that dribbled down onto his collar from the oh-so-shallow cut.

"Tante Heleen saw you spying on us, little lynx. You trying to take our secrets back to Brekker? You belong with her."

Inej could barely move her jaw, but she got the dexterity to spit, "No secrets worth stealing from a prissy, pompous peacock."

He tightened his grip and she gasped, choking, being shoved up against the wall of Goedmedbridge. Tourists and pigeons and lowlifes alike were giving them a wide berth.

Inej thought of the good maiden who'd thrown herself off the bridge to give it its name, and wondered if the event didn't have a much darker root than the story told.

She pushed her blade deeper into his neck in response, hating the savage pleasure she got from seeing him bleed, knowing she'd have to do penance for it later... but she watched him bleed, and cut deeper, and they were at a standoff until—

"You're going to drive away the pigeons with all this brutality," she whispered hoarsely.

With a grunt, Cobbet released her. She tried not to gasp, to rake in air, even as she could feel bruises blooming over her throat like the blue and purple irises which had fallen from the flower boat to the canal below. She refused to give him that satisfaction.

"Brutality from a spider who fights like a thug."

"And you're not a thug yourself?" Inej's gaze flickered when she saw a flash of blue and gold. There was Tante Heleen in her standard peacock blue regalia, if without the finer hints of it—wearing it down the street on West Stave would be asking to be pick-pocketed. She gestured with a hand for Cobbet to move away, then smiled sweetly at Inej.

Inej held her gaze, hard and fierce, until Cobbet vanished into the crowd by his mistress's side and they returned to tormenting the poor girls who hadn't escaped their grasp.

Inej turned her back and strode down to the other side, fast enough that her feet almost grew wings and took flight.

"That was a close call," quipped a voice.

She pivoted on her foot to seize the person's elbow, Sankta Lizabeta still red with X's blood—but she stopped, and scoffed, when she recognised Jesper. 

"Oh. It's you."

"Yes, it's me." He followed her farther along the canal, to where there was a tourist climbing into a gondel and wobbling like Inej's young cousin the first time he'd tried to walk the tightrope. Inej raised her eyebrows at the tourist—Ravkan, by the looks of them and the language they were speaking—and wondered if they'd fall.

They didn't. She turned her attention back to Jesper. "I appreciate your help in that situation."

"If I'd helped?" he scoffed. "It wouldn't have helped at all."

She couldn't deny that.

She had to be the one to defeat challenges when they came—she had to, or she'd look weak. And if she looked weak, the sharks would be after her blood.

She had to find her own battles, or people would start thinking she was an easy target.

But she didn't say any of that, or respond to it—this was a barbaric way to live. She just pursed her lips, and Jesper took that as his cue to continue.

"Per Haskell wants to know where Kaz is."

"Don't we all."

"He figured you'd be the most likely to know."

"Doesn't everyone."

Jesper frowned. "No luck then, I take it?"

"None."

He blew out a breath between his teeth. "How long have you been looking?"

"Not long," she conceded, bringing up a hand to rub at her throat. "I got distracted."

He gave her a sympathetic look. It wasn't pity—neither of them had the capacity for pity anymore—and she just replied with a wry smile in return.

"I'm going to check out East Stave," she said, putting a bit of spring back into her step. "I assume Haskell sent you to find me?"

"He was going to send Teapot. I thought you'd prefer my beautiful face."

She snorted; when he gave her a mock wounded look, she smacked his arm lightly and grinned. "I do prefer your face, Jesper, thank you for coming."

He grinned in response, stopping in the middle of the street to give a flamboyant bow. That, and the eyesore that was what he called appropriate dress, meant that the crowd parted for him like he was a street performer.

"Any time, my friend," he said on the way back up again. "Are we dropping by to see Nina on the way out?" He turned towards the White Rose, but she grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him back on track before he fell in the canal.

"She's probably with a client, and you'll draw enough attention as it is. Do we really want her here too?" She smiled, to take the sting out of it; Jesper huffed. Those two—those three, perhaps—had a reputation whenever they went out for waffles together.

"But Inej, my dear," Jesper said as they turned onto a new street. "What's the point if you don't draw any attention to yourself?"

She laughed. "The point, Jesper..." She slowed her pace, dropped back and vanished from his side to duck into an alley and scramble onto the rooftop in three neat bounds—up onto the overflowing dumpster, grab onto the pipes, swing herself round and up.

She clambered over to peer over the building's front. In the flow of the crowd, Jesper hadn't noticed for a few long-legged paces, then he stopped and stared around, somewhat frantically, though there was a touch of amusement there too—he knew she was messing with him.

Inej took a small stone, a fragment of a loose plate, and tossed it down. It bounced off his shoulder; he looked up, then, and scowled at her.

"Is to not get caught," she finished. "Now, get up here. And do you have anything less..." She grimaced. "Noticeable?"

"No," he said baldly.

"Great." She sighed. "Get up here anyway." The unusual slope of some of these roofs—why was Ketterdam so strange?—and the sort of damp, grey mist that was clinging to the wind that blew in from the north meant that the street goers probably wouldn't notice a boy wearing bright yellow and green perched on the rooftop.

Probably.

He eyed her perch. "How did you get up there?"

"Alleyway. Dumpster, pipes, jump."

He backtracked, and scurried to eye the route. "Are... you sure...?"

"Or there's a ladder buried under the pile of rags in the corner," she said helpfully.

Jesper went to look, and sighed when he saw it. "Of course there is. Did you put that there?"

"Of course I did. Make sure to bring it up with you—we don't want anyone else to see it, and no one else will see it on the roof."

"Will do."

*

Jesper made it onto the lip of the roof, eventually, and then they both dragged the ladder up to rest lightly against the tiles. Jesper had never seen Ketterdam from this angle before, but Inej seemed to navigate the landscape here almost more confidently than she did on the ground. No wonder she was such a good spider.

He peered over the side, at the network of people who rushed through the city's streets, the gondolas that rushed through the canals, like blood around its beating heart. He felt prickly up here, fidgety; the mist muted everything and all seemed still.

Everything moved, but at its own pace. A seabird flew by to shit on the roof right next to him.

They climbed along rooftops for a while, the place a whole new terrain—Jesper was no longer sure where they were in the citywhen he glanced down, unless he could pick out a few familiar shop fronts. It was a whole new world, but Inej navigated it with ease.

After a while, Jesper was starting to tire, but he didn't want to say so. He wanted to keep watching the way she worked, gracefully slipping over peaks and shingles like she was more bird or gutter rat than girl. A few times he started panting after he hauled himself up too far, too heavy for the climb or unable to find the nonexistent handholds she seized, and his attempts to disguise it only brought amusement. He rolled his eyes, running his hands over his guns for... well, reassurance. They were pristine, even if moisture was starting to condense against them. He'd make sure to clean them later, to check they were alright, but they probably were. So long as he hadn't bashed them in the climb.

"Here," Inej said at last, settling down to sit herself cross-legged on a seemingly unremarkable stretch of roof, adjacent to the street, with a sooty chimney at her back. If she got dirty where she leaned against it, it didn't show up against her black hair and clothes.

He was a bit more protective of his nice colourful outfit, but... if he was trying to blend in, and he was tired.

He plopped down next to her, and leaned against the brick.

"Shhh," she admonished in a whisper. "Not so loud."

"Why?" he hissed back; noise hadn't been as much of a problem when he was scaling that wall back there, and grunting and cussing to the high heavens.

She just tilted her head and he heard it, then: voices, drifting. They weren't from the street, the street had its own noise, but... behind them...

"The chimney," he realised.

Inej nodded. "Something about the acoustics means that sound travels especially well in and out of that fireplace, through the vents. There are several spots along here"—she pointed, and Jesper looked ahead to see more busts of chimneys  loom out of the smog and mist, behind to see the  same; they'd come up a ridge between two—"and they lead to different rooms in the building. This one is where you usually hear the most... high end gossip."

"Of course you knew this was here," he marvelled quietly. The Wraith and her secrets—this was one he was happy to learn. "This whole spidering thing is easier than it seems."

She raised an eyebrow at his sweaty, soot-stained, shredded clothing. "Is it?"

Point taken.

"Where are we?" he asked. "What building is this?"

She tilted her head, then, towards the street that ran adjacent to their position by the chimneys. She was closer to the edge, so she had a better view, but he leaned over her to peer down...

And opposite them was a shop whose windows were full of dresses. And suits. And hats.

He frowned. He knew that tailor's shop. One of the fanciest in town—sold outfits to merchers, kingpins and Barrel bosses alike. Tante Heleen's finest came from those doors; the merchers conducted... merchering in that shop's suits; even Per Haskell owned a flamboyant hat or two, and a fine burgundy waistcoat, from the good old days when he could fit it around his waist.

He'd visited that shop yesterday. That shop was situated directly opposite the building Rollins had made—

"We are on the roof," he said quietly, "of the Kaelish Prince!?"

"Yes."

"This spot would've been so nice to know about this time yesterday."

She shrugged, a little smile playing around her lips. "Kaz doesn't know all my secrets, as much as he may like to think he does."

"Evidently." He gave her an appreciative look. "He should've asked you to go with him, yesterday."

"It's fine that he didn't. I'm sure he had a reason. He always does."

Yes. That he did. "Why are you so loyal to him?" Jesper had to ask.

"He paid off my debt at the Menagerie. I owe him a lot of money."

Jesper glanced down at her scarred forearm—where the feather tattoo had once been, and where the crow and cup tattoo sat on his arm. He'd never understood why Kaz didn't make her take on their tattoo once her old one was removed; he supposed it was one of those strange acts of generosity that sometimes seized him. Whenever they came up, before Jesper realised what exactly his ulterior motive was, Jesper usually got the urge to ask if he had a fever.

"Yes, but..." He scowled. "You fuss over him. You care about him. Why? He's a podge; we both know that."

"He is."

"He doesn't deserve you."

She smiled at him. "He doesn't deserve you either, Jesper. You worry about and look up to him as much as I do."

Jesper suddenly found it difficult to meet her gaze.

"I'm just good with guns."

"You're great with guns. But the fact you dragged your sorry guns up here with me proves you're an even better friend."

He didn't know how to take that, so he just shot her an awkward grin and they fell silent.

"How long did you spend scouting out this place yesterday?" Inej asked.

"Far too long, now that I know this was here the whole time. The Kaelish Prince just opened up, how long have you known this place was here?"

Inej shrugged. "Since we heard that Rollins was buying up the place," she said. "I figured it would be something we'd want to spy on."

He laughed—loudly, at first, then more lowly when she shushed him. "You—"

She shushed him again.

"What—"

Then he shut his mouth.

There were voices.

"This chimney overlooks several of the private parlours Rollins uses for the higher class pigeons," she murmured. "There should be interesting discussions going on in there—can you hear..."

He could.

Two... Dime Lions, he was pretty sure they were, judging by the way they spoke; they were certainly some of Rollins's gang members, even if he didn't recognise their individual voices, but he did recognise what they were talking about.

"Did the merchers leave anything in here when they were here?" one grunted—a woman, by the sounds of it. Something rattled—it sounded like a curtain on its rail; he betted they were sweeping the windowsills and crannies of the room for lingerers human and valuable. "I liked the look of them watches—"

"We gotta tell Pekka if they did. You know he don't want to piss off the merchant council. They'd be out for 'is neck."

"You take the fun out of everything," one of them moaned, and the other one laughed. There was an oomph; Jesper assumed he'd swatted his companion. "Ow!"

"Get to work on that there carpet, brush up all the shit they left behind. This is important."

"I got that, when the merchers showed up on the doorstep. What're they doin' here?"

Jesper and Inej exchanged a look. Multiple members of the merchant's council, visiting a new pleasure and gambling house on East Stave? It wasn't unheard of for any of them to visit this part of town—except maybe Van Eck; the only spine that guy had was a pious stick shoved up his pious backside—but all together? At once?

He didn't like this.

"Pekka was putting on a show, of course." The man was started to get irritated from her constant questions, but Jesper hoped he indulged her further—hoped they kept talking—

"He's always putting on a show. What was this show?"

"Taking down the competition. He made some deal with Van Eck before; he already had an in with him. So now he's trying to make a deal with the whole council to bring—" A pause, so the sarcasm and drama in his delivery could be fully appreciated. "Industry and commerce, in the name of Ghezen."

The woman burst out laughing. Even Inej rolled her eyes, and Jesper tried not to be amused at all of it.

The man sounded miffed. "Yeah, well, they're cleaning up the rats. That kid he dragged in, them who was spying—had him arrested for murder, right in front of them. And it was just the beginning." A laugh. "The Lions already rule the city, but soon there won't even be competition."

Inej caught her breath.

She exchanged a look with Jesper.

"How'd you know that?"

"I was there. Dragged that bastard in myself—him with his cane, wriggled like a worm. That kid who thinks he runs the Dregs, got Fifth Harbour cleaned up for them, keeps trying on shoving us out of there."

Jesper froze. Inej looked like she wasn't sure her heart was beating anymore, though her face was utterly frozen in that expression, leaning in to listen better...

"Brekker?" The woman scoffed. "You sure? Brekker's a demon—"

"Looked like a kid to me. Spat like one, too. Right in Pekka's eye."

"What happened to him?"

"Hell if I know. Pekka probably tested out this new influence he's got with the merchers on him, got him locked up somewhere. Outta his way." There was a thumping noise, like he'd put down his broom to shrug, and splutter. "Now, get over into that fireplace, it's gotta look presentable..."

Their voices faded into an indistinct background noise. Jesper and Inej... sat there, for ages. They didn't leave the room for what must have been an age, until the next bell, when the fussing, cussing Lions ushered themselves out. Only then did Inej... lift her head again and look him dead in the eye, and that was when Jesper knew it was bad.

Jesper opened his mouth. "Locked up—"

Inej stuck a finger up, pinched her lips together and inclined her head further down the rooftop. He nodded, and followed, until they were farther away from the grates.

"Locked up," she confirmed, still in a hushed whisper. "I... why was Kaz spying on him? What did he want to know?" She looked genuinely perplexed. "What has he got himself into? And why?"

Jesper said nothing. Then he said, "That's a lot of questions."

"And we don't know the answers."

Jesper tried to smile. "I'm up for more climbing and eavesdropping if you are. I'm up for even a few break ins if you are." He thought the eyebrow waggle might be a bit much, but he did it anyway.

Inej did laugh at that, eyeing Jesper's outfit—still eye-catching—before she nodded with a grin.

"Jesper," she said lightly, though he could hear the strain in her voice, "I am always up for a few break ins."

*

In the end, it wasn't hard to figure out where they should be breaking in. Kerch was small, and the Merchant Council even smaller—and besides, Inej had not missed the name that that man had dropped when regaling the woman with all the juicy gossip.

Van Eck.

Jan Van Eck, of the long, timelessly esteemed Van Eck family, reaching back generations. Inej had tabs on him just as she had tabs on everyone important in that city—or rather, everyone important to Kaz's schemes.

Van Eck, an upstanding, pious businessman, who did not know honest work from dishonest work but worshipped Ghezen fanatically all the same. He had a son supposedly studying music in Belendt—a son who had actually left home and refused to answer his letters, hiding in the Dregs, protected by Kaz for a reason Inej could not fathom, though she didn't admit any of that to Jesper; that was Kaz's little secret to protect and use when he wanted to—and a wife slightly older than his son. She was pregnant. He lived on one of the fancier streets and had a beautiful garden that backed on a canal; his first wife, Wylan Van Eck's mother, had died of a mysterious illness several years ago.

He had been the one to pull the strings and... get Kaz locked up?

Do something to Kaz.

They needed to see his transactions. They needed to know what he'd done, who he'd paid, what he'd gained from it—and where he'd put Kaz.

And hope that it wasn't a grave six feet under.

Inej didn't stop. She barely blinked. She kept forging onwards.

Jesper jogged to catch up. At one point they shimmied down, off the rooftops, and were instead fording through the throngs of tourists along the Lid to get to the Zelver District, then through the throngs of people in general.

"Where are we going?" Jesper asked. His stride was long, but Inej was fast, and she noticed he was half-jogging to keep up.

"Van Eck's transactions are all handled by one man—well, he has a team of lawyers and accountants and legal yes men, but they're headed by one man, and that man has the files to everything."

"Ah," Jesper said. "And we're breaking into his home to see what legal actions he's taken recently to have Kaz condemned?"

"Yes." She hopped up onto a narrow, crumbling wall between the path and the canal; a stone slipped and her foot went out under her, but she caught herself and leapt back onto the pavement again without even veering towards the water. "And Cornelis Smeet will hopefully have answers hidden somewhere in the backlog of his office."

"So we're going to break into the house of some upstanding mercher's favourite lawyer and rob him plain as day? In the middle of the day? When do I get to start shooting."

Inej laughed. "I'm not a planner like Kaz. I'll get in, get the information, and get out. Then we can go find Kaz, and you can shoot at his captors to your heart's content."

"After Kaz has cracked them across the heads with his cane and decimated them first, I presume?"

"Of course. After that."

*

They returned to the Slat, then—there was no way Inej could hope to break in there without first scouting it out, and figuring how to get past those famous dogs of his, so they had to slink back with their tails between their legs and, honestly, no further clue where Kaz was. Inej avoided all of Per Haskell's questions pointedly. No, she didn't know where Kaz was. Yes, she had tried to find him. No, she hadn't found him. Yes, she was telling the truth.

Just not the whole truth.

She didn't tell him about the Pekka Rollins situation. Or the merchers. Haskell was soft. He was old school. He wouldn't want to pick a fight with those two big bosses, even if it was for his favoured lieutenant. And Inej wasn't going to risk him telling her to leave it alone and stop poking the beast.

So she just made empty promises to keep investigating the next day—there were debts to be paid and money to be made—and slipped back to her room again to feed the crows, pausing outside Kaz's office door.

There was no one in there, of course. But she glanced around, then glanced back out hurriedly—guiltily, almost.

Jesper saw her do it, but they just exchanged a look, a nod, and didn't elaborate from there.

*

"Kidnapping and killing a mercher's son?"

"Those are the charges."

"What— Kaz wouldn't—" Jesper stopped pacing—there wasn't much space to pace in Inej's cramped little room, but he made do—paused, then started again. "No, Kaz would." Inej shifted uncomfortably. "That was what they had on him?"

"That was what they claimed they had on him."

"Of course. It's probably nonsense—Kaz would do it, but he wouldn't get caught." He paused. "Would he?"

"He didn't." Inej gritted her teeth. "Van Eck's son never arrived at the music school in Belendt, and he's blaming Kaz for his disappearance."

"Poor kid. Poor soft little mercher's kid, if Kaz went after him."

"He didn't. Wylan Van Eck came to Kaz, trying to get away from his father."

Jesper froze.

Inej settled onto her windowsill, letting her legs swing underneath her, so she could look Jesper in the eye. "He just turned up in the Barrel one day, and Kaz wanted to know why. So he had you find the kid and convince him to join the Dregs."

Jesper's mouth dropped open. "Wylan? You mean that shy little kid—"

"Keep your voice down; everything leaks in the Slat. But yes."

"No way. That—" He paused. "That explains a lot, huh."

"About what?"

"Why he's so sheltered. Why—"

"You flirted with him?" Inej sat forwards, amused, and he laughed.

"Maybe I did."

"I heard you had a slight crush on him."

"An interest is more like it, thank you very much—"

Inej laughed—then sobered up rapidly. "But... yes. Van Eck had Kaz thrown in Hellgate for kidnapping and murdering Wylan."

Jesper's lips went wan. "You didn't mention Hellgate."

"I did!"

"You— never mind. Hellgate?" His hands ran lightly along the revolvers at his sides, twitching. "I... What. Poor Kaz."

"Don't say that to his face."

"Trust me, I wouldn't dream of it. Maybe it's more like poor Hellgate."

"Yeah."

"So," Jesper said. "We go get Wylan. Dump him in front of the Council, to prove he wasn't murdered and kidnapped. Get Kaz out of there—"

He trailed off when he met Inej's eye; they shook their heads at the same time.

"They won't listen," she said. "If Pekka wanted Kaz in there, there was a reason, and there's no way two Barrel rats are going to be listened to. They'd just claim that we kidnapped Wylan, not matter what we got him to say on our behalf; they'd accuse us of threatening him. And Pekka would probably get us silenced as well."

"So what else can we do?"

Inej smiled. "We can break into Hellgate."

*

Inej was insane, but so was Jesper, so he supposed that was why he was following her.

Apparently breaking into Hellgate wasn't the death sentence that Jesper had always figured it would be. Inej had sat him down in Kaz's office, picked the lock on a few of his drawers, and pulled out...

First, a false bottom.

Then, another false bottom.

Then, a sheet of papers in neat, cramped Kerch, covered in spidery diagrams and annotations, currents and notes about guards rotations, names and bribery prices and potential secrets to threaten with, drawings and notations of the types of locks used at each door and padlock...

"What is this?" Jesper hissed. Inej held her finger up to her mouth, stuffed the meticulously flat pages in her pocket in a few neat folds, then slipped out of the window onto the rooftop.

Jesper sighed, but clambered out after her, trying not to think about how ungainly he probably looked, with his lanky limbs. At least here, they were high up enough that only the birds had a hope of seeing him.

Once they were onto the rooftop, Inej threw her legs over a peak and slid down it silently. Jesper followed—and noticed how the wind cut out here, the breeze dying to barely a stir. She pulled the sheets out, then, as well as a small pencil he hadn't seen her stick in her pocket, and crouched cross-legged in the cranny.

"Come down here, where we'll definitely be able to talk without anyone listening," Inej said. "Kaz has multiple plans for breaking into Hellgate—though, as far as I know, none for breaking out."

"He was prioritising the wrong thing."

"Or that was something I never found out. It's possible he has them, just hidden elsewhere."

Jesper gave her a look. "You mean he didn't tell you?"

She shrugged. "I spied on him, that was how I found them."

"You spied on Kaz Brekker—"

"You can't train a falcon then expect it not to hunt," she shot back, though not without a grin.

"How many secrets of Kaz's do you know just because he didn't trust you not to find them out anyway?"

"Probably far more than he's comfortable with."

Jesper laughed loudly. "I don't think he's comfortable with any of them."

"Exactly. Now," she'd turned back to the plans. "Nina Zenik, from the White Rose, has been wanting Kaz to help her get a friend of hers out of Hellgate."

"There's no way he'd do that."

"No, not at all, and he hasn't—but he has the plans for it if he needs to. I'm sure a big, strong Fjerdan will come in useful for a plan of his one day, and when he does, Kaz will help."

"He's such a bastard."

"He is." She took the [pencil] and circled the blueprints to Hellgate, looking at it from a bird's eye view and squinting. "But he's a prepared bastard, and that's gonna be useful for us."

They'd stayed up there for ages, flicking through his multiple plans of attack and adapting it to fit their... specific talents. The one time Inej brought up going to Per Haskell to get some backup, Jesper shot her down.

"No," he said. "He... you know he won't pick a fight with Pekka over Kaz. Especially won't break into Hellgate for Kaz."

Inej frowned, but said nothing—just nodded.

Once they had the plan, they looked at each other.

"Kaz came up with the plan that's gonna bust him out," Jesper observed passively.

Inej snorted. "Of course he did."

*

In actuality, their plan wasn't nearly as refined or put together as Kaz's would've been. It was based off of an early draft and even then, cut back for convenience; if it worked, it would be a miracle, and everyone in the Barrel knew that miracles were scarce.

But Inej and Jesper went out to get their allies and get their supplies nonetheless.

Inej dropped by the White Rose that afternoon, standing waiting in the parlour before Nina's latest client—Van Aakster came out. Inej took note of him, then dismissed him. After that, she slipped right in before anyone else could.

"I'm on my break now, madam, I'm afraid— oh." Nina's sickly sweet spiel turned into something coarser and more genuine when she set eyes on Inej. "It's you."

"It's me," Inej agreed, leaning against the wall and shutting the door behind her with one smooth motion of her foot. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"And I haven't seen you, Brekker's been running us both ragged. Which means you must be here on his behalf. What does he want me for?"

"I'm not here on his orders—"

"Great, then do you want to get waffles? I don't have another client for a few hours."

Inej paused. "Waffles sounds nice," she said, smiling. "But first: how do you feel about breaking into Hellgate?"

Nina blinked.

Then she stared.

Then she bent over double in a mighty guffaw, grinning, and clapped her hands. "I'm in. You know I'm in." The relief in her voice was subtle, but there—like a bowstring that had been drawn tighter and tighter and tighter for months had finally been released. "So long as we rescue—"

"Of course." Nina didn't flinch at Inej's promise, or even the fact that Inej knew about Matthias in the first place. "But there is someone else to rescue too, and I get the feeling this is going to be entertaining."

"We're rescuing Dirtyhands himself, then? What trouble did he get himself into this time?"

"More trouble," Inej said, "than I suspect Haskell will want to deal with."

Nina froze. "You haven't told him?"

"If I don't tell him, he can't explicitly order me not to."

"Inej Ghafa, I like the way you're thinking." She was concerned—Inej understood that; so was she—but it was drowned out by the blaring relief. Kaz's plan, counting on the fact that Nina would be there, would want to rescue Helvar, was turning out to be useful. "Now, let's go get waffles, and I can hear all about this place you're coming up with."

"It's Kaz's plan. Jesper helped me adapt it."

"Jesper's coming? I like it already."

*

Jesper had grown fond of rooftops, no matter the difficulty getting onto them. He let his legs dangle as he waited for Inej to track back to the Slat with Nina in tow; when he saw their silhouettes coming from ages away—his sharpshooter's sights were useful in more ways that one—he shimmied down and hit the stairs of the Slat, jogging down to the ground floor to meet them. Muzzen was hanging around on the other side of the canal for them, the sun was setting and the night was spreading its obsidian wings over the city, so it was just Jesper and his supply of Kaz's many Komedie Brute costumes they were waiting for. They'd convene, scatter the resources to where they needed to be, then meet up at midnight.

But on the way down, with his arms full of boxes and his guns slapping against his waist, he ran into someone.

Wylan Van Eck glared at him. "Watch where you're going."

"It's a bit hard, fancypants, can't you see I'm carrying stuff?"

Wylan just huffed and grumbled something unintelligible. Usually Jesper would push it, tease some more, but... he paused. Studied him closely.

He'd always thought Wylan, with his gleaming rosy curls and button nose, wide eyes and delicate, clever hands, looked like a prince out of a fairy tale. The truth was... well, as close to that image as anyone from Kerch could be: he was a mercher's son.

It explained everything, and kicked up more questions than a horse kicked up dust in the fields at home.

What was Wylan doing, slumming it with them?

Merchers weren't nearly as glamorous as fairy tales made princes out to be, but their life styles certainly were.

"What?" Wylan snapped.

Jesper shrugged. "Just admiring your beautiful face."

Wylan glared, and hurried off.

Jesper headed down, and then they were outside and the time had come.

*

Inej had reached Terrenjel by the time they arrived so she watched them come, in the dead of night, the lanterns on the boats from Fifth Harbour bobbing like small moons over the waves. Nina stepped out first, veiled in blue in the image of the Lost Bride, while Jesper's Mister Crimson mask was one of the more hideous things Inej had ever seen, in the eerie mist and lighting of the night. Muzzen came last, sporting another Mister Crimson outfit—no one could ever accuse the Dregs of being original when it was unnecessary.

They hit the shore and she slipped in next to them, squeezing Nina's hand first. Jesper jumped, but immediately clocked who she was, in her Grey Imp image, and gave her an acknowledging nod; then they were scurrying onwards, and paying the Dime Lion who stood watch.

Inej... really wasn't happy, come to think of it, that the Dime Lions ran the Hellshow when she knew it was Pekka who'd got Kaz tossed into here in the first place, but that didn't matter. She'd bribed the right guard with the right secret to get him to pass a message to Kaz, in code, so Kaz ought to know that they were coming that day. He knew what to do.

So she stood there, and pretended her trembling under the Lion's gaze was from excitement and not dread, as he led them down and down and down into the winding staircase that led to the old prison.

Nina's hand constricted on hers the farther they went; there were no railings on these stairs, and everyone was jostling around them like it was the Lid at early light. The homely scent of cleaning liquids and... well, dedicated scrubbing, gave way to the inevitable stench of mildew, sweat, and unwashed bodies dwelling in their own waste. And the farther they descended, the louder the chanting got, until it was less a pounding and more a roaring; less like water, more like fire.

Then they emerged there, and Nina gasped next to her, the room packed with people. Inej's eyes stung from the assault of colour; her ears stung from the assault of sound. She could taste sweat on the air. Komedie Brute costumes abounded and bumped into each other, the strange lighting and otherworldliness of the room making them seem to change size and colour, as though they were peering through a kaleidoscope. Jewellery and silver zips and adornments flashed gold, like sparks, as they reflected the braziers; everything seemed to glitter.

But, as much as she could appreciate the strange beauty and ugliness of the room, Inej let her gaze be drawn to the important parts: the exit, where the crowd was thickest, and the wheel up ahead—and the men who stood beside it.

The person running the fight, a young man in a filthy, shredded lion skin cape, spun the massive wheel. The red needle clicked, clacked, clicked, clacked, clicked—

And landed on boar.

The man standing in chains—a very young man, barely older than Kaz—sagged in relief. Or perhaps that wasn't the best word for it. But he did not look quite so terrified as the lion skin man stepped forwards to unlock his shackles, and then—

There was a pounding, a grunting, a sort of groaning, and the boar thundered out of the gaping corridor that led to the animals' cages.

Inej... didn't really watch as the young man ran at it with his bare hands, something like desperation, something that certainly wasn't sanity, contorting his face. She was glad not to watch when she heard him screaming.

She just turned to Jesper and murmured, "Let's go."

He nodded back at her. She grinned.

When she looked back at the stage, the young man was nowhere to be seen, but his blood certainly was.

"Next!" the lion skin man bellowed.

The next person was brought out. And there, as they'd planned, was Kaz.

Inej hadn't seen him in... two days now, or just over. It wasn't a long time, and the differences weren't prominent, but they were there. His hair, already odd, looked like the nests of the crows he was so fond of; outside of his usual sleek, professional-looking outfits, he appeared... rougher, younger; and there was a long cut across his right cheek, now closed, which caked half his face in an unpleasant mix of brown and red.

He stepped out of the shadows like a ghost—like a wraith, a figure in black and white. There weren't many people in the crowd, it seemed, who knew that the boy in front of them was one of the darkest, brightest minds in the city, but the Dime Lions certainly did; they were snickering and pointing at him, and how he was brought so low.

He ignored them.

His gaze scanned the crowd—idly, it seemed, but when Inej skirted around in her Grey Imp costume to get a better vantage point, he locked onto the way she moved... and he smiled, ever so slightly. She couldn't help but smile back, with the same sort of wickedness to it.

The lion skin man shouted, and reach up an arm to spin the wheel against. The needle skittered around the wood and Inej watched with far more attention this time—if all went well, the outcome wouldn't matter, but when did things go well?

The wheel slowed. The needle scraped past the bear, the wolf, the snakes... and landed on the rinca moten.

She sucked in a breath.

The desert lizard.

Great. She couldn't wait to have to deal with that on the loose.

Almost time. Almost time...

She circled around again, nearer to Nina and Muzzen, to nearer the exit back into the prison. She stopped just behind Muzzen, and he slipped off his Mister Crimson cloak to reveal a guard's uniform underneath.

The guards stepped forwards, to directly in front of Kaz, to unlock his shackles.

Nina flexed her fingers, gaze fixed on the nearest guard, and narrowed her eyes.

"How down?" she whispered.

"Shut eye," Inej murmured back.

The guard went down.

Just as all hell broke loose.

There was the screech of dozens of cages and the roars and hisses of far too many animals; Inej turned away from where Muzzen had plopped his mask on top of the guard, swept him up in his cloak, to fix her gaze on the lizard lumbering towards Kaz. Bears and boars rampaged around it, the guards were screaming, but Kaz was staring this thing down like it was a city guard who thought they could push him around—

It hissed and hit; he threw himself to the side as much as possible, limping heavily. It suddenly hit Inej that she didn't know where his cane was—hopefully he'd left it at the Slat before he went spying on Pekka because otherwise—

The lizard lashed out again and this time Kaz toppled over in his attempts to get back, still glaring warily. He scrambled to get back to his feet as the lizard stalked forwards, venom dripping from bared teeth—

Inej ditched her costume. The cloak flowed behind her like smoke.

Then she leapt over Kaz's head, onto the lizard's back, and cut its throat.

"Inej," Kaz greeted in his gravelly voice.

She rolled her eyes, wiping the lizard's blood on her trousers. "You're welcome, Kaz." She glanced back at the others—Nina and Muzzen had vanished into the depths of the prison, presumably to find Helvar, though that was something she wouldn't tell Kaz about just yet. Jesper was standing by the downed guard, already taking his costume back, and brandishing that thing like a flag. It was a good thing the Hellshow didn't use bulls. "Get over here."

He followed her eyes to see Jesper, who paused awkwardly at the intensity of Kaz's gaze, of his analysis and judgement. He even waved.

Kaz limped over to them. Inej followed, silent as a summer wind, knowing better than to offer him support.

"You have bastardised my plan," he rasped.

Jesper gave him a look as carnage rained around them. "You're welcome, bastard," he drawled back.

*

There were five of them. In one room.

Nina was stubbornly not looking at Matthias, despite the fact she was stealing a few glances here and there, while Matthias glared at her constantly. Wylan was collapsed in a corner opposite them, looking baffled as to why Kaz had decided to throw them all in there.

Inej and Jesper—Inej perched on the arm of a sofa, Jesper sitting on the sofa itself—sat near to them and exchanged odd looks.

There was a thumping, a specific gait that they all knew too well, and the door burst open to admit Kaz, back to cutting his normal, intimidating profile with a coat and his cane, his coffee-dark eyes staring around at them. Jesper noticed that they softened slightly when they landed on Inej, and didn't harden until after they'd moved away from Jesper. He didn't know what to think about that.

Inej spoke up first. "So you recovered your cane after all?"

"I'm not foolish enough to take it with me when I go scouting an enemy boss, Inej." His voice was grating, like he found the question so obvious it was annoying. Inej and Jesper exchanged looks—again. "But yes."

"And the old man didn't kill you too badly for getting captured?"

"He's never happy—"

"What an understatement."

"—but he's more interested in the proposition I have for him—what I found out from Rollins."

Inej pursed her lips. "If it was this important, why did you go scouting alone? I'm always going to have a better chance at discovering the truth than you are."

Kaz just said, "It's personal with Rollins," and left it at that.

He wasn't going to explain himself. Of course he wasn't.

"There's a Grisha Fabrikator named Bo Yul-Bayur in Fjerda," Kaz announced. "He's Shu, and has developed a drug—jurda parem—that is meant to be used on Grisha. It makes them capable of feats unknown to man, miracles worthy of saints"—Kaz glanced at Inej with humour; Inej rolled her eyes and shook her head—"and he's been captured by Fjerdan authorities, who want to use it."

"Why?" Nina snapped. Her attention had been piqued the moment he said Grisha, and... Jesper wouldn't admit it, but his had been too, when he'd said Fabrikator. "Why would they want to help Grisha?"

"They don't. The drug is highly addictive and essentially makes the Grisha slaves. The Fjerdans want to see if they can turn what they view as heresy to their advantage—to serve them in battle."

Helvar looked furious. "That would never happen. The drüskelle—Brum would never—"

"Jarl Brum is dead, isn't he? He's not calling the shots anymore. And the drüskelle are helping keep Yul-Bayur captive."

Matthias looked ready to object again, Nina looked like she'd make their hearts burst accidentally if she became any more stressed by the truths Kaz was dropping like dead flies.

Inej cut through the tension to ask, "And why," she narrowed her eyes, "do you care?"

Kaz slashed his gaze to her. "Because, darling Inej, the Merchant Council is offered thirty million kruge to anyone who can break into the Ice Court and bring Yul-Bayur back to Kerch. If jurda parem is unleashed on the world, it'll be chaos. The stock markets will collapse. The economic state of the world as we know it would be changed forever." He tutted. "You know they can't have that."

"And why are we here?" Wylan finally had the courage to pipe up. Jesper shot him an impressed look, and all he got in return was a dirty one. Rude.

Kaz said, "Because, Wylan Van Eck, your father has forged an alliance with Pekka Rollins and hired him to send a team north to break Yul-Bayur out himself. And we're going to go after them, and we're going to get there first."

Matthias looked like someone had smacked him, repeatedly, in the face with a fish. Nina was staring at Wylan with raised eyebrows.

"Haskell gets twenty percent of the cut," Kaz said. "Everyone else gets four million kruge, each."

Jesper glanced around. A gunslinger, a spider, a Heartrender, a demolitions kid who could double as a hostage, and a Fjerdan who'd know his way around.

And Kaz.

The most important part.

"Think on it," Kaz said callously. "I'm not going to force you to say yes." But he gave Matthias a pointed look—Jesper suddenly remembered that the two had conversed, briefly, beforehand. He wondered what he'd offered him.

Kaz turned to leave, but suddenly Jesper was filled with an urge, the need to say something, and he opened his mouth— "Kaz."

Kaz turned back, expectant.

Jesper looked at him, equally expectant.

Kaz's gaze slid to Inej, then back to Jesper, sitting so close and looking at him with just as much weight.

His hand constricted on the head of his cane. He was wearing gloves, as always—and suddenly, Jesper remembered that Kaz had not been wearing gloves in Hellgate. He wondered what that meant.

Kaz turned back to leave the room. The door slammed; the clack, clack, clack of his cane faded down the stairs.

Jesper heard Inej sigh, but all he did was clench his jaw, stand up himself, and leave the room too.

Unlike Kaz, he headed up.

*

"Have I converted you to the rooftops?" Inej called out teasingly.

Jesper turned his head to grin at her from where he was perched on the edge of the roof of the Slat, legs swinging out over the drop below, thumping against the walls. Inej slipped down next to him, close enough to bump shoulders, as they watched the sun rise to the east over the university and financial districts, staining the skyline scarlet.

"Maybe you have. It's fun up here."

"It's peaceful. You're on your own and no one will come up here to bother you."

"Yeah." Jesper grinned down at the drop. "Also it's kind of exhilarating."

Inej laughed. "That too."

They sat in silence for a moment more. Inej was very aware of her friend's solid, warm weight at her side, the garish colours of his favoured clothing too familiar to be jarring, now, and the way his guns clicked lightly against her sheathed knives.

"Ready to go to Fjerda?" Jesper asked her.

"I'm not looking forward to it. This sounds like a suicide plan."

"But we'll go anyway." He wrinkled his nose. "Despite the fact that none of us particularly like the cold."

"We'll be able to compare Kerch's wet cold to Fjerda's frozen cold."

"Both will be disgusting, I'm sure."

"You'll be stuck on a boat for two weeks with Wylan."

Jesper raised an eyebrow. "Still can't believe he's actual mercher material. Well, no, I can believe it—it fits. But it's strange."

"It's strange that the person Nina's been fighting for the last year to save is a Fjerdan who more than anything wants her dead."

"Should we have left them in a room together?"

"Nina can handle herself."

"I know. I'm worried about the Fjerdan." He wrinkled his nose. "And Wylan."

"I'm sure Wylan has the sense to leave the room while he still can."

"For now. As you said, we're going to be stuck on a boat with them. For weeks."

Inej watched him. "You don't like boats?"

"Not at all."

“I haven’t had the best experiences with them on the sea,” she confessed. “Though canal boats are fine.”

He looked back at her, then, and the sunlight shone gold on his face. "Then why are we doing this? What's in it for us?"

Inej sighed. "Four million kruge." Jesper had just raised his eyebrows and nodded his agreement appreciatively when she added: "And the hope that we'll make Kaz proud."

Jesper let out a snort. "Has he thanked us for saving him yet?"

"No, not yet. And I wouldn't hold my breath for it."

"What a bastard. Want to help me annoy the hell out of him on the journey there?"

"Don't you already do that?"

He punched her in the shoulder.

"Alright, alright, I'm in. He deserves it."

"He'll kill us, but he deserves it."

"No, he won't," she said—a little too solemnly, she thought. The wind stirred the strands of hair in her plait and tugged at them like a child playing with string. "He needs us."

"He'll die before he admits it."

"But he needs us anyway. And we'll mourn him if he does."

"No mourners," Jesper said.

Inej said back, "No funerals," and dwelled on it.

The idea was that in Ketterdam, people got left behind. There were too many tragedies on a daily basis, too much pain and suffering, and too many people oblivious or uncaring to it. If you were shot or stabbed or slaughtered, no one would be around to scream. If you vanished into thin air... no one would notice your absence; no one would miss you.

Inej thought that maybe—maybe—that wasn't quite true.

"Kaz is who he is. He's not going to be changing any time soon," she said.

Jesper scoffed. "He's not going to be changing at all."

"I'll take that bet."

"Really?"

"Yeah." She turned back towards the rising sun, tilting her head back to let the rays touch it, closing her eyes. "If being forced to work in such close quarters to us for so long on this trip doesn't lead to some noticeable change in him, I'll take you out for waffles. And if it does, you take me out."

It was a wet Tuesday morning; it had been raining all night and I wasn’t feeling like going out. But things happen 24/7 and that means reporters, like me, work 24/7. I wiggled out of bed and went to the bathroom. Seeing what I saw, I groaned. It's Zoya's-Famous-Bed-Hair. Once, in junior year, I woke up late and didn't have time for hair and makeup. So, naturally, I put on the first thing I got my hands on and ran out. Which is usually okay, right? Yeah, well Os Alta Speciality School has uniforms. Though, they’re not like Ketterdam ones. In Ketterdam, it's regular pants-shirt-jumper; in Os Alta they wore keftas. That's not the point, though; the night before, Genya and I were out, partying, so I wore clothes from last night's party. The principal suspended me for the day. This morning, I braided my hair, took my laptop, and left for the Dragon Scale. Dragon Scale is a coffee shop just around the corner from my apartment. Since I started drinking coffee when I was fifteen I have always gone there; it felt safe. Mostly because no one, not even Genya, knew about it. Just like every other day, it was almost empty. One person at the counter and a few others scattered in the back. I went to the counter and Anna, the barista, smiled at me. "The usual?" she asked. "You know it," I smiled back. "Could you bring it to me though? I have a lot of work today." Not turning from the shelves she said, "No worries." With that I went to sit by the window. I liked looking at people as they passed by, even when it's not a busy day. I opened the laptop and started writing: the elections are nearing, are you ready to decide between our two competitors? Is it going to be the cunning Petyr or the sly Nikolai Lantsov? I was never into politics, but Shelby, my publisher, insisted I write about this year's election. I love my job, I really do, but this is incredibly boring and the campaigns don't start until a few weeks from now, so when Anna brought my frappe, I looked to the street. I was like a less smart Sherlock Holmes. Meaning I can't really deduct, I just notice how people walk and dress, or if they have any ticks. Like if their left shoulder is lower than their right one. There was a woman in a hot pink coat, which was an unusual choice considering not many people wear bright colours at this time of year. A pig tailed girl who had stuck a lollipop to her mother's jacket. And a guy who was trying so hard not to be seen, but who obviously failed. With nothing else to do I packed my laptop, took my cup and went out. As I was turning to say bye to Anna, I bumped into a wall. I said, "Really? Couldn't have told me I'm going into a wall???" She started laughing hysterically. "What?" "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm no wall." I turned around. He definitely wasn't a wall. "Witty remarks are really unnecessary." I said. He put his arms up in surrender. "I am sorry that I bumped into you though." “Don’t worry, it could have been someone not as pretty as you.” “Thank you, I think. I’m going to go now. Bye Anna!” as I was walking out I heard Anna talking to the man.

Next day, I was sitting in the park, trying to write something on the elections but it was a no go. I was closing my laptop when I felt someone sit beside me. I looked to my right and saw the guy from the coffee shop. “What does ‘Z’ stand for?” “What are you doing here?” I asked, “Are you following me?” “No, I was walking, and I saw a familiar face, thought I say ‘Hi’. What does ‘Z’ stand for?” “It stands for Zebra.” “Really?” “No, of course not, it stands for Zoya.” “Oh that’s a nice name, is it yours? What does it mean?” “Yes, of course it’s mine. It means ‘life’”I said. “And you are?” “Nikolai.” he looked at his watch, “As much as I liked this encounter, I must go now.” “Bye?” He bowed to his waist, “Farewell.”

I snoozed my alarm three times, but it kept ringing. Then I realised it's not a regular alarm, it's a Genya alarm. "What is it, Kostyk?" I said into the phone. "Oooh!" she exclaimed, "Kostyk, that sounds nice. Not used to it though." "I know that's why I said it. What's the rush?" "It's Saturday." "Oka-" "ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU FORGOT OUR WEEKLY MEETING???" "Don't yell," I said. "Of course I didn't forget, you'd kill me if I did. I just didn't think it'd be this early." "Early?" she asked, "Zoya it's 11:00 in the morning!" "Oops? Okay, well, I'm obviously awake now, so what were you thinking of doing?" I asked. "The Zoo! Winter is coming, and I want to see all the summer animals before they stop going out." "Sure, meet you at the park in two hours?" "Yeah, love you!" she said, and hung up. I got up and went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. It was empty, guess I forgot to go to the store. So I decided to go to a bakery down the street, hoping they still have something warm. Luckily for me, they did. I bought two dollars worth of mini-whinnies and got back home. It was a relatively sunny day, so I sat at the balcony. And for a Saturday, it wasn't really busy. Besides Genya days, Saturdays are usually the farmers market days too. Most people don't have time to buy groceries during the week. I looked up to the Grand Palace. Tourists always said it was the most beautiful building in Os Alta, but I could never see it. It's not ugly, I just found the Little Palace more interesting. The Grand Palace is like any other palace ever, with big towers and shiny roofs, I can see that in any place that had a royal dynasty. But only we have a huge library with a fountain next to the royal Palace. I looked at my watch and yelped, I'm gonna be late!, I thought. I changed from my sweats and tee, and put on jeans, a jumper and boots, In case it rains. Took the leather jacket and keys from the hanger and ran out. The park wasn't far from my apartment so I walked. When I got to our usual meeting spot, Genya was already there. I waved apologetically. She rolled her eyes: "At least you're here, let's go!" "Fine, fine, I'm going!", I laughed. We sat in her car and went to the zoo. During the ride we talked about what we did during the week, how's married life and how's David in general, but all that was dropped the moment we walked through the gates of the zoo. First we saw the birds; pigeons, eagles and those funny colored ones that sing. Next animals were sheep, llama and deer. Their cages were around a pavilion that had horses and ponies you could ride, but those are mostly for kids. Few years back, Genya asked if we could ride but they wouldn’t let us. She said “it wasn’t fair that only kids can do fun stuff…” and continued to tell me how when she has kids they will be free to do whatever they want. We walked next to the deer cage. David loves them so every time we’re here we tend to stay a bit longer. Today we saw there was a new addition to the family. On the cage it said she was a doe named Lola. Next stop were the ostridges and the emus, we skipped those, mostly because one ostridge bit me a few years back when I tried to feed it. Genya got it on camera. On the other side of the sidewalk were the bison, and we always acted as if they were the flying bison from Avatar: the Last Airbender. We named all of them Appa. The seals were sleeping so we went to the reptiles instead. Most of the snakes were also sleeping, as was the aligator so we decided to skip the hippoes too and went to see the wolves. Though they didn't pay attention to us as they were eating. The monkeys were mostly shitting onto their hands and throwing it at each other… The petting zoo was empty so we had all the little goats to ourselves! When I was a kid, and my mom still my mom, I tried to take one of the goats with me home, but I couldn’t carry it alone so it stayed in the petting zoo. When we got to the bears most of them were in the water, but there was one who went in circles around his pond, like he was trying to catch fish. Lions were lying around, hyenas were laughing at the visitors, which is not creepy at all… At that point we got tired and went to the big pond where the ducks and the swans are. I sat on a bench while Genya bought ice cream. “Strawberry?” she asked. I just nodded. "So," she started, "you're not seeing anyone, right?" I choked, "What?!" "Are you seeing anyone?" "Where is that coming from?!" "David recently got together with a childhood friend and when he got home, he said you'd like him and that you should go on a date." she said, casually. "Genya, you know I'm not the one for dating…" She touched her eye-patch and looked away. "I know, but just try? I mean, just meet with him, then decide what to do. Not everyone is like Alex…" I sighed, "Sure, wh-" "REALLY?", she exclaimed. "Yes, chill. Who is he?" "Oh, oh… I have no idea. David just called him Sobachka, but-" "Genya…" "But he can't be bad if he's friends with David. If you don't feel like staying, I'll pull you out." "Okay, Pinkie Promise?", I asked, and she smiled, "Cross my heart, hope to fly!" We threw the rest of our cones to the ducks, passed the safari animals, and finished this year's last visit to the zoo. Next to the zoo is an empty parking lot that has a small adventure park. Ever since I befriended Genya, after the zoo we go to the ferris wheel and the bumper cars.

Since I agreed to go on a blind date I decided it was best to do it in a familiar setting. So I told Genya that I wanted it to be in a coffee shop near my flat. I put on my battle armor, jeans and a sweater, and went out. The streets were empty, even for a weekday. I went into the shop and looked around to see a familiar face. Anna, behind the counter, Gennie in the corner, drawing probably. I sat in my usual place next to the window and waited. Anna came by the table. “Hey, what can I get you?” I looked up, “Nothing yet, I’m on a date…” “That’s a new one, how did that happen?” “I was out with Genya and she suggested it. And it’s Genya, she thinks he’s good, and she would not stop until I said yes so I’m here to see what happens.” She smiled, “Well, I’m sure it can’t be that bad.” “Yeah,” I said and looked behind her, “Gennie’s calling for you.” She turned around, “Oh, I better get that, she’s trying out a new technique.” Then she left. The set time was 17:00, I came a little earlier, just in case. I took my phone out of my pocket to see the time. He’s late. Door opened and Nikolai came in, he looked around and rolled his eyes when he saw me. He came and sat at the chair opposite of me. “Honestly Zoya, is it not tiring to follow me? You could just ask for my number.” I scoffed; ”Don’t flatter yourself I’m here for a date.” His eyes widened, “Come again?” “You thought you were-” “You’re a friend of David’s.” “What? How do you know that?” I asked. He scratched his head, “I, oh Saints…” “You’re my date, aren’t you?” “I would seem so.” I frowned, “Hey, don’t look so pissed I didn’t know either.” “Do you want to do this?” I asked. “I don't see why not.” he said. “I have no expectations, we sit and talk. If we click, cool. If not, we had an interesting afternoon. Deal?” He put his hand out. I shook it; “Zoya Nazyalenski, nice to meet you.” “Nikolai, my pleasure.” he smiled. Anna came by again, “This, it’s hilarious.” she said. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks that.” Nikolai replied. She laughed; “ What can I get you?” “I’ll have a Frappe.” I said, “ What do you want?” Nikolai looked at me, then at Anna, “I’ll have what she’s having, and a plate of biscuits.” Anna nodded, “Coming right up.” “So,” I started, “do we start again, or do we just continue where we left off?” “We continue, can't pretend like you’re not my biggest fan.” i laughed, “Yeah, keep telling yourself that. On another note, how do you know David?” “We lived in the same neighborhood when we were kids.” he said, “One day, when we were 8, there was an explosion in his garage. I was playing in my backyard when it happened, I came running to see what happened, to see if he was okay. Spoiler alert he was, but I think he burned his eyebrows off.” “What happened?” I asked eagerly. “When?” I sighed, “What caused the explosion?” “Oh.” he looked confused, “I don’t know. I never asked. And how do you know David?” “I’m afraid my story isn’t so interesting, we met at highschool.” “You went to the same school?” “Yes but we were on different courses. I took journaling, he took engineering. He wasn’t social, I barely knew him before my best friend, his now wife Genya, worked up the courage to ask him out in junior year.” “Yeah, he definitely wasn’t a social butterfly. I was really surprised when I heard he was getting married.” “But I didn’t see you at the wedding.” I stated. “My father got sick, I couldn’t come” “I’m sorry to hear that.” he smiled; “I’m not, he’s an ass” “Who’s an ass?” Anna came with our order. “His father.” “My father” we said at the same time. I looked at him and smiled, he winked at me. “I see where you get it form” He gasped; “you didn’t” “I did.” Anna facepalmed. “I can see this is going great, so I’m gonna go.” “Thank you Anna.” Nikolai said. She waved him off. “Since we’re basically playing 20 questions, what else do you want to know?” I asked. He looked out the window, “Cliche, but, what is your favorite season and why?” “Winter, because there is nothing better than a wool jumper. My turn. Why does David call you Sobachka?” “This got very personal, very fast.” “Oh,” i said, “I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” “No it’s okay, no one is ever that direct with me.” he said and ate his last biscuit. “Why? Is it because you’re in this year's elections?” “I thought you didn’t recognise me.” “Oh please, I’m writing an article about you and the other guy” “Huh, he really is ‘the other guy’” he said. “So, are you going to tell me what’s behind your nickname?” “Right, ugh, I’m not my father's son, my mom cheated. Not many people know this. The ones who do call me Sobachka, y’know, like a dog.” “That’s rough buddy… So it doesn’t bother you?”I asked. “No, not really.” I chuckled, “Not many people are like that.” Indeed they are not.” he looked at his watch, “This has been fun, but I’m afraid I must go now. I would like to see you again.” “I would like to see you too.” I smiled.

I was walking down the stairs when I heard my phone ring. “Hello?” “Hi, is this Zoya?”said the voice. “Yes, and you are?” I sighed as I got to the bottom and went to check my mailbox. “Is my voice so plain to you that you do not remember it?” “Nik, it’s not like I have your number saved in my phone. How may I help you this fine evening?” “I was wondering if you are free tonight? For a stroll in the park.” “We saw each other two days ago!” “Please? I need a friendly companion.” he paused, “We’ll eat doughnuts?” “How dare you use doughnuts against me?! Of course I’ll come. Meet in front of the Little Palace fountain in an hour? “Done. I’ll see you there.” I smiled fondly. “Bye Nik.” During the past few weeks I have been seeing him more and more. One Saturday he and David tagged along on our weekly meeting. I got out of the building and went across the street. There were lots of cars so I decided against calling a taxi. It wasn’t a long walk to the Little Palace, but I had to go to the Library first. There weren't many people in the Library so it was a quick stop. The Librarian, Kuwei, is a friend of Nina’s so I paused to chat with him, but he had work to do so I left him to it. When I got to the fountain, Nikolai was already there. I kissed him on the cheek and sat next to him. “What’s up?” He picked up a bag and gave it to me, “Doughnuts first.” “Honestly I don’t know how can someone not like you.” I said and took a bite of the doughnut. “So good…” “Me or the doughnut?” he asked. “What?” “You said it’s good. Me or the doughnut?” “Oh,” I laughed, “definitely the doughnut!” “HA-HA, very funny. Look I didn’t want to ask you, but I really need help with my speech.” I wiped my mouth to get rid of any leftover sugar and took out a notepad out of my bag. “Sure, what's it about?” “Well, this showing is supposed to be about children. Their education, the schools, hospitals, even orphanages.” he rubbed his neck. “That’s great, children should be taken care of, we know that first hand.” “Yeah, but I don’t know how to phrase it. I thought you could help with that.” “Of course. You’re gonna tell me everything that you want to say, we’ll write that down and work our way from there.” We were working on the speech until the sun went down. I looked up at him and said:”It’s getting late, I should go…” Nikolai scratched his head, “Yeah, no, of course, we’ll see eachother on David's birthday, right?” “Yes. This has been fun, I’d like to be more involved with your campaign if you’ll have me.” “You’re always welcome, always.” he hugged me, “I’ll see you in a few days. Bye Zoya.” “Bye Nik.”

“Botkin is making a reunion.” “What, when?” “I don’t know, some time after today.” Genya said. “Hold on, how do you know that?” “Didn’t he call you?” “Not that I know. Wait let me check,'' I took my phone from the table and looked at my phone log, “Oh, right I do have a missed call from an unknown caller. But do I really have to go, I mean I’ll see everyone I like tonight.” Genya sighed, “Zoya, it’s a party, you are going, you are going to have fun.” “But-” “End of discussion.” “EnD oF dIsCuSsIoN” I mocked her. “Oh, piss off. Just don’t be late.” “That’s you Kostyk. Gotta go, love you!” I ended the call. We are celebrating David’s birthday tonight, I had to go and buy him a gift. A normal person would have done that by now, but I just love to do everything last minute. I dressed up, took my wallet and went out to the hardware store. It started to rain during the taxi ride, I was, naturally unprepared for that, thus making me a bit damp when I entered the store. One of the older workers came up to me and said:”A bit unexpected, isn’t it?” “You have no idea.” I replied. “How can I help you?” “It’s my friend's birthday, and he likes to repair regular household items, or just make up new things, so i thought to buy him a new tool kit because his old one is really worn out and probably very rusty or just damaged.” “Right.”he said, “Would you like a completely new tool box, or separate objects and a tool box?” I looked around, “Well, if it were for you what would you get?” “Is there a price range?” “Not really, no. But let’s not make it more than a weekly paycheck.” After a series of isles and relentless explaining of different brands of the same monkey wrench, he recommended a box with wrenches of all sizes, seven different screwdrivers and some kind of special doorknob key that is also in different sizes and very useful. When I bought the tool box, I went to the liquor store to buy Genya’s favorite wine, but the rain hadn’t stopped. I was dripping wet when I came to their apartment. I knocked, twice, when David opened the doors, he went in for a hug, I put my finger up “No, no, we’ll do that when I’m dry.” He shrugged. “If you say so.” “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” “Thank you Zoya, come on in.” he let me through.I pointed my finger at Genya, “See, not late! And not the last one to get here.” “Not to burst your bubble, but you are the last one.” it was Mal. I looked around, Mal and Alina were on the couch, Nina sitting beside them. Toyla was on  the armchair next to the couch. Tamar and Nadia were on the loveseat opposite the couch, near the kitchen. Leoni and Adrik on the floor beside them. Genya was on a stool, her back turned. “No I'm not, Nik isn’t here”. I took off my jacket, and sat on the edge of the couches arm rest.. “Nikolai isn’t coming, his father got worse. Didn’t he tell you?” “No…” I took my phone out of my pocket, “I really need to get this serviced, don’t I?” Nina raised a glass and said: “Yes, yes you do.” I stuck out my tongue to her, “Shut up.” “To change the topic, Zoya, are you going to the reunion?” Leoni asked. I groaned. “Yes… But I don’t really want to.” “Why is that that?” “I don’t like people from highschool, plus, half of them hate me because I acted like a bitch. “ i said, “You all are enough for me.” “That’s cute.” Adrik said. I smiled, “Yeah, cute. And honestly what can we do there and not here? I mean the only highlight of that reunion is Botkin.” Genya looked at me, “Zoya. You are going. You can Ask Nikolai to come with you.” “I doubt Nik would say yes. It’s a highschool reunion full of people he doesn’t know.”   “You’d be surprised.” said Alina. “And with that comment we conclude this topic...” I said.

“That’s enough talking about food, It’s making me hungrier than I already am.” David said after an intense discussion of ‘Are Waffles Better Than Pancakes’. If you ask Nina, they are. Though, for Nina, waffles are better than anything. David stood up, “The boys and I will go to Jess’ to get pizza, you try to be nice and leave some wine for us, okay?” We started to laugh, “We’ll do our best.” said Tamar. “Oh, do you think Darina’s working?” asked Tolya. “Why?” asked Mal. “Well, she likes to draw, if she’s working, we could ask that she draws David with ketchup on one pizza, and write ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’ on the other.” “Huh, could be fun.” said Adrik, as he went after the others and walked out of the flat.   “Bring umbrellas, it’s still raining!” yelled Nadia after them, “Idiots…” she muttered. I looked at Genya, “Kostyk.” “What?” “Go bring out the good wine.” I said. “Ooh, yes, bet! Alina, with me, we need to find the wine.” They stood up, and went to the kitchen. "Okay," Tamar started, "so there's this game Tolya and I used to play as kids, when the boys get back do you want to try?" "Yeah, sure." I said and turned my head towards the kitchen, "Girls, Tamar has a game idea, come here!" They stumbled back to the living room. Alina sat down and asked "What's the name of the game?" "Um, I don't really know? We always called it Nervous Breakdown, cause no one would believe Tolya, but I think it's called Werewolves." she said. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" yelled Leoni. "I think I know that game, but we called it Mafia. You played it with cards?" Genya sighed, "That's great and all, but we don't know how to play." "True." I pitched in. "Okay, so this is kinda complicated so no interruptions and questions are after I explain how the game works, cool?" Tamar asked. "Yes mom." we said in usion. "Genya, go grab the cards, rest of you sit around the table." When Genya got back and sat down, Tamar started to take the playing cards. She started explaining: "Point if the game is to find out who's the werewolf. We sit in a circle. Everybody has a card that's in front of them, that's your card and there's a card in the middle. After you see what's your card and  what role are you playing you put it down and don't touch it. You put your hand next to it and close your eyes. Then when I say your role you wake up and do your roles part "Since it's seven of us there's eight playing cards. Two Jokers, they're the werewolf, they change the middle card with anyone's card and touch the person who's card they changed. But they touch with the card not the hand. Nod if you understood." We all nodded. "Then there's a Queen, she's the helper for the werewolfs, she wakes the same time as them and does nothing during that time, but when we all wake she tries to convince the rest of us that she's the werewolf so we'd kill her instead of the real werewolf so that the werewolfs would win. "Then there's the Jacks, he's a psychic, he can see anybody's card and the middle one, but he doesn't touch and he can't see his card in case it's been changed during the werewolf time. "Next up is King, he's a thief. He changes his card with anybody's card and touches the person who's card he changed. And then there's the Aces who are villagers and do nothing." she finished. I looked at all of them one by one and started laughing. Everyone was throwing a fit, there were a lot of spilled drinks. "No joke now, I think we could try, but everytime someone makes a mistake we drink!" Nina said. "You're gonna be the first one!" We started laughing again. And after a few more useless tries, we got serious. They all had so many questions that took a long time answering, boys got back with food before we could even play. So as we ate, we tried to convince them to play, but it was useless since they were drunk off their minds. To be fair I wasn't much better. We spent the night eating and drinking. Mostly drinking. And eating. It was getting late, most of the group left. Alina, Mal and I were still at the flat. David and Mal were talking in the kitchen, Alina was in the bathroom. Genya and I were on the floor.“Zoya?” “Yeah?” “You’re drunk, right?” asked Genya. I looked up and back down, the room was wobbly. “Yeah, definitely.” “Do you like Nikolai?” “Of course I like Nik, he’s a great friend.” She shook her head, “Do you like Nikolai? Like, like-like.” “Oh…” “Well?” “I- no. Maybe, how does one know that? Is there a test I can do online?” Genya started squealing, “HA! I knew it!” She turned toward the kitchen, “I raise my bet to 20 dollars!” But I didn’t hear that. I was thinking of Nikolai, of his face when we see each other.

I came home from Genya and David’s. I showered and put on my pajamas. I fell asleep. I woke up. My phone was ringing. It’s election day. I fell asleep. I woke up. I tried to write. I tried to eat. I fell asleep. I woke up. I got another text. “We won the election. -Nik”. I fell asleep. I woke up. I failed to write. I failed to eat. I fell asleep.

When I finally decided it was time to get out of the house, I went to Dragon Scale. It was extremely windy outside so I put on a beanie. When I walked in, my head was bowed, I went full face into someone. “I’m so sorry.” I said and continued forward,when someone took my hand. I turned around and saw Nikolai. “Zoya.” “Hi.” “Why didn’t you answer my calls? Genya said you were alright but you scared me to death!” I just stared, "Zoya, talk to me!" "Can we go and sit?" I asked. He followed me as I  went to the corner booth and sat down, Nikolai a few steps behind me. "I got really drunk at Genya and David's. And I said something to Genya. And I got scared, because if it's true it might end bad for me, just like last time." "What are you talking about?" "i was in many relationships, but none were very serious until I met this guy, it was years ago, when I was in highschool. He was older than me, and I really liked him, at the beginning. But as it went on I realised he was being toxic. It… escalated." "Ecsalated how? Did he hurt you?" Nikolai asked. "No, not me, but Genya. You know that eye-patch she wears?" He nodded. "He did that, I don't know how, I was at work when it happened. I asked her to tell me but she refused, I just stopped pushing." I bowed my head. "Zoya." I looked up. "Nik, if I were to tell you that I was in love with someone, what would you do?" "I tell you that I'm happy for you and that he is an extremely lucky guy." He looked kinda sad. "And what if I told you that I'm in love with you, what would you do?" He shot up in his seat. "What?" I smiled, "I'm in love with you Nik." "I-" "Do with that what you will, but I don't want it, this, to ruin our friendship." "I'm afraid it did." He got up, leaned across the table and kissed me.

Next month was full of TV screening and restless nights as Nik and I wrote his speeches. But Botkins' reunion was soon, so he would take a few days off to have fun. I spent every free moment with Genya and Alina, shopping for the reunion. As much as I didn't want to go, shopping was fun. Genya found a dress in the same shade as her hair and Alina found a bodysuit in black and gold. I had a really hard time finding something I like. But the day before I found a perfect dress in victorian blue. Nik wore a gray suit and had this beautiful waist coat. When we got to the ball room in the Little Palace, it was already full, but we kept close to the outer ring. Most of the people were dancing, even Genya and David, but I went to talk to Botkin. "Mr. Botkin." He turned to face me, "Oh, Zoya dear, how has life been treating you?" That was his signature line, "Good. I just wanted to see how have you been doing?" "Never better dear." he looked behind me, "Now go off, there's a handsome young man waiting for a dance." "What?" I turned around and saw Nik. "Oh, thank-" he was already off to talk to someone else. I walked towards Nik. He bowed, "May I have this dance?" I looked around, nobody seemed to notice us. "Yes, yes you may." The music changed to a slow dance. We twirled around, and around. Once we stopped, I realised we were alone on the dance floor and there was a light on me. I turned to face Nik, but he was kneeling on the floor. "Nik," I said carefully, "what are you doing?" He took a box out of his inner pocket and opened it. Inside was the most beautiful emerald I have ever seen. I knew what it ment. “Would you do it?” he asked. I looked up at him, puzzled, "What?" "Well, y'know…" "No, I don't." He sighed: "Make me the happiest man alive. Would you do it?" "Yes." He got up and hugged me, I thought I was going to fall over, when these balloons started falling from the ceiling. I kissed him. "I love you." I said. He smiled, "I know." And kissed me again. When all the balloons fell, Genya came through. "Do you like it?" she asked. "What? Wait, how do you know?" "Oh silly we all knew." I looked around to see my friends standing around us, laughing. Mal said: "We had a bet on when are you getting official." Tolya raised a hand, "I won!" "You lot are unbelievable! Come one, you are being punished, this is a group hug!" That night ended up to be one of my favorites.

I didn't want to wait. We booked a venue for our closest friends. Genya bought me my wedding dress for "being strong, and being my best friend". It was a floor length dress with long sleeves. Top of my hair was in a bun, while the bottom part flowed in the wind. Alina even bought me a crown. I was walking down the aisle when someone came bursting in. I turned to see who it was. "I don't know why am I surprised, you always were a bitch." Genya answered, "What do you want Alexander?" Nik ran down to me and took my hand, "That's him?" he whispered. "Yes, stay here." I told him. "What do you mean "what do I want"? Isn't there a part when I get to the object?" I looked at him. "Alex, if you do not walk out right now, I'm gonna call the cops." "They didn't stop me then, they won't stop me now." "Ugh, you're so full of yourself." I said. Long story short, the cops stopped him. We continued with the ceremony. The priestess looked at me, then Nik and said: "If you went through that, on you wedding day, you can go through anything. Are the vows really necessary?" We shook our heads. "Then, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride." And oh boy did he kiss me.

Kara always felt most alive when she was fighting. Perhaps there was something terrible in that, but there was no denying something in her loved to hear the crash of her sword against another. Loved the dance that followed, stepping back, forwards, dodge, strike, and on it went. There was less spinning and twirling and elaborate throwing of daggers than the stories would have you believe, but there was a certain grace to it. Yet no matter how much a part of her loved fighting, loved the beautiful thrill of it, she could never bring herself to love killing. She never had and she never would. Guilt always cloaked her whenever she drove her sword through a man’s heart, or put a bullet in his brain. No matter how terrible the person, to take a life was a cruel thing.

Killing slavers, however, was a little easier to bare than killing innocents (well exactly how innocent they were Kara felt was up for debate, but that was hardly relevant). Currently, she was trying to do just that. She was not doing particularly well at it, however. The short, dark haired slaver she was fighting had cornered her in the captains cabin, and taken her sword to boot. The doors had flung shut behind him, and Kara heart leapt uncomfortably as she realized she had hit the wall. There was no where else to back away to now. She still had her guns, one gripped tightly in her hand. Her eyes trained on the long thin sword trained at her heart. It was doubtless she could kill him if she wanted, but there was also a chance he could kill her. Kara was fond of life, she was not keen to die on a rotting slaver ship at the hands of some spineless asshole and his stolen sword.

“So this is awkward,” She said with a uncomfortable smile, never taking her eyes of the sword.

“It’s not awkward,” The slaver snarled, stepping forwards and shoving the point of his sword against her chest. “Just because that bitch captain of yours thinks she owns the damn seas – ” Oh but she does own the seas, Kara thought, hastily raising the gun in her hand, Inej Ghafa doesn’t loose. He broke off and scowled at her. The sword was putting fair distance between them, so she couldn’t stab or hit him with anything to throw him off. The sword was sharp enough to already be drawing blood at her stomach, where the slaver was jabbing it. Of course it was, it was her sword. Perhaps if she could shoot his hand, he’d be forced to drop it…

It seemed she would never have to worry about it. The doors were flung open again the man with her sword scrambled backwards to avoid being hit by one of them. Kara flinched too, then tripped and fell as she too tried to step back. She had intended to shoot the slaver, but when she looked across to the desk on the other side of the room she forgot all about him. The captain of the slaver ship was tripping backwards over his own feet, and following was a girl with two shining knives. Inej. One of her knives was quickly pressed to the mans throat. She hadn’t glanced over at Kara, but she knew Inej knew she was there. Saving me again. Kara would have been impressed if it hadn’t made her feel so bloody useless.  

“You’re dead Ghafa,” The Captain hissed, trying, and failing to fight Inej. Kara snorted, at that. People said lots of things about Inej. That she was invincible, the curse upon the seas, a goddess or a saint reborn to enact her justice, they were all lies. But they did say she never lost. Once she set her sights on you, you were as good as a ghost already. That was not wrong. People were often surprised to learn Inej was just a eighteen year old girl, no one was supposed to be so formidable so young. Kara knew a little of why, a few spare details of her time in Ketterdam. The reasons Inej was so dangerous were cruel and unfair and nothing anyone deserved. Using the skills Ketterdam and the dregs gave her for good though? It was beautifully ironic.

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Kara said before she could stop herself, and that seemed to revitalize the slaver who had stolen her sword. He had spent the last few moments staring at Inej disbelievingly. As the slaver captain looked over at the two of them, Kara picked up her gun, took off the safety and fired a shot. The slaver slumped down to the ground, and Kara looked back to Inej and the captain. He looked afraid now, no more threats. Inej’s dagger was leaving beads of blood at his throat.

“I can give you money, or a share in profits, or the ship, or – ” Kara didn’t know why he was trying. Everybody knew you didn’t bargain with death. Inej drew the knife across his throat and he dropped back onto the desk, lifeless. She turned to Kara then, a subtle sort of smile on her face, wordlessly offering a hand. Kara looked at it resentfully for a moment, but then she sheathed her guns and took it.

“We won?” Kara asked, as she bent to pick up her sword from the dead man. It was only then that she had noticed it was remarkably quieter outside than it had been a few minutes before.

“Of course,” Inej said, pushing through the door and onto the main deck. Some part of Kara still expected bullets flying and men bleeding out and the ship a wreck. But it was never like that. The former prisoners were being carefully led across to Inej’s own ship by the rest of their crew and any remaining slavers were held a gun point. Some were even jumping ship. The Captain of the Wraith didn’t lose, the rumour carried across the sea, Kara had heard it long before she’d joined the crew. Now, two months after she had, it still amazed her. The good guys don’t always have to loose, it was a nice sentiment and a better reality.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Kara muttered, as she and Inej ventured towards Specht. He was leading the last of the slavers prisoners to the Wraith, and seemingly waiting for Inej to return.

“For saving your life?” Inej raised a brow as she glanced back at her, “I suppose you should.”

“Yeah well, thank you. I had it under control though, I would have been fine.”

“Hmm,” Inej shrugged, and before Kara could protest she was speaking to Specht. Kara didn’t make much of a conscious effort to listen, they were likely only discussing where they would dock to return the freed prisoners to wherever they came from. Kara figured she’d find out soon enough. By the look of it there were only five or six, but she wasn’t surprised. They hadn’t targeted the ship because of who they thought it was carrying. It was part of a larger game, a rich merchant turned slaver who ran a whole business of the illegal trade. He’d taken issue with Inej coming after his ships, sent some after her in return. Once they’d sunk those ships, Inej had decided to take out one of his most prized. The one they were on now. Kara would have pegged it for revenge, had she not known Inej better. It was practical, proof nothing was safe. Hunting slavers wasn’t just about playing the hero.

“Oh, and there’s a letter for you,” Specht’s words finally caught Kara’s attention, and she turned to Inej. Sure enough, he had handed her a rolled scroll of paper, tied with black string. A black crow was emblazoned on the side of the paper. The dregs, it had to be. Specht bore there tattoo, a crow and a cup, on his arm. Inej tended not to speak of her time in the dregs, or her time in Ketterdam at all. Kara couldn’t blame her. She knew a thing or two about troubled pasts, the parts of them she would rather not remember. Inej only ever spoke about the friends that she’d had there, and as far as Kara knew, none of them were still there. Besides, who was desperate enough to send letters to the middle of the ocean?

“Why would they send it to me here?” Inej voiced Kara’s thoughts aloud, and specht just shrugged.

“Some little messenger on a rowboat was sent, wouldn’t let go of the letter til it’d been put in my hand or yours,” He explained as the three of them reached the cabin of Inej’s door.

“Hell of a journey for a letter,” Kara remarked, raising an eyebrow at the scroll. Inej sighed and pocketed it, frowning a little at Kara. Kara couldn’t help but think sometimes the Captain looked at her like she was a mystery to be solved. One piece of the puzzle Inej couldn’t quite place. Inej wouldn’t have liked that, she hated a mystery she couldn’t solve.

“Thank you Specht,” She nodded in his direction, and leant back on the wooden double doors leading to her cabin. It was much nicer than the other, now dead, captains cabin, in Kara’s opinion anyway. The main body had several shelves filled with papers and books and various ornaments, a large desk and two chairs, and an inviting patterned rug. Through a door on the left hand side was a little room where Inej slept. There was something comforting about the cabin to Kara, even if it wasn’t her own. There was something comforting about the whole ship. The Wraith felt more her home than anywhere else ever had. She wondered slowly away from Inej and Spetch, leaving them to sort out whatever they were sorting out. Inej would hardly begrudge her for leaving.

Kara cast a glance to the ship across from them, Valeria and Lia were pulling away the ramp that connected the two boats. It left the remaining slavers alone at sea. An undue mercy, perhaps some would survive. It was more than they deserved, yet less than a different person might have given. She had wanted to ask Inej about the letter. She knew it was probably none of her business, but the thought kept nagging at her mind. If it’s important I’ll find out soon enough. If someone from the dregs was back and asking for anything at all it meant nothing but bad news.

Despite having never set foot in Ketterdam before, Kara had heard of the dregs. Her uncle on her mothers side had been swept up into Ketterdam’s world of gangs and Kara had grown up hearing how terrible they were. Her mother had taught her how terrible a lot of things were – if she could Kara now she’d be mortified. The weapons she carried, the company she kept, the things she’d done. At least I’m not a soldier anymore, She thought, you would have hated that the most. It was laughable to her that her kind, pacifist parents had managed to raise someone like her. You do terrible things to survive, and sometimes the terrible things become part of who you are. That was the story of everyone on this ship.

“Are you gonna help? Or are you just gonna stare at the ocean all day like you’ve never seen it before?” She heard Valeria call from behind her. The other girl was a year younger than Kara, only eighteen, and had almost been killed in the Ravkan civil war. Technically she was a deserter, but none of them saw leaving the service of a country like Ravka a dishonourable thing. Kara understood better than any of them.