Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Thirteen Saints and their Mothers..." Wylan mumbled.

"Don't worry, love," Jesper whispered. "You've got this in the bag. I know you do."

"I feel like I'm going to be sick."

Wylan's pale skin was a worrying gray shade and his hands were trembling. Before there was time to say anything else, Radmakker interrupted the low buzz of voices in the room with a brisk tap, tap, tap of the Officiate's gavel.

"Council is in session!" The weedy man announced, laying aside the decorative hammer. "Members, come to order."

An expectant silence fell over the room.

In the past Jesper had always pictured the Merchant Council holding their secret ceremonies in a dim room, seated like a murder of crows around a big meeting table, shuffling papers back and forth. But the reality was much different than his fanciful imagination. The Council didn’t actually meet at a council table, and many more than just the Council attended each meeting.

The Members of the Council actually sat in a public chamber, shaped like an amphitheater. Behind each Councilor was a reserved seating area for his or her administration staff, with note takers, lawyers, and secretaries at the ready, among whom Jesper now sat at the head, as Wylan’s chief of staff. Still further behind them was the public seating, where merchants or audience could sit whenever they pleased, to observe the discussions of state and hear what decision was forthcoming from their governors.

"The Council convenes for three proposed bills today," Radmakker said, glancing over the memos before him. "First, Counselor Boreg has proposed an adjustment on the grain tax. Second, Councilor Dryden moves to discuss possible security measures of the Kerch Navy to protect merchant vessels bearing company seals. Third, Councilor Van Eck is proposing a bill of restriction on the import of indenture contractees." 

At Jesper's side, Wylan's brows knitted into an impressive scowl. "Damn it."

"What's up?"

"Our bill is coming up last."

"Isn't that a good thing? Most memorable, and all that?"

"Everyone will be tired by then. Bored, sleepy, and hungry. They're not going to want a drawn out debate. They'll make snap decisions so the Council can convene for the dinner hour."

"Maybe that's not so bad. That's how Junior Members start passing bills. They get in last and the seniors are more likely to cut corners for them."

"We'll see." Wylan said darkly.

Despite Jesper's optimism the Council session dragged. He didn't even have the luxury of zoning out, as he would have done while still acting as Kaz's Second in a business deal or minor parley. Back in the old days Jesper could more or less drift along until the weapons came out of their holsters and trust Kaz to handle everything in his own sadistic, criminal marketeer way. But in these meetings Wylan was actually counting on Jesper to do more than just shoot people. He had to be Wylan's eyes and ears, his covert translator, making sure that Wylan wasn't tripped up by any unexpected papers.

Finally though, Radmakker's voice rose once again. "Councilor Van Eck, take your place at the front. Your bill is now up for review."

Scattered applause went through the room, as Wylan stood up. More and more audience members had slipped into the room as the session dragged on, and Jesper abruptly realized they were standing before a fairly significant crowd. Wylan's bill had seemingly pulled more attention than they thought.

"Gentlemen, of the Council, the issue I bring before you today is the practice of Indentured Traffic. The bill is in essence, quite simple: abolish this abominable practice, and retract our authorization of it as a governing body."

A stormy murmur ran through the chamber. Many of the Councilors were scowling, but Jesper also took note that many of the Merchants in the chamber were nodding along. The movement to abolish the indenture trade was gaining momentum, Jesper knew, but many others supported it for more selfish reasons as well. Most small merchants and private businessmen simply couldn't afford the same number of indentured workers that the wealthy could and that difference was a sharp source of resentment between those trying to gain affluence, and those who were probably too rich already.

"Can we claim to be at the forefront of modernity, when such insidious brutality rests at the heart of our nation?” Wylan went on. “I say brutality, because our policies of indenture can be nothing else. The practice of indenture is an outdated and infamous form of trade, which only impedes our rise to wealth and sickens our souls with vile misconduct toward our fellow man."

"Amen!" Someone shouted in the crowd.

"Can wealth be tolerated when attained with such bigotry and abuse?" Wylan asked, voice rising above the growing resentment. "Ghezen demands the soul’s coin more pure than riches and cheating our fellow man only defiles that pursuit with the reproach of felony!”

“Heresy!” Someone shouted.

“Break the chains!” Another screamed.

"Now, more than ever, in our modern world, it is unsound! Indenture contracting is a selfish practice, built on unsteady foundations."

Councilors were shifting in their seats. Some men were scowling, others were drumming the floor with their boots in agreement as Wylan spoke.

"When Indenture contracts were first penned, East Ravka wasn't accessible for trade," Wylan was leaning forward in the strength of his passion, his pale, creamy features almost glowing. "Fjerda was completely isolationist, and Novyi Zem wasn't even recognized on a map. These circumstances have changed now! Kerch must change with them!"

"Here, here!"

"The more our neighbors grow in stability, the more our practise of Indenture will come under scrutiny and resentment. It will lead to rebellion or conflict, if the practice isn't stopped."

The very idea of war seemed to put the Council chamber into a foment. Men were read faced and shaking with rage, or clapping and waving their hats. Wylan's speech had made an impression.

“There will be order!!!” Radmakker, Officiator of the Council, shouted. 

A seething silence fell.

“Our nation stands at the crossroads of progress,” Wylan said, speaking more normally now that the crowd had gone quiet. “Members of the Council, you will hear my opposition today use terms like ‘indenture’ and ‘contracted services’ in this debate, but these terms are simply no more, no less than slavery.”

A rustle of outraged shock went round the room.

“Slavery is a form of profligate dissipation openly abhorred by Ghezen’s teachings. I petition strongly that this industry must be abolished. In the past, Kerch enjoyed advantages we can no longer count on. We must meet the new times with new modes of thought and prove that Kerch was sovereign before it opened its doors to slavery, and that it can remain sovereign after!"

Deafening cheers. Jesper had his reservations about the religion of Ghezen and His people at the best of times (to be fair, Kaz probably wasn't the most shining role model) but the Zemeni did know one admirable thing about them. The Kerch were staunch, almost insufferable, patriots.

"Each creature being equal in the eyes of Ghezen," Wylan shouted, "all hands should strive for the betterment of our nation, and all hands must be unchained to reach this greatest prosperity. Let Ghezen bless the industrious!”

Wylan sat down amid the loud stamping of feet and firm exclamations of approval from many voices. Merchants in tightly buttoned coats with deep eyes and serious demeanors were nodding at each other in support of his speech, and a handful of the Council members on either side of them reached across the bar to shake hands with him.

Traditionally Council members who were arguing in direct opposition to each other were placed on the corresponding opposites sides of the room, and Jesper looked across at the hostile party, who were frustrated and seething among themselves.

“Not bad.” Wylan huffed in Jesper’s ear as he finally was permitted to take his seat.

“Not bad? That was electrifying.”

The young merchant shook his head, youthful face knitted in an expression of serious anger. “Not electrifying enough. Look at the room, only half of our audience is smiling.”

“Oh, pooh them.”

“Altruism doesn’t sell, Jesper.” It was an old argument Wylan had agonized over more than once. “It’s fine to preach, but half these people are going to need a selfish reason to act like decent human beings.” He slumped down into his chair, hands thrust into his pockets.

At that moment the opposing Councilman took his stand. Jesper couldn’t help a wince, when he saw which spokesperson the opposition had chosen.

Maarten Haske was young, as far as members of the council went, closer to the social status which Wylan and Karl Dryden held.  But he was a charismatic speaker and was voluble in his traditional policies, which gave him favor with many of the senior members on the council. He’d recently taken his father’s seat after the old man retired and already showed a ruthless determination to social climb that made Jesper wary of him. None of the Council could be trusted absolutely, but there was a cutthroat glitter in Haske’s eye which reminded Jesper of a certain black hearted Bastard, and it gave Jesper a sense of warning he couldn’t quite shake.

“Councilors,” Maarten started, speaking up with a lazy inflection in his voice that made Jesper scowl. “What my fellow Councilman, Wylan Van Eck, is proposing sounds well enough as an exercise in public-spirited utopia. But the cold hard facts are that such a visionary form of economic structure could never support itself. Are we to look every factory owner in the face and tell him that he must dismiss half his workers? Are we to tell the judge that he must forgive every insolvent that cannot satisfy his creditors?”

“I didn’t suggest emancipation for every fucking indenture in Kerch. I’m not that suicidal.” Wylan growled under his breath, speaking through gritted teeth.

“In the second aspect, my fellow Councilman makes allegations of ‘slavery’ in reference to the practice of indenture, which I cannot classify as anything other than extremist.”

A smattering of boot stamps answered his assertion. Wylan’s jaw ticked with irritation. Jesper laid a half comforting, half restraining, hand on the young man’s arm. Haske went on.

“How many of our own Councilmembers come from backgrounds of honestly paid indenture?” The man asked, turning around the room. Merchant heads were nodding. “How many of our own fathers, or grandfathers, employed indentured servants? How many of their most trusted staff were originally indentures that became paid employees when their contract was satisfied? I know for a fact that my senior, Jellen Radmakker and his sister have both filled indentures in the service of Ghezen. Are we to pity them as slaves in this holy service?”

More vehement agreements. Everywhere Jesper looked, merchants were stamping on the floor and nodding. The din was creating a miniature earthquake in the council hall. Jespers skin was starting to crawl with unease as the tide of public opinion turned. At his side Wylan looked half despairing and half livid.

“The truth is that the very foundations of this country are rooted in the long tradition of its proper class structure!” Maarten Haske shouted to the approving crowd.

Wylan shot to his feet. “How can you call the lifelong indenture of children no older than five a proper class structure?”

“Merchants have always held the governing body,” Haske talked right over him, “Workmen create the labor force, and indenture functions to balance the vacuums of debt and support the workers.”

“Many indentures have been passed down in families for generations!” Wylan continued to protest.

“Order!”

“The anarchist reforms my fellow counselor is proposing—” Haske began.

“The abolition of future indenture trafficking is not anarchist!” Wylan interrupted. 

“The anarchist destruction—" Haske repeated "—of indenture trade my fellow counselor is proposing only sets up this nation for chaos and a collapse of social values that—“

“We wouldn’t need those social values if we just—“

“Both of you will come to order!!!”

The roar of the Council Officiate cut through the public outcry that had been rising with each Councilman’s statement. Haske and Wylan were both glaring at each other and the public audience was tense in their seats. As silence finally fell, Radmakker huffed irritably and threw down his gavel.

“Do either of my fellow Councilmen have statements to be made that cannot be summarized by their bills of debate?” He snapped.

“I will only observe that the inhumane treatment of foreign persons employed in the indenture force is noticeably absent from my fellow Councilman’s points.” Wylan said acidly. “Your chosen examples all illustrate the indenture of Kerch persons. How do you propose to excuse the extreme suffering of émigrés who are trapped by laws of which they are not properly educated and who’s human rights receive little to no proper representation in the legal setting?”

“Councilman, you have made your own stance on alien persons flagrantly clear,” Maarten Haske said dryly, with a pointed look at Jesper—the only Zemeni man seated in a position of authority among the crowd—then turned back to Wylan. “But many others do not share your liberal ideas of employment. Kerch as a sovereign nation is not beholden to serve the interest of foreigners, nor is she obligated to comfort the demands of invasive persons who latch upon her bounty at the expense of her own orthodox citizens!”

Deafening roars of approval. Wylan was back on his feet. "The proposition to ratify unequal laws for immigrants is not the same as handing the country to them!”

But he might as well have saved his breath. Haske had touched on the discord that held absolute sway over Kerch: their silent resentment of foreigners. The crowd was turbulent. For a moment Jesper felt genuinely ill.

The Council Officiate banged on his gavel, but for a long time order could not be called and the crowd continued to seethe in spite of his protests. When at last the Stadwatch managed to suppress the audience Wylan and Haske were still glaring at each other, but the rest of the council looked either bored or exhausted.

“In summary, neither of you have points which have not been notarized in bill of debate.” Radmakker said. “If the Council cannot convene in good decorum, I call this meeting adjourned, so the reviewing participants may examine the bill at leisure. Final verdict shall be called at the close of the quarter term and Councilors may give adjunct statements then. For the present: meeting dismissed.”

Jesper silently deflated. By technicality, the ‘verdict’ was still unclear, but it was painfully obvious what the Council’s final vote would be, as the merchants assembled eagerly left their seats. The bill would be denied. Wylan sank into his chair and laid his forehead on the work table before him. For a moment the room seemed to swirl around them both, Wylan the only stationary point in Jesper’s vision, surrounded by moving bodies. Jesper watched Wylan crumple and felt his own shoulders slump in defeat.

<>—<>—<>

Crash!

With a grunt of effort the Bastard of Ketterdam hefted a ceramic mug in his hand and threw it against the alley wall with as much force as he could muster. It cracked and shattered there in several jagged pieces that tumbled to the cobbles, among the  wreckage of two other unfortunate mugs that seemed to have met the same fate previously. Without bothering to look at the mess he’d made, the young man instantly turned on his heel and went back inside the Slat.

A moment later he reappeared at the kitchen door with a plate that went flying against the bricks just like the mug had done. Soon after that a shot glass sailed into the wall, then two beer steins and a second plate. Kaz gritted his teeth and stormed back into the kitchen, wringing the crow’s head of the new cane he’d purchased to replace his old one.

The destructive exercise wasn’t burning his energy like he wanted it to. What Kaz really wanted was a fight. A chance to sink his teeth into someone and bruise their flesh until his own thoughts were silent, but the whole Slat was empty as a graveyard. The drunks and ne’er-do-wells that usually congregated on the bottom floor of the building had caught one cautioning whiff of his foul mood and hastily found important things to do elsewhere. By the time he’d thumped his way down to the bottom of the stairs half the room was empty and the few remaining looked shifty and uncomfortable. Now the Slat was absolutely silent.

His ill-gotten brood of skivstains knew him too damn well.

This isn’t their fault, Kaz. You can’t punish them for nothing, Inej-in-his-head reproached, dark eyes full of disappointment. None of this is anyone’s fault.

Fuck Inej-in-his-head. Kaz didn’t want to hear it from her right now. With a snarl he grabbed another mug off the shelf and took it outside to throw against the wall. It seemed to crumple and shatter there, just like Kaz’s own sick, twisted dreams of intimacy. Irreparably damaged and broken.

What Kaz really, truly wanted was parem. The idea of it made him nauseous with longing in an instant. He felt sick enough with craving to gut his own stomach in an attempt to make it stop. His hands were shaking. Fuck. Why were his hands shaking?

Don’t think about it.

Just one hit and this would all go away.

Stop.

No more gloves, no more coat, no more stupid fucking cane. No more weakness.

Stop thinking about it.

No more tripping over nothing because his head told him the ground was rolling like a barge at sea. No more slender brown hands trying to help him up and only seeing dead flesh coming to grope him.

Please stop thinking about it.

No more hiding behind the goddamn bathroom door because he wanted the world to go away. He could just be normal.

Using drugs to numb your pain is not the same as being normal, Inej-in-his-head chided.

I don’t care! Kaz whirled and stormed back into the kitchen to get another plate. He just needed to break something. He just needed to hurt someone. He just needed to get out of his skin until the parem-withdrawals went away. He just needed to hit something hard enough to finally fix himself.

Kaz.

He wouldn’t have to unbutton his coat wondering if this would be the time that ruined him. He wouldn’t have to brace himself for Inej’s touch, knowing it was going to hurt. He wouldn’t have to feel these damn hands under his jacket.

Kaz, stop this!

The thief whirled toward the door with a new breakable object in his hand, then froze. The real Inej, not his scathing imaginary version, was standing in the doorway, black against the light. Kaz had almost thrown a plate at her by accident.

“What are you doing?” she said, looking at the smashed glass lying scattered across the cobblestones.

The mingled pity and sense of superiority he thought he could sense in her tone made the thief seethe. Without clear thought or intention, just a savage spike of bitterness in his chest, Kaz lifted his arm and smashed the plate in his hand on the kitchen floor between them. Inej flinched. Her face, which had been saccharine sympathy, changed, going dark with disapproval. Feeling the cold justice of her anger turn on him made Kaz feel sick with guilt and catharsis in the same breath.

Yes. Resent me.

“That was uncalled for,” She said. “Breaking things won’t help anyone.”

“It was worth a try.”

“What are you trying to prove here, Kaz?”

“Maybe I wasn’t trying to prove anything,” the young thief said, searching for more breakables. Everything within easy reach had already been smashed. “Maybe I just spent the last quarter chime vomiting my guts out.”

“This kind of behavior is exactly what we need to change before something can work between us.”

“It’s not us that you want to change, is it? It’s me you want to change.”

“That isn’t what I said, but since you brought it up, yes. You do need to change.”

Kaz laughed and it sounded like a rusted saw blade through skin. “You can take my word to Ghezen, Wraith. If I could have found a way to avoid being sick in chamber pots, I would have.”

“That is not what I meant by telling you to change and you know it—“ Inej remonstrated, lurching forward.

For a split second her profile was much bigger than his, the walls were much smaller, and Kaz felt the dead hands under his clothes again. He recoiled away from her with visceral fear and half shouted-half screamed, “Stay away from me!”

Inej froze as soon as he shouted, limbs locked in place with a shocked expression. But Kaz was fully in the grip of another fit now and it hardly mattered what was really going on outside of his head. He was only conscious of the phantom dead things groping under his jacket and he toppled over to gag on all fours.

Grasping desperately at any sense of control—tormentingly conscious all the while of how pathetic he must look from the outside—Kaz drove his fist into the ground as hard as he could, feeling his knuckles split in a couple spots from the fragments of glass still lying on the ground.

“Stop that right now.” Inej commanded fiercely.

For a moment Kaz was livid enough to genuinely hate her, but after beat his head cleared and then he knew she was right to intervene, at least about something stupid like fracturing his knuckles. His heart was still beating wildly, but the worst of the crisis seemed to be over. His stomach had settled and while he tasted bile on the back of his tongue, he’d avoided actually bringing up anything he’d eaten. (Not that he had anything left to bring up, after his earlier fit).

His extremities still buzzed with energy and his head felt cottony.

“Can I come near to you?” She asked, voice careful and even, so that there would be no telltale inflection in it. “I won’t get too close.” 

“Yes.” He decided begrudgingly. The addendum don’t touch me immediately bubbled up in his throat and he winced with the effort of not saying it.

Inej tiptoed to avoid the glass as she entered the kitchen, but it felt like she was tiptoeing around him. Kaz couldn’t decide if it made him more guilty, or hopeless, or viciously elated, to be skirted with such care. As if he was dangerous. As if he was fragile.

I am not a child, now, he coached himself, hardly knowing which side of his existence he was trying to talk down.

“Did breaking these things help?” Inej asked, still in that careful, judgement-free voice which somehow managed to imply he was on trial.

Kaz had several responses to that. None of the good, most likely, so he chose to say nothing. He was self-aware enough to do at least that much. Inej had produced a broom during his silence and she now started sweeping the broken plate into a pile, not looking at him as she worked.

“I am sorry, Kaz, that I left.”

Ghezen, it was all so fucking calculated, how she would talk and move around him right after a fit. Give him space, give him understanding, avoid eye contact so poor pathetic Kaz doesn’t feel too looked at. He could practically see her thoughts, how she was strategizing the best way to approach him. Even her words made him bristle. So mature and understanding.

“I don’t need your apology,” he snarled.

It was petty, but he just couldn’t help it.

Kaz knew the others all secretly thought he was damaged. That he was oblivious and immature. They forgave his outbursts because they thought he had no control over them. Even Jesper liked to tease Kaz to his face when Kaz was trying to get a rise out of the sharpshooter, as if Kaz’s harsh critiques and standoffish demeanor were just an amusing quirk of eccentricity.

Kaz hated it.

He hated how much they put up with him. It was nearly impossible to get a real fight out of any of them these days. Even Wylan wouldn’t flare up for a shouting match like he used to, and fighting with Inej had never been cathartic even from the start. Trying to get his grip on her just made him feel unstable and twitchy. 

“I don’t need you.” Kaz snapped, trying desperately to gain ground.

“I should have been more patient with you.”

“I didn’t ask for your patience.”

“Defeating our demons requires it.”

“I didn’t ask you to fix me. I don’t need to be fixed.”

Inej said nothing.

“What makes you think I’m so lonesome anyway? That’s your baggage, Wraith, not mine.”

Still nothing. Kaz’s heart was racing. All Saints, he felt crazy. Deranged. Paranoid. Threatened.

“None of this was even a problem until you started pushing.”

Inej’s demeanor was studied calm and Kaz only felt more rabid the longer she refused to engage him. 

“This is all your fault,” he snarled. “I was fine on my own, until you came in to ruin it.”

“You need touch, Kaz.” She said simply.

Why did that one sentence feel like such a threat? Kaz was shaking now and he didn’t know why, breathing visibly elevated, palms sweaty. He was practically screaming fear, but he couldn’t get the better of it. Why couldn’t he cover this up? He could face down a loaded gun at a parley gone wrong without an outward twitch, but he couldn’t hide his reaction to her words when skin loomed on the horizon. It was fucking ridiculous.

Why was Inej so much more difficult to lie to?

“You need to be held, Kaz. You need to be loved, just like anybody else.”

“No, I don’t.” It sounded flat and unconvincing, even to himself.

“Every human creature needs touch and connection, including you.”

“I have a literal decade of experience to prove you wrong, but have it your way.” 

“You are in pain, Kaz. Every day that you distance yourself from what you need, you are hurting yourself.” Inej said. She was getting fed up with his resistance. “It hurts me, and it hurts you. Maybe you can’t admit it but you are in agony, it’s killing you inside to live this way. Kaz, you are human.”

Her voice was elevated and her frustration clear. Just a little more, and he’d have her. But the imminent victory held no satisfaction. He just felt hunted.

“That’s not true.”

“Every time Jesper puts and arm around my neck, you look like you’ve been stabbed.”

“You can’t do that,” Kaz gasped, and he didn’t know who he was talking to anymore. If it was Inej or someone else—entirely a stranger. “You can’t do it." The walls had vanished and now he was in some limbo space where the kitchen, the Reaper’s Barge, and squalid alley walls boxed him in all at once. “You—You can’t. I won’t let you do it—I won't—”

“Kaz—“

The Suli girl’s shape was trying to approach and calm him down, but Kaz could no longer bear it. He didn’t know who she was—or who he was—and all he wanted was a corner to hide in so he could be safe. He wanted Jordie to guard him. He wanted a thousand coats and gloves to smother him. He wanted to not be here. So he bolted.

“Kaz!” He heard one last shout behind him, but it didn’t matter who was calling.

The dead were on Kaz’s heels, inside his soul, and the thief didn’t stop moving until he was far, far away.

Chapter Text

“Fuck!” Wylan shouted.

“If it’ll help you relax, love, absolutely.” Jesper commented dryly.

The former sharpshooter was reclining on their chaise lounge, like some kind of model not yet unclothed, waiting for the painter. Wylan made a loop around the hearth rug. Nerves, disappointment, and frustration were still all bubbling under the surface of his skin.

He wanted to do more than shout. He wanted to throw and break things, but the servants would talk if he did that, and Wylan hated being the topic of gossip for his neighbors. Or…more gossiped about than they already were. Being the only merchant on this street to have a committed same-sex relationship—and with a Zemeni from the seedy side of town at that—was already more than enough food for wagging tongues.

“It’s abominable, Jesper!”

“Schenk’s coat today? I’m glad you noticed. What kind of skiv thinks peaked shoulders are ever going to come into fashion?”

“No! The law, Jesper! The damned, fucking indenture law!” Wylan snatched up one of the couch cushions and threw it, fuming with rage.

It was an overstuffed little pouf with a silly tassel in the middle, sewn from horsehair of all things. Jesper had developed a slightly manic delight for furnishing their parlors with the most ridiculous and impractical pillows he could find at flea markets, which meant not a single pillow except the ones in their bedroom offered much comfort. When Wylan threw the pouf it only bounced harmlessly off the wall and tumbled to the carpet, the stupid fucking tassel uppermost, and the lack of visible impact gave him no relief.

“Careful now.” Jesper commented mildly. “You might injure someone, throwing pillows around like that…”

“Saints, Jesper, all those people.” Wylan moaned and sank down onto the settee, head buried in his hands. “Little children, dying in factories worse than the tannery. Maimed or even killed before they’re old enough to sign contracts.”

This time Jesper knew better than to crack a joke.

“There are scared young women being sold into brothels like Inej was, every day, so young they shouldn’t even know about sex yet.” Wylan squeezed his temples between his palms, ready to scream. His eyes burned. “Did you know there are families that purposely raise their children up for the indenture trade? Drunken adults contract them off for money to buy liquor with, or even worse, crime rings turn it into an organized operation. It’s savage, Jesper. Disgusting.”

“Thinking about this isn’t going to help you,” Jesper murmured soberly.

“And Inej—Ghezen—“ Wylan choked, properly fighting tears now. “How am I ever going to look at her, with this on my conscience? She’s been waiting so long for this bill to come before the Council, and I just ruined it.”

“Hey—no—“ A new weight joined Wylan on his side of the parlor, and a set of warm, lanky arms hauled him in, like Wylan was still a small child to be cuddled on someone’s lap.

“Don’t do that to yourself, precious—“ Jesper remonstrated, his use of the Kerch pet-name showing how serious he was. “Don’t you dare do that to yourself.”

“What’s the point of all this wealth if I can’t save someone with it?” Wylan agonized.

“This is not your fault, none of this is your fault. You fought so fucking hard today, I know you’ve been planning for months. It’s not your fault. Don’t do that. Don’t you dare do that.”

Wylan just choked on nothing and clung to his shirt.

Behind them the parlor door opened and both boys stiffened in alarm. No visitors had been announced, the servants never boldly entered or left rooms where they knew Jesper and Wylan could be found, and that left only one other culprit.

Neither boy was surprised when Marya drifted around the end of the couch and moved toward the bookshelf Wylan had installed next to the fireplace, a half vacant look on her face. Sometimes there were better days and Wylan was always painfully eager to make the most of them. He’d done everything he could think of to make their manor on the Geldstraat as different from its old appearance as he could and he took daily pains to encourage her to come out of the fog that kept her so befuddled, but Marya still lived in her own world half of the time.

As she selected her book and turned away from the shelf, her dreamy expression arrested on the two of them, and Wylan tried in vain to smile cheerfully. There were visible tear-stains on his cheeks.

“Is something the matter?” She asked.

“Nope. Of course not.” Jesper tried to chirp.

Marya ignored him in favor of Wylan. “My poor boy…look at you.” She said, taking him by the chin.

Wylan’s expression crumpled as soon as she touched him and Marya made a shushing noise, wiping his cheeks with her thumbs.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry. I promise it’ll be alright.” She murmured, voice so damn full of maternal warmth even Jesper’s eyes burned.

Then she said something that made Jesper’s heart break completely, though he was too shocked for more tears.

“I promise he loves you, darling. He’s only being so strict because he loves you.”

That was too much for Wylan, who suddenly choked like his heart was being torn out and clutched his mother like he’d fall apart if she let him go. Marya shushed and soothed him, accepting his weight and patting his back. Wylan desperately needed her reassurance and soaked it up like a flower that had been denied sunlight, yet it was so obvious to Jesper’s watchful eyes that it was a completely different version of Wylan that Marya Hendricks thought she was comforting.

The woman cradled him with absolute tenderness, smoothing his curls and sprinkling little kisses on his head. But she kept saying “he loves you, I promise he still loves you,” the whole time.

Jesper had to tiptoe away and leave the room, a heavy knot of discomfort at the bottom of his stomach.

<>—<>—<>

Kaz couldn’t bear to return to the Barrel until several hours after nightfall.

By that time he’d managed to shudder, and shake, and boil himself back down into some kind of self possession. The storm-front of alternating rage and terror took hours to roll past and Kaz knew better than to subject anyone but himself to it. So he stayed away, while he felt first murderous one minute then oppressed and defenseless the next, until his emotions had decided to settle. 

But something like calm had prevailed in the end. Not exactly pleasant, just gray fog like the harbor after it had been ravaged by a storm: flat and quiet. Kaz debated going back to the Slat when his hands had finally stopped shaking, only something in him instinctively shrank from the idea. The thought of Inej’s kindness and pity was equally attractive and repellent at the current moment.

Instead he found himself on the steps to the Crow Club without quite knowing how he got there. The press of heat and humanity steaming from within enticed him somehow and he couldn’t leave. He ended up retreating to his balcony office above the floor and lurked there like a shadow of the gang’s reputation, for a full rotation of the dealers, hardly knowing why he did it.

Ordinarily Kaz appreciated the profits the Dreg’s casino rolled into their coffers every night, but only in a distant way. There was a vague personal distaste for the atmosphere that always swirled within him too. The Crow Club was loud, crowded, and in many ways analogous of how Jesper used to present himself, when his gambling habit was at its worst. A subtle current of slime and desperation could be felt throughout the whole establishment behind the glamour and Kaz couldn’t help but sneer at the ignorant sods who burned their money at his tables. He’d always felt a subtle condescension toward them that ultimately made him a good dealer: the kind that could swindle without remorse.

This time was different though. Brooding in his office above the jovial racket, Kaz found the din soothing rather than annoying, in a way the club had never appealed to him before. The Crow Club never would have succeeded as a casino if it made his customers miserable and Kaz could feel a bubble of enjoyment inflating the whole place, warming his skin like sunlight. It was ultimately a trap of course, designed to drain men’s wallets and ruin their lives, but its dangers were well disguised and as Kaz listened to the outer noises he heard only occasional discords among the harmony.

In the fourth hour of the evening Kaz felt the subtle presence of Inej join him. A pressure of shared secrets and mutual wariness filled the room and Kaz halted in his work, pen hovering over the page where he was running numbers for the club, sitting perfectly still.

Inej approached the desk and took up a perch on the corner at his left hand. Heat from her thigh, either real or imagined, prickled along Kaz’s forearm beneath his coat sleeve where he was leaning on the desktop. In the same way he could sense her eyes resting on the side of his face without looking up at her. He could feel the studied tranquility in her posture, the deliberate lack of judgement.

“You’ll have to pardon me, for earlier,” Kaz said stiffly. He couldn’t look at her and say these things, so he looked at his account book instead. “I was at fault. It was ungentlemanly and wasteful.”

“Ungentlemanly?” Inej echoed. The repetition was slightly teasing. “Are you going to treat me like a gentleman?”

Kaz flushed.

The way lovers courted each other in the country was a serious affair, old fashioned and polite, with a certain expectation for the man to treat the woman right. Kaz hadn’t realized he was still carrying those values with him, but as soon as Inej pointed them out he realized he felt self conscious and awkward because he did want that. He did want to treat her like a gentleman.

He wanted to take her to eat meals at cafes, and into all little shops to buy things, so that anyone watching would see him pull out his pocketbook and know. What a ludicrous thing for the crime lord of Ketterdam to want.

“If you’d rather I didn’t, I’ll happily commit heinous deeds for you instead,” Kaz muttered, a touch self-conscious. “Your wishes come first, since you’ve made it clear you won’t compromise on them.”

“Not all of them.” Inej said simply.

Kaz just dipped his chin with a nod. He’d learned to accept that by now: the necessity of towing her line in order to reach the prize he wanted. Half the time it wasn’t even that unpleasant. Sometimes he even liked following her rules. Like now for instance. Inej laid her palm upturned on the desk and after a moment’s deliberation Kaz laid his own gloved hand atop it. Even that simple touch ignited a tidal wave of heat up his arm to the shoulder and set his teeth on edge. She never grasped back, just let him lay their palms together. 

He hadn’t been able to stomach even this simple arrangement for long at first, but now he could lay his hand on hers without hesitation most of the time. Her palm was warm through the leather of his glove. He could spot a dusting of soft, dark hairs on her forearm, where the sleeve exposed her wrist, and her fingers curled up just enough to brush the sides of his palm without truly grasping. In a moment of instinct, hardly considering what he did, Kaz laid his pen aside and tugged the glove off his hand with his teeth. Then he took Inej’s hand between both his own, the naked and the gloved, lifting it up and holding it sandwiched.

The sustained heat in both his hands at once poured molten gold down his limbs. It felt like his chest was glowing.

“This is not a compromise.” Inej murmured into his silence, letting him cup her hand like it was fragile. “Being close to you like this is not a chore. It’s a good thing. I want it…and I think you want it too.”

She was right of course, dammit. Kaz wanted so much more than this. He wanted to hold her hands against his face, press his nose into hollow of her collar bones, and run his lips across her braid to explore the texture. He wanted to lean over, put his arms around her waist, and fall asleep in her lap. Half the agony of letting her wake his skin back up was realizing how much it craved more, as soon as it was roused. More of this indescribable thing, this heat that he couldn’t find anywhere else, not even from the hottest fires and strongest cups of coffee. But also he knew it was far more than he could actually handle yet, in the real world.

“We will get there, Kaz.” Inej said, like she could hear his thoughts. “Look at how far we’ve come already.”

Kaz laid his head down on the desk instead of answering.

If he leaned his weight to one side, the length of his body, from elbow to chest was pressed against Inej’s leg. Even that line of contact seared into his ribs. No doubt she could feel him leaning into her like a needy cat, but Kaz didn’t care. He guided the hand in both of his to rest atop his skull. It was an awkward arrangement but neither of them could tolerate more.

“When are you leaving?” Kaz mumbled into the desk.

“The day after tomorrow.”

Don’t go. Kaz thought but didn’t say. Don’t go. I still want more.

Chapter Text

“Thank you, Sam.” Wylan said warmly, as the junior secretary reached the end of his report. “Just as detailed as always.”

The young clerk flushed with bashful pleasure, fidgeting with his papers. The two of them were sitting in Wylan’s corner office, above the main ship yard on fourth harbor, with the clinking of chains, thudding of tackle blocks, and creaking wheels coming in faintly through the closed window. The office was plain and almost shabby for belonging to such a wealthy man, and the faint scars of old foot traffic and daily wear could be seen under the whitewash and furniture.  

Back in Jan Van Eck’s day, the merchant would never have deigned to do business in such a pedestrian location, but Wylan was determined to do things differently from his father. Especially when it directly benefited him. Having Jesper around was invaluable of course but Wylan couldn’t count on him to be available every second of the day. But reports and shipping manifests were all useless to Wylan, so he had taken up an office right on the harbor and dealt with people there himself in person. It only added to his reputation as the ugly-duck on the Merchant Council, but that had its benefits too.

“Anything else you need, sir?” Sam asked as he cleared the papers away.

“That will be all, Sam. Thank you. If you’ll leave those with me, I’ll keep them for reference. ”

“Of course sir,” The young man stood up and ducked a hasty bow. “Good business, Councilman.”

“Good business, Sam.”

The clerk moved to take his leave, and Wylan bent over to tuck the report in a drawer, for review with Jesper later. But as Sam hurried away, the young man drew up short in the door and bowed to someone. “Apologies, Councilman!”

Wylan looked up quickly to find Sam bowing out of the way of Maarten Haske, who entered without stopping to notice the junior secretary scurrying aside. Flushed and self-conscious, Sam quickly disappeared from view.

“Van Eck!” the man said, his articulate baritone filling up the corners of Wylan’s office.

“Haske, this is a surprise! What business?” Coming out from behind the desk, Wylan offered a hand.

Haske clasped him in a friendly grip. “Interesting little office you’ve chosen here, down among the sailors and barnacles, hey?”

“It suits me. The view on the harbor is quite pleasant,” Wylan said, following along as Maarten Haske walked to the windows that looked out over the yard below, with a narrow view of the shaded court that led to the dockside. “I find it more efficient to do business at the ground level.”

“No doubt surrounded by the clatter of stevedores every hour of the day!” Haske laughed, looking around the room with its utilitarian furnishings.

Wylan cleared his throat. “What can I do for you, Sir? You’ve caught me somewhat unprepared, I’m afraid…”

“Oh, that! I just wanted to make sure everything is in order between us, old boy.” Maarten Haske clapped Wylan on the shoulder. “Naturally, when it comes to the Council sessions we’re in regrettable opposition, you have your views on the indenture trade and I have mine…But outside of that I hope you can look on me as a friendly colleague?”

It was an awkward question. For a moment Wylan was tongue-tied and he couldn’t answer. He had to take pause before he could say, without any resentment, “political debates before the Council and personal feuds maintained in private, are two different things.”

Even that wasn’t a fully transparent answer. But the truth was that Wylan couldn’t quite get himself to agree, even when confronted point blank. His pride was still stinging after the unspoken defeat he’d suffered yesterday, and with the horrors Inej had suffered in the past still on his mind, the words just wouldn’t come. He couldn’t look at anyone and say he respected them, when he knew they perpetuated such cruelty, however distant from the atrocity.

“I understand that you’re a representative,” he managed to say. That, at least, was fair. “Both of us are merely spokesmen for opposing models, not literal arbiters for the economic structures proposed.”

“Exactly so.” Maarten Haske laughed, giving Wylan another boisterous clap on the shoulder.

Wylan suppressed a grimace.

“You really are a strange bird, Van Eck, taking up an office down here. Most of us wouldn’t dream of it…” Haske took an aimless turn around the perimeter of the room, looking curiously at the walls. “You’re as devout in your business practices as your presentations for the sessions. No luxury, or quiet little indulgences. It’s quite as spartan in here as that shack Radmakker shares with his sister.”

Wylan scowled. “Jellen Radmakker’s religious practices have nothing to do with my own,” he said, “and I’ll thank you to keep his personal views separate from mine. I have no intension of buying a sense of religious importance through hypocritical displays of piety, while my wealth and holdings benefit no one. I am a man of action, Haske. I intend to put my money to more productive uses.”

“Steady there, friend. That’s quite the washing for old Makkie’s dirty laundry.”

“Sorry,” Wylan huffed and relaxed. “You’re correct. He’s nothing wrong in himself. I shouldn’t speak so critically.”

“He’s a dear old windbag cluttering the Council floor, but he’s nothing too bad in himself. He’ll get swept off eventually and then real progress can be made. I know just the type. My father was the same.”

Wylan felt himself steered into an awkward corner at this juncture. He couldn’t speak with such easy disrespect of his own parent. Maarten Haske hadn’t said it, but insinuations about Jan Van Eck’s criminal deeds—and by extension Wylan—had been made in the past. Between the two of them Wylan and Jesper had mostly dispelled that taint, but the young merchant still operated under a slight shadow cast by his father.

Oblivious to Wylan’s conundrum, Haske was still speaking. “It’s an awkward position to negotiate, my friend: this abolition of indenture contracting, which you’ve chosen to espouse. Tricky bit of business…” Maarten Haske drummed his fingers along the rim of Wylan’s desk. “I do have to warn you, it might get dangerous, to preach ideals like that a little too loudly…”

He’d spoken casually, but Wylan’s instincts prickled anyway. He might be the youngest on the Council, but Wylan liked to believe that he knew, and regularly did business with, enough dangerous people that he wasn’t easily fooled.

“What do you mean?” Wylan tilted his head with his best approximation of innocence, while he gave the other a covert searching glance.

“I’d just take care, that’s all. The Wraith was last seen on the southern trade routes from Novyi Zem and they do say she docks here, even though the harbor masters all swear they’d never anchor her. There’s been talks of some kind of naval action being put out against the vessel or an escort for our merchants delivering cargo, to defend against piracy. There’s stormy seas on the horizon for the Wraith in future…You don’t want to get mixed up in allegations of some kind.”

“Are you saying that expressing a distaste for the indenture trade equates to a…connection with piracy” Wylan said, with as much disbelief as he could manage.

“Other people might think that, is all I’m saying…”

“That’s absurd.”

“Sailors are known to be fairly indeterminate and superstitious in their thinking, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve never paid a cent to the Wraith. And as for giving the ship a berth, that’s just speculation with no real basis. Rumor has it she embarks out of Fifth Harbor, if she stops here at all, and we all know that’s gang territory. One ship crewed by abolitionist pirates is the tamest thing to come out of Brekker’s hole.”

“True, true. I’m not debating it.”

Haske was running his fingers over the austere surface of Wylan’s desk with mild interest. It was unusually tidy for a Councilman, no pens or other writing utensils, no blank parchments waiting to be filled, no scraps of note-taking or forgotten memos gone astray. Wylan watched the other Merch note this strange, incongruous fact with an uncomfortable flip-flop in his stomach. Why hadn’t he taken more pains to make it look at least a little bit used?

Speaking into Wylan’s nervous silence, Haske went on. “There is a certain amount of passion for the movement that can be overlooked as religious zeal. Ghezen’s teachings do make an argument for it, when viewed from a certain standpoint. But the moral aspect will only get you so far. The difference between supporting a religious ideal and abetting the sabotage of profitable trade might be small, in some people’s minds.”

“I would hope, Councilman Haske, that you would know me well enough to make that distinction.” Wylan Van Eck said quietly.

There was a tight, unfriendly silence and their eye contact anything but friendly. For a long moment neither said anything and even Maarten’s drumming fingers had ceased to move.

“I do, Councilman Van Eck.”

“Then we understand each other perfectly. I can argue that all living beings have inherent worth, without being reduced to piracy in practice.”

“Of course. That is explicitly understood between us.” Haske said, though the hard light in his eyes showed just the opposite. He was not in the least fooled. “But the danger still exists my friend. You might want to guard yourself and pick a more prudent time to air out your…religious grievances.”

“I will chose to act in a manner that I feel is required by my personal integrity, when I feel it is morally imperative to do so, Councilor.”

“It might make you the object of uncomfortable speculations about the Wraith.”

“I will keep that in mind and take pains to protect myself in future, as you advise. Your council is appreciated, sir,” Wylan deflected calmly.

For the first time a flicker of doubt entered the other man’s face and Maarten Haske’s eyes shuttered. The scrupulous civility of Wylan’s response left little room for argument. There wasn’t much else for either man to do but withdraw and ponder their encounter, making what successes or failures of it that they could.

“I’m glad to have spoken then,” Haske said with false cheer, drawing himself up straight like a man freeing himself from a burden. “I hope you won’t take offense to it. The advice was kindly meant.”

“Of course.”

“I’m sure you have important work to do, so I won’t impose on you any farther…”

“Not at all, I’m quite at your disposal. If you wanted to take a look at the courtyard and warehouses here—?“

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly.”

With mutual empty platitudes on both sides, Maarten Haske took his leave and Wylan bowed him out. After the other merchant had left, Wylan stepped quickly to the window, placing himself in the shadow of the curtains to watch the exit on the floor below. A moment later Haske stepped into the court and paused on the front stoop to look over the yard, as if he could penetrate Wylan’s employees to discover the pirates underneath.

The redhead knew there would be nothing to find. Inej and Kaz were both far too careful for that. Haske stepped off at a steady pace, swinging his walking stick as he went. Wylan watched him out of sight, absently nibbling at a fingernail. 

Maybe it was time to have Kaz do some digging on Maarten Haske.

Chapter Text

“I think of Nina every time we do this.” Inej said.

The two of them were sitting side by side, eating sweet fried waffles drizzled in piping hot molasses, wrapped in wax paper. It was a bit of a reluctant goodbye for Inej. A last chance to enjoy the street food of Ketterdam which—like everything else in the Barrel—was cheep, greasy, and sinfully addicting. They’d gotten in the habit of bringing a picnic to the mouldering edge of the canal and eating it there, the day before she sailed. For Inej it was an indulgent early lunch, for Kaz’s night prowling habits, an early breakfast.

“Ghezen curse that woman,” Kaz said without any real heat. “I can’t even enjoy my waffles in peace without hearing about her food preferences…”

In spite of his words Kaz had hardly touched his meal.

Inej looked at him out of the corner of her eye through the intervening silence. Kaz never ate much at the best of times and even less when he was in one of his despondent moods, which Inej’s departures almost always brought on. But something seemed especially strange about him today. Kaz was eccentric at the best of times, but this felt new.

They were sitting together in a narrow crevice between the drooping brick facade of two shabby tenement houses. Inej had discovered a hidden little alcove there years ago, right on the canal just south of the Lid. The murky brown water of Pleincanal—known more commonly by the locals as Dronkaardssloot—was burbling past their dangling feet.

The thief abruptly spoke out of nowhere. “I know you hate my gloves.”

He didn’t sound angry and his eyes were clear when Inej looked at him. “I can’t love them…” She said, choosing her words. “They aren’t you.”

Then she blushed scarlet, realizing how that sounded. It wasn’t a direct I love you, but it was close. She hadn’t dared to say words like that yet. Neither had he.

“I am trying, for you.” Kaz huffed.

That was another quirk of his. The thief had started making last-minute confessions to her when she left. He would suddenly throw a reluctant secret into her lap, always out of nowhere, often only hours before she was meant to embark. She had a feeling he made his little confidences so belatedly because it left no time for her to poke him about whatever he’d said.

“But I don’t think you understand what—“ He broke off, and finished with a dark mutter, “you don’t understand.”

“Make me understand.” She said.

There was an expectant silence.

Kaz was fidgeting with the edge of the paper in his lap. It was a strangely childish mannerism, at odds with his somber clothes and grave expression of deep thought. Inej watched him unconsciously fidget with a curl of fondness. It was one of his quirks that he only did while distracted, upset, or deeply absorbed, and Inej had always thought of it as a gambler’s tell: one of the seams that showed his contrived and fraying edges, where he forgot to be Dirtyhands.

“Did you know I was almost cornered once?” Kaz changed subjects abruptly.

This too was something she’d learned to take in stride with him. Kaz could seem chaotic, even inscrutable sometimes, and he followed strange leaps in logic that were difficult to follow. But nothing with Kaz was ever random, even if his mind made connections that no one else could parse. Half the time even Inej was excluded from his chain of thought, but she could wait for the connections to become clear.

“I don’t know how old I was.” Kaz continued rolling the paper between his fingers but the action was slightly agitated now. “I must have been a kid still. Didn’t know shit about the Barrel…”

He said it like his childhood was ancient history. As if he wasn’t still barely old enough to be called an adult by most people. In a way, Inej thought she could see what he meant though. Kaz might still be young, but he certainly wasn’t innocent. The youth he was talking about was a thing of the past.

“Some skiv found me in a back alley and got curious. He got my knife away from me, slammed my head against the wall and told me it would go easier if I stayed still.”

Saints, Inej thought. It felt like a plea for help and guidance. But all she said was, “Go on.”

Kaz shrugged with abominable indifference. “It never went anywhere. I threw up all over his trousers, he kicked me in the stomach till I passed out, and I got jailed for vagrancy. I started sleeping with a pistol after that.”

“Kaz…” Inej took a slow, careful breath. What was her angle here? Their former leader could be as aggressive and taciturn as an old badger brought out of its den, if handled wrong. “Is that…What came back to your mind yesterday?”

Kaz shuddered. “Imagine feeling a dead thing put its hands under your shirt.”

His words were deliberately vague. They’d been getting better—or trying to get better—at openly communicating about what Inej called trauma, Jesper called personal shit, and Kaz had once told her were things in the back of his head that he’d rather not think about. Inej shivered, remembering the conversation. It was suddenly starkly obvious to her how many secrets Kaz still kept, how many wounds like this one he might never expose to her.

“Do you always see that, when you’re touched?” She asked.

The question made him bristle, visibly rebuffing her, eyes still averted. Inej sensed his silent resistance and let the question go. “Your armor is there for a reason. No one chooses what form it will take,” she told him instead. “I float away. That is my escape. I should have asked myself why yours is to recoil.”

Kaz mulled that over for a long minute and Inej let him stew. Her own thoughts were caught up in the half formed picture Kaz had painted for her, reluctantly digesting what he’d said. She tried to picture Kaz throwing up in terror beneath some predatory street-scum and couldn’t bear it. She could picture it with unfortunate empathy: how dirty he must have felt, even if nothing else had happened. How vulnerable.

He must have been disgustingly young. Inej shuddered.

Kaz Brekker, in Inej’s half formed imaginings, always looked the same. Jesper had known him the longest, but the rising prodigy Jesper described was merely a smaller, more ferocious version of the Lieutenant-turned-Barrel-Boss Kaz was now. If Kaz had ever been sensitive and exposed, he’d rooted out the weakness long before meeting any of them.

The truth was that Inej struggled to ever picture Kaz as something less than. Like many of the Barrel’s rats and ne’er-do-wells, Inej often unconsciously cherished the impression that Kaz had just appeared one day. Sprang into prominence fully formed from the stones, or just existed as he always was, some strange kind of eternal being.

But that wasn’t the childhood Kaz was slowly started to confide in her. The bleak truth was that Kaz’s side of the story sounded depressingly pedestrian. A personal version of the same woes a hundred children could tell, unique in its details but unremarkable as a whole. Inej hated it, but ultimately she knew his story was common enough.

“Did you hunt him down?” Inej asked, almost wishing he had. Somehow being told he’d avenged himself would make the attempted deed less nauseating.

“I didn’t know the skiv’s name and barely saw enough of his face to remember anything…Not enough to go on.”

“We’ll just have to hunt them all, then,” Inej said with cold tranquility. “Until they learn that bigger monsters are watching.”

Kaz scoffed. “You still don’t see the moral of this story.”

He wanted to pick a fight, Inej could tell. He wanted to get control—being an aggressor helped him feel like he was in control—this wasn’t really about her. It was just his learned reflex.

And it could be unlearned. So she said the same thing she’d said before: “make me understand.”

“You’re the one that called it armor…” He almost sounded guilty. Uncomfortable. “Armor protects you,” He mumbled.

There was a concession in that statement. The concession that he wanted, or needed, protection at all. Kaz was unbuttoning himself, like an impenetrable coat suddenly opened to allow the winter cold in.

“Armor also makes you isolated.” Inej gently rebuffed

“That drunk got a lap full of vomit because I—“ Kaz snapped then broke off. He shrugged. “I didn’t know shit about protecting myself. No one told me to piss when the drunks come for you. I didn’t know. I just…couldn’t bear it. And it saved me.”

His logic made a horrible kind of sense, in the worst way. Inej’s stomach sank down into her toes.

“I like my gloves.” Kaz said in a small voice.

“I know.”

“Everybody looks at my hands first. They all do it. Street bosses, new hires, stupid pigeons. They all pretend, but I can feel them staring.” Kaz said, black eyes glittering and inscrutable “I like that they look. I like that people stare.”

His confession was unsurprising. She knew him well enough by this time to recognize the fact that Kaz was—under his strange patchwork of countrified sweetness, rigid mercher tradition and coarse Barrel savagery—unexpectedly vain. He was just as careful of his appearance as Jesper. Kaz was not the type of thug to take care of his face, but he would always take care of his hands.

“I’m grateful.” Kaz said, distant and impersonal. “For all of it. Every last shitty thing.”

Inej bit her lip, at a loss for answers.

“And you want me to discard everything. Like that’s nothing.”

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” Inej said, calm but stern.

She could tell that it grated on him. The thief’s face darkened, turning dangerous, and he spoke like a challenge. “You don’t like my gloves.”

Inej didn’t answer. She couldn’t without setting off Kaz’s hair-trigger defenses. For that split second he felt miles away from her, physically still at her side, but emotionally alien. The brittle resentment in his shoulders, the clench of his hands, the angular twist of muscle in his jaw were all warning signs, like signal flares in the dark. Inej noted the walls and geared herself for a fight. He was about to bring out the knives, pick a fight even if neither of them could win, because it hurt less than being forced to surrender.

“Kaz…” she trailed off. She couldn’t think of anything better to say.

Then Kaz sagged and the hostility drained out of him. “It’s harder to let go,” he muttered, “when you don’t want to.”

Then she felt something touch her leg and looked down. Kaz’s hand was waiting for her, bare and white, dotted with a cluster of moles on the back, like tiny ink flicks on blank parchment. Inej took the offered hand and smoothed her thumb over the dots. Throughout the whole exchange Kaz never looked at her. His eyes rested on her hand like he was half scared of it, half fascinated by it.

“You can want more than one thing at a time,” she said, “even when they’re opposites.”

Kaz scowled like someone had just dumped water all over his perfect account books. He looked angry, and so painfully juvenile. He looked like his age. He looked like every second he pushed himself to keep holding her hand was one more second of pure torture, but for some reason he kept doing it.

“I’m sorry, Kaz.” She said again for the second time.

She wanted to fix the problem for him, but this was a conundrum beyond her. Inej would never understand his comfort with isolation, his seeming indifference to it. Even when touch scared her, she’d still wanted to tuck herself into Jesper’s lanky hugs, wanted to smile when Nina kissed her cheeks. It was dangerously easy to be fooled into thinking that Kaz had no interest in any of those things.

She knew he secretly did want more. He was a human boy and he wanted kinship, loyalty, trust and kindness just as much as anyone else. But Kaz had spent years settling into his scars. He’d had almost a decade in which to become stamped in the shape of this mold.

“What I want is beside the point,”he said, curt and firm. “You don’t like the gloves. So the gloves will be dealt with.”

Immediately Inej thought of about half-a-dozen responses, each of them worse than the last. She didn’t want Kaz to just make this his new obsession, his newest, most difficult con yet, to be played like a fish on the line until he could haul her out of the water. She didn’t want to be an unpleasant chore.

But it wasn’t like that—not completely—Inej thought as she looked down at Kaz awkwardly cupping her hand in his own like he was afraid to mess it up somehow, like it was a dream he’d been cherishing and he could hardly believe was actually real. Kaz was a giver. He literally couldn’t embrace her, so gifts were his refuge in that conundrum. Knives for her belt, windows left unlocked, an iron kettle over his fire for her to make tea with, a ship to hunt down her sworn enemies in.

He had to turn this into a sacrifice for her, because it was his way of making the struggle worth the labor. Kaz couldn’t take ownership of his own recovery. Not yet. Maybe not for years. If he could have overcome his challenges on his own, he would have done it already.

So Inej reviewed her words carefully, taking long moments to consider exactly what she would say. “Thank you, Kaz.”

It was the right response. Gratitude was a powerful thing to the Kerch. They rarely said thank you instead of how much did it cost? In a country where self sufficiency was the highest standard, the ability to give gifts was even more holy. The way Kaz’s eyes widened, startled and boyish, was proof enough what it meant to him.

“I appreciate your sacrifice,” she said carefully. “You don’t have to do that. It’s a gift. Thank you.”

The way Kaz squeezed her hand was shy. He looked almost pink with gratification. Inej could treasure the precious rarity of Kaz’s touch, but her embrace meant less to him than the thank you she’d just given him. Inej didn’t understand it, but that was fine.

She smiled and gave his hand a gentle squeeze in return. While Inej might wish things were different, in the end this wasn’t so bad. The girl finished her food with one hand, so that the other could stay cradled in Kaz’s grip the rest of their meal.

Chapter Text

“Please tell me you’re not wearing black tonight.”

Wylan turned at the sound of Jesper’s voice and immediately burst out laughing.

The Zemeni sharp shooter was already rigged out in his best style, which meant he was an eyesore of color. His vivid butter yellow shirt set off a pale lavender dinner jacket cut in a daring style that showed off more of his bony angles than were hidden. His shoes were polished to a mirror shine, with a red silk ribbon laced through the eyelets instead of cords or leather. One of his favorite hats was perched above the whole at a jaunty angle, with a red tulip tucked through the band, and he looked every bit the Barrel dandy.

“I am not wearing something like that,” Wylan protested, still giggling.

“This is the height of fashion among the lads, Wy! Can’t you appreciate my artistic innovation?” Jesper said, spreading his arms to display himself more effectively. 

“I never said I didn’t like it. Just not on myself. ”

“But you can’t wear black, love. Please, I don’t think I could bear that. You and Kaz will look like a pair of undertakers.” Jesper strolled to the closet and began thumbing through Wylan’s selection of dinner jackets.

“You know that mourning is gray in Kerch.”

“It’s the principle of the thing. Black is a depressing color.”

“I’ll tell Kaz you said that.”

“Darling, Kaz is my primary evidence!”

Wylan chuckled and shook his head fondly. “I promise I won’t wear black.”

“Do you think he’ll come? Tonight?” The sharpshooter changed topics abruptly, still considering coats with his face hidden.

Wylan hummed, biting his lip. It was a difficult question. “I told him I just installed new Schuylers on the attic windows…He might take a crack at them.”

“Even if he does, he’ll be a pain in the arse for the entire visit,” Jesper grumbled.

“That’s just Kaz,” Wylan tried to joke, but it was flat.

Their former leader had been peculiar and erratic ever since Inej started voyaging. While the Suli girl was in port Kaz was always on best behavior and pleasant to his friends. But with Inej gone Kaz was often taciturn, manic, or gloomy. He’d appear perfectly normal for days, then vanish just as suddenly and there would be no word from him until he reappeared without explanations. At other times he practically lived out of their house for a week or more, brooding on the parlor sofa and stealing food from their table at mealtimes, without speaking more than a handful of words to them during the whole visit. 

Jesper had selected a jacket that apparently met his criteria of ‘not black.’ The Zemeni brought over the garments and began laying them out on the edge of the bed, like a professional valet. Neither of them actually kept a valet—after roughing it in the Barrel, letting someone else dress you felt unbearably strange.

“If Kaz doesn’t come, we’ll just have to put more effort into giving her a cheerful goodbye.” Wylan said.

“He should. Like you said, for Inej.” Jesper turned around with Wylan’s jacket in hand and the redhead allowed himself to be assisted into the garment.

“Well, it’s Kaz we’re talking about. I don’t think he even cooperates with himself, let alone other people.”

“I get so sick of him sometimes.” Jesper said, then he blanched and mumbled, “that’s probably terrible, right?”

Wylan hummed, tilting his chin back so Jesper could have space to fasten his neck tie. “I don’t think so.”

“He’s my best mate…” Jesper muttered. “Just wish he’d act like it more.” 

Privately, Wylan thought Kaz very much did act like it, in his own mangled way.

Often they would find signs of his recent intrusion in the house, even if they hadn’t seen him. Sometimes overt, like a guest room bed with all the sheets stripped off in a heap on the floor, sometimes more subtle, like a divot in one of the parlor pillows where someone’s head had lain an hour before. Once he’d taken the plumbing fixtures from all the bathroom sinks in the house, then Jesper found the same fixtures at flea-market two days later and had to buy them all back. Sometimes Kaz would show up unannounced at strange hours of the night looking for Jesper, with a contrived excuse of some kind or other to explain his presence. Or he’d pop up at Wylan’s office near the shipyard, hanging about to offer unnecessary advice while Wylan tried not to get irritated.

Jesper worried about him, Wylan thought. They both did.

But neither of them really knew what to do, or even what the matter might be. They weren’t Kaz’s confidantes in his daily life and neither had more than vague guesses about the kinds of schemes he might be running, or dangers he might be in. All they could do was keep their home open and tolerate his oddity when he did show up, hoping that Kaz would continue to orbit their relative stability.

For the most part, he did seem to do just that. He never said as much, but if Wylan had to guess he would say that these strange visits and odd behaviors were the closest things to safety Kaz really had. It was a bit depressing, honestly.

“Is it going to be a problem for you, if he doesn’t come?” Wylan asked.

“No…I don’t know…maybe.” Jesper laughed uncomfortably. 

“Tonight is about Inej.” Wylan said. “We’re sending her off with love and good wishes.”

Jesper finished with Wylan’s tie and he smoothed a hand over it, laying it fastidiously straight, then he took Wylan’s jacket and buttoned it closed. 

“Don’t you ever think her voyages are poorly timed?” The sharpshooter muttered.

His question made Wylan frown, head tilted on one side. “What she’s doing is important, Jes.” 

The other only grunted, non-committal.

“Surely you don’t think she should quit?”  

The Zemeni was playing halfheartedly with Wylan’s shirt, straightening the collar even though he didn’t need it and Wylan made him pause with a finger threaded through the buttonhole on Jesper’s lapel.

“Jes.”

“There’s still rumors floating around, on the Lid. Jurda parem…” Jesper muttered. “Word on the street says some of the Shu smugglers are starting to sell it. Laced with hash to make it go farther, but still…enough.”

Of course. Now it made sense.

“We’d know, if he was using.” 

Jesper gave an unhappy laugh. “Would we?” 

“Yes!” Wylan grabbed Jesper’s wrists and squeezed. “He’s a good liar, but not that good.”

Jesper stepped back and his smile was tight, but not completely faked. “Just wish he’d show face more…”

“I’m sure he will, at least tonight. For Inej.”

Finally Jesper dipped his chin and his shoulders loosened. He started to turn away, but Wylan halted him with a hand on the other boy’s shoulder. “You’re a good friend, Jes…” Wylan said. “If Kaz doesn’t want to take advantage of that…it’s his loss.”

“Alright,” Jesper dismissed half heartedly. “Thanks, Wy.”

“I love you, Jes.” 

“Love you too, merchling.” 

<>—<>—<>

“Word from 5th, Boss.” Pim clattered up the stairs and came rattling into Kaz’s office with a folded paper in hand, his round, pockmarked face pink from sharp sea air and exercise. “Note from the Wraith.”

“Give it here.” Kaz huffed and extended a hand.

Inej laughed, her dark shape sliding gracefully against the darker shadows as she chuckled. The young bruiser pulled up short, abashed, and blinked in confusion. Then he shrugged awkwardly. “Maybe you already know about it,” he mumbled, gesturing at Inej with the note he’d brought. “Sorry to disturb…The door was open.”

It hadn’t actually been open, but given Kaz’s penchant for secrets and his well known passion for privacy, the Dregs had an unspoken rule: if the door was locked, Kaz wasn’t interested in visitors. The easy turn of a knob signaled he was available for his underlings or other business, no introductions or knocking required. This meant that lowlifes tried the door at all hours of the day and night (usually to no success), but Kaz preferred it to a constant barrage of knocking. Pim had found the door hospitably unlocked on this occasion. 

Kaz’s waved his apology aside and held out a hand. “The note, Pim.”

Looking ridiculously chastened, he held out the note and Kaz snatched it up, waving the other boy away. As the bruiser cleared out, Inej melted in from the shadows of the armchair and approached, a soft teasing smile on her lips. “Very strange, that you’re getting word from my ship when I’m already right here, Kaz…”

The thief glanced carelessly at the note in his hand. “Your crew sees you as a savior, Inej. They have no such illusions about me. Sometimes I find that healthy fear gets more honest labor out of a person than devotion.” The note in his hand vanished, replaced by a coin that rolled across his knuckles. “Your ship is fully outfitted to embark by the way. That last minute repair to the rudder is patched up. ”

Inej openly laughed, dimpling her cheeks as she shook her head. “I know how to run my own ship, Kaz. You don’t have to stand over my shoulder.”

She received no answer, Kaz only stared at her, entirely blank apart from a strange glitter in his eye. After a moment she sobered and Inej stepped forward to place a hand on the desk “Thank you for double checking.”

“Safety is an illusion for mercher brats,” he said shortly. “Vigilance is always the best policy.”

“Will you be at dinner, tonight?” Inej asked. “And not just tonight?” 

Her tone was careless, but she picked up the letter opener on his desk. It was a thin, sharp little piece of metal Kaz kept there just in case he needed it to double for something else. Kaz watched her flourish it, and his dark eyes were inscrutable. 

“Do you want that?”

“You know what I want. This is your life Kaz, other people deserve to be a part of it.”

“The deal is the deal, Inej”

Kaz watched as Inej went to the window—open, like it always was, when Inej was in port—and she turned to look back at him. Her slender form was black, limned with gold, against the light of sunset and looking at her sent a shard of pleasant discomfort through his chest. A salt breeze trickled around her into the room, fresh for once, no stench of fish or dirty water in the wind, and made her silks flutter like a butterfly’s wings. With a heavy swallow Kaz pretended to turn back toward his account book, ignoring her presence in the room.

“You know I’ll come back, Kaz.” She said. “Tonight isn’t forever.”

When he looked up to reply, the room was empty and Inej’s shadow had vanished from his periphery. She’d taken the letter opener with her. Kaz looked at the vacancy and smirked, trying not to think about her carrying his possessions in her pockets. Like they belonged to her. Like he belonged to her. The idea kept rolling around in his head, despite his efforts, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Then another blast of harbor air came into the room, this time with no Inej to beautify the sour taint of decay and trash. His pleasant train of thought dissolved, like a shape made in water, and Kaz was left alone. Only the faint tick of his pocket watch broke the quiet, so still that the tiny whir of gears was almost audible. His pen halted in the middle of a calculation, and he glanced at the window where Inej had vanished. Empty.

With a huff Kaz shoved his book away.

As the thief leaned back the note Pim had delivered reappeared in his hand and Kaz unfurled it. There was an address in Shu Han at the top of the page, dated less than a week ago. The note was short and rough, as if hastily written.

Good business, sir.

Only minor repairs to report, and some depletion of food stores. Your information was good. The ship made several small pickups and had two skirmishes with larger vessels, both with favorable outcomes. There is an attached inventory for your reference. The Wraith will have to make a drop at Bhez Ju before returning to Ketterdam. The hold is overfilled. Will need the laundries for extra cash when back in Kerch.

Respectfully, W.

Kaz read the note without any change in expression. Slowly, chewing his lip in thought, the thief folded it into smaller and smaller squares while staring into nothing.

You should burn it. The memory of a familiar voice whispered out of the grave. Kaz could almost picture Jordie sitting in the window where Inej had been, bruised and bony knees pulled up to his chest as he watched Kaz scheme. 

We both know I can’t do that, Jordie.

I wish you would.

With a jolt, Kaz came back to himself and unfolded the paper all over again.

Straightening in his chair, the thief produced one of the old account books from the Crow Club. As Kaz lifted it the pages fell open to a well worn spot. Several more notes just like the one in his hand were tucked among the leaves, dispersed between the old figures and out-of-date accounts. As Kaz flipped through, snatches of correspondence were half revealed, dates and locations flashing from the pages.

Made landing in Shriftport—

Skirmished with a Druskelle vessel—

Unexpected acquisition from the—

Sank the Golden Trout at—

The letters went on and on, tracking the progress of a single vessel all across the True Sea. Kaz tucked the note in his hand between the account book’s pages and closed it. For a moment he held the book’s weight, measuring it with a grim, almost resigned smile. Then he tucked it away again, back into a dusty corner behind everything else on his desk.

With a snap of decision, Kaz left his desk and crossed the room. At the door he shrugged into his coat, with a hat pulled over his head and the titular weight of his cane in-hand. Then Kaz strode out into the streets of Ketterdam and vanished into the twisting alleys of the Barrel.

Chapter Text

“Darling, every time we throw a party like this, I feel tempted to never let you out again.” Jesper exclaimed, throwing both arms around Inej before she even had a chance to shake off her hood in the foyer of the mansion.

It was a wet, overcast sort of evening, typical of Ketterdam as the sun dipped below the horizon and the Tides pulled in the last high water before curfew took effect. Fog was settling in, growing deeper as the shadows did and Inej’s cloak was beaded with droplets. Jesper stepped away with speckles of water all over his dinner finery. Behind him Wylan was strolling casually down the stairs and smiled with warm affection at the sight of Jesper’s exuberant embraces.

“You know this isn’t forever,” Inej said laughing. “You and Kaz both act like I’m leaving for good!”

“Because that’s how it feels!”

“Don’t let him fool you, we both admire the work you’re doing.” Wylan said, hovering at the bottom of the steps. “It’s important. But we miss you anyway.”

Wylan seemed strangely reluctant to approach her and Inej gave him a quizzical look, but the shade—whatever it was—passed quickly. The merchant boy gave her another hug, much more gentle and brief than Jesper’s lanky and octopus-like embrace, and Inej pulled away smiling. “I haven’t sailed yet.” She said gently.

Their chatter devolved into smalltalk and they loitered for a while in the foyer as Inej shed the cloak and hood she always resumed while in Ketterdam. Underneath the first layer of black however, her garments were an explosion of bright silks and jewelry, and there was a bunch of ribbons woven through her braid. Some had come from her parents, who were eager to bequeath or return every item of Suli craft they owned or could get their hands on, but even more were from her travels and (Jesper suspected but had never been able to confirm) a couple were donations from Kaz.

Still talking hard, the teens walked into the dining room, absorbed in their conversation. Inej was recounting some minor burglary Kaz had insisted she join before the next voyage—the boy seemed to take her on minor criminal excursions like any normal person would have taken her on dates—and both Wylan and Jesper were listening with interest. Crime was no longer a pastime Wylan shared, beyond the occasional moonlighting as the Dreg’s chemist, but Jesper still missed the old excitement sometimes.

As they were still talking, the Zemeni turned to pull out a chair for Inej and almost jumped out of his skin. “Sankta’s warts, boss!”

Kaz Brekker himself was standing behind of Inej’s seat, less than three feet away from them. The typical blackened scowl affixed to Kaz’s face only grew more stormy at his greeting. “You invited me,” Kaz grumbled, almost defensive. “Don’t put shit locks on your windows, if you don’t want them cracked.”

“Those are supposed to be the latest Schyuler design, Kaz.” Wylan complained. It was an old complaint.

“They weren’t completely inadequate, I suppose.”

“Meaning you had them open in less than a minute.” Wylan pinched his nose with a groan. “Please tell me you didn’t break them too badly?”

“Sometimes a broken lock works more effectively than a sophisticated one.” He replied, completely unrepentant.

“Right, so the attic windows are definitely useless then…I suppose Jesper will fix them later.”

Kaz didn’t answer because Inej had approached her place at the table, and the thief was drawing out a chair for her. He was absurdly dainty about it, like some kind of genteel butler, and Inej looked awkward but undeniably pleased. Saint’s, could they be any more repressed if they tried?

Ever since Inej had gotten her ship, something about her and Kaz had been different. A little hesitant and tender, like they were walking on eggshells. Jesper wanted nothing more than to tease them for it, but he knew better. Inej deserved more than that and Kaz would only turn hostile like an injured grizzly bear. They were healing, Jesper knew that. It would be unkind to make fun of it.

Wylan had taken a seat and Kaz took his place last, pointedly at Inej’s side, as the servants started bringing in the first course. For a while the conversation was mostly the usual catching up that always had to be done with Kaz, on the few occasions he actually deigned to show up for a dinner party and also speak to them. (There were plenty of times he just passed through to blatantly steal food from the kitchen without explanation or talking to anyone). The thief was always such a tough nut to crack, prying out details of what he was doing with himself these days was generally an arduous affair that took several minutes. Sometimes Jesper had the hunch that Kaz even enjoyed keeping secrets from them and watching them try to make him talk more.

But eventually the usual smalltalk was finally accomplished, and then the trite conversation began to feel less necessary and more stilted. Wylan was uncomfortable for some reason and Jesper realized halfway through that the merch was avoiding any direct conversation with Inej. For a moment Jesper wondered what the boy’s problem was, then he remembered, and his mood soured with a flash of sympathy and a tiny shred of exasperation. Why didn’t he just get it over with? It wasn’t like the merch had anything to fear from Inej, she was a literal Saint compared to the rest of them, and especially compared to Kaz.

Then Wylan abruptly cleared his throat and a tense, awkward silence fell. For a moment the boy sat playing with his fork, turning it over and over in his hand, then cleared his throat again but still said nothing.

“If you’re about to apologize to me for the Council session, you don’t need to.” Inej murmured at last. “I know the bill was a failure.”

Wylan’s shoulders dropped in disappointment, and he deflated with a huff. “Should have guessed you’d find out,” he mumbled.

“I wasn’t there to observe, but Kaz told me afterwards.”

“You were there?” Jesper couldn’t help but exclaim to Kaz in surprise. “Saint’s be damned if I saw you.”

“I don’t generally grace the sessions in my own capacity,” Kaz commented dryly. “It puts the poor, paranoid merchants in a tizzy to see the Bosses snooping around in their business. As if their decisions don’t affect us, just as much as the private merchants. But I have my ways to stay informed.”

“Well, regardless, I am sorry, Inej.” Wylan said. “I know this is important to you. It’s something I feel strongly about too, but I’m afraid I have nothing to offer beyond apologies…I wish it were different.”

“You don’t need any explanation, Wylan. It means more than enough that you even tried.”

Wylan bit his lip, still not totally convinced, but nodded. It would take time and a lot of repetition, Jesper knew, to actually get it through his skull that he was not to blame. Wylan was a sweet kid, but Ghezen’s Hand, he could be stubborn as a boulder when he made up his mind about something. Especially, when the boy felt he was at fault in some way.

“It’s not a surprise really,” Kaz put in, cutting through silence like a harsh slash from a knife. “I did warn you it’s too early for pushing the bill.”

“Well, I felt it was worth the attempt,” Wylan bit back. “Children are dying, Kaz. Immigrants are being swindled. The sooner we all put a stop to that, the better.”

“It’s not a matter of right and wrong. This is a con. You’re getting your mark to buy into the story you’re selling, at the right time, and for the right price. Until you’re ready to do that, preaching morals is only going to waste your time.”

The only answer Kaz got from Wylan was an impressive scowl, and Inej looking disheartened. Jesper cleared his throat, wincing at Kaz’s truly magnificent lack of tact. “Can’t you think of any better way to word that?” he asked.

As impervious to their disapproval as he was to atrocities pulling at his heartstrings, Kaz only shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

“Well, considering this is a farewell party to send Inej off with good wishes, maybe it’s a discussion we can save until later?”

“You need a better reason to make them abolish indenture than ‘it’s the right thing to do,’” Kaz went on, as if he hadn’t heard. “All your arguments are perfectly sound: the council is playing with fire, allowing extorted contracts to go on this long without intervention. Someone is going to take issue with their citizens being stolen. Probably the Ravkans, peddling themselves as ‘the saviors of abused Grisha everywhere.’ But the Council hasn’t felt the pressure yet.”

Across the table Wylan bristled, torn between despair and rage, obviously about to explode in a tirade. “Just because you’re willing to let this country go into the red doesn’t mean I am, Kaz. Some of us still give a damn about what’s best for the Kerch.”

In the privacy of his own thoughts Jesper spared a moment to mourn his pleasant, sociable dinner party. Kaz and Wylan were clearly about to start an argument that would leave them both stung and resentful for weeks, because they were too bloody similar, and neither could bear to back down from a challenge. Oh well…at least there was champagne.

“Just because I take the pragmatic view doesn’t make me a traitor to my country.” Kaz snapped. “I’m just telling you the realistic situation with the Council. They’re not philanthropists, they’re businessmen, you have to let it reach a crisis before you offer them a solution.”

“I’m not interested in the pragmatic view! It’s not about the smart decisions, I’m concerned that there are victims in need of help! Where’s the harm in trying to assist them?”

“None! As a thought experiment. But wasting your time on a proposal you know is going to get shot down is—“

Inej suddenly reached over and laid a hand atop Kaz’s on the table. The sight of Kaz allowing anyone to touch him—even the Wraith who had always gotten away with more liberties than the rest of them—without Kaz immediately bludgeoning them to a pulp or yanking himself away, was so odd that it made Jesper stare. That was new. So too was the almost conscience stricken look on Kaz’s face, there and gone so briefly Jesper almost thought he’d imagined it.

It was enough to make Kaz pause, then his shoulders dropped and he muttered begrudgingly, “I’m not saying you can’t try to pass the bill, despite them. But it might take years…even decades. You could just save yourself the pain.”

“I’ll decide that for myself.” Wylan said shortly. “Some things are too important to ignore.”

There was a short, unhappy pause. Inej still had that restraining hand on Kaz’s arm, and Wylan looked like a ticking bomb about to go off. The redhead was too obviously just waiting for Kaz to put one metaphorical toe out of line, before taking their disagreement back up. But Kaz actually said nothing else and let Inej keep her hand there, like he was just…backing down.

Jesper took up his champagne flute and winced when it clinked, loud in the dead silence. “Ahem! Well, until the bill is passed, we can enjoy watching Mercher big-wigs run around in circles on the tail of the Wraith!” He held his glass up against the light, the grin on his lips only slightly forced. “To Inej, Sankta of the True Sea! May she have a fair voyage and spread light to the darkest slaver’s hold.”

“To Inej!” Wylan said with a note of relief.

“Inej.” Kaz murmured.

The Suli girl actually blushed deeply enough for the cherry stain to show up on her dark tanned cheeks, practically squirming in self consciousness. “I’m not a Saint,” she protested halfheartedly, “and the True Sea doesn’t belong to anyone.”

With a subtle shift of the arm, Kaz turned his hand over, so he was now grasping Inej’s palm in his.

“You’re a Saint to us.” Jesper said kindly.

After a moment’s internal debate, Inej yielded and her shoulders dropped. “I appreciate the sentiment, even if I don’t agree…it’s good to know that so many people wish me well and are waiting for my safe return.”

“Always.” Wylan said.

“Cheers.” Jesper toasted his glass again.

Kaz gave Inej’s slender hand a gentle squeeze.

<>—<>—<>

After dinner the group of four moved to a casual sitting room at the back of the manor, still chatting and laughing together in careful harmony. Kaz and Wylan’s discord at the table had been thankfully brief and once Wylan finally accepted that Kaz wasn’t going to continue acting like an arse, the young merchant was more than happy to make his guest’s visit there a pleasant one. Jesper liked playing the host—when his guests weren’t just a bunch of greedy vultures masquerading in suits—and Wylan was a good kid as a general rule. He was open-hearted and quick to forgive, as Jesper well knew and had personal experience with benefiting from.

Outside the fire-lit interior of the mansion the dusk of Ketterdam was still foggy and wet, so they didn’t go outside. But the back lounge they chose to settle in looked out over the picturesque lawn and garden through large glass doors and broad bay windows, so they still had the illusion of space. Kaz went off to prowl in the darkest window seat of course, looking like an overgrown blackbird roosting in Wylan’s parlor. Wylan brought out a cigar box, pipe tobacco, snuff, and the tray of decanters, even though Inej was in the room.

Technically with a woman there it wasn’t proper, but no one batted and eye, and Jesper accepted a cigar just to be sociable, while Wylan packed a pipe and Inej poured herself a drink. The conversation was light—almost determinedly so—and Kaz even put in his own contributions every now and then. It was nice.

Jesper was suffocating.

The sensation of the clock on the wall was almost maddening, as the night went on. He knew they were all trying to keep a brave face on for Inej—and certainly the last thing he wanted to do was upset her the night before she sailed—but it still hurt. Jesper had enough space, enough…sobriety, to be frank, to honestly admit to himself when things hurt now. The black pit in his stomach didn’t consume all things quite like it had before.

Still, when Inej was distracted with Wylan, looking over engravings or something like that, which one of their merchant captains had brought back to them, Jesper faux-casually strolled to the window where Kaz was. The thief had installed himself in the window seat, his boots were propped up on the cushion, and he was watching Inej brush shoulders with Wylan, a hawklike expression on his own face. It was a complicated look, affectionate but also paranoid…and lonely.

Fuck, Jesper wasn’t drunk enough to untangle that.

“Did you bring them?”

Kaz conjured a packet of factory rolled cigarettes, seemingly from thin air, without bothering to look away from Inej. Like casual street magic was just a thing normal people did, like it was easy. There was a graphic of a naked woman with rosy tits on the front of the box, pouting her lips and framed by scarlet stage curtains. Jesper recognized the label from the Velvet Room, a somewhat seedy pleasure house on the Stave, famous for allowing its clients to smoke—and consume other criminal substances—while being entertained by the Dolls. Kaz avoided going into the pleasure houses unless he had to, so Jesper huffed and snatched the cigarettes out of Kaz’s hand, wondering where he’d gotten them and where they’d been hidden in his clothes. The cigarettes were no doubt filched from some hapless merchant’s pocket because Kaz never smoked any himself. He’d probably taken them along with everything else valuable the mark had on him, while walking to the Geldstraat.

Crafty prick.

“Mind if I sit?” Jesper asked, helping himself to a spot on the cushions in the window as he spoke. “Wylan hates when I smoke these in the house.”

Kaz briefly gave him a brooding glare, but didn’t actually protest as Jesper swung his legs up beside the thief’s. Well accustomed to Kaz’s scathing non-answers, Jesper coolly produced matches from his pocket and cupped the tiny flame in his hand as he held the cigarette in his mouth, until the leaves caught and Jesper pulled in a long, comforting drag. Warm, peppery smoke filled his mouth, burning gently in his lungs, and Jesper exhaled with a relieved sigh, reaching to open the window sash before Wylan could notice the acrid smell on the air.

“Fuck, that’s good.” He groaned as the last of the smoke fluttered away into the rainy darkness.

Eyes still vigilant over Inej, Kaz quirked a dark brow. “I don’t know why you’d think I mind the smell of shit tobacco any less than Wylan.”

“My dearest Kaz, in case it has escaped your notice, your clubs are full of chronic smokers. You don’t count.”

The thief’s mouth turned up ever so slightly at the corner and he didn’t deny it. Jesper counted it as a win and he pulled in another deep inhale, savoring the taste of burning tobacco, before letting it back out. He could already feel the buzz of chemicals starting to rise to his head, even after only two puffs. Training his Fabrikation made Jesper sensitive to things like that, even though Alkemi was a distant fringe that only nominally overlapped with his gifts.

“Saints, I missed these.”

“The Velvet sells those for a quarter-fish. They’re nothing special.”

“Cigars and pipe-tobacco are all well and good, but there’s nothing like a dirty drag to clear your sinuses. The Barrel makes them supreme…pretty sure it’s all that sin and debauchery in the air.”

A slight variation of the mixed expression Kaz had been giving Inej turned on Jesper instead and the thief spent a long moment chewing his words. “You could come round the Slat for a sample, if you’re really that strung out on luxury.” He said at last, awkward and a little hesitant, like he was choosing his words without quite knowing what they meant.

The Slat. Not the Crow Club.

They both knew Kaz had banned the door keepers and steerers from inviting Jesper into any of the Dregs’ clubs. His presence was barely even tolerated on the street nearby and they always watched him closely when there, like Jesper was about to gamble all his money away just by coming within a hundred yards of the gang’s gaming tables. But that meant there was a not insignificant barrier between Jesper and Kaz’s daily lives, absorbed as the boss was in the success of his clubs and the success of his ex-second, in equal measure.

Their conflict of interests was quite sad, now that Jesper was thinking about it.

Kaz had gone back to staring at Inej, with a level of open obsession Jesper had never seen the other boy allow himself before, though Jesper had known the interest was there in a more disguised form long ago. Letting it be seen was a new thing, but their whole crew had already guessed Kaz had a soft spot when it came to the Suli girl. Though Inej herself had seemed a bit dense on the uptake there for a bit.

Jesper was reluctant to break in on his brooding, but gently cleared his throat. “You know I’m not gonna go ‘round with you, yeah?”

His question made Kaz give him a look, confused and a little defensive.

“I’m not gonna work myself to death, trying to make you tell me what you’re up to these days. I know you must be busy with some scheme or other, but…” Jesper shrugged. “If you don’t tell me, I’m not asking. Got a bit of a feeling we’re both tired of that.”

A whole range of expressions shuffled across Kaz’s face during his little speech. First smug, then a bit uncertain, then more uncertain, almost guilty. Finally his mouth settled on a grim line, resigned and just a bit fatigued like Jesper had said.

The thief shrugged a little, wearily. “Maybe.”

Typical. Jesper suppressed a sigh and tried not to glare at the rain outside.

“I’m not—“ Kaz made a false start, then hesitated. Sighed. “I’m not a good conversationalist, Jesper.” He looked self-conscious as he admitted it.

“You could answer basic questions, that’s a start.”

Silence.

Kaz still had his head turned away, eyes hidden in shadow now under the droop of his face and shoulders. There was a tin flask in his hands, probably filled with some rubbish liquor from the Club, inferior to Wylan’s preferred vintages in everything but price.

“I’m just saying,” Jesper finished, “what else is there to hide? What’s the point of that.”

“Habit.” Kaz said shortly, with an awkward shrug.

It really was the honest truth though. Kaz was addicted to secrets. That was his drug of choice.

“But, you’d tell me if you were on something, right?” Jesper hazarded, his question almost fearful. “Like, you know I wouldn’t hold it over you somehow.”

“I know.”

“I’d have no leg to stand on anyway. I just…want you to tell me.”

Kaz’s gloves creaked, loud in their bubble of silence, as his fists clenched.

“Would you? Tell me?” Jesper asked. “Please, don’t lie.”

Kaz gave him a long, incomprehensible look, full of something Jesper could barely parse. “Yes,” he said, “I would. But there’s nothing to tell. Not like that…”

“Alright.” Looking at his abyss of an expression, Jesper shuddered and looked away, playing unhappily with the cigarette in his hand. “I’ll believe you.”

“It’s the truth. I thought about it, but…” the thief shrugged, “didn’t want to upset Inej.”

“How—how are things? With that whole…thing?”

There was a distinct resistance in the stiffening of Kaz’s shoulders, but even now he didn’t completely close up, he just got a bit stiff and wooden around the edges, like he was a mechanical boy.

“It is. A thing.” He conceded uneasily.

Wow. Kaz had just admitted it. Jesper was a little intimidated…and impressed. The Bastard might actually have heart after all, if he hadn’t just stolen it from someone else. Maybe Inej gave him half of her’s.

“You’ve told her, right?”

“She’s…amenable.”

Jesper snorted. “Saints—” he chuckled, “—you’re so repressed, Boss.”

“Oh sod off, you stupid cunt.”

Jesper choked on his cigarette and broke down wheezing with laughter. Eventually Kaz gave in and his mouth rose in a reluctant smile, clearly pleased.

“That’s delightful news. I’m very happy for you.” Jesper said with scrupulous politeness, when he finally could speak. “I shall tell Wylan to look forward to a spring wedding.”

“We’re not getting married, you idiot. She’s gone at sea half the year anyway.” The thief scowled impressively, clearly about to smack Jesper with the cane he still carried for the sake of his image, even though the limp was faked these days.

Clearly, this was a genuine sore spot. Jesper hastily cleaned up his entertained expression, grave as a vicar. “But it’s a thing.” He said, delicately. “And it is going.”

Kaz shrugged.

“How does that even work between you two?” Jesper asked lightly, then regretted his phrasing as soon as he’d blundered into it.

Kaz was like a force of nature and as a general rule he refused to apologize, or even act guilty, about anything. But you didn’t spend years being someone’s Second in every fight without learning something about them and Jesper knew Kaz resented his own discomfort with touch. It ate at him, Jesper knew that, but the Zemeni had just come dangerously close to making fun of it.

Brilliant, Jesper Fahey. Truly, just brilliant.

“Sorry—“ he mumbled, ducking his chin. “I didn’t mean—that’s not—M’sorry.”

There was a distinct, awkward silence. Jesper could feel Kaz’s black eyes boring holes into the side of his head.

“She sails. I wait.” Kaz said at last. “Then she comes back and I give her whatever information I picked up while she was gone.”

Biting his lip and feeling vaguely chastised, Jesper nodded. The plug of ash fell off the end of his cigarette and stained his trousers. He cursed under his breath, trying to rub the stain away with a thumb.

“Any new jobs in the works? Not that I’m available—Wylan would absolutely skin me—but…well. For old times sake.”

“Nothing I need a sharpshooter for,” Kaz shrugged again. “Just reconnaissance mostly, gathering information for her. It’s more efficient, when I investigate the buyers on my side and pick a target, then she hunts them down.”

The thief’s eyes unconsciously turned back toward Inej, watching her bend over the fire with Wylan. He had that strange, hungry look in his eyes again. Kaz looked rather like a poor kid staring through the shop window at a toy he wanted, but could never afford. It was a familiar expression, Jesper now realized.

Damn, this really was a thing, wasn’t it?

As if to answer his question, Kaz gripped the head of his cane, speaking with his eyes fixed on Inej’s face. “It’s all for her, now. The Clubs, the jobs, Fifth Harbor. Everything. Until it all burns down.”

Watching him yearn—because there could be no other possible word for it—Jesper’s heart squeezed inside his chest, half with sympathy, half with concern.

“It might not, you know.” He said. “Burn down, I mean. Wylan and I have a nice thing here, somehow—Saints know I tried to ruin it—but you and Inej could too.”

The only answer he got was a grunt.

“Well, if it does burn, let’s enjoy a hand of Bramble before it goes” Jesper said with forced cheer.

When Kaz looked at him, as if startled out of a reverie, Jesper tipped a nod toward the flask Kaz was fidgeting with. Shaking himself, the thief held it out and Jesper knocked back a burning swig. The other followed suit.

“To Inej,” Jesper said, “and everything else.”

Kaz’s brooding turned into a crooked smirk and he also drank. “To Inej,” he said, “and dead slavers.”

“That’s not at all disturbing, thank you. Now come on, you old podge, watching you mope over here in the corner is depressing. Come deal us all a game before you make me jump off the roof.”

“You want me to deal,” Kaz said, heavy with skepticism.

“Yes, because you’ll give me the win without making it look like I had help. Thank you in advance.”

<>—<>—<>

Will you be there tonight? And not just tonight?

That had been Inej’s request, and Kaz held out as long as he could, but in the end he abandoned the festivities when the pressure on his itching skin became too much to bear.

It wasn’t even exactly that he wanted to go. Some part of Kaz was always insatiably hungry for Inej, especially now that he only saw her for limited amounts of time. The last thing Kaz wanted to do—when he only had hours of her time left—was to walk away and spend them alone. But Kaz couldn’t stay in the house anymore, even if it peeled off the scabs in his soul and set the isolation to bleeding again, when he left.

Kaz, Wylan, and Jesper were all desperately trying to put off the fact that she was about to go, trying to make the most of their last moments with her, working hard to suppress the disappointment until she was safely far away and give her a cheerful send off. That multiplying of the same sensation, shared among three separate people, got so stifling he couldn’t draw his own breath anymore.

“‘Nej did I just see you palm a card! I could have sworn you pulled that out of your sleeve—“ Jesper’s indignant voice squawked.

For a moment the thief paused just outside the door, to observe their fire-lit figures through the illuminated crack. Jesper had a deck of cards in his hand and now he was counting them—presumably to insure that Inej hadn’t palmed any. Wylan had finally loosened up a bit and the top button of his collar was undone. His skin had that pale transparency from his mother’s Kaelish roots that showed alcohol well, even though he’d only been nursing one glass, and he looked a little flushed. Inej had her back to the door and Kaz could only see a bit of her profile from where he was standing. She was a dark bust with candlelight gilded on one cheek, scarlet flames captured in the sweep of dark lashes, and one pop of color where the silk ribbons in her braid caught the light.

Standing there, alone in the dark outside a fire-lit parlor full of laughing people, Kaz felt a depressing tug of deja vu.

Then he pivoted on his heel and went downstairs. Snatching his cane out of the rack of sticks in the hall, Kaz pulled his hat low over his eyes and stepped out onto the dark street. A dull, foggy evening had rolled in, with sweeps of drizzling rain that fell in erratic bursts as the wind blew. The moon was a dim, blurred disk, quickly sinking into full obscurity, and Kaz paused to steel his shoulders against the cold before he stepped out into the wet darkness.

The indifferent weather had cleared the streets of foot traffic and the Stadwatch were mostly huddling under overhangs and in the heated barracks, not out patrolling. Kaz had an easy stroll, meeting few pedestrians and fewer vehicles. Ketterdam at large was as close to deserted and quiet as it ever got, for such a cramped and crowded city.

As the thief stepped up onto the bridge over smedencanal a little boy also stepped onto the arched span from the other direction. He was a plain child with dark hair carefully brushed and a shabby but clean jacket, like one of the runners that hung about the Exchange. For a split second Kaz felt a lurch in his chest at the sight of him, old instincts tingling.

The little boy had a faint, passing resemblance to Jordie.

But only for a moment. The sensation passed quickly and was replaced with a forcible sense of distrust. This child was out of place. The financial district was mostly deserted for the night and had been for hours, yet this boy was walking the wrong way—toward the attorney’s offices and Exchange—not away from them. Kaz hesitated for the briefest instant, the rhythm of his steps interrupted by uncertainty, but he recovered and kept moving.

They were almost level now. The boy had his chin ducked down into a knitted wrapper insulating his throat, rushing along as if he had somewhere very important to be, though the streets were empty and most businesses closed for the night. Kaz gripped the head of his cane hard, strides lengthening as his assumed limp became less pronounced in anticipation of a fight. 

They were less than a yard from each other when the boy suddenly lunged, both hands reaching out as if to grasp something in the air. Kaz brought up his cane to take a swing. But as the boy’s hands closed, Kaz felt a shudder of discomfort run through him like an invisible chains constricting around his ribs, muscles seizing without his command.

Heartrender—

More figures were rushing onto the bridge. Two men came up from the street behind Kaz and another rushed out from the shadows behind the boy, all three charging. The Heartrender’s power was beating over him like the blast from a furnace and Kaz’s knees quaked with the effort of remaining upright.

“Let. Go.” He wheezed, dragging himself a step closer to the boy.

“Stop it!” The child exclaimed.

A second pulse of oppressive force rolled over Kaz as the Heartrender twisted his fingers and Kaz staggered to one knee with a cough. Both were sweating and the boy looked white as a sheet, fingers trembling.

“Let GO!”

The boy wailed in fright as Kaz struck him hard with the head of his cane. The Heartrender toppled like a thrown away children’s toy, and the last of the compulsion vanished, his concentration broken. Then the three other men were on Kaz and he lost sight of the boy.

The first drew a knife and Kaz danced out of the way just in time to avoid getting stabbed, but the cutting edge still dragged a long line of fire up across his ribs. In retaliation he drove the beak of his crow into the hollow of the man’s throat and ripped out, snapping the tendon and carotid. The man toppled with a surprised expression, clutching a hand to the gushing wound in his throat.

In that split second someone else drove their boot into the back of Kaz’s knee, aiming for the one that was supposed to be lame. After using parem at the Geldrenner, the bones were sound, but the old fracture still screamed in protest and Kaz lost his center of gravity.

“Now!” One man shouted.

As Kaz fell, the second man tried to stab him. Both dropped, Kaz underneath, and he barely managed to grab the blade, holding it away from his throat. The razor sharp edge ground against the bones in his palm. Blood poured down his fingers, spattering across his face and neck, making his grip slippery. Kaz’s arms were trembling with the effort of holding the knife away from his neck, and when the man on top of him grunted with effort, Kaz felt the hot breath puff against his face. 

In that moment, Kaz was a child of the streets—not a Barrel boss fighting equals. He felt small, sick and helpless. Inej had torn huge gaps into his walls this last visit and he was still vulnerable from her accursed touch. As the man straddled him, trying to bring the knife down, Kaz was suffocatingly conscious of every inch of flesh pressed against his own. It threatened him more than the knife did, made his head spin and his stomach roll like the pain could not.

He was nine years old all over again, half buried alive in a pile of bodies.

“Wilf, help me! Break his grip.”

The other thug started kicking him over and over in the ribs and white pain exploded across his vision. In some ways it was a reprieve. The pain yanked him back into himself, forced the world to refocus, and his vision returned with a desperate burst of clarity. He was gasping for breath, blood pouring down his face. The knife in his hands had slipped, the tip digging into his sternum until blood started to well up, but he wasn’t dead yet.

With an unexpected release Kaz let go of the knife, so it twisted to one side. The steel slid deep into his shoulder with deadly ease, cutting the flesh like butter, but it missed his heart and throat. That was all that mattered. The sudden shift was enough to redistribute the weight on him and he rolled as the knife drove home, giving the man atop him a knee in the groin. For a moment Kaz was free, wheezing for air through bloodied teeth, clutching lacerated fingers around the man’s throat with a vague intention of choking him.

“Sneaky little shit! Com’ere—” Two arms closed around Kaz’s throat from behind, locking off his air.

Now he was sandwiched between two bodies and the hallucination of death was worse than ever. The one grappling him had his sleeves rolled up and Kaz could feel a searing line of hot, hairy skin pressing against the curve of his jaw. The slide of blood between them felt like rotten skin sloughing off the muscle underneath and Kaz gagged.

“Choke him out and throw him in the canal.” The one in front of him urged. “We’re outta time, here. Gotta cut and run.”

Kaz screamed, struggling wildly. He was a trapped animal, no longer a rational, thinking creature. Just a frightened beast trying to escape, even though thrashing just hurt more. His helpless twitching produced no result and he clawed blindly at the arm around his throat, trying to get his fingernails beneath the skin.

“Shit—! Can’t you keep him quiet!?” The man who had just stabbed Kaz gripped him by the hair, wrenching his head back, so the man strangling him could have a better lock around Kaz’s throat.

For a wild, panic driven moment, the world was a spinning rotten place, filled with static and flashes of decay. His vision was too foggy to see the street anymore. His lips and fingers had gone numb. Kaz was dying. Blood pounded in his ears until it deafened anything else.

Thud— Kaz gasped, drawing in a thin, wheezing sip of air. Thud—Their pulse was deafening now, beating right behind him like they had all become one living organism. Thud—Fire roared up Kaz limbs, rising like molten gorge in his chest until it bottlenecked at the obstruction around his throat, a flood of heat with nowhere to go. 

Don’t give up, don’t give up, don’t give up—

“Let me GO!!!” Kaz screamed, fire wrenching up from somewhere deep inside his ribs. He could feel the sound resonating in his vocal cords, thin membranes of flesh trembling with shock.

Kaz tasted free air like ambrosia. The arm around his neck had vanished and the thrill of it rushed to his head like being intoxicated with liquor in an instant, none of the drink involved. He found himself on his feet without quite knowing how he got there, chest heaving huge gulps of air as fast as he could draw breath.

His fingertips were tingling, pleasantly numb.

The man holding him by the hair recoiled like Kaz had burned him, scrambling away on hands and knees in fear. Seeing him grovel, Kaz’s aggression woke back up, slowly stretching into awareness like a hunting cat rousing from a nap. These fools had attacked him. In his city.

They’d dared to lay hands on him, like the dead come back to claim their own. 

Groping blindly for the cane that had fallen from his hands, Kaz stumbled toward the thug, who was scrambling away on his hands. “Stop—stop—! We didn’t mean it!” The fellow stammered, eyes round with terror.

“I don’t care.” Kaz brought his cane down with a crunch—vengeful, cleansing power roared into his limbs and he reveled in the sensation of injured flesh under his weapon, enjoying the surge of new confidence he felt. 

Kaz staggered to his feet and turned on the other one, still lashing out in a blind frenzy.

“No, no, no, wait!—“

The thief rained down blows, hardly even conscious of the pleas for mercy, or the bloody snarl of his own expression. In moments the street had fallen silent. Kaz stood over the three bodies gasping, his head spinning with a cocktail of exhaustion and euphoria that made his ears feel cottony. Pain seared through him from the knife still embedded in his shoulder, but it was numb under the fog of relief

I’m not dead. The thought was a marvel, the most wonderful thing he’d ever felt. Parem, Jordie, the Reaper’s Barge, and all other things Death felt far from his thoughts. Cut away from his mind like a rotting limb that had severed from the rest of his body, with one clean slice.

He felt Alive—

A few yards away, movement wrenched him out of his distraction. The Heartrender boy was hiding behind one of the street lights and he suddenly took off in a panic, running as hard as his legs could carry him. Kaz just had time to blink and stare at the bodies on the street, then he was hot in pursuit. 

Chapter Text

“Are you falling asleep, Wy?”

“M’not asleep…”

Wylan had his head propped up on the arm of the sofa and now his eyes were drooping. He looked like a pale, wilted flower, and Jesper chuckled softly at the sight of him. “You don’t have to force yourself to stay up, you know…” the Sharpshooter went on. “Just go to bed.”

The only answer he got was a halfhearted grunt and the shrug of one shoulder.

Jesper turned away with a fond roll of his eyes. Sitting on the other side of the coffee table Inej was watching them both with a warm expression. The ruins of their last card game was scattered before her and a wine bottle sat open by her elbow. Wylan’s cup was still half full, Jesper’s mostly finished, and Inej’s lightly sipped from. Kaz’s was still completely untouched and Jesper picked it up with a resigned sigh.

“He’s gone, then.”

“Half a chime ago.” Inej murmured. “It hurts him less, that way, I think…No goodbyes.”

“Will you be going back to the Slat after this?”

“Not tonight. Better just to embark straight from the harbor, first low tide.” Inej toyed with her own glass, but didn’t drink.

The sharpshooter stole a gulp of Kaz’s untouched wine, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist. There was a short unhappy silence.

“You know we’ll look out for him,” Jesper said.

“He takes it so hard every time I leave.”

“Inej.” Jesper said, leaning forward. When she looked up at him Jesper went on with a solemn expression. “We’ll take care of him.”

Inej smiled, but it was a tight, conflicted expression. “I know. I still worry,” she said.

“Me too.” Jesper agreed with an ironic snort.

“I feel called to this path I’m on, but…It puts him back. We always have to rebuild the trust, every time I come back.”

Jesper rolled his lower lip between his teeth, searching for a response. There didn’t seem to be one. Kaz and Inej were tangled up in a complicated dance that Jesper didn’t know how to solve or join. It made him exhausted just to watch.

“He looks for excuses to brush my arm or lean his weight into me, when I’m about to leave Ketterdam. Then I come back and he can barely touch my fingertips with his gloves on. It’s like he’s punishing me for leaving at all.” Inej sighed. “I know it’s not like that, not really…But I know he resents the times apart.”

It was an odd thought to consider. As far as Kaz was concerned, Inej had always been the golden child in his ill gotten brood of criminals and nobodies that he called a gang. She was the exception to all his rules, the confidant in all his secret schemes.

Inej had always been the Bastard’s favorite.

“He does get hostile with me, you know,” she said, as if she could read Jesper’s doubtful thoughts. “I’m not immune. Sometimes he looks at me and I know he’s furious with me, or with us, or with everything…but he just bottles it up and keeps it all inside, like he can make it go away if we don’t talk about it.”

Jesper couldn’t help a defeated chuckle at that, shaking his head in exasperation. “That’s Brekker for you,” he mumbled. With Kaz brooding on their parlor couch in stormy weather, stealing petty valuables, and refusing to speak to them, there was no way to ignore his drama.

“I want him to be better,” Inej swept the playing cards into a pile and began to sort them.

Beads of condensation were rolling down the sides of the thief’s unfinished glass like sweat and Jesper impulsively quaffed the remaining wine in a single mouthful. As Inej sorted the suits into piles Jesper watched her, rolling the leftover wine around behind his teeth. It had gone lukewarm and mellow while it sat untouched.

“He is better, you know.” Jesper said quietly, after all the wine was gone. “You make him better.”

“I hope so…” she replied with a mournful shrug.

She really couldn’t see the weight of what she was doing, could she? The gravity of what her influence meant to Kaz.

These days it was dangerously easy for Jesper to forget what she’d gone through. She was a vision of freedom and inspiration, so far from the skittish child she’d been, Jesper could almost forget that she’d ever flinched from a hug when the Slat got too rowdy. These days she seemed so confident, unshakable, until something brought back the shadow of her old fearful self.

“You have changed him.” Jesper said. “Kaz doesn’t push you away like he does with everyone else.”

“The first meal we ate together, he told me he’d break my nose if I touched his coat without permission.”

Her statement made Jesper snort in amusement, then frown in pity. “Kaz was a mess when we first met,” he said. “He calmed down a bit, after Haskel finally gave him the reins. He had the control he wanted, I guess, and felt safe enough to back off a little.”

Inej gave him a sad smile. Jesper gazed moodily down into the empty glass, looking at the bit of leftover wine still caught in the very bottom.

“They didn’t call him a mad dog for nothing. He used to get in fights so much, I always had to keep my guns close, because I never knew when he’d start something and it would turn into a shootout. Most thugs, they square up first, right? Get in each other’s faces, you know, typical tough-guy stuff. But Kaz, he’d explode over nothing. You never knew when he was about to snap. He’d just attack out of nowhere, like a fucking maniac.”

“I know,” Inej whispered.

Jesper put his head in his hands and scrubbed until his curly hair stood up like it had been struck by lightning. Finally Jesper looked up and found Inej watching him with a subdued expression.

“He really was mad, just a little bit, I think. Halfway insane with all the—“ Jesper broke off to wave his hand around in a vague circle, as if to encompass everything in Ketterdam, “—the Barrel, being like it is, I guess. It’s fucked.”

“I know,” Inej whispered again, even softer this time, and now her expression was drawn tight as if with pain.

She did know. Jesper could see that. Inej had come out of the Menagerie. She definitely understood more than Jesper did, from the things she’d gone through, and who knows what other fucked-up-shit Kaz had confided in her since, as well. They were definitely closer in a way they hadn’t been before.

“Then he brought you around.” The Zemeni said, leaning back into the plush comfort of Wylan’s antique parlor furniture. “You know, I never saw the inside of his office, before that? No one went in there. Ever. He was furious if someone even tapped the door with their knuckles. Then you began coming in through the window, and he just…started leaving the door open.”

Inej tilted her head on one side, waiting for Jesper to elaborate.

“He is changing, is what I’m trying to prove here. He’s getting better. Tonight he told me he’s been staying clean, because he doesn’t want to upset you.”

Inej looked at him with wide, dark eyes glittering under her fringe of hair coming loose from its braid. She looked surprised, almost spooked. The thought of Kaz taking more parem had never occurred to her, Jesper realized with a weight in his stomach. That fear hadn’t even crossed her mind.

Did she really admire him that much? Or was she just that blind?

“And anyway,” Jesper said, trying to lighten the mood, “he’s Kaz. That skiv has survived a literal bomb blast.”

It still fell somewhat flat. Inej smiled tightly. “Maybe you’re right,” she murmured.

“Maybe? Darling, he’d crawl out of the crater just to claim victim’s compensation on the property damage.”

That made Inej laugh and the air felt different after.

“I suppose I just…hope for too much.” Inej said, like it pained her a little to admit.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. Hope all you want. I’m sure you’re patient enough to get it, and you’ve got twice as much goodness as the rest of us put together. He’ll come round. But well, he is the Bastard, you know.”

The Suli girl smiled tightly.

“It’ll take time.” Jesper said, his voice softening. “It’ll take a lot of time.” 

Their solemn moment was interrupted by an enormous crash and the clatter of broken glass as the window burst inward. Jesper leapt to his feet, Inej on his heels, and Wylan floundered awake with an imprint of the parlor pillows stamped into his cheek. All three teens whirled toward the parlor windows and Jesper realized they were all armed. Jesper’s fingers had automatically flown to his revolvers, Inej had pulled a decorative onyx pin from her hair to reveal a needle sharp dagger, and even Wylan had produced one of his chemistry experiments.

Old habits.

The largest bay window looking out into the back garden was smashed to pieces and there was glass scattered across the floor, a broken flower pot lying crushed at the center, the obvious culprit for the other damage. A sudden flood of storm noise and wind came blasting through the shattered panes, rain pelting across the carpet. It was absolutely black outside, the day’s fog deepening into true storm darkness, obscured by the sheets of pounding rain. Through this darkness, rising like a demon Kaz appeared, kicking away the fringe of broken glass along the window ledge with his boot as he stepped across the seat cushions.

After the first shock, Kaz looked more like a bedraggled cat or an angry raven than a devil. The thief was clutching his side with one hand and holding a scrawny boy by the scruff of the jacket, both absolutely drenched to the skin. The smaller child looked white, scared, and miserable, while Kaz’s face was a grim thunderhead, lips pressed into a thin white line of pain and carefully controlled rage.

“Kaz, what on earth is going on?!” Wylan yelped.

Without answering, Kaz frog marched his strange prisoner past them to the wingback chair before the fire and half shoved, half threw the child down into the seat. Everyone else followed like a flock of frightened sheep. Kaz yanked out a footstool and cast himself on it with a hiss. His eyes glittered strangely while a vein on his forehead pulsed.

“Kaz, you’re bleeding.” Inej said.

It was true, Jesper realized. Kaz was leaving puddles on the floor from his soaked and streaming clothes, but there were swirls of diluted red mixed with the rainwater running from Kaz’s legs and dripping off his coat. He wasn’t the only one, either. Most of it had washed off, but the boy still had smears of a severe bloody nose on his lips and chin, which now was darkening into a distinct bruise. Jesper recognized the purple-black kiss of Kaz’s fabrikated cane, still familiar after rough parleys and encounters with drunks at the Crow Club. 

“Someone get a rope and tie down this little tick, before he gets any ideas.” Kaz said without bothering to explain himself.

“Kaz, I am not tying a ten year old child to a chair.” Wylan protested.

“I’m already twelve!—“ the boy protested hotly.

Kaz cut him off with a rough kick to the shins. “Shut up. No one asked.”

The thief’s dark eyes were burnt black as coal when he looked at them and Jesper thought he could sense a wild edge to his gaze. Something paranoid and half feral, like an injured wolf thrashing in the jaws of a trap, when the threat of danger approached. He was off balance. Spooked. There was still bloody water dripping on the floor.

“This little skiv is a Heartrender. Someone tie him down, or I’m breaking his fingers.” Kaz snarled. “I’m not risking one of us getting knocked out or choked to death.”

“How about we try talking to the child, before we mutilate him?” Jesper said with exaggerated cheerfulness. Turning on the boy, Jesper said, “put your hands on the armrests.” The boy moved to obey and Jesper flourished one of his revolvers. “If I see you so much as twitch a pinky, you’ll get a very personal demonstration with one of these.”

Wylan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe we’re doing this…”

“Needs must, Wylan, and don’t preach.” Kaz snapped.

He was shrugging out of his coat as he spoke, and Jesper winced. There was a long, raggedly bleeding gash up one side of the boy’s ribs and multiple bruises. He looked like he’d been in a proper mill and only barely come out the other side in one piece. As Kaz moved there was a flash of scarlet and white skin and Jesper realized Kaz’s hand was lacerated, showing through the leather, fingers trembling like a leaf so badly that he could hardly use them. Inej took an involuntary step forward then faltered, probably recalling the boundaries Kaz constantly moved within.

“You, start talking,” Kaz said, speaking harshly to the boy. “Who put you up to this?”

Stubborn silence. The Heartrender was staring at his hands, where he had them obediently adhered to the arms of the chair, not moving but definitely not cooperating either. Unbothered, Kaz started stripping out of his waistcoat, revealing the torn shirt underneath. The white cotton was dyed scarlet all down one side of his body. Had he actually been stabbed?

Jesper’s heartbeat kicked up into double time.

“Listen kid, I’ve only got use for hostages who talk.”

The child blanched, looking small and scared. “I don’t know anything!”

Jesper felt like cringing along with him. Somehow, even after all these years together, it was easy for Jesper to forget what a violent bastard Kaz could be. Then the thief would go and do something brutal that reminded him all over again and leave him wondering…just how redeemable was Kaz Brekker anyways? Inej looked just as upset, and Wylan was scowling ferociously in disapproval.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Inej broke in. “Just tell us everything you know.”

“You’re not helping.” Kaz snarled at her.

During this exchange Kaz had yanked the bottom of his shirt out and now he shrugged it off completely. His torso was white as wax, pale and bony, dark with the shine of oozing blood. Jesper couldn’t smother a concerned hiss at the sight of him, eyes captured and held by the multiple bleeding wounds he could spot just in a single glance.

“Magda’s whores, Kaz—“ Jesper yelped.

Kaz glared at him while feeling blind along the open cuts with ginger fingers. It was hard to tell with all the blood, but Jesper was pretty sure he could see flashes of rib peeking out, under the bloody flesh. The sharpshooter turned away with a dry-heave.

“Talk. Now.” The thief ground out. “If you have nothing to tell me, I might as well just toss your carcass in the Goedcanal for the bodymen to fish out.

“I can’t tell you anything,” the Heartrender boy pleaded, “I’ll get in trouble.”

“You’re already in trouble,” Kaz assured.

“We’ll protect you,” Inej said.

They broke off to glare at each other. Jesper sighed. Still staring down Inej like a bulldog at the pit fights, Kaz grabbed one of the decorative pillows from the settee and pressed it to his wounded side without looking at what he was doing. Throwing up his hands with a scoff, Wylan darted away, vanishing into the house.

“Let’s start with your name,” Inej said. She slid gently onto the low couch next to the grisha boy while Kaz continued to make a production of ignoring her and dressing his wound. “What are you called?”

“Alexei…” the boy said in a low, frightened mumble.

“Is that a Ravkan name?”

Alexei gave a slow, miserable nod.

“Kaz said you’re a Heartrender, is that right? Are you indentured here?”

“Of course he attacked me, but you’ll take his side.” Kaz commented bitterly.

“I’m not taking anyone’s side, Kaz. I don’t even know what’s going on yet.” Inej snapped.

Wylan returned with a proper first aid kit, which he threw down on the coffee table beside Kaz. Begrudgingly, Kaz reached for the supplies, peeling the ruined pillow away from his ribs. Still pressing his lips into a thin line, Wylan picked it up from the ground, turning it over as if to figure out how the stained fabric could be salvaged. The pillow looked like a lost cause from Jesper’s point of view.

“Listen, Alexei, I’m not going to hurt you.” Inej went on in a coaxing tone. “I just want to understand, that’s all.”

“It’s not that complicated. Someone paid off this little blood-sucker to jump me.” Kaz said, yanking loops of bandage tight around his sliced ribs, as if they’d personally insulted him.

Inej ignored him, still focused on the young Heartrender. The boy looked like he was longing to fidget, but was still wary of Jesper’s revolvers and keeping himself studiously frozen. As if the sharpshooter had the least intention of using his guns at this point. Alexei might have a dangerous power, but it was becoming abundantly clear that the boy himself was harmless.

“I really can’t tell you anything,” Alexei whispered.

“Well, considering what you are, it’s abundantly clear that someone powerful and wealthy wants me dead. Corporalki indentures aren’t cheap.” Kaz said with ghoulish nonchalance, as if people trying to kill him were an every day occurrence.

Knowing Kaz, Jesper thought it probably was.

“I didn’t want to kill you,” the boy protested tearfully, beginning to tremble apart in his chair. “I just had to hold you still!”

“It’s the same thing. If I hadn’t fought back, I’d be a dead man.”

Alexei didn’t answer, huddling in his chair while his shoulders shook.

“Who was it then? Who paid you?” Kaz was still pressing. “Did Jan Van Eck scrounge up enough scrub to hire some bruisers?”

“He said he was indentured, Kaz.” Inej protested. “He probably isn’t being paid at all.”

“Any fool with half a brain would say that, when they’re caught. No one kills another person for nothing—not even this little idiot—so I want to know what his price is.” Kaz leaned threateningly into Alexei’s space while his eyes seemed to shine like two bits of soulless obsidian glass. “Who bought you, and what did they pay you?”

The child flinched back with a sob. He was trembling with terror. “I can’t tell!”

“Kaz, threatening this boy isn’t going to help anyone! You can’t get everything you want through fear! Sometimes all you can do is ask.”

Wylan stirred and abruptly spoke, interrupting them both. “Councilman Haske.”

All eyes turned toward Wylan. Alexei looked like a hunted animal. It was clear the name meant something to him and he couldn’t conceal the significance in his reaction, all the blood draining from his face. The child looked half sick. Wylan was chewing his fingernails in the way he did when nervous.

“Who’s Councilman Haske?” Inej asked.

“New blood. Replaced his father when the old man fell into poor health at the beginning of this quarter term.” Kaz explained distractedly. “He just took seat on the council a few months ago, you wouldn’t have heard about it away at sea.”

“I was going to ask you about him,” Wylan said to Kaz. “He came by my office yesterday afternoon. It seemed odd somehow like he was trying to bully me, making threats about the Wraith and what people might think if I kept pushing the reformation bill.”

“You should have said something if he threatened you!” Jesper exclaimed.

“It wasn’t quite that overt! He didn’t say anything that would incriminate himself, but the implication was there. I certainly didn’t think he’d do something as bold as this, right after speaking to me. His behavior seemed more calculated than that. If there was anything to worry about, I figured we’d have time to investigate it.”

“Are you sure it’s him?” Inej said.

“It all fits together. He’s definitely got some kind of grudge against the Wraith but…the timing is so strange. Why would he act so vague at my office, then go out and put a hit on Kaz the next night?”

“Our connection isn’t well known, and I’ve taken pains to erase what little there ever was,” Kaz said. “Kaz Brekker and Wylan Van Eck move in different circles for the most part, and Wylan Hendricks never existed on any legal papers. If the Council knows we’re acquainted at all, it’s only distantly. Maybe Haske thought it wouldn’t get back to you.”

“If he’s got any brains at all, he’ll have traced your path from the city, straight to my back parlor window.” Wylan said, beginning to pace. “That separation isn’t going to hold up for long.”

“But why would he attack you?” Inej said incredulously. “What does a Council Member stand to gain from taking down gang bosses?”

“Maybe he’s moving in on the Barrel?” Jesper theorized.

“It’s too immediate.” Wylan contradicted. “All the Councilmembers do some business with the Barrel, but they go through laundries or third party brokers to clean up the cash. Too incriminating otherwise.

“Kaz?” Inej questioned.

A complicated expression passed over Kaz’s face, something equal parts victorious and resigned. For a moment Jesper frowned, caught by that look, and he wondered what Kaz was thinking.

Inej caught the look also. “What did you do?” She demanded.

“I have many enemies, Inej. They could move against me for any number of reasons.”

“I thought you were clear with the Merchant Council.”

“I am.”

“Unless you’ve worked out some kind of dark business deal that you haven’t told us about.” Wylan interrupted accusingly.

“I’ve never brokered a parley with Maarten Haske,” Kaz denied, scowling.

“Really? Are you absolutely certain?”

“You think I’d lie?”

“I think you’ve made deals with crooked people before. And let’s not forget my father. Look how well that turned out.”

“Jan Van Eck has nothing to do with—“

“We all know you’re not above accepting a bad gamble when you think you’re clever enough to outsmart it. So maybe I’m just guessing, but I think you’ve gotten into something too big to handle and now you’re too arrogant to ask for—”

A loud hammering at the front of the mansion interrupted them just as Kaz and Wylan started to shout in earnest. Frightened silence fell, all conversation sucking away into an expectant void. Wylan’s cheeks were blotchy with the red flush of anger, pink like a doll, blue eyes bright with emotion, and he was breathing hard. Inej’s eyes looked too large for her face, black annd frightened, while Kaz was stiff as a cornered animal and aggressive like one too.

“Wylan?” Inej quavered.

“Councilman Van Eck!” A strange voice shouted outside, muffled through the walls.

“I’m not expecting anyone—”

“Councilman?” One of the foot servants had appeared at the parlor door in search of his employer, looking curious and excited, as if he could tell something odd was going on. “There are several people at the front door, but I already locked up for the night, should I—“

“Councilman Van Eck! Come forward!”

Jesper sprinted to the foyer, striding into the hall with Inej and Wylan on his heels. Another of the footmen was standing at the bottom of the grand staircase, uncertain what he was supposed to do. The little Heartrender boy was entirely forgotten. Only Kaz remained, sitting with his dark eyes still fixed on the child. Wylan came to a stop in front of the doors but made no move to open them, hands curled into fists, shoulders squared as if the redheaded merch was about to face down a rampaging bull. There was a heavy, thudding knock on the closed doors, echoing through the whole foyer like a bass drum.

“Sir—the doors—“ The footman said to Wylan.

“Don’t open them.” Wylan commanded the footman, as the servant took a step forward.

The manservant obediently halted. Another impatient heavy knock came a moment later, louder than before. “The Stadwatch commands this residence to yield entry!”

Jesper glanced at his friends. They looked just as frightened as he felt. His heart was pounding and the tips of his fingers tingled, like they did in the split second before a fight. Then door juddered in it’s hinges. Someone on the other side had struck a blow, shaking the whole frame. The Stadwatch were starting to batter it down.

“Sir!” The footman yelped.

“Don’t open it!”

“They’re just going to break in anyway!” Jesper snarled.

“Yes! And then they can explain this show of force to a team of lawyers.”

On the fifth blow the latch of the door gave way and the wood bounced back upon it’s hinges. Beyond the portal the Stadwatch were arranged in an orderly regiment, carrying rifles. The butts of their weapons had left huge scars upon the once charming green and red door, obliterating the decorative painted tulips. A uniformed officer stepped through and looked around the foyer.

“Councilman Van Eck. Mister Fahey. Inej Ghafa.” He said deliberately, ticking them off with his eyes one by one, like items on a list.

“Sir, what is the meaning of this?” Wylan demanded.

“Inej Ghafa,” the officer went on as if he hadn’t heard. “You are under arrest.”

“What???” Wylan yelled.

“Detain her.”

Stadwatch were tramping into the room, each armed to the teeth and stony faced. Before Inej could do more than glance around for an available escape, four rifle barrels were already leveled at her chest, and the officer spoke dryly. “I wouldn’t attempt to evade arrest, if it were you.”

“Wait—wait—wait!” Jesper pleaded. “What is happening? Why is she arrested?!” The lump in his throat made it hard to talk. His stomach was doing somersaults.

“Officer, I must demand an explanation for this!” Wylan seethed, clearly incandescent with fury and struggling to remain professional as his status on the Council demanded.

“Sir, the Stadwatch are in pursuance of a fugitive that fled the scene of an assault on two officers, earlier this evening.” The uniformed leader said, addressing Wylan with curt disinterest, as if this speech was merely a matter of course. “These officers were injured in the line of duty and the suspect escaped. They may have commandeered entry to this premises.”

“Miss Ghafa has been my dinner guest all evening. She never left the house.”

“Given the serious nature of these events, the Council has issued a title of mandatory search for this home. With the Council’s signature, the Stadwatch are authorized to make a search and thorough inventory of all persons and possessions within this residence.”

“Who signed the title?”

“That information is not relevant to conducting the search—“

“Who signed it?”

“Sir, by order of the Council, this investigation can be conducted with or without your cooperation, Mister Van Eck. Now I must strongly advise—“

“Officer.” Kaz’s voice cut through the rising chaos like a strike of lightning.

The Dreg’s titular leader was standing with both his hands resting on his cane, expression hard and inscrutable. Gone were the bony shoulders, drenched hair, and hunted expression of a fugitive. His injured hand and lacerated ribs were all concealed away behind forbidding garments and impeccable posture. The crisp drape of his coat outlined his shoulders in perfect black lines, as sharp as the severe angles of his face. In that moment Kaz was the quasi myth and nightmare-legend of Dirtyhands brought to life, a walking and breathing weapon revealed before them.

The Bastard King of the Barrel, made flesh.

Jesper’s heart soared and for moment he felt a surge of the old confidence, full of trust in Kaz’s indomitable brilliance. He’d find a way to get them out of this. Kaz always found a way. It was the bedrock of Jesper’s gambling heart: the fact that no matter how much cash he blew at the tables, Kaz would still be sane in the morning. He’d still be in control, still scrape Jesper’s shattered pieces back together, be the noose Jesper could count on to catch him when Jesper couldn’t catch himself.

“There’s no need for this charade,” Kaz told the Stadwatch, dark eyes glittering. “We’ll both turn ourselves in.”

“WHAT?!” Wylan shouted a second time.

Everyone in the room reacted, the Stadwatch glancing at each other in confusion. They were all shifting uneasily on their feet, perhaps instinctively aware that something was not right. Clearly they had expected resistance and this turn of events left them stymied. And who could blame them when every rumor in the Barrel painted Dirtyhands Brekker in bloodier colors than the last. Even Jesper had anticipated a shootout.

Only the commanding officer stood unaffected at parade attention. “You are placing yourself under the authority of the Stadwatch, sir?” He said with an officious jut of his chin.

“That is correct.”

“Kaz—“ Inej gasped, blanching on her feet like she’d been struck.

The thief briefly glanced at her and for half an instant Jesper caught a mirror of the same complicated, half resigned expression on his face, which he’d given her before. It was so quick you could almost miss it, but in that split second Kaz’s eyes were a window into the soul of a human boy like any other, no Bastard of the Barrel, or Mad Dog of the Dregs to be found. It was far too vulnerable and it sent chills of dread down Jesper’s back.

Kaz turned back to the Stadwatch, “Both myself and Miss Ghafa will go with you.”

“Very well sir. The Stadwatch is authorized by the sovereign nation of Kerch to take all citizens suspected of a crime into custody, pending trial before a judge and cabinet of criminal settlement.” The officer recited. “Kaz Brekker and Inej Ghafa, you are both suspected of a crime on one or more counts, placing yourself in the authority of the Stadwatch. If either of you resist this detainer, it will be counted as additional charges of evading arrest in your audience before the Cabinet.” Then he waved his men forward and said, “Cuff them both.”

“Wait—” Jesper knew he was babbling but he couldn’t help it, “you can’t be serious—“

The look Kaz gave him was withering. For that split second Jesper felt like the gambling-addict he used to be, falling apart under Kaz’s judgmental gaze. A fuckup, exposed by the other’s obsessive competence.

“Kaz Brekker, you are under arrest on charges of assault and battery against two men, murder in the first degree, and are suspected foul play in the free market of Ghezen.”

Wylan choked on nothing, blue eyes half wild, cheeks glowing. Jesper felt like he was about to throw up. Through it all, Kaz watched them without protest or even surprise, as if this was all merely an everyday occurrence.

“Inej Ghafa, you are also suspected of foul play in the open market and taken into custody, pending further investigation.”

Already guards were marching forward to seize Inej by the wrists and the others were bringing out rattling chains. Jesper’s ribs felt like a vice, constricting the soft tissue of his lungs until no air could penetrate. He cast a final desperate glance at Kaz and then Wylan, but received no directions from either of them.

“In the eyes of Ghezen, you are prisoners of the Kerch Isle and her holy Council.” The uniformed man announced, dry and emotionless. “Praise Ghezen and all his works. Let the industrious prosper.”

Chapter Text

“Kaz?” Inej whispered. “Kaz, what’s the plan?”

The two of them were lying back to back in the darkness of a Stadwatch wagon, smothered by stale air and the deafening rumble of heavy wheels. Both of them had been cuffed with shackles that connected at the wrists, ankles, and an iron collar around the neck. The stench of past prisoners and old misery seemed to breathe in the air, like a miasma in the confined space, just as much as the literal filth and dirt around them.

When the Stadwatch arrested them Inej had been thrown into the transport wagon on her side and with her hands cuffed together she couldn’t get the proper leverage to shift herself into a more comfortable position. There was a thin layer of damp and dirty straw cluttering the corners of the locked wagon, but the scanty comfort did nothing to cushion their jolted and rattling journey. Every bump over uneven cobbles irritated a growing bruise on Inej’s shoulder where she was lying against the unforgiving wood. She felt like a bruised vegetable and there was a flutter of controlled panic in her stomach.

When Kaz made no answer, the flutter turned into a cramp of fear at the bottom of her abdomen “Kaz!” She hissed a little louder, in case he hadn’t heard her over the rumble of the wheels.

No answer.

Inej tried twisting her wrists where they were locked together and swallowed back a whimper when she felt no give in the iron shackles. She was struggling desperately not to remember the other times she’d been trapped in darkness and chains, just like this. The Ice Court, tasting the claustrophobic darkness of a prison cart, as bodies pressed against her and Kaz shook to pieces at her side; and even earlier, the monotonous hell of a slaver’s ship, weeping from the torpor of her bodily senses, just as much as the memories of the idyllic life she’d lost. Then, just as she was now, Inej had been torturously helpless, trembling in the jaws of the future.

The same lump of fear clogged in her throat, and Inej wrenched at her chains again, just to feel something—anything—other than the familiar ache of sitting too still in one forced position.

“I can’t get my own shackles open. There’s not enough slack to reach.” Inej whispered. “If you can roll closer to me, I’ll hold still and you can unlock them. Then I’ll have my hands free to get yours.”

Still, Kaz made no answer. Losing her patience and starting to truly panic, Inej rolled over to look at him, wincing when a bump in the road made her knock her head into the floor. Kaz was supine and motionless, gazing up at the dark roof of the cart with a stony expression. The passing flicker of streetlights through the barred windows at the back of the cart illuminated his face in short bursts, leaving both of them in stuffy dimness between the pools of light. In each passing yellow beam across his face the odd play of dingy gaslight made his expression appear to warp strangely, eerily similar to different emotions, though none of his features actually moved.

“Kaz.” Inej emphasized. 

Finally, the boy looked at her. The Stadwatch had cuffed them both, but—wary of Kaz’s skill with locks—the Stadwatch had closed his shackles especially tight. They’d stripped his jacket and waistcoat, and he looked vulnerable without it, smaller than himself, stripped down and exposed. There was already blood and chafing around the tender skin of his throat where the iron was too tight, ripping cruelly into his neck and wrists.

“If you can’t reach your cuffs, pick mine. Then I’ll have my hands free to get you out.” She urged a second time.

Kaz glanced at her, a flash of black eyes in the dimness as they rolled under a street lamp. She knew he was listening. Surely he had a set of tools hidden somewhere? Kaz was never without an extra trick or escape plan. Then the gaslight slid away as the prison cart turned a corner and he was gone, merely a gray and blurry shadow in the darkness.

“Kaz, answer me!”

“What do you want me to say?”

Finally, a response.

“You promised.”

Kaz’s silence was cold and noncommittal. The Suli girl had to swallow hard before she could speak.

“Knives out, pistols blazing,” she rasped. “That’s what you promised me.”

“Inej…” She couldn’t see his face, but his voice almost sounded tender.

It was startling, compared to his usual veneer of distance and professionalism. If they weren’t smothering in the back of a prison cart, Inej would have treasured the sentiment in his voice, rare as a black pearl among white. He cared, he cared, she knew he cared, but Kaz allowing it to show was a precious rarity.

“We’ll be ready, when they open the doors,” She urged. “We can brawl our way out. I managed to hide one of my knives.”

“And then what? Have the whole city after us? What would be the point of that?”

“We’ll run. If we both run, they’ll never be able to catch us.”

She kept waiting for him to pull the wool from her eyes, say ‘gotcha,’ and unveil his grand plan. He loved to trick her, like a magician performing for an audience of one; surely he’d reveal his gambit any moment now. But he did nothing. He was inaccessible, like walls had risen between them in the space of one hour. It was infuriating. Kaz never just gave up like this! Even when he’d walked straight into the open maw of the Ice Court, he’d had his plan to get them all out again.

There had to be a trick somewhere. There just had to be!

“I can’t get arrested, Kaz. My crew, the people on that ship, the souls on the True Sea, they’re my responsibility. I’m not just your Wraith anymore, I have people depending on me too.”

Still nothing.

For a moment Inej felt a surge of helpless rage, like a child weary of being told ‘no.’ She wanted to shout him into submission, push her fingers into his skull and force his mind to yield its secrets to her. She was so tired of not being able to understand him.

But soon enough the resentment cooled, and Inej whimpered. “Kaz, please.”

“It’ll be alright, Inej. I promise.” Kaz murmured with such uncharacteristic gentleness, it made Inej openly stare. “We always are, in the end.”

Inej, not Wraith, just her name…Inej. Somehow the weight of that one word chilled the Suli girl to the heart. Who was this boy next to her? What had happened to the scheming heartless Bastard who had no qualms about ripping through his enemies, until no one was left to stand in the way of his freedom? Where was the ruthless criminal who stopped at nothing to save himself and her?

Just tell me the plan, Kaz! She thought helplessly.

Inej bit her lip and rolled away, trying not to cry. Just to do something with her hands, she tested the iron cuffs one more time, as if this time she would get a different result. They went over another bump and she gritted her teeth at the jostle, trying to float away from the pain.

Through the following silence, Inej forced herself to calm down and think. Her heart was still throbbing painfully in her chest, but she forced an agonized breath into her constricted lungs. It felt like trying to breathe with iron bands around her chest instead of flesh and bone ribs. Slowly she managed to recover a sense of control by the tips of her fingers.

Kaz was acting like a stranger, but he was still Kaz.

The boy called Kaz Brekker was an escape artist. A con man. The last time he’d served significant jail time, he’d been fourteen. Now he was a gang boss, not some common thug. They called him the Bastard of the Barrel and even the toughest Barrel rats were afraid to cross his shadow. Kaz wouldn’t be Kaz, if he didn’t have some kind of background scheme going. He was refusing to share his secrets with her, but if she could put faith in anything, it was his cunning.

There had to be a trick somewhere. She was absolutely certain of that.

When he would reveal it, that was the question. The rest of the journey was passed in this way, fighting down waves of second-guessing and doubt, by reviewing the same sources of reassurance again and again, until she could draw another breath. Kaz would get them out of this. Somehow, he would have the answer, just like he always did, and Inej would tell herself this with desperate faith until the panic’s claws unsheathed from her flesh for a moment of respite. Then the anxiety would return, and the same cycle was to be done all over, once more.

Thankfully the remainder of the harrowing journey was short. At last the prison cart turned a corner and Inej could tell by the way the thunder of the wheels and clack of horse-hooves echoed, they’d entered a stony courtyard. The wagon rolled to a stop and for a moment Inej lay still, ears ringing in the vacuum of silence left by the rumbling wheels. Then there was a rattle of keys and light flooded in as the doors were opened.

Inej’s legs felt watery and weak as she was dragged out of the cart and she feared she wouldn’t be able to stand on her own. But the officer just grabbed her by the back of her jacket and held her up without comment. Kaz was hauled out roughly after her, also stumbling and half blinded by the lights after their dark and cramped journey. He was marched in front of her and Inej shuffled in his wake, as the officers shoved them forward into a building.

The Stadwatch had many substations around Ketterdam. Inej recognized the place from past reconnaissance for the Dregs, as they were hustled through the heavy, iron bound doors. The building was dull and forbidding, two stories tall, with a decorative front facade where the public offices were conducted, and a grim, filthy jail yard at the back. The whole building was constructed of brick, carelessly whitewashed, and the sound of their footsteps tramped loudly, echoing back off the long, cold hallways.

Finally they reached the wing Inej knew the Stadwatch kept their prisoners in, for questioning or interviews. The man herding her along pushed Inej toward a cell door, but Kaz was prodded onward, going toward an unknown destination. At the prospect of losing him Inej’s fears boiled up inexplicably all over again and she made a confused attempt at resisting. The moment was short lived. With a rough shove the officer made her turn away and she staggered, nearly falling. At the sight of their rough treatment Kaz snarled and lunged toward her, but Inej only had time to see one of the officers give him a sharp blow on the cheek, before she was dragged inside the cell.

An iron chair was waiting in the middle of the room, bolted to the floor, and two men unceremoniously shoved her into it. Inej considered struggling more, she longed to pull a page out of Kaz’s book—raised like a savage mutt on the streets of Ketterdam as he was—and take a bite out of someone’s face with a strike of her teeth. But it seemed useless. There wouldn’t really be a point, beyond comforting her own pride. While she gritted her teeth through the urge, the men locked her cuffs into a ring on the back of the chair, so she could no longer rise without dislocating both her arms, then they turned and left.

While the two Stadwatch officers scurried out, another man strolled into the room as they vanished. He was dressed like a merch in somber black and white, with a plain watch chain and tie pin glittering at his throat and waist. The man had no hat, but his dark hair was neatly brushed and his facial hair looked freshly groomed. Inej recognized the glitter of a Councilman’s seal on his jacket lapel, though he was not yet close enough to see the icon in any detail. He was carrying a wooden chair and he set it in front of her, lounging with the easy grace of a dandy in Ketterdam’s upper-crust. As he sat, the candles illuminated his merchant seal: a ship’s sails, framed by two crossed sabres.

Maarten Haske. Wylan had been right.

“Miss Ghafa, what business.” He said with an easy smile, as if they weren’t speaking in a prison cell and Inej’s chair wasn’t bolted to the floor. “I must beg your pardon for the…unsavory locale. Not exactly picturesque. I’m quite mortified to be hosting a lady in a place like this, but we must make the best of it.”

Inej made no answer, waiting for the truth of his presence to become clear. She’d learned well from Kaz long ago what a potent tool uncomfortable silence could be and she was determined to gain the upper hand however she could.

“Then again, I must remember you are accustomed with the darker parts of our good city. You Barrel types are never over-nice about such things.” he clicked his tongue in gentle disapproval, as if they were two merchants discussing the unfortunate existence of the Barrel over a dinner table.

Drawing in a breath to fortify herself, Inej drew on all her most vivid memories of Kaz at dangerous parlays and sat back in her chair, trying to emulate his casually threatening demeanor with her own. It was a long shot, but she still tried. “You seem familiar with my name and history,” she said. “Might I know to whom I’m speaking?”

Haske laughed and waved a hand. “Oh, dispense with the formality. I’m quite sure you already know my name and a good deal else about me, aye? Inej Ghafa, formerly Spider Queen of the Dregs? That was your business, once, to know what shouldn’t be known.”

Her only answer was to wait dispassionately, refusing to confirm or deny.

In truth, she didn’t know much of Haske beyond his name. Inej had cultivated a thorough profile of every Merchant on the Council back in her old days and she still kept the knowledge, but the majority of her information had been gathered on the elder Haske, not his son. The family had its roots in naval prowess, hence the military sabres in their seal, and they still brokered large sums of money in the business of the Kerch navy; but Owen Haske had only recently fallen into feeble health and his son Maarten was almost entirely unknown to her.

Maarten Haske watched her stare at him with a rueful smile on his face and finally leaned back in his chair with a resigned sigh. “I see that you already have a prejudice against me,” he said, “and in all honesty you have every right to feel so. The manner of your transport here cannot have been pleasant. You have my deepest apologies, the Stadwatch can be…unfortunately zealous in the discharge of their authority.”

“I thought we had dispensed with formality,” Inej said, voice soft as poison. “Do not pretend to care for my comfort, when I am still sitting in chains.”

“Yes, well—“ Haske gave an awkward laugh. “Very well, then. You are indeed, a prisoner here.”

Inej stuck up her chin as far as she could with the iron collar around it, and sneered. “Just tell me what you want.”

Again Haske paused to regard her, but this time the mask of friendly cheer he wore was less absolute. She could see a calculating businessman behind the unremarkable brown shade of his eyes. A snake, disguised in merchant’s clothing, if she’d ever seen one. He was measuring her, just as she measured him for threats, weighing up her total worth in the balance. Although, what he looked for, she couldn’t guess.

“To be plain, Miss Ghafa, I know the entire history of your acquisition and subsequent employment by indenture here in Ketterdam. You are…an unfortunate case. The original holder of your contract was an immoral woman trafficking in filth and following that, you fell in with someone little better. I can’t imagine either Madame Van Houden, or Mister Brekker made for fair contractors.”

His speech made Inej’s skin crawl and she shuddered in disgust, gritting her teeth with the effort it took not to answer him. It galled her to hear Heleen’s name spoken, and having him criticize Kaz right after that was even worse. He doesn’t know Kaz like you do, she silently comforted herself, he doesn’t know about the worthy man underneath the cutthroat killer. No one does but our friends, thank Ghezen.

“ You have every right to hold a grudge over the circumstances of your immigration here, Miss Ghafa...In fact, I believe you do hold a grudge,” he said. Now his eyes were cruel, hard and unfriendly. “I believe you’ve weaponized it. I believe you are a radicalized abolitionist, guilty of piracy, and repeated acts of violence against the honest merchants of Kerch.”

“What they do is not honest.” Inej hissed with venom, then regretted it.

What she’d said wasn’t a direct admission of guilt, but who knew how much—or how little—it would take to convict her, as current matters stood.

“The point is immaterial. Why you do what you do is of no interest to me.” Haske said. “What’s really important is this: the nature of your crimes and their severity are punishable by death. For you and all individuals complicit in the crime, no matter how distantly involved. I’m sure you have your justifications, but the outcome is the same.”

And now, at last, Inej saw the nature of the noose he would put around her. The predatory glitter in his eyes spelled it out in terrible letters too clear to mistake. He would damn Inej and everyone she cared about. The rescued children, her crew of former slaves, Specht, Kaz…All would burn equally with her.

“The Council has already approved bills of search for your ship at Berth 22, every property Kaz Brekker owns, and an audit of all his financial transactions for the last eight years. The same goes for Wylan Van Eck and his paramour.” Maarten Haske said with cold deliberation. “If there is any scrap of guilt, any forgotten evidence, I will find it.”

Inej tried to listen without being affected, clenching her hands until her fingers ached and straining forward against the iron shackles on her neck. But she knew her expression was too vulnerable. She couldn’t disguise her fear, when the fate of everything she loved was on the line. While Inej had always known this crusade might kill her, she’d hoped, prayed, that it wouldn’t be like this.

“You can be sure I will press charges to the fullest extent of Kerch law, upon you and anyone else I discover who was participant in the crime. Unless…you spare us all the trouble and plead guilty.”

The sudden pivot made Inej jolt and she stared in open confusion. Confess? Why on earth would she actually confess?

Seeing her confusion, Maarten Haske spread his hands apart, as if to show his empty palms demonstrated a corresponding lack of deception. “I’m not a monster, Miss Ghafa. There is no pleasure in needless bloodshed for me. What I want is a simple, clean answer to the problem of your insurgency against the Kerch, nothing more. I see no reason for unnecessary persons to die, if the originator of their crimes is punished. If the Wraith pleads guilty, her crew will be allowed the pardon. That seems like an equal trade, in my mind.”

“You have not yet proved my guilt,” Inej protested.

“It’s only a matter of time. And when I do, it will cost you many lives.” Haske gave her a sympathetic smile, but it came off more like a condescending sneer. “You seem like a principled person, Miss Ghafa. Ghezen knows how your principles have remained intact, spending all your time in the Barrel, but nonetheless…You are a woman of faith. I would hope, for the sake of your crew, that you will make the wise choice? After all…it is for their safety.”

She couldn’t help but consider it.

For a moment Inej held the thought in her mind and examined it from every angle. Confess to piracy…or let them all, everyone she loved and cherished, go down to hell with her. It was the cruelest of quid pro quos, and Maarten Haske knew her well enough to set it before her, in colors too plain to deny.

It was clear that he meant it, Maarten Haske would stop at nothing, and he would execute every last man, woman, or child associated with her if she didn’t comply. But did it have to fall out so terribly? Inej could end it all, right now. Accept her fate, shoulder the blame, and save everyone with two simple words: ‘I’ll confess.’ It would all be over. No one had to die for her own foolish dreams, no one had to be sacrificed on the alter of her mission, except herself.

Wasn’t that only fair anyway? Inej had set out on this crusade determined to become a martyr if she had to. But could she really ask anyone else to go that far? All that Haske had told her would come to pass, unless Inej did the right thing and made the sacrifice. She had to take the fall. It was the only moral choice.

Then a memory floated up from the past.

“Weak—“ Kaz snarled. “You’re weak, Inej.”

“I’m not weak, I’m being a realist.”

“No. You’re being a quitter.”

With a blink, the illusion of Haske’s words shattered and Inej remembered herself with a jolt.

This bargain he was offering was only lies. Even if he did let the crew go, they would still be aimless upon the seas without their Captain. There were still slaves out there who needed her. It was her calling to fight for them as hard as she could, no matter the battleground.

Besides, the people under her command had known the risks and they chose to run the gauntlet anyway. They’d given up homes, loved ones, a chance at peace and safety so that they could help Inej save the prisoners. Every member of the crew Maarten Haske was trying to threaten were heroes in their own right, warriors and faithful friends, who had chosen to believe in something. They’d chosen to believe in Inej, to believe in her strength and her vision, as their leader.

Inej would not insult their bravery, in making such sacrifices and risking such peril, by crumbling at the first sign of danger.

Lifting her chin, the Suli girl gave Maarten Haske a long, searching look. “You seem very invested in all this,” she observed. “I wonder why you’re taking all this trouble, Councilor...”

“I’m just a concerned citizen.” Haske gave her an insincere, oily smile. “Anything that threatens Kerch, threatens all her people.”

“Is the issue really that severe?”

“It’s not a matter of severity. Your actions may be small, but no crime is small enough to be overlooked by a just man.”

Bitter laughter rose in Inej’s throat, but she swallowed it down. “I’ll consider your offer, sir,” she said, after a beat of silence. “But I wouldn’t count on getting a confession out of me just yet.”

The man pinched his lips together in a narrow line, eyes glittering strangely. For a moment Inej was afraid of him. He made no move and seemed relaxed in his chair, yet Inej felt an indefinite menace from him that set her hair on end. Then he cleared his throat and straightened, the vague threat vanishing just as suddenly as he’d revealed it.

“Well, I did my best to aid you, whether or not you’ll accept my help. Perhaps you will think better of it, after some evidence comes to light.” He lifted his chair and set it against the wall, waiting for him to return. “Good business for now, Inej Ghafa. I hope you’ll accept my offer. You may not believe me, but the advise is kindly meant.”

Moving at a lazy stride, the merchant left, and Inej blew out a silent breath in relief once he was gone.

Her comfort was short lived. The situation still seemed dire and she had little more than vague assurances from Kaz to cling to. He’d said that all would be well, but Inej couldn’t quite relax. Wylan was right: Kaz had made dangerous gambles in the past, and he had taken risks that backfired. She couldn’t be absolutely certain he wasn’t bluffing, when he told her not to worry.

There was her own position to contend with too. The room they’d locked her in was bitterly cold and the iron chair was icy to the touch. Within a minute she was shivering and silently mourned the fire lit warmth of Wylan and Jesper’s parlor. Now that she’d been left alone to think, the memory of their informal banquet and friendly games only hours before seemed almost unbearably sweet in her mind’s eye. The contrast between her cell here and the smiles of her friends across a plentiful table then, seemed like a cruel joke. Loneliness ate at her like an ulcer.

She missed them so intensely that it brought tears to her eyes and her breathing turned ragged. Even Kaz’s bruised and colorless face, when she’d seen him getting dragged away down the hall seemed dearer than she knew how to express, when she remembered his last look. What if she never saw them again? What if that miserable encounter with the Stadwatch in Wylan’s hall was all they had to remember her by? And her crew, what if she was forever torn away from them? Specht, Magda, the little Zemeni girl Inej had adopted as a personal assistant after finding out her parents had been killed in a slaver attack. Inej missed them all with a bone deep ache.

The truth was that Inej had done her best to steel her resolve to the distant specter of death, but feeling its chill breath there in the room with her was infinitely harder to endure than empty resolutions in safety had been. She’d thought she was reconciled to sacrificing it all for her ideals, but in this moment it frightened her. Grief and terror both oppressed her. 

Once upon a time she’d faced down death in the incinerator shaft of the Ice Court, but somehow this felt far more oppressively torturous. Back then she’d known exactly what was at stake, if it came to the worst. The prospect of burning alive was terrifying, but straightforward. Now the indefinable threat of the future was much more fearful, though less immediate. She kept dwelling on the unknown, musing on horrific possibilities. What if she was hanged? What if the Stadwatch tortured her for information? What if they tortured Kaz, knowing that she cared about him?

Above and beyond all this, her thoughts kept straying back to the faces of her friends, longing to see them again. At the same time she was terrified that she’d never get a chance to give them proper goodbyes. The thought of being executed by the Stadwatch, right in front of everyone she loved, was nauseating.

Even with her fear, the time dragged as she sat alone. At first Inej expected Maarten Haske to immediately be replaced by another interrogator who would continue to pressure her. But slow minutes turned into a long half chime, then several indeterminate hours that ran into one another with dreary monotony. It was pressure of another kind, because the boredom left her too much room to think and the cuffs on her chair prevented her from relieving her position when she began to grow stiff.

By the time Haske came back, Inej had fallen into a daze in her chair. His unexpected entrance made her jolt to attention, nerves tingling. With a clatter, Haske burst into the room with two Stadwatch officers on his heels. Gone was the affable mask of a young and charming gentleman, Haske’s face was cold and murderous. But he didn’t make any move to hurt her. To the contrary, he stepped off to one side while the two Stadwatch officers went around to the back of Inej’s chair, and she was astonished to feel a key fitted to the lock of her chair, releasing the cuffs.

Was she being moved to somewhere else? Somewhere even worse?

“Councilman Haske,” Inej greeted, “what business?”

“Hurry up,” the Merchant quipped at the two officers, without acknowledging her.

Abruptly Inej felt the tension on her cuffs go slack as they unlocked her shackles from the chair. Blood tingled back into her fingers at the change in position.

“Come.” Haske said.

The two guards gripped her by both arms and Inej was unceremoniously yanked from her seat. There was no choice but to follow, to matter what terrible fate awaited her. “Where are we going? I still need more time to consider your proposal, Councilor.” Inej protested, though she had no intention of considering anything. The delay would still buy her a little more time.

Without listening to her Maarten Haske left the room and the two Stadwatch with Inej held prisoner between them was forced to follow. No one spoke as Inej was frog-marched down the halls and dingy brick corridors passing in a blur of panic. Maarten Haske was walking so quickly Inej stumbled to keep up.

At last he halted in front of the door she and Kaz had first been dragged through into the building. One of the Stadwatch moved to unbar it, while the other moved behind Inej.

“Inej Ghafa,” Haske said, “you’re free to go.”

The door swung open and Inej felt the cuffs on her wrists fall away with a clank. A moment later the steel weight vanished from her neck and ankles as well. She was left feeling strangely naked without the constant bite of iron into her skin. Both Stadwatch officers stepped back and she was left alone with Haske, blinking and confused in the lamplight falling through the open door.

“What…?” she stammered, rubbing her bruised wrists in a soothing motion.

“The charges against you have been dropped.” Maarten Haske said, smiling broadly like De Goede Sint without the beard and scarlet priest’s robes. “You’re free to go.”

“That’s it. Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“What about Kaz—Mister Brekker? Where is he?”

“You’re free to go.” Maarten Haske said obtusely. With a mocking half-bow, he gestured toward the open door. “Enjoy your freedom, Miss Ghafa. Try not to abuse it.”