Chapter Text
“Now we’re even.”
That’s what the Sheriff of Ketterdam had said. Inej couldn’t stop replaying it all in her mind as the wagon tore through the streets. The way he’d shoved her away from him, had tossed his knife at the ground between them. That moment when their eyes had locked, their hard breathing completely in sync. She’d bristled for the bait-and-switch but—
“Now we’re even.”
Even? What a strange choice of words. She was an outlaw, and he was the law. He could have slit her throat and been commended for it. So why hadn’t he?
“Is his lordship a praying man?”
Inej blinked to clear her head and looked up at the Fjerdan who shouted to them over his broad shoulder as he drove the cart. Right. They were still fleeing the scene of their crimes, and she’d made the decision to trust yet another strange man without so much as knowing his name. But at least this one was a priest. Kashi couldn’t give her shit about that.
“Why?” Jesper’s voice was high and panicked as he checked over the state of his body. “Am I dying? Have I been shot?!”
“I think he just wants us to pray for protection,” Inej explained, since Jesper looked whole for the most part. He would bruise and swell, for sure, and his fine clothes were absolutely ruined, but other than a sickly sheen of sweat and a general paleness from the shock, he didn’t look too damaged. That struck Inej as something of a miracle, something they needed more of, so Inej crossed herself and, with her back pressed against the rattling beer kegs, closed her eyes and began to pray.
Sankta Margaretha, patron saint of thieves and lost children.
Sankta Marya of the Rock, patron saint of all those far from home.
Sankta Maradi, patron saint of impossible love…
Every time the cart rattled, the Sheriff’s discarded knife shifted in her boot. If they made it out of this alive, she was going to have to find a good hiding place for it. Inej was not at all prepared to explain why she had it on her person.
“Now we’re even.”
What the fuck had that meant?! Honestly, the more Inej thought about it, the angrier she felt. She’d fought hard on that roof, employing tricks meant only for the stage and not for actually fighting for one’s life. She’d never wanted to use her beautiful knives against a man’s broadsword. Her body had been trained for lifts and flips and feats of great height, not slamming muscle against bone.
But she’d done it all because she’d intended to win. Because Jesper and Wylan were good men, a dying breed in Kerch. They deserved to make it out of this cursed city alive, and no one knew its secrets quite like she did. She had tracked them day and night, and she was not going to see them fall to the likes of lesser men.
So, yes, she’d fought as best she could, but she’d been so much smaller than Brekker and untrained for any combat that wasn’t just for show. She’d landed a few good blows here and there, but he’d pinpointed her weaknesses in the blink of an eye. He’d dodged every blade she threw at him and then went in for the kill, snatching her wrist and twisting her into a hold that kept her other arm trapped at her side. And then he’d yanked her back against him and pressed the cold, cruel edge of a blade to her throat.
Inej’s blood sang in her ears as she fought against panic, tried to draw a full breath and think.
“Who are you working for?” he’d rasped against her ear.
“What?” In her terror, Inej wasn’t sure she’d heard that right.
“Who sent you?” he demanded, his grip tightening. The arm around her was solid and immovable.
“No one!” Inej gasped, and then again as she struggled for space: “No one sent me! I work for myself, for my family — by the Saints, I swear it!”
“I don’t believe you,” Brekker growled. She could feel the rough bur of his voice in his jaw against her head. “I know you’ve been following me.”
“By accident, purely by accident!” Inej swore, desperately. “I’m just a circus performer, and I-I need high spaces to practice tricks. I swear never meant you any harm—”
“And I’m just supposed to believe you haven’t been sent to aid my enemies,” he scoffed, “when I just caught you aiding a wanted fugitive?”
Tears pricked Inej’s eyes, but somehow her voice didn’t fail her.
“Jesper Fahey isn’t anyone’s enemy.”
As carefully as she could, she turned her head just enough to look sidelong at the Sheriff. If he could just see her face, he would see her sincerity.
This close, his irises looked as dark as night.
“He’s just a man in love,” Inej whispered into the space between them.
It was foolish to think a man like him could ever understand. Would she ever stop playing the fool?
His arms had stiffened as his dark brows furrowed; a muscle ticked in his jaw. The Saints told cruel jokes, she thought, miserably, when they made a man so beautiful so incapable of sympathy. If he didn’t kill her, he was surely about to haul her off to some dungeon, a fate as good as death.
But then —
With an indignant huff, he shoved her away from him. She’d nearly gone sprawling in the thatching, stumbling but righting herself at the last moment. She whirled around to take a defensive stance, ready for what she was sure was the next round. Maybe he was one of those especially broken and dangerous ones. Maybe he wanted toy with her first, like a cat with a wounded bird in its mouth.
But instead he’d just stared at her for a moment, looking winded as if she’d punched him.
And then tossed his knife at her feet.
She’d gaped at it, then back up at him as he wiped a split lip with the back of his gloved hand.
“Now we’re even,” he’d said, and backed away.
What the actual Saints-forsaken-hell?
“Now we’re even”?!
Inej felt like she was losing her mind. His words implied she’d once held him in a similar grip, and by letting each other go, now they were on equal footing. As if sneaking up on him one time could possibly compare to a fucking knife to the throat. Was he stupid? Or just actually insane?
Or perhaps he meant to drive her insane and kill her slowly that way, in which case he was about to make quick work of her, since being flattened by wagon wheels was starting to seem preferable to spending one more minute thinking about the Sheriff of Ketterdam and how very not even they were. She should have just left his knife where he’d tossed it. She hadn’t thought he was going to leave it there, but between the time she’d looked to see the Van Eck guard swarm the gallows and then back again, he’d vanished. The knife lay abandoned in the the thatching.
And it was such a very pretty knife. The handle looked to be made of bone. Seemed like such a waste.
Well, it was in her boot now, and she really had lost her mind.
Inej ground her teeth and squished her eyes tighter. She could fix this. She would simply bury the knife in the woods and then never think about it ever again and be done with it. So what if the Sheriff of Ketterdam had more than a few screws loose? It wasn’t a crime to be odd, and however odd he chose to be wasn’t any of her business. If he thought they were even, then fine - they were even. He was wrong, but that wasn’t her problem. She would let it go — she was letting it go. She was supposed to be praying anyway.
So Inej kept her eyes closed and prayed the Fjerdan priest drove them recklessly through the streets. She petitioned Sankta Margaretha to guard them, and Sankta Marya of the Rock to bring them safely home. She pled with Sankta Maradi that Jesper and Wylan might find their way to each other again.
Meanwhile, the shouts of the mob grew fainter behind them.
She only dared to open her eyes again when the Fjerdan stopped shouting at the mare. The wagon had not slowed, but the wheels kicked up gravel instead of ricocheting over cobblestone. When Inej lifted her head to look back, Ketterdam had begun to shrink in their rear view. Jesper, too, was pulling himself upright, looking a little less pale than before.
For a moment, all they could do was share a stunned glance between them. Then Jesper barked out what may have passed for a laugh once, but to Inej, it sounded a little too crazed to be anything but shock. Then he pressed a hand over his mouth and slumped back, overcome.
Inej wanted to say something, anything, to promise him they could still get to Wylan, but it would have been cruel to lie. Instead, she looked to their savior.
“We owe you our lives, Father,” she told the priest. The Fjerdan threw her a strained smile, his big hands steady on the reins.
“You need not address me as Father, my sister,” he assured her. His accent was very thick. “My order does not recognize me as such any longer. I am simply called Matthias now.”
“Oh.” He’s a disgraced priest? So much for easing Kashi’s nerves. Now Inej just felt awkward — and cornered. Jesper was watching her sidelong, a concerned look on his face.
As if he could sense her discomfort, the Fjerdan went on, “Or perhaps Bruder Matthias, if just Matthias is not fitting for the vestments.” He gestured to his robes, the simple rope belt at his waist.
“Brother Matthias,” Inej echoed, trying it out for him. Brother Matthias looked pleased.
“We are all brothers and sisters in Djel,” he explained.
“Right, well,” Jesper leaned an elbow against one of the beer kegs, frowning suspiciously at Brother Matthias, “I’m not so sure kicking someone out of a sacred order is a very brotherly thing to do. Why do you suppose they did that?”
Inej considered kicking him, but she wasn’t sure where he was bruised. Probably everywhere. Now really wasn’t the time to offend their much-needed ride home.
Brother Matthias didn’t answer at first. His mouth was set in a grim line, his jawline tense. When he did speak, it was low and full of thinly veiled rage.
“I made a terrible mistake,” he muttered. “I trusted a Grisha woman.”
In the face of the priest’s surprise prejudice, a long, awkward silence stretched out between the three of them. The mare whickered, her hoofbeats steady.
“You know, Inej,” Jesper was the first to recover. “I’m feeling much better now. I think we can just walk the rest of the way, what do you say?”
“I say we need the cart a tad-bit more than our dear Brother Matthias does,” Inej muttered under her breath.
“You should not walk,” Brother Matthias objected, oblivious to Inej’s glowering. “You’ve survived a great shock. You will not make it far on foot. It is no great burden to help you. It is as Djel calls me to do.”
Jesper slit his eyes at the priest as Brother Matthias blithely drove the cart on, content like he’d settled the matter. Then he leaned forward, draping his elbows over the back of Brother’s Matthias’ seat.
“Listen,” he leveled, “I’ve just barely survived the worst day of my life. I am in no mood to play games. I am Grisha, and my good friend here is a woman, so if we’re about to have a problem, I’d much prefer to fight you now while I’m still in denial about how hard I’ve hit my head.”
For good measure, Inej threw back one side of her cloak so that Brother Matthias could see the line of knives sheathed down the front of her vest. He didn’t need to know they were all terribly dull for stage combat. They looked real enough, and she knew he’d seen her use them.
Brother Matthias’ ice-blue eyes flicked over her weapons and then back to Jesper, but he never slowed the wagon.
“I have offended you with my words,” he realized, and Inej wasn’t sure how it was possible, but he looked even more grim. His broad shoulders seemed to slump. “I ask your forgiveness, but I understand if you cannot give it. Choose whatever retribution befits you, and I will humbly submit, in Djel’s name.”
At that, Jesper looked aghast.
“Good Saints, man,” he said, “what did they do to you in that monastery?”
“The apology is accepted,” Inej interrupted, hastily, “and if you can take us as far as Sherwood Forest, we’ll consider the matter resolved.”
“Right,” Jesper agreed under his breath. “Good thinking.”
Brother Matthias visibly brightened, like a weight had been lifted from his back.
“You are most gracious and just,” he told them both. “I knew the moment you fell from the inn that Djel meant for our paths to cross. I will not forget your kindness.”
Inej and Jesper plastered on identical smiles to match Matthias’, but Jesper dropped his the moment the priest’s back was turned, whispering,
“Exactly how insane do you think he is?”
Inej had no answer. As far as she was concerned, if he could get them out of danger, Brother Matthias could be as insane as he liked.
Brother Matthias mostly kept to himself as they rode through the countryside, humming Fjerdan hymns to himself and occasionally muttering encouragements to the mare in his deep, soothing baritone.
However, Inej watched Jesper fall deeper into despair with each passing hour. As it seemed more and more likely they would survive to see the next sunrise, the harsh reality of the day’s loss sank in. Inej could think of nothing helpful to say. Jesper refused to eat any of the cheese or apples Brother Matthias offered them, but he was eventually convinced to have a little of the beer. It didn’t seem to do much good, though. Inej felt grateful for nightfall, hoping that things might look brighter in the morning.
The moon was high above them when Inej spoke to Brother Matthias again. Crickets chirped in the wheat fields surrounding the dirt road that stretched before them.
“Should we make camp for the night?” she asked. “Surely you must be tired.”
“Not at all,” said Brother Matthias, good-naturedly. “Once a year, the brothers of my order dedicate seven days to prayer and fasting wherein we beat ourselves to remain awake. This is nothing to me. Rest and I will have you to Sherwood by morning.”
“Saints,” Jesper gave an exasperated sigh. “But it’s the Grisha the ruined your life, is it?”
Jesper’s sarcasm was palpable, and Brother Matthias fell quiet for a moment. Inej watched him, warily, but he didn’t seem angry. Only pensive.
“I have learned that many consider the traditions of the Sacred Order of the Tree to be extreme,” he said, eventually, “perhaps even dangerous. But they are also protectors of the poor, the orphaned, the widowed, and the natural world, and they were the only family I ever knew. I cannot say this of Grisha.”
Even in the moonlight, Inej could see the dramatic roll of Jesper’s eyes.
“Probably because you didn’t know any,” he snapped. His nobleman’s manners were hanging by a thread.
“Yes, I will give you that,” Brother Matthias nodded once. “The Sacred Order of the Tree teaches that Grisha are unnatural, that their powers corrupt the delicate balance of the natural world. It is by design that we do not keep company with Grisha. Perhaps my life would have been quite different if I had.”
The rumble of the cart over the dirt filled the night air around them. Inej didn’t know what to say to that. She was not Grisha, but growing up Suli had shown her the depths of one people’s prejudice against another. She had been barely four the first time she had been accused of stealing in a market, not even twelve the first time a grown man had spat at her for reasons she couldn’t then fathom. It was not unusual to her that a man like Brother Matthias would harbor resentment against Grisha for simply being Grisha.
What she was not used to, however, was his willingness to so calmly discuss it. And then there was his desire to right his past offense. She wasn’t sure what to do with that.
That and his beer had been very good, which was why she found herself asking, “So what happened with this Grisha woman? Something led you to keep company with one.”
There was a steely-eyed glare from Jesper that clearly communicated he was in no mood to hear any more from the Fjerdan priest, but he ought to be resting anyway. Maybe a story he was uninterested in would lull him into a much-needed sleep.
Brother Matthias gave a heavy sigh as he straightened his back, shifted his burly weight.
“You must understand,” he began, “when a young man enters into Djel’s sacred order, he takes certain vows. Before Djel and his brothers, he vows to a life of poverty, obedience, and chastity, and to break any of these vows is to break the trust of your brothers and your loyalty to Djel himself. To break any of these vows means banishment.”
“Banishment sounds preferable,” Jesper muttered under his breath.
“I do not regret my life in the Sacred Order of the Tree,” Matthias insisted. “There is where I learned to connect with Djel’s creations, to fight to protect those less fortunate than me. I would not have been able to save your life this day, Lord Fahey, had I not taken such vows and learned from what I was taught.”
“Lord Fahey is my father,” Jesper quipped, uncaring as he folded his arms over his chest.
“Hush,” Inej prodded him, and then to Brother Matthias, “We will always be grateful for your aid.”
“Would it help you to know, my lord,” Brother Matthias craned his neck to offer an apologetic glance towards Jesper, “that I no longer carry the beliefs my brotherhood taught of all Grisha? I know now that Grisha are created by Djel as all are created, and harm to Grisha harms us all, as we are all branches of the same tree.”
“I see. So, it’s just women in general you find untrustworthy.” The look Jesper shot Inej then couldn’t have meant anything other than So, are we done with him yet?
“The decisions I made that led to my broken vows were my own,” said Matthias, gravely. “I alone am responsible for my life’s ruination, not any woman or Grisha. But it is true that I regret the day I met my first Grisha. It was that day that I learned the true depth of my own weakness.”
When neither Jesper nor Inej had anything to quip, Matthias went on with his story.
“My brethren became aware of a border town that was suffering because a battle fought between Ravka and Fjerda was preventing the delivery of foods and necessities,” he began. “My brethren had prepared a dog sled filled with our breads and cheeses, our medicinals and beer, and I was instructed to take my isenulf, my wolf companion, and to drive the sled to the town to bring aid to the people ahead of a great snowstorm. My orders were to let nothing dissuade me from this mission, but as evening approached, my isenulf Trassel, whom I had raised since he was just a whelp and would trust with my life, suddenly brought us to a stop.”
His prejudices aside, Matthias’ Fjerdan accent was calm and pleasant, and Inej found she didn’t mind listening to his story.
“When I looked at my isenulf,” he was saying, “his hackles were up, his teeth bared. He was defensive, prepared to fight to protect us, and that is when I heard it. The sounds of a beastly attack — a woman’s screams mixed with the unmistakable roar of a white bear.
“In Fjerda, we know that the white bear will keep to herself unless provoked, and she will only roar if she is protecting cubs or if she is mad with sickness. In both situations, a person would not survive such an attack. So though I knew it would mean disobeying my orders, I chose to stray from my path. I could not drive the sled on knowing that this woman would be mauled to death if no one came to her aid.
“I gave Trassel the order to find the bear, and he tore into the wood towards the sound. When we found her, there was this moment, the brief moment, when I did hesitate. For this woman, she wore the kefta and cloak of a Ravkan soldier.
“I gathered she was perhaps a spy, because she was alone. She was already badly wounded, but she fought valiantly. Nobly, even. I was struck by the sight, because as Grisha, she could have easily killed a white bear. She could have stopped the heart or squeezed the lungs and choked the life right out of it, but she did not. The bear had two little cubs, and this Grisha — she did not want the cubs to lose their mother. She did not want the mother to die for only doing what a mother ought to do. I knew that these were the same things that Djel would want. Djel would want all to live, to escape the danger.
“So I threw myself between the bear and the woman, to separate them. The bear scratched ruthlessly at me, but I used the trainings of my order to commune with her. Eventually, the bear could see that I was no threat to her or her cubs, and she withdrew from her attack. We watched her back away with her cubs and leave the glade. Only then did the woman collapse into the snow.
“I could not leave her there, wounded as she was. Already the sky was dark with clouds, the snowstorm would be upon us within the hour. I put her on my sled and urged Trassel to hurry, but as the storm began to intensify and my own wounds continued to bleed, I was left with little choice. I had to find us shelter from the storm or we would not survive.
“I no sooner had the thought when, as though from Djel himself, a hunter’s cabin appeared in the distance. It was not occupied, but there were furs to keep us warm and wood for fire, and good thing, too. I have known cold my whole life, and I know how quickly it can be dangerous. On this night, it was cold enough to freeze the sweat to my skin.
“The woman came to as I stoked the fires. And thus began the temptations.”
“Temptations?”
Inej had been engrossed in the Fjerdan’s storytelling and unaware that Jesper had not grown disinterested as she’d hoped. When she glanced over at him, not even the dark could hide his intrigued grin. Saints, why must he antagonize a man capable of wrestling a bear?
“I had promised my brethen the delivery of the medicine and rations to the townspeople,” Matthias explained, “but how could I ignore our own needs?” He seemed to be growing defensive.
“You couldn’t,” Inej agreed, sympathetically.
“We were wounded. We would have starved in the storm, stranded as we were.” Something in Brother Matthias’ voice suggested he’d made these desperate defenses many times before. Even now, far from the monastery, his mind still warred over the right thing to do.
It was a feeling Inej knew well.
“You wanted to help her,” she said. “What’s more noble than that?”
“Perhaps it began that way,” said Matthias. “But the storm lasted for many days.”
“And many temptations?” Jesper prodded, lewdly.
“Have a heart,” Inej scolded.
“But his lordship speaks the truth,” Brother Matthias said. “She was charming, the Grisha woman. Trassel warmed to her at once. When I saw to her injuries, she insisted on seeing to mine. She used her powers that I thought Grisha only used for war to bring warmth to our bodies so that we would not freeze in the night. And so I offered her the food and the beer I had on my sled. Just a little at first, but the storm dragged on and her appetite was great, and I will admit it - when we ate together, my heart warmed to see her smile. That was my worst mistake.
“Because in the worst of the snowstorm, when we huddled together for warmth under furs by the fire, I felt myself full of longing for her in ways my body had never longed before.”
“Ugh, Saints,” Inej recoiled in spite of herself.
“This is what you wanted,” Jesper teased her with a roguish smirk. “You kept asking questions. I wanted—”
"I have offended you with my words again," Brother Matthias said, the slump of his shoulders full of regret.
"Yes, have some respect for the lady." Jesper was enjoying the priest's humiliation a little too much. Inej felt her face grow hot in the dark.
"I am fine," she insisted. She hated this part of womanhood -- the implication that she was too fragile to handle men's words. Strong enough to handle their desires in private, apparently, but not strong enough to hear their words in public. Absurd.
She squared back her shoulders.
"Continue," she insisted, shooting a glare at Jesper she hoped conveyed her fortitude.
Brother Matthias gave a sigh as he considered whether he should or not. In the end, he did.
"I was weak then," he confessed. "I had violated my oath of obedience. We had eaten much of the food and beer meant for the townspeople. We had used the medicine meant for them. And--and...well, surely you understand, Lord Fahey." He glanced back at Jesper with a pleading look. Jesper clapped a hand on his broad shoulder in solidarity.
"That chastity vow wasn't looking too grand anymore, was it?" Jesper said, sympathetically.
Inej rolled her shoulders back again, trying not to let the crass talk get to her.
"I was weak," Matthias repeated, looking grim. "I gave in, again and again and agai—“
"We get the point," Inej abruptly cut him off, unable to shake her discomfort. She hoped the woman hadn't felt trapped. She hoped she'd felt she'd had a choice.
"I did not think," Matthias was saying.
"We've all been there," Jesper mused.
"Speak for yourself," Inej muttered, stubbornly. She was unwilling to examine why the first thing that popped into her head was that fateful moment she just had to follow the Sheriff of Ketterdam at the Church of Barter. What did that have to do with anything?
"But the next morning, when I awoke and reached for her, she was gone," Matthias said. There was no hiding the hurt in his voice, the barely concealed rage at the betrayal.
"Gone?" Jesper was invested now.
"Gone," said Matthias. "The snow had covered her tracks. It was like she vanished. I waited, I searched, but by the end of the day, I knew I would have to return to my brothers at the monastery. I knew that I would have to confess all that I had done.
"And when I did so, it could not have gone worse. I was stripped of my ordinations. My isenulf was taken from me. I was sent into the world alone, exiled from the only family I'd ever known."
"I'm starting to see why you have an axe to grind with this woman," Jesper admitted.
"How did you come to find yourself in Kerch?" Inej asked. She did not want to alienate herself further by pushing speculations on why this woman felt the need to run from the priest in the first place. They still needed the ride home after all.
"I soon realized that there was but one vow yet that I had not broken," said Matthias, "and that was the vow of poverty. I suppose you could say that realization became something of a challenge."
"Bruder Matthias!" Jesper crowed, delighted at the Fjerdan’s fall from grace.
"In Fjerda, there was no way for one as disgraced as I to become a rich man," Matthias went on. "For that, I knew I would have to seek my fortune in Kerch. I came to this country with the secrets of beer-making from my sacred order. I had thought once that the best Fjerdan ales would appeal to the Kerchman. But I am afraid the ways of Kerch business have thwarted me at every turn. Were you aware, Lord Fahey, that the Merchant Council requires all ale-makers to acquire special licensures just to make beers, and also an entirely separate licensure to sell it?"
"I mean, the Merchant Council pretty famously requires licensures for just about everything," Jesper shrugged.
"Well, it is not so in Fjerda!" Matthias stewed. "Beer is a gift of Djel, and any who wish to partake in its mysteries is encouraged to do so! I have tried, my lord, believe me, I have tried to raise the funds I need to make and sell Djel's gift to the Kerchman, but at every turn, the Sheriff of Ketterdam has informed me my methods are illegal. I have been arrested, my lord. Me, a holy man of Djel--"
"Former holy man," Inej pointed out.
"I really must know how you've tried to raise funds.” Jesper was deeply entertained.
"I have merely performed weddings and funerals--"
“But you were stripped of your ordinations." Inej had to slap a hand to her forehead. Truly, this man was his own worst enemy.
"How was I to know—?”
"The Merchant Council pretty famously requires clergy to obtain licensures," Jesper sighed.
"One of these days, the Merchant Council will require men to obtain licensures just to take a piss," Matthias grumbled, giving the mare's reins a tight, angry flick.
"Now you're starting to sound like a real Kerchman," Jesper grinned.
"Now I am saddled with kegs of beer I cannot sell," Matthias said, "for fear that if I try again, this time I will be sent to Hellgate to rot. I was only just released. I cannot go back."
At this, the discomfort Inej had been trying to stifle morphed into something like pity. Brother Matthias might have been a brainless lump, but he did not deserve Hellgate. Few who ended up there ever truly did. It was designed to torture its prisoners for sport, a public spectacle that the Merchant Council and its Sheriff thought a fitting deterrent for violent crime. Perhaps they'd been right once, but it had become the fate of pickpocket and murderer alike. And now, apparently, even former priests could be sent there.
"No," Inej agreed. "You cannot go back."
"I should never have given my body to the Grisha woman," said Matthias. "I think often that perhaps if it had only been the food and medicine, perhaps my brethren might have forgiven what we had to do for survival. But the fornication--"
Inej choked at the word as Jesper snickered.
"--that was an act of pure ego," Matthias preached on, unruffled. "I deserve every misfortune that has befallen me since."
"You don't really believe that, do you?" Jesper asked, the amused smirk still lingering on his face. "You saved the woman from a bear! You tended her wounds and offered her your delicious beer! Do you really think Djel would blame her if she felt a bit amorous in her gratitude? I doubt it could hardly be helped.”
Matthias huffed at that, growing sullen. Inej thought for a moment he wouldn't speak again, but then --
"Then why leave me in the night?" he asked, almost as if to himself. It sounded like a question he must have asked himself a thousand times. "Why leave before the dawn if she were not ashamed, too?"
Inej had no answer to that, and from the look of him, neither did Jesper. All he had to offer was another sympathetic pat for the Fjerdan’s back as the cart rumbled on into the night.
Brother Matthias was true to his word. His mare carried them through the night at a slow, steady clop, pausing here and there the priest to feed and water her and murmur praises for only her flicking ears. Inej found herself dozing, though she tried to stay awake to keep watch. By daybreak, they'd reached Sherwood.
Matthias did not leave them even then. Instead, he allowed Inej to lead the way so that Jesper could stay off his damaged foot. Inej worried greatly for Jesper now. He'd fallen into an unnerving, detached kind of silence, his gaze fixed on nothing at all as he swayed with the movement of the lumbering cart.
Mala had tears and scoldings aplenty when they did finally arrive at the Suli camp. Kashi and Hanzi had left in pursuit of her the day before and had yet to return, and she was beside herself with worry. It was Brother Matthias' offering to pray over them each that brought her comfort.
And so the priest stayed. Mala fed him, and he offered rounds of beer in return, and all together they waited and prayed. Jesper was taken to the Ghafa's wagon once again to rest, for Mala to apply a new poultice to his leg and his other wounds dressed.
Their rest that night was fitful. Inej had hoped to wait until everyone had fallen asleep to do something about the Sheriff’s knife — bury it or hide it beneath floor boards or something so it was at least away from her person and any questions its presence might conjure up — but the opportunity never presented itself. Her mother sat up nervously knitting. Her father waited by the fire all night.
But by daybreak, there were fresh tears and embraces again, happy ones this time, as Kashi and Hanzi returned from Ketterdam just before breakfast. Kashi in particular was blazing mad at Inej for what she'd done, until he saw the kegs of Matthias' beer and appeared momentarily pacified.
Everything seemed mostly well again. Everything, that is, except Jesper.
Inej kept glancing at him over the breakfast porridge bowls and wondering what to say. He was just -- sitting there. A bump on a log by the fire, a thousand-yard stare at the flickering flames. The cut over his eye had been bound with a strip of cloth around his head, and the only movement he'd made in perhaps an hour was the incessant picking at the bandage’s ragged edges near his ears.
Inej glanced at Kashi, a knowing glance passing between them as together they considered Jesper’s state. Someone needed to do something.
"What's wrong with you?"
Preferably someone with more tact than Felix — but now that ship had sailed.
“Mejo," their mother scolded, swatting the young boy with a towel.
"What?" Felix looked genuinely baffled at everyone's disgust. "It's not my fault!"
"Eat your breakfast before another squirrel does," their father grumbled.
"I can't do this."
Inej looked up in alarm from her porridge to see Jesper toss aside his breakfast and stand — a decision that he seemed to immediately regret as he winced and grunted in pain.
"You can't solve anything on an empty stomach, my lord," Bavol reminded him. But Jesper’s gaze remained wild and full of rage.
"I cannot sit here and eat and make merry conversation as if the love of my life isn't now a hostage--"
"Where are you going?" Kashi asked after him, as they all watched Jesper seize his makeshift crutch and start to hobble.
"I cannot rest until Wylan is a free man, too,” Jesper snapped.
And just like that, he stormed off as well as he could toward for the woods.
For a moment, no one reacted. It was, after all, still breakfast, and Ghafas, as a rule, were slow to abandon breakfast. Lukewarm tea just wasn't the same.
"Well, don't you all run after him at once now," Inej scolded when nobody moved.
"I have no interest in fighting a rich man's battles," Bavol said into his mug.
“I literally just sat down,” Kashi complained, gesturing to his seat in case no one had noticed.
Inej rolled her eyes.
"Jesper!" she called as she stood to follow him.
She wasn't sure why it mattered. She'd saved his life now far too many times to be worth this much hassle, Kashi would have said were his face not full of breakfast. Inej supposed she was too much of a romantic at heart. And despite all she'd been through, she still believed in happy endings -- she had to. And this man was on a collision course for a tragic one, if he kept barreling after trouble so eagerly.
"Slow down," she insisted. He could cover a surprising amount of ground even with a crutch.
Jesper startled quite spectacularly when he noticed she was with him.
“Are you hiding wings under all those knives?” he asked, flabbergasted.
“They’re just stage knives,” Inej explained, still keen that real knife in her boot remain undiscovered.
Jesper waved her off, uninterested. Thankfully.
“You’ve done enough,” he was saying. “More than enough. And I am sorry if I’ve offended your family. Please convey my gratitude to your mother—”
“Lord Fahey!” Brother Matthias’ rich baritone echoed after them through the morning air.
“Not you, too,” Jesper moaned to himself, slapping a hand to his forehead. But he did stop his pained hobbling to turn to face them, so that was good at least.
“Is it money you want?” he asked, darting desperate looks between them both. “Because you know I have none. Just leave me to —”
“I cannot,” Matthias insisted, coming to stand by Inej. “When I had lost all sense of purpose, Djel sent you. I cannot let you destroy yourself now. Djel commands me—”
“I don’t believe in your Djel,” Jesper cried. “And I don’t believe in your Saints. I don’t care what any of them command you. What I believe in is my family and my love, and while we hide in these trees, everything I believe in and care about is—is—”
“Jesper.” Gently, Inej laid a hand to his sleeve when she saw his chest hitch, his breath shallow. His grey eyes shone silver when he looked down at her.
“He gave himself up for me,” he choked, before the tears finally spilled over and he abandoned all efforts to maintain a stiff upper lip. Inej tightened her grip on his arm, and shuddering, Jesper drew his other sleeve across his eyes. “Honestly, how dare he,” he said, rasping a bitter laugh. “How am I supposed to live now?”
“Why would the Sheriff of Ketterdam allow a grown man to be taken hostage in his own home?” Brother Matthias frowned.
“The Lord Van Eck is a cruel man,” Inej explained, still trying to comfort Jesper, who only laughed again, a wet, half-deranged sound.
“I underestimated him when I called him cruel,” he spat, his eyes glistening. “He is evil. He would rather possess and trade a daughter than allow his son to be free. He ought to be split from neck to navel and his guts left out for the crows.”
“Horrid luck for the crows,” said Brother Matthias, which gave Jesper and Inej both enough of a pause that he went on to add: “That was a joke.”
“It was a good one,” Inej blinked in surprise.
“I liked it,” Jesper added, and drew in a ragged breath. “I think that helped.”
Matthias only replied with a sheepish shrug. With that brief moment of clarity, Inej saw opportunity to talk sense.
“What if I took a message to your Wylan?” she pleaded with Jesper. “Something to let him know that you are alive and well and that you will make a plan when your foot has healed? Would you rest then?”
“He can’t read.” Jesper was desperate all over again.
“Is there anyone at all that he trusts who could take a message?” Inej pressed.
Swallowing down a deep breath, Jesper slowly began to nod.
“There is a maid,” he said. “His closest confidante. I would trust her to take him a message.”
Rolling back her shoulders, Inej drew on a growing sense of confidence. She’d bested Stadwatch, had somehow bested the Sheriff of Ketterdam, though that still boggled her mind. She could sneak into Van Eck manor to deliver a message.
“I would assist you,” Brother Matthias offered, looking grave. “If you are caught, you will need a second.”
Inej hesitated a moment. She was not sure yet what she thought of the Fjerdan, and she would have preferred Kashi’s presence on this sort of thing. But her brother had only just returned from trying to protect her from her latest bad idea. He deserved a moment of peace. And no one could deny they would not have survived thing long without the Fjerdan priest.
“Thank you, Matthias,” Inej nodded. “I accept.”
With that, they turned to help Jesper back to the porridge and the morning fires, to make plans to steal into Van Eck manor by nightfall.