Chapter Text
“My favorite part is where you play the damsel in distress that I need to save,” Nina said evenly, green eyes glittering merrily as she glanced at Matthias.
Matthias scowled, a familiar expression for his face, though one that had appeared less and less with time. A lot of time. “That was nowhere in the plan.”
“No,” Nina conceded, tossing her deep auburn hair back. “But I thought it might be good to improvise. And when we do, I’ll be sure to rescue you.”
Their eyes locked, and Nina saw the warm ache in her chest reflected in Matthias’ expression.
“Just like the Ravkan princess saved the Fjerdan barbarian from his barbarity.”
The ice Matthias seemed carved out of melted a little, revealing that look of stupid, handsome devotion Nina had seen now and again. Little appearances like this left her wanting more, but unlike the cruel grip of jurda parem , this was an encouraging want, a promising desire she knew Matthias would oblige sooner or later.
“That scenario is still impossible,” he shot back, and Nina caught him fighting down a smile. With a rustling of fabric, she sidled closer to him, leaning against him with a sigh against his strong chest. Even with her original Corporalnik powers gone, she could still hear his heart, the strong, powerful war drum it still was.
Reflexively, Matthias wound his arms around her. Nina knew now she was not imagining it, was not wishfully feeling a dream of Matthias relaxing beside her. This was real. The tension easing from him as they held one another was real.
She peered up at him from her dark lashes, and he released his hold only enough to tuck a lock of auburn hair behind her ear. Nina immediately untucked it.
“Stubborn Ravkan,” he grumbled, though without any venom.
“Bossy Fjerdan,” she shot back without missing a beat.
A few bits of chatter drifted in from the other side of the room. When their ragtag group adjourned for some time to process all they had discussed, Nina had wasted no time in sidling over to the bowl piled high with little pastries and treats. They were no longer fresh, after all their talking, and they certainly were not a stack of hot, fluffy waffles. But she enjoyed the fluffy texture, the sugary sweetness of the sprinkles and icing. She had even been allowed to feed one to Matthias, until it turned out some icing had been smudged into the collar of his shirt, and he put a good five feet between them.
That isolation had not isolated long, clearly, and Nina practically purred in contentment as she adjusted her position.
A comfortable silence fell between them, broken at last by a decidedly uncomfortable question.
“Will you be able to do this?”
Nina’s calm, lazy breaths stilled as the weight of Matthias’ question fell over her. She knew his fondness for heroics, the Fjerdan customs of letting their women be damsels in distress. But she also knew he had witnessed how capable she was, how far she had come from
jurda parem
’s lethal, tempting, murderous grip.
Matthias must have sensed her tension - and how could he not, with their chests rising and falling in unison, their hearts practically beating as one?
Funny, now that his heart was no longer under her control, it belonged to Nina now more than ever.
“Nina,” he began in his low tenor. “I meant no offense, you know that. I only-”
“Have a fetish for worrying a lot?” she shot back. She eased herself from his hold, though did not completely separate. She only wished to meet his gaze when she said, in a firm voice full of certainty, “There is no opponent I can’t take down. There’s no one who scares me so much I’ll flee with my tail between my legs. I was, am, and always will be a soldier of the Second Army, and with each day’s new trial, we persist.”
Nina spotted the visible discomfort, the conflict her words caused him. This time, it ran deeper than simple misogyny, as if that itself was simple. But her proud boasts as a Grisha soldier still were apparently a lot to swallow.
His conflict played out in his eyes, clear as a cloudless sky, yet tumultuous as a storm. Perhaps their own storm witch, General Nazyalensky, had brought down the full force of her Squaller power in Matthias’ eyes, in his heart. Nina was not a Summoner - who would want to be? But she still clearly could bring a tempest.
Finally, Matthias pursed his lips, gave a single nod. The gesture itself was firm, but something in his silence seemed noncommittal.
Never mind that for now , Nina reasoned, mind already producing plans more ambitious than the last. They’ll all see what happens when they cross a Grisha. Original powers or not, I’ll make sure they remember me .
***
Dappled in moonlight and spearing through the weaving branches, Inej seemed to wear a camouflage of shadow. The illusion was as different as could be from that day he beheld her smile, her peace. And yet it was just as captivating. A cool, calculating, deep and thoughtful expression suited her just as that easy joy had. He would sink within the waters crashing against Ketterdam to witness - to cause - that happiness. But he would walk over broken glass to witness her intensity, and the revenge she exacted on whoever the target of that intensity was. She truly was the Wraith now.
“Hello, Kaz,” she said evenly, leveling that gaze that stole just a bit more breath from him each time. “Wanted some quiet too?”
“Yes.” Things had actually gotten rather quiet inside. Nina was feeding stale bread to her Drüskelle , Jesper had found somewhere to pace, and Wylan had taken to staring into the fire dancing in the hearth as if it might suddenly reveal his father’s approval and love. Sturmhond...that didn’t matter. Things were about the same level of tranquil and uneventful indoors as they were out.
But Inej was outside, and so Kaz, drawn like a magnet to its complete opposite, found his way out here.
Inej strode over to him, all easy poise, light and flighty as a shadow. Like a shadow, a part of Kaz wondered if one shift in the light, one disturbance in the atmosphere, would send her away from him.
And yet here she was, peering up at him with all the strength of a captain, a liberator. Despite being taller, Kaz could feel her presence fill his vision, all the world narrowing until his field of view was entirely Inej.
He really had missed her.
“I’m glad to have you as part of this,” she said softly. A few stray hands, untucked from her long braid, swayed gently in the evening breeze. He was sure they would be soft.
“Ambitious plans require the right people,” he replied in his voice of worn stone.
“And I know all of the best for this.” Idly, she brushed aside one of those stray locks of black hair.
Her fingers would fit perfectly between his, if only his stomach would consistently stop roiling.
Perhaps that was the other dangerous side of this game he was playing. Inej provided the greatest goal to fight for, the most noble: her happiness. All the while, she unearthed his secrets like so many other unsavory facts she gathered about others. Inej informed Kaz how volatile his own body and thoughts were, that though he reigned as master of the Barrel - master of Ketterdam, really - he had not truly mastered the revulsion his body expressed at the idea of a handshake.
The revelation was alarming. And he would do anything for the one who revealed such a nightmare.
“We need to keep Sturmhond in line,” Kaz pressed before his thoughts became too personal.
Inej laughed. “You thought bringing him on was a good idea!”
“I don’t remember saying something so bold.”
Inej rolled her eyes. “You agreed having someone with more exposure to the True Sea and surrounding lands was important.”
Kaz gave a short hum.
“And,” Inej added. “You’re right. We can’t do anything if we don’t have any information to go on. There are people counting on us.”
“Incorrect.” Kaz shook his head. “They don’t know to hope for or count on anything or anyone. Most people roll over and accept that the only factors at play in their freedom are their captors and themselves.”
Inej took a step back, drawing herself up. “I’m familiar with how it feels to want and wait, to plan and pine, Brekker.”
Brekker . Anything sounded harmonious in her voice. Yet regressing back to Brekker brought an unpleasant twinge, and a mounting indignation at his own foolish wording.
“I know,” he said slowly, hoping to save face. “But not everyone is as strong as you.”
Chin jutting out, Inej folded her arms, every part the captain-liberator she finally got to embrace. “Then it is good they’ll still have me and my strength.”
What could he say to that? That it was wrong to believe any captives still had hope left? That they were not chasing shipfuls of empty vessels that once housed souls? That too few people realized the control they possess over their own fates, if only they looked around and moved , seized it?
Not everyone could relate to a broken indenturetude meant to own and break every part of a person - body and soul. Most would be unable to fathom living on when their body was at Death’s doorstep, but the lazy bastard was not opening the door.
Yet Kaz and Inej could. And no odds had been allowed to fully break them.
Some might call Kaz broken; his body was permanently injured, and his morals utterly crooked. But the fall had only left a few cracks, which only revealed the areas in need of reinforcing. So Kaz had meticulously tended to every volatile area so nothing could permeate and split ever again.
Such was the case for Inej as well. The day her life changed had been just like any other. Then strangers whisked away the Ghafas beloved daughter, and sought to carelessly use and abuse her. And Inej had waited and learned and endured. She had fought, fled, and faced her fears. She had known terror and pain, and the carelessness of strangers, learned the pining ache of waiting and wanting someone to whisk her out of the Menagerie. In a way, that had happened, but what Tante Heleen had not anticipated was that Inej’s fighting spirit would endure and let her leave that place in tact. Like Kaz, she endured a battering that left deep fissures in need of attention. And though she had patched them up - though they both had - proof of their existence remained. But the strength Inej built up did as well.
Inej remembered hoping somehow she would be found by those who knew and loved her. Or that an observant, heroic stranger would see in her eyes how wrong her presence was, how much she didn’t belong, didn’t want to be there.
And Inej Ghafa would make those desires come true for others.
***
Jesper found himself pacing. Back, forth, left, down, then retracing the whole circuit. His feet carried his listless soul on a path of deliberate uncertainty. For that was what they all faced, wasn’t it? No shred of promises that anything would work out as they wished.
In the past, that had been just the feeling that was a prelude to their victory. Jesper wished he could call it a total victory. But in the grand scheme of things, they accomplished what they wanted.
Jesper let his mind wandered as he did, tracing its own scrambled yet totally sensical route. He thought about Kaz, the wheeling and dealing, gears constantly spinning, all amid that contradictory sense of trust Dirtyhands had. He put immense trust in his team obviously enough by believing they could execute any plan of his with success. But he kept so many parts of those plans to himself.
Jesper did not want to admit a pang of hurt this caused. Did not want to accept that, no matter who the person was, he wanted them to know he could be trusted. Perhaps that was because of who dearly he wanted to prove himself to his father. Colm Fahey. Who had given love and support and valuable lessons on how to be the best and most honest man he could be. All anyone could want in a father, and Jesper had nearly ruined them both.
His shoulders slumped.
Yes, that was certainly a crucial factor. Though he had worked hard to right his wrongs, fighting others and himself in the arduous process, pangs of shame still pursued him from time to time. Many had assured him he deserved to feel otherwise. Inej had echoed powerful words of redemption and acceptance. Life lessons learned. Nina had reminded him of all his daring accomplishments and trials. Even Helvar had taken a moment aside to give him a few gruff words about how life threw many twists and turns a person’s way to get them where they belong. It was far more than he’d ever expected from the Fjerdan.
And then there had been Wylan. Some of the weight that had begun bearing down on his shoulders eased as Jesper thought of the merchling. His was a reassuring sight when Jesper could see those gentle features beneath soft curls and waves. Wylan’s words cut the deepest in a way that was at once aching and soothing. Wylan’s whole existence had been a disappointment to the senior Van Eck. Every move scrutinized only to be more thoroughly criticized. It brought his blood to a boil to just think of it.
As if hearing the indignant cries in Jesper’s heart, Wylan traipsed in, eyes blinking in confusion beneath ruffled strawberry blond hair.
“Hey,” the merchling runaway said, approaching with a flighty hesitance.
“Hey yourself.” Jesper drew forth the will to smile. Still, hatred for Van Eck threatened to tug the corners of his lips down at a moment’s notice.
His efforts did not fool Wylan, who zeroed in on his look at once. “What’s wrong?” Then, he added, “Not chickening out, are you?”
Some of the good humor returned to Jesper, who quirked an eyebrow. “Kaz is definitely not a good influence on you.”
“There are worse sources of inspiration,” Wylan allowed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers, shoulders slouched in what was meant to be a carefree manner.
It successfully chased the rest of Jesper’s frown, at any rate. His brow smoothed as some residual tension lifted, and his hand found a place against Wylan’s back. He rubbed a soothing path there, as if chasing away his own leftover worries that might have transferred to the runaway merchling. Wylan smiled, a silent thank you - for a lot of things.
“Yeah, like a scheming sharpshooter who likes flirting too much.”
“I enjoy complimenting you and seeing your handsome blush,” Jesper corrected, straightening. “There is a difference. And I don’t scheme.”
“I can
see
the gears turning in your head sometimes just before you make some smart comment.”
“Trick of the light.” Jesper’s eyes read utter innocence. Friendly, unassuming innocence. All the while he thought fondly of the pink dusting that had spread across Wylan’s face when Wylan’s hand had crossed that short yet sweeping distance to Jesper’s for the first time, and the mounting, exhilarating realization at how natural it felt.
Van Eck, Rollins, Kaz, these monsters they were about to slay - none of them were privy to such a great sight.
But those taken from their homes may forge memories like this of their own. These problems had been too unrelenting for too long. Inej’s quest was not just noble; it was necessary. To be here now felt like he was performing a duty all should be assigned to undertake. If only everyone did… the problem may have been exterminated much sooner.
They would not be able to completely eliminate everyone nabbing innocent people from their homes. But among those yearning for the comfort of their warm bed, the natural fragrance of wherever they called home, all its eternal, reassuring white noise in various forms, just a bit of help meant all the difference in the world. For now, that would do. One step at a time.
***
The problem with a team comprised of an odd number made itself quickly evident, even without the awkward aftermath of their planning. To others, feeling like the third - or, in this case, seventh - wheel would weigh down on their morale, leading them to create for themselves a nice, crippling label of superfluous . Outsider. Excess. Burden.
But Nikolai Lantsov did not indulge in such musings. He knew his value and knew the additional value he would provide. With him came not just knowledge of the True Sea and lands adjacent to it, but also a reputation, one that extended beyond the reach of the lead Crow’s monstrous imagery he’d styled for himself. Even without being a member of the Ravkan royal family, Nikolai had cultivated a name for himself that spoke for itself, that evoked exactly what he wanted listeners to feel. It let him rule without a crown. His throne was a ship. His army himself. Those would provide value to this expedition.
No, not expedition. Far from it. Perhaps a hunting trip. Hunting down some troublesome smears upon the land, and bringing them to justice. Even now, staring intently down at his maps and navigation tools, Nikolai’s mind whirred a mile a second, weighing his options, predicting the implications of each.
The Suli played a complex board game of strategy during times of leisure. Some might not call it at all relaxing, to ponder over a set of wood pieces while navigating them across a checkered grid as a general would send his troops across fields. But they understood the value in giving the brain some good exercise. Nikolai appreciated the sentiment, and agreed with it wholeheartedly. He almost felt at peace from it. Inaction induced in him a strange sort of wariness, an anticipation for some oncoming, mounting thing in need of addressing that was being woefully ignored.
Perhaps this was only natural for a king.
Nikolai shook his head, lips pursed, chin resting in his hand.
No. This was different. His father had never showed such anxieties. Neither had Vasily, except for when the next royal hunt would be, or how his favorite horse was faring.
Perhaps… it was the mark of a good king, then. To only feel worthy when he let the thoughts and plans and musings flood over him and drown out all else until all that was left was Ravka, Ravka, Ravka .
His mind worked double time now, as he pondered how to address any of these offenders if caught. Because though this young Barrel gang had dreams of justice and vengeance, sometimes such things took time. Their primary goal, in Nikolai’s mind, was neutralizing operations in general, and sending home anyone displaced by them. Done carefully, he could gain insight on the naval situations of Ravka’s neighbors, and further establish Ravka’s place as a regional power.
As for any slavers they captured… that was tricky. Likely, his enthusiastic cohorts would want to deal a blow themselves. To which he would either conveniently be turning a blind eye or pinning some wretch down to land a better hit.
But there was also the option of handing them over to some governing body. Their place of residence would determine a lot of that, to be sure… as would the homeland of whoever they took. That was where things could get messy, yet so full of potential at once. As most glorious possibilities tended to be: an utter mess.
Slavers from Fjerda could be given to the Ice Court as a token of good faith, a bargaining chip in securing peace. Or as an act of hostility against one of their citizens. A kidnapper who targeted Zemeni could be brought to Zemeni to face justice from a victim’s home, but then another state might insist on taking them…
The whole thing was more complicated beyond tracking down some thugs and freeing some lost souls. But it was the mission they had come together for, and it would help clear the waterways for Ravka - and put less people out there who might nab Grisha, or civilians of anywhere and keep the tensions high.
Nikolai sighed, sitting back and rubbing tiredly at his eyes.
This would be quite the journey.