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Kaz felt ridiculous. A large part of him wanted to throw all his plans in the fire and simply go to Fifth Harbor and await Inej there. But the smaller part of him, the one that loved her more than so many other things in the world, wanted to be what she deserved.
He stood in front of his mirror and took in a deep breath, adjusted his tie. It was purple—it made him look like a magician’s stereotype, but it was her favorite color, so he could deal with it. The hat she’d gotten him from Novyi Zem two years prior sat snug on his head, and he ran his hand through his hair underneath it. He normally wasn’t terribly comfortable with his hair, but Inej had cut it the last time she’d been here, six months ago. It was neater than it’d ever been if a bit long at the edges.
She needed to give him another haircut. Kaz looked down. When he faced the mirror again he was grinning. He sighed and placated his lips into his normal frown and grabbed his cane and the list he’d spent the night scribbling on. Inej wouldn’t dock for another few hours and he didn’t trust any of the Dregs to carry out this task for him, so he’d have to find what he needed himself.
He struggled down the steps in his crispest suit, stopping in Per Haskell’s office to quickly meet with Anika. She was his swiftest lieutenant and sharp as well—she absolutely knew that his absence tonight was due to Inej’s return, but at least she had the good sense to not comment on it. After Kaz finished gruffly reminding her of the schedule for the Crow Club he swept out the door and into the crisp Kerch afternoon.
His first stop was the Financial District—he frequented there often enough to see the Exchange, but it also had a bustling marketplace. Even the cruelest of the merchers had to eat. A quick stop at a winery and then at a grocers had him find what he needed, and he quickly went back to the Slat and snuck around the back to his rooms to drop them off. Then he made the trek to the Geldin District to see the florist.
He’d put in an order for two shipments of flowers three days prior. One was a cart of Ravkan geraniums and the other was Shu irises—Inej had written that she’d grown fond of them two months ago, and he’d noted the fact. The bright red and white flowers were awaiting him at the door, and he dropped his payment out using credit. The florist didn’t want her customers to see him lurking about her shop, he thought grimly, even though he’d likely paid her daily salary in the exorbitant and exotic blossoms. He couldn’t find it in himself to care too much; they both had accomplished what they wanted.
His last stop was to buy new sheets and sweets; he grabbed those and went back to the Slat once again. His leg throbbed as he scaled the wall up to his room, but he couldn’t go through the main building again, not while everyone there thought he was away.
He slid into his room and caught his breath, then moved to open the door he’d had Jesper and Wylan carve into the roof. It was a way to get to the Slat’s roof—the three of them had spent a month leveling the shingles on the top of building and laying concrete over a part of it. The view from the Slat wasn’t terrific, but it was home—it oversaw the constantly busy streets of West Stave, and Fifth Harbor gleamed in the back.
The Slat was where Kaz had taken Inej home all those nights ago, after he'd bought out her indenture. It was where he had given her a knife and taught her how to shoot a gun and heard her cry over her first kill. The Slat was where Kaz had spent days watching her feed his crows and laugh in the window, where they’d slept next to each other for the first time, where they’d become partners.
Kaz knew Inej hated the Crow Club for what it meant. But the Slat had always just belonged to the Dregs—it was where she’d become the Wraith, and it was where she kept coming back. Back to him. He knew he couldn’t live here forever. He’d already bought and started to run three other casinos in the area and an actual apartment called his name. But he’d made so many memories here. And—
He wanted to make more. Dusk was on the horizon. Kaz rested for a moment before he tugged up everything he’d bought and started to arrange it on the rooftop. He set out the sheet and then champagne he’d dropped in an ice-bucket in his room, and then Inej’s favorite Kerch sweets and the cold cheeses and sausages he’d picked up from the grocers.
He'd picked up candles, too, from his room, and set them out but didn’t light them; it wouldn’t do to set his entire building on fire. He laid out the flowers, alternating them across the sheet and the rest of the room in a pattern. It was a little bit too strict, but Kaz liked it when things were in order.
Kaz set out a matchbox and then slid back down into his room. He took his hat with him and held tight to his cane as he slid down to the ground floor once again. His leg was killing him, but he wanted the night to be perfect. Inej would be here soon. He needed to get to Fifth Harbor.
He did, his gloves almost suffocating around his wrists. He didn’t like being in them around her much, anymore, but it was still nighttime, and he still enjoyed his reputation as Dirtyhands. It had been six years since he’d marked this same pattern to the Ferolind and ended up running back to her and carrying her onto the ship. It was the first time he’d almost felt her. He’d carried her. He’d called her an investment, too. He still caught flack for that.
He tilted his head down so that nobody could see the small movement of his lips at that thought. Then he winced at the tightening of his leg and bit his lip and pulled himself to the docks.
Kaz had been slowed down a little by his leg—he hadn’t quite accounted for the toll his earlier travels would have taken on it. But he was standing there when The Wraith pulled into the harbor, wearing his best suit, and best hat, hiding a quirk of his lips. There wasn’t quite a way for him to explain the euphoria he felt when Inej came back to Ketterdam—a part of him felt whole, as though the world had been broken but fit back together perfectly. He would have hated to admit that dependence years ago, but now he embraced it, unabashedly. He missed her, and he enjoyed having her back with him.
Life was too short to pretend the opposite. Life was too short—
Kaz Brekker gathered his courage and stood with a stone face as Specht tethered the boat. It was a moment later that Inej leapt to the deck and then off of it.
They made eye contact from feet apart, and Kaz’s world stopped. He knew what he had to do, and he wanted to do it so, so terribly. He’d planned and thought his way through this night every night for the past six months.
He’d take her back to the Slat, as he always did, before she headed to Jesper and Wylan’s in the morning. They’d stay up all night and drink and talk. Inej would tell him of her adventures and he’d listen, enraptured, as she detailed out the worlds she’d gone to with him. She’d ask him to talk about the club, and he’d ignore her.
The first year they’d held hands during that conversation. Then they’d progressed to holding each other close—first with armor, then without it.
As Kaz saw Inej across from him—saw her tired and bright eyes, the curl of her hair, the smile in her eyes—he lost his mind. He wanted to step forward but his knee buckled a little, and Inej—his Wraith, always observant Inej—gestured for Specht to go below decks as she stared at him with that sparkle in her gaze.
Specht snorted as he went, and Kaz couldn’t find it in himself to care. Inej ran towards him and he dropped his cane as she came close to him, drew her up into his arms. She pressed close to him, her arms locking around his middle and her face into his shirt. They weren’t touching through clothing, but they were close enough.
After a moment Inej hitched herself up, and Kaz leaned against the docks’ railings as her legs closed in around his waist. He kept her wrapped around him, her face pressed into his collar. Her hair brushed his chin, and he held in a shiver. They stayed that way for a moment until she breathed into him, fogging up the air.
“Hello, Kaz.”
Kaz lowered his face into her hair, pressed his lips to the crown of her head. He wanted to be close to her. “Hello, Captain Ghafa.”
“I missed you,” Inej laughed into him, and Kaz pulled her face away from him and then to him again, until their foreheads were pressed together. With her lifted up a bit, they could see eye to eye. He couldn’t help himself. He was smiling like an absolute idiot. Curse you and all your saints, he thought.
“I missed you too,” he whispered, breathing a puff of air into her face. She laughed at that, and he smiled louder, and that was the end of it.
Kaz had planned out his first kiss with Inej to the moment. He’d take her back to the Slat and they’d sit on the roof and eat sweets and pop a bottle of champagne, and they’d be surrounded by flowers and candles—like his father used to do for his mother. He’d have Wylan set off fireworks at three in the morning, between the shadow and the soul, and then he’d kiss her. Eight years after he’d met her, he’d kiss her.
He'd never wanted something so terribly. He’d never fucked up his plans so royally. There, on Fifth Harbor, the place where they’d left on the defining voyage of their lives, the place where he’d carried her bleeding and then lost her, foreheads together, he pressed his lips to hers for the first time.
It was a dark night, and Kaz was grateful that nobody could quite see them, because he lost his mind after that. Inej pressed back after a moment, just their closed-mouths touching, and jumped off of him, touching her lips and smiling at him. There’s the laugh, Kaz grinned, and he felt as though he was a boy again. He hadn’t felt the waters. He felt as though he was Kaz Rietveld, as though his world and innocence hadn’t been stolen from him.
“I—” he started, then didn’t know what to say. Inej kept her arms around him.
“You really missed me, didn’t you?” she teased. Kaz almost turned red.
“I—I had a plan,” he breathed out. “I was going to—it was going to be different. I had wine and your favorite chocolates and irises—”
“White irises,” Inej laughed, and he scrunched his brow together and leaned down and pressed their foreheads together again.
“Yes,” he said crossly, “white irises.”
Inej looked up into his gaze, searchingly, as though she’d found salvation in a demon. And then she reached up to lay a hand on his face and stood on her tip-toes and kissed him again, lips to lips. “I think I love you, Kaz Brekker.”
He reached down and held her hand. “I know I do.”
It wasn’t what he’d thought, but it was just right.