Archive of Our Own ^beta

Wylan, Inej thinks, is a fool. A kind one, and a well-intentioned one, but a fool. Having Jesper send a letter across the seas to Ravka, then diverting the letter to Fjerda… Well. Inej is just glad Nina managed to keep her Grisha powers a secret. She still can’t believe Jesper let him do that. Then again, neither of them had ever been the brains of the group. She cares for them both, and she will always, but she is not blind to their faults.

She received her own letter whilst in docking in the Fifth Harbour, turning in a ship full of slavers to the authorities. She had not told anyone she was in Ketterdam for those few days, but the letter had found her, anyway. It still hides in her waistcoat, even now. A letter from a friend is always welcome. Less pleasant things awaited her at sea—she would like to keep a remnant of home when she is out there.

Right now, though, she needs no reminder. Of course, the Van Eck mansion is not home—but then again, home has never been a place, but a people. And she is with those people.

Most of them.

“He had just wanted to invite Nina for a week,” Jesper says somewhere to the right. “He didn’t know she wasn’t in Ravka. It’s been a year since… you know. He just wanted to give her some comfort for a bit.”

A year since Nina had left, is perhaps what Jesper means? That would be the kinder thing to mention. But she knows he means Matthias’s death. Denying it today would be a slight on the Fjerdan’s memory.

“Then Inej just got lucky,” Jesper goes on. “If Wylan’s business partners hadn’t known she was coming in—”

Ah, so that’s how they found her. That made sense. Nothing went on in Ketterdam without at least twenty top dogs knowing. Nobody could even bite a waffle without them hearing about it.

Kaz is one of those top dogs. Kaz is the person talking with Jesper.

That is why she does not look over when she hears her name. She doesn’t know how to face him. Not yet. A year is a long time. She doesn’t know what she should do. Get angry, for not replying to her few letters? Smile, as she had missed him? Act neutral, with her complicated feelings sticking her somewhere between confusion, excitement, and annoyance?

She settles for wanting him to acknowledge her first. It’s the least he could do.

“Inej,” Nina says, almost floating over to join her.

She looks lovely in red, like always. She doesn’t have her kefta on—Grisha still hadn’t quite returned to Ketterdam yet—but she does have a flowing dress. It suits her curves perfectly, Inej thinks. In another life, Inej would tell her this in a more flattering way. In this life, Inej simply says that it is a nice dress. Nina takes the compliment quite happily, anyway.

“You look lovely,” Nina purrs.

“Thank you,” Inej says. “Put on my best for this.”

Nina laughs. Inej has on her usual clothes. Nothing fancy, other than a hastily-donned blue and gold scarf over her shoulders. She had been given that by one of the people she had rescued. The man had an eye for her. She had declined, for various reasons, but she kept hold of the scarf. She loves the scarf. How could she not? The fabric is soft, and it glints quite spectacularly in the light.

And it gives her stories to tell.

“Didn’t know you were in town,” Nina says.

“Nobody was supposed to,” Inej says. “But that’s Ketterdam for you.”

Nina hums in agreement.

Inej wants to ask how Nina is, but she isn’t sure how she should do that. Inej knows so many dead people. So many people who loved now-dead people. But there never is a good way to ask this.

“How has Ravka and Fjerda been?” she asks, instead.

“Cold,” Nina says with a shrug. That’s it.

Then she loses herself in memories. Inej can see it. Her eyes unfocus, her face slowly slackens to a neutral expression. Inej knows that look. She has seen it so many times on… on Kaz.

She looks over to him, finally.

He is looking at her, too. Deep, Coffee-stained eyes and pale, pointed cheekbones, just as she remembers. He studies her with a blank expression. She wishes she knew what he thought. Same wish as ever.

Saints, she thinks to herself after only a few seconds. What on earth is wrong with her? This is Kaz. She doesn’t need to play some foolish game. They already have one going—why add on top of it?

Kaz moves across the room, leaning heavily on his cane. She knows that gait. Something happened last night. And he hadn’t slept.

“Inej,” he rasps. “Nina.”

“Kaz,” Nina says, snapping to. She plasters a smile over her face. It almost looks real. “Looking…”

“Don’t,” he warns.

“Hm.”

Inej thinks he looks otherwise quite nice. He has himself dressed neatly—Saints, this is beginning to feel more and more like some dinner party, rather than just an average meal amongst friends—and he presents himself as collected. Not unusual, for him, but something extra about his demeanour sets it apart from his normal attire.

“You look well,” Nina says.

“As do you,” Kaz replies.

Inej cannot handle much more of this. “For Saint’s sake, what are we, foreign dignitaries? Kaz has seen you vomiting your guts out, Nina.”

Nina scowls at Inej. Kaz just narrows his eyes at her.

“You are friends,” she says. “Act like it.”

She doesn’t miss the way Kaz blinks at the word “friends.” She does not heed it, either. He might have his walls so highly built that he cannot see past them, but Inej cut peepholes into it long ago. She knows these are the people closest to him. She knows he cares, in his strange—but rather human—way.

“Friends don’t mention their friends ‘vomiting their guts out,’” Nina sniffs.

A server comes around bearing drinks. Nina immediately grabs one, huffiness forgotten. Inej loves that about her. Nina is never one to be torn up by horrid things when she could give herself pleasures. She likes to find the goodness in the world and use it to her advantage. Even on the saddest of days, Nina can find a way to give herself comfort. Inej doesn’t know what that’s like. But it pleases her to know that Nina can do it for herself.

Inej does not take a drink. Kaz doesn’t seem to want to, either. But the platter hovers in front of him expectantly, so he reluctantly grabs the closest one to himself. The server smiles at him. Kaz glowers back, and the server moves on.

“You could be nice,” Inej says.

Kaz merely brings the glass to his lips and takes a sip. His eyes do not break contact with hers. It only does when he grimaces and glares down at his drink as if it had kicked his bad leg. Inej is glad she didn’t take any herself, then.

“You know, you say we aren’t dignitaries,” Nina muses as she swirls the contents of her glass (she seems to be pleased with the wine, at least), “but it is certainly beginning to feel like it.”

“This is just what happens when you have mercher associates,” Kaz says. “You get treated like dignitaries, even just at casual reunions.”

“In that case,” Nina says, “Wylan better host more reunions.”

“Will you be around for them?” Inej asks.

Nina glances to her, and Inej can spot the pain in her eyes. Ketterdam is harrowing to Nina. Friends may be enough to draw her back, but not enough to keep her.

“Only if Wylan promises the food will be good,” Nina says when she recovers her usual cheer. “And I better sleep in the softest of beds.”

“No, no,” Jesper says, sliding in to join them. “That goes to Wylan’s mother. Even we don’t get that.”

“Hey,” Wylan says. He moves in, too. Inej doesn’t miss the way Kaz steps slowly back, distancing himself enough from the small crowd. “You’ve never said anything about our bed being hard.”

“No,” Jesper admits. “I was more concerned about other things being—"

“I think that is best left between you two,” Kaz cuts in.

Jesper merely shrugs.

“Wylan,” Nina says. Inej catches the sly sweetness in her tone and raises an eyebrow as she slips an arm into Wylan’s. “Are all of your dinners like this?”

“Like what?” Wylan asks confusedly.

Of course the mercher wouldn’t know about how extravagant even the little things about his life are. Even the time he had spent with the Dregs hadn’t shown him enough about how normal people lived. At least, not in terms of dinners with friends.

Nina launches into a long speech, one that would no doubt end in Wylan submitting to her wills. He wouldn’t even know he’d been conned—that’s how good Nina is at this. No wonder Kaz had wanted her for the Dregs back then. Even without Heartrender powers, Nina is something to behold.

Inej tunes out after the first few sentences. Her eyes, quite predictably, drift to Kaz. He appears to be only halfway listening to Nina’s swindle. He lifts his glass to his lips every so often and sips from it, wincing each time.

He knows she’s staring. She knows he knows. Their awareness of each other extends to frightening levels. Well, frightening to others. To her, it was just Dirtyhands and the Wraith joining Kaz Brekker and Inej Ghafa. They couldn’t not feel each other’s presence. It cost kruge and lives to not be attuned like that.

Kaz moves closer to her. Not too close—Saint’s forbid he ever get close to anyone—but close enough.

“How’s the sea?” he asks quietly.

“Wet,” Inej says. “How’s the Barrel?”

“Infested with rats.”

She feels a smile pull at her lips, but she pushes it down.

“You never came to visit,” Kaz says.

“I was never in Ketterdam for more than a day.”

His gaze is knowing. She doesn’t avoid it, though she wants to. She knows her choices, and perhaps she regrets them, but she does have reasons for them.

Instead of saying more, Kaz downs the remnants of his wine. The server, who has been hovering attentively nearby, swoops in with his tray. Kaz glowers at him again as he sets the glass on it. Inej wants to tell him off for acting like the Barrel boss he needn’t be in Wylan’s manor, but she suddenly recognises the look he has on his face.

“Do you know him?” she murmurs.

“He looks familiar.” Kaz’s scowl deepens as he tries to place the person.

“Someone from the Barrel?”

“Why would anyone in the Barrel be so far out here?” Kaz asks. “They wouldn’t be from the Barrel if they made it this far.”

He has a point, but he still continues to frown.

“Well,” Inej says. “You’ll remember soon enough.”

Kaz nods, but he doesn’t seem happy. Of course not. He never likes forgetting things. Not even the most inconsequential of faces.

“Sunken any ships?” he asks.

“Four.” Only four. It frustrates her immensely. The sea is a big place; it isn’t easy to find the ships of slavers. She has rescued only four boats of potential indentures, while countless others have gone to their dooms.

“Four more than me,” Kaz says, almost nonchalantly. But she mentally is grateful for the fact that he has, in his own strange way, tried to comfort her.

“I’m sure you could sink a ship of your own, if you wished.”

“I suppose I—”

She frowns as he cuts himself off. “Kaz?”

He looks to her, eyes widening. Inej can spot panic. That frightens her. Nothing panics Kaz Brekker.

“Kaz?” she asks again, louder. It catches the attention of the others, but she ignores them. She can only watch as Kaz’s chest begins to heave in and out. “Kaz, what is it?”

He just keeps staring at her, his pupils dilated and his blinks rapid. His breath wheezes in and out now, sounding laboured.

“Kaz?”

His cane clatters to the ground. She thanks any number of saints for her fast reflexes, because Kaz soon follows the path of his cane. She grabs onto him, pulling him towards her, refusing to let gravity take him.

“Kaz!” Jesper shouts. Inej hears him dimly. When he reaches for Kaz, she wants to shove him away. He can’t touch Kaz—nobody can. But Kaz needs the help, so she lets him prop Kaz up in her arms.

“Kaz?” she asks, once more.

Kaz’s eyes are closed now, body loose in her arms. Instinct wants her to shake him, force him back to consciousness. Expertise reminds her that doing so is likely a bad idea.

“What happened?” Nina demands. She has rushed in close, now, inspecting Kaz carefully.

“He was just talking,” Inej says, “and then…”

In her arms, Kaz breathes laboriously, finishing Inej’s lost sentence. Nina nods and leans in closer. Inej feels uncomfortable on Kaz’s behalf, but she lets Nina do what needs to be done.

“Jurda yed,” Nina says when she draws back. Her face is grim.

Inej stares at her. “What?”

“You’ve been away at sea too long,” Nina tells her. Before Inej can inquire more, Nina turns to Wylan and Jesper. “It won’t have been too long since he’s taken it. I need to know if you have activated charcoal.”

“I think so.” Wylan’s voice wavers.

“Go get it. Now,” she snaps.

Wylan disappears without any more prompting.

“We need to get him lying down,” Nina says. Inej moves to bring Kaz to the floor, but Nina shakes her head. “Somewhere comfortable. If—when he gets through this, he’ll be grateful we got him to a bed.”

Inej ignores half of what Nina said—perhaps for the best—as she spies someone sneaking out of the room.

“The server,” she realises quickly. “The server, he was—”

Jesper’s guns flash out within a second, already chasing after the server. Inej watches Jesper go, listening as well to the server’s speeding footsteps disappearing down the hall outside. She feels rage she cannot begin to fathom.

“Inej,” Nina says sharply, drawing her back to reality. “Inej, look at me.”

She looks to Nina.

All Nina says is, “Kaz first.” That’s enough. She doesn’t need to say more. Inej only needs those words.

They have to manhandle him upright. Inej hates this. Kaz would hate it. But some darker deeds are necessary to save lives. If the cost of saving Kaz is touch, then it is a cost Inej can quickly learn to bear.

He carried her, once, she remembers. She will do the same for him.

Nina carries his feet while Inej holds his upper body. They meet Wylan in the hall. He has a bottle in his hand and a spooked look on his face.

“Where’s the closest bedroom?” Nina demands.

Without a word, Wylan scampers off again, leading them to a guest bedroom. They drop Kaz off on the bed with little ceremony.

“What’s jurda yed?” Inej asks as Nina sends Wylan off again for water and a bucket.

“Poison,” Nina says darkly. She unscrews the bottle, peeking down into its contents. “Made from jurda.”

“Saints,” Inej says. “Is everything made from jurda these days?”

“Poorly-made parem turns into yed.”

“Oh.” Inej can’t think of much more to say than that. Her head feels light and heavy at the same time, and every glance she takes to Kaz on the bed makes her… she doesn’t know what.

Wylan returns quickly, two pails in his hands. “I couldn’t figure out how much water you wanted.”

He sets them down next to Nina. The water-filled one sloshes slightly over the brim as Wylan plucks a glass out of the empty one.

“Put the empty one by the bed,” she says, grabbing the glass from Wylan’s hand.

Wylan does as bid, then steps beside Inej. They watch as Nina dunks the glass into the water. She pulls it out, then dumps some of the activated charcoal inside.

“Someone prop him up,” she instructs.

Inej moves onto the bed without thinking, sliding herself behind Kaz. She pushes him upright someone, holding him once more in her arms the way she had in the dining room. He feels limp in her arms. She hates that.

“Pinch his nose shut,” Nina says.

Inej looks to her, eyes wide. She can’t touch Kaz like that—nobody should.

“Pinch his nose shut!” Nina orders harshly. “I need to get this in him now!”

Figuring that, even though Kaz would say he would rather die than let someone touch him, Kaz would actually quite prefer to stay alive, Inej does as she is told. She pinches Kaz’s nose, cutting off his air flow through his nostrils. His breath is so weak and laboured already, so it feels like she is condemning him to death herself. Fortunately, Kaz’s mouth opens, taking its turn doing his breathing.

Until Nina dumps water down his throat.

“Nina!” Inej shouts as Kaz almost chokes on the water.

“Relax!” She doesn’t know if Nina means her or Kaz.

Kaz somehow manages to swallow most of the water. What little he splutters out runs down his cheeks and chin, pooling on his neck and drenching his clothes. Nina barely waits until that has gone down before she dumps more water into his open mouth.

This process happens thrice more with the first glass, and then five times with the second.  

“Hopefully that should be enough,” Nina says. She hunches over on herself. “If it isn’t… I suppose we’ll see an hour.”

“Why an hour?” Inej asks.

“Because either he’ll be stable by then,” Nina says, “or he’ll be dead.”

That sends a jolt of horror through Inej.

Kaz can’t die. That is like a fundamental fact of the world. Kaz Brekker made other people die. He couldn’t die himself. He shouldn’t.

“Can we give him more of that?” Inej asks, looking to the bottle of activated charcoal.

“We could,” Nina says. “But I think that should be more than enough for the amount of yed he’s taken.”

“It was in his wine,” Inej says. “Why would someone poison his wine?”

“Inej, I am sure you are more than aware of the answer to that question.”

But there are so many answers to the question, is the thing. Inej doesn’t know who Kaz pissed off. The names of those who would seek vengeance could fill a whole book.

“We need to get some of these clothes off of him,” Nina says.

That feels like a slap in Inej’s face. Not only would Kaz despise that more than anything, but Inej does, too. She can’t unclothe a man who has no say in the matter. To do so would make her no better than… Well. So many people in the Barrel.

“Not all,” Nina says, reading Inej correctly. “Just some. Look at him. He’s sweating. We need to make him more comfortable.”

Inej glances down at Kaz in her arms. Nina is right; his face is paler than usual, but he’s sweating bullets. Jesper could shoot them if he wanted.

“Alright,” Inej says, then slides out from under him.

Wylan joins, removing Kaz’s shoes as Nina unbuttons his waistcoat and Inej undoes his tie. The work is awkward, made even more so by the fact that Inej refuses to make any more contact with Kaz’s skin. Wylan and Nina seem to be trying the same.

In the end, they manage to get Kaz down to just his shirt, trousers, and socks. They leave his gloves on, as well. Inej doesn’t let them take those off. Those mean something to Kaz, even beyond his touch issues. She wants him to take them off on his own free will. She will not take them off herself. He must do it. He must choose to reach for her.  

Wylan, who seems the most uncomfortable, folds the clothes and puts the shoes by the bedside. Then he all but flees the room. Nina stays for a while longer, but not much.

“We’ve done all we can,” Nina says. “The activated charcoal has to do the rest. With any luck, it’ll soak up most of the poison and render it inert. And then…”

Inej turns sharply to her. “And then?”

“And then Kaz will feel quite sick.” Nina points to the empty bucket. “Make sure he uses that. Wylan’s staff will likely try to kill Kaz all over again if he vomits on their nice bedsheets.”

She places a hand on Inej’s shoulder, rubbing it consolingly. “It’s in the hands of the Saints, now. And the activated charcoal, I suppose.”

After that, she follows Wylan’s path out.

Inej watches Kaz carefully at first. His breathing still comes in fits and starts. She can hear the wheeze of his chest. His eyes flutter beneath the lids.

“You better live,” she tells him after a bit. “If you don’t, I’m taking over the Dregs. Then I’ll ruin them. Teach you to die on them.”

Teach you to die on me, she thinks to herself.

She pulls off her scarf and dunks it into the water. Wringing it out slightly, she moves to the edge of the bed, sitting on it. Then she presses the scarf to his forehead. He groans.

“Kaz?” she asks, pulling the fabric away.

The groan must’ve been an involuntary one, because he makes no motion of recognition. She replaces the scarf to his forehead, dabbing away the sweat.

“Now, who was it this time?” she asks him. “Geels again? Dime Lions? They’d have any number of reasons to go after you. Razorgulls? Saints. I could keep going and going. You can’t even answer. Not that you would, were you awake.”

She stops dabbing, now laying the scarf gently against his forehead. It should soak up the rest of the sweat as it comes. She keeps her hand on the scarf, though.

What she really wants is to brush his hair back. To hold his hand through this. She can’t do that. She wants to. He wouldn’t.

“You make everything so complicated, you know,” she tells him.

Kaz’s only response is his agonisingly shallow breaths.

“I could have stayed. I could never have come back. I thought through so many things. Saints, Kaz, I even once thought of throwing myself into the harbour and swimming back to the docks the last time we left Ketterdam.” She readjusts the scarf. “Only for a second. But still… I miss you. Part of me doesn’t want to. But I do.”

As with the rest of the one-sided conversation, Inej is met with wheezes and closed eyes.

She does not have any clue how long the time stretches on. Hope tells her it’s been an hour. Defeatism tells her he’ll never make it that long. She begins to pray to drown out her thoughts.

But after a while, a weak voice grumbles something. When she looks down at him, slivers of white and tea-brown peek up at her.

“Kaz?” she asks.

Kaz makes the sound again, almost impatiently. It sounds like utter gibberish in his wispy, rasped breath.

“I don’t know what you want,” she tells him.

“’nej,” he says, far more urgently. His eyes open more, the same confusing exigency riding in his gaze. “Inej.”

He all but throws himself off the bed then, twisting his body so that he could stick his face over the edge. Inej nearly reaches out to grab him, thinking this had been some strange fit, but her hands divert to the empty pail when the heaving begins.

Kaz vomits thrice. Inej thinks the third time might have been because she had tried to help him back sit up, and her fingers had brushed his neck. But she cannot confirm that theory, so she sets it aside and pretends it’s still down to the poison.

When all is said and done, Inej moves the pail to the side. She can’t stomach the smell of it, but she can’t get rid of it yet, either. She suspects he isn’t quite done yet.

Kaz rolls back onto his back, pushing himself with strength he barely has. He shivers tremendously.

“What…” His voice is at least twenty times harsher than usual, and he still gasps for air. “What happened?”

“Someone poisoned you,” she tells him.

“Mmm,” Kaz says, as if it isn’t out of the ordinary for him. Perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps people attempt to poison him all the time; she wouldn’t be surprised if they did.

“Nina says it’s—”

“Jurda yed?”

Inej frowns. He catches this under his heavily lidded eyes.

“The only… only one I haven’t… tested,” he says. His eyes shut for a second, then he wrenches them back open. “Didn’t know... what... it tasted like.”

“You micro-dose poisons?”

“Need to know… when… I’m being poisoned,” he says. When his eyes close this time, he lets them stay that way.

Inej picks up her scarf from where it had dropped to the ground. She dunks it in the water again, wrings it out, and then returns to dabbing away the sweat from Kaz’s face. It had returned—and then some—when he had vomited.

“Pretty.”

Inej glances at him from where she had been resoaking her scarf to clean out the sweat for another go at mopping his brow. Kaz’s eyes are still hooded heavily, but he stares at her.

“Thank you,” she says. “It was a gift.”

“Lucky man.”

“Not so lucky if he wanted anything more from me,” she says. She rids the scarf of most if the water, then returns it to Kaz’s brow. Kaz’s eyes stay focused on her, tracking her movements. “But I’ll keep the scarf, anyway.”

“Blue and gold are good on you,” Kaz remarks.

She merely sponges his brow. Compliments are rare, and she does not want to ruin it with her own words. She’ll lock this in her memories and consider it later, far from his eyes, when she can safely feel her heart break and fix itself.

“You should rinse your mouth out,” she says, swiping at his cheeks.

Weakly, he glares at her. “Yes, ma.”

“If you’re well enough to be an ass,” she says, “you are well enough to drink some water.”

He continues his glare, but he tries to push himself up, anyway. Unfortunately, he seems to be shivering now, and the shudders prohibit him from doing much. She reaches out to him, but he jerks away. His eyes stare at her hands.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she says, but she doesn’t think that’s his problem. That’s her problem. She doesn’t know entirely what his nightmares consist of. “Let me help.”

He regards her for a short time more, the tremors consuming him. Then he nods.

Inej aids him up, though he doesn’t seem to be able to hold himself there. She has to awkwardly contort her body to grab water and the vomit-bucket (Saints, the thing is gross) while still holding him upright. His head falls back onto her shoulder after a moment, and she freezes. Then, with great effort, he pulls his head upright again.

She passes him the glass of water without mentioning the event.

He tries to take the glass, but again, his shaking gets the best of him. Inej’s hand instantly returns to it, steadying it before he dumps water everywhere. Though Inej’s fingers barely brush against his glove, he immediately stiffens again.

She doesn’t pressure him, this time. She waits until he slowly begins to relax, then guides the water to his lips. He takes in some water, rinses his mouth, and then spits out the contents. He tries to go for more, but she stops him.

“You can’t drink yet,” she says. “You’ll only want to vomit more.”

He turns his head to glower at her. She ignores it, placing the water aside on the room’s nightstand. Then she lowers him back onto the bed, making sure her fingers don’t pass over any bare skin.

“Where are my clothes?” he croaks.

Inej points to the pile of neatly-folded coat, shirt, and waistcoat, and then down to the shoes on the floor.

“You were burning up,” she tells him when his face creases in revulsion. “We had to remove some.” When he says nothing to that, she adds, “We tried not to touch you.”

He glances sharply up to her. She pays no heed to the look.

“Your armour needs to go down,” she says quietly, “but you must be the one removing it. I will not take from you what isn’t given.”

They sit in silence for a short while, her sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at the floor, him shivering quietly to himself as he watches her.

“Why didn’t you come visit?” he asks, voice harsh but tone the opposite.

“Two days in the harbour hardly gave me enough time,” she says.

“You’re the Wraith,” he says. “You make time.”

“Kaz…”

“Your crows missed you.”

She turns to him then, glaring thunderously down at him. “This is why I didn’t come back.”

He blinks up at her, clearly shocked.

“You can never say what you mean,” she says. “You will never admit to anything. How can I live like that, Kaz? How can I live, trying to pry words from your mouth? I will have you without armour. But how can I know you will ever take it off?”

“And how will you know if you never come back?” Now the harshness of his voice matches his tone. “If you want signs, you have to look for them.”

She can only look at him for a short while. His gaze is hard and challenging, though it looks odd on his pale and clammy face.

“I have tried to do what you asked,” he says. “I have t—It isn’t easy. But I have worked at it.”

His face looks severe, yet honest. She can’t stare at it for too much longer before something inside her chest starts to squirm.

She reaches down to the water bucket again, beginning to soak her scarf again. She stays there for a while, letting her chest settle. His stare bores holes into the back of her head; she can feel his intense gaze on her. When she turns around, sure enough, he is studying her. She notes the hard edge to the softness in his eyes.

Gently, she places her scarf back on his forehead. He closes his eyes.

“I missed you,” she says. “But you bought me a boat. How could I know that you wanted me, when you bought me something to sail away from you?”

His eyes fly back open, mouth ready to protest. Then he catches her soft smile and relaxes.

“I bought you the boat,” he says, “because you wanted a boat. I just bought it before you could.”

“Ah, so you were rubbing your riches in my face.”

“We had the same amount of money.”

“Hmm,” she says.

She takes a calculated risk, slipping her little finger over the edge of the scarf. It brushes against his forehead. He closes his eyes instantly, shuddering twice as hard. But he takes deep breaths—or, as deep as they can be, currently—and slowly forces himself to ease off.

Then his eyes open again, finding her gaze with a mild one of his own.

“I did miss you,” he rasps quietly. “I waited, every time I heard you were back. I thought…”

Instead of finishing his sentence, he simply lifts his hand. It trembles, so she takes it in her own. She cradles it carefully but holds it sternly enough that the tremors stop.

They sit there like that for some time, until Kaz slowly slips back into sleep. Inej places his hand back by his side then, but she does not let go. She doesn’t want to.

When Kaz wakes back up, he vomits again. Unfortunately, it seems he had emptied his stomach completely the last time, so he simply heaves and heaves until some bile comes out, and then heaves more and more.

“Kaz,” Inej says after a few minutes. “Kaz, relax.”

Kaz cannot seem to relax. His body has convinced itself it needs to keep retching.

Inej takes a gigantic risk.

He reels back in shock as her hand brushes through his hair. His eyes stream with tears from the vomiting, which makes him look ten times more comical as he stares wide-eyed at her.

“Relax,” she says. “It’s alright. Just relax.”

She wipes the scarf across his face, getting all of the grossness away from him. Everyone feels better when they’re not gross. Kaz will, too.

Sure enough, when she finishes, Kaz asks hoarsely, “Why did you do that?”

“Either it would make you vomit more,” she says, “or it would startle you enough to stop vomiting.”

His eyebrows raise. “That’s a big gamble.”

“I’m not Jesper. I know when the odds are favourable enough to win.”

She hands him the glass of water. He reaches out for it, then seems to think better of it. She watches him, confused, as his hands go together. Then he begins to strip the leather from his fingers.

When his bare hand sticks out for the glass again, she can only stare.

“Leather is too slippery,” murmurs Kaz, taking the glass. Their fingers touch. Just barely. It makes him shiver harder, slopping some water over the rim. Then he controls himself. He takes in some water, then spits it out into the discard bucket.

“You know,” Inej says quietly, “you don’t have to lie. You’re allowed to want things.”

Kaz merely takes a small sip of the water. She scowls.

“I told you not to,” she says.

“I’m thirsty,” he says. Petulant, like a toddler.

Taking another risk, she slowly extends a hand to his face. His eyes narrow, trailing said hand as it makes its path. Allowing him time to pull away, she starts to push aside the dishevelled strands of sweaty hair that had fallen in his face. He does not pull away. He closes his eyes and lets her do it.

“You need a haircut,” she says.

His eyebrows raise.

“I could do it,” she says. “I have a knife or two.”

He shoots her an unamused glance, though she sees the way the corners of his lips pull upwards.

The door bursts open. Inej and Kaz hastily pull away from each other. Kaz tries to sit up properly, straightening his hunched shoulders into a stronger position. Inej busies herself with clearing up the area.

“Well, it’s been an hour and a half. I came to see if he’s not dead,” Nina says. “Seems he isn’t. Joy.”

Kaz sends her a mighty glare.

“An hour and half?” Inej asks. “I thought you said—”

“I came to check then,” Nina says, “but you were talking, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“So you eavesdropped, instead,” Kaz surmises.

“I didn’t eaves—oh, fine. I did.” Nina folds her arms with a sigh, looking at Kaz. “Look. Just. Thank you for not dying today. Makes my life a hell of a lot less… you know.”

Kaz only nods. Inej looks to her lap.

Matthias should be here.

“Anyway,” Nina says, “Jesper is back.”

“Back?” Inej asks. “Did he have to leave?”

“Chased the man all the way to the Exchange.”

“Couldn’t he have shot him before that?”

“Don’t ask me,” Nina says, exasperated. “Jesper does what Jesper does. I just came to see that Kaz hadn’t snuffed it so that Jesper doesn’t prematurely put a bullet in his head.”

“Where’s my cane?” Kaz asks suddenly.

“Probably still in the dining room,” Nina says.

“Why?” Inej asks.

Kaz exhales slowly, then begins to push himself off the bed.

“Whoa!” Nina cries as Inej herself shouts, “No!”

Kaz does not get anywhere, anyway, because he falls back onto the bed after getting only halfway to a standing position. He drops his head to his hands.

“Lightheaded?” Nina asks. “That’s because you were just poisoned.”

He brings his head out of his hands enough to glare at her.

“Where are you trying to go?” Inej asks.

“Someone tried to kill me,” Kaz snaps. “I want to know why.”

“You shouldn’t get up,” Nina says. “We could bring him to you.”

“No.”

Inej withholds a sigh. Damn Kaz Brekker and damn Dirtyhands and damn Bastard of the Barrel and damn everything that gave Kaz the idea he needs to be functioning at a hundred and ten percent all the time. Damn his stupid reputation. Damn his stupidity.

“Well, then,” Nina says. “I’m not helping you. I’ll come collect you when you’ve passed out halfway to the door.”

She turns on a heel and leaves the room.

“I’d say she’s having a rough day, but—”

“Nina is always like this,” Kaz finishes for Inej. Then he looks to her. “I’m going. Don’t stop me.”

“I might not have to,” she says. “Nina’s right. Your body will do that for us.”

She knows him too well to be bothered by his glares. She also knows he’s stupid enough to force his body to bend to his will to get him to wherever the server is being detained.

“Fine,” Inej says, frustrated with both him for being so foolish and herself for allowing him this.

She stands, then offers him a hand. He stares at it like it might bite him. But this is the price he pays. He wants to get to the server? He accepts help.

Eventually, Kaz slips his gloves back on. She understands. This is no longer personal—this is business. He can wear his gloves all he likes then. She does not give a damn.

His shoes go on next—though he ties them quite pathetically. Then takes her proffered hand, and she helps him stand. She puts an arm around his side to steady him, and they slowly make their way out of the room.

“Where is he?” Kaz gasps as they walk. He sounds terrible. He won’t stop even if she demands it, though.

“I don’t know,” Inej says. “I know about as much as you.”

“You!” Kaz calls to a maid entering a room down the hall.

The maid stops in her tracks, staring at them. Inej can’t blame her. They must be quite the sight.

“Where’s Wylan and Jesper?” he calls.

“Mister Van Eck and Mister Fahey are in the dining room,” the maid returns. She takes another long glance at them, then disappears into the room she had intended to enter.

“Get me there,” Kaz tells Inej.

“Please,” Inej reminds him.

“Inej, Wraith, Captain of the Sea,” he growls, “please get me to the dining room, or I will steal your knives.”

“You can steal them, but I can steal them back,” she says.

“You’re not a thief.”

“No, but I can easily overpower you.”

He glares at her.

“You have been glaring all day,” she says. “Surely that must hurt your face after a while.”

“Inej.”

Inej sighs. “To the dining room it is, then.”

She walks with him, half-dragging him down the hall. He limps heavily, and his hand trails along the wall for extra support.

“Who do you think it is?” she asks him.

“Not a clue,” he says.

“Anger too many people to count?”

“Something like that.”

She chances a glance to him; his face is pinched into one of exertion and contemplation.

They enter the dining room to quite the scene. Jesper sits on the table, arms folded. His hands hold his guns, while his eyes squint angrily down at the man in the seat in front of him. The server is tied to the chair—perhaps too much. His hands, arms, feet, legs, neck, midriff, and chest are all strapped to the chair. If Inej has to guess, she would assume Wylan tied those. Wylan stands at the window. His hands move from his sides to in front of himself to behind himself to… any various position. He’s nervous. He never knows what to do with his hands when he’s nervous. Nina stands behind the server. She looks… well. If the server knows what’s good for him, he should start feeling concerned for himself right about now.

Inej pulls herself away from Kaz before anyone spots them. Reputation matters in situations like these. She fetches his cane while he pretends to be sturdy on his feet, slyly handing it to him as the server spots him.

“You’re supposed to be dead!” the server shouts, face livid.

“And yet, I am not,” Kaz says, beginning to limp over to the man.

Inej follows closely behind, just to be safe. If he falls, she can catch him before the server notices. Sometimes, being considered Dirtyhands’ shadow has its perks. Perks for Kaz, really, but that is not the point.

Jesper slides off the table as Kaz comes to stand in front of the tied-up man. Kaz leans back on the table. It seems nonchalant, like Kaz claims the upper hand. But Inej suspects the stance acts more as support than a display of power.

“So,” Kaz says. “I have a woman with knives, a man with guns, a Heartrender—" in the background, Nina frowns at the inaccuracy, but she says nothing “—and a man with connections with many high-ranking officials. And then…” Kaz’s hands flex over the crow head of his cane, the leather creaking. “There’s me. So, I suggest you stick to truths when giving your answers.”

“You should be dead,” the server says again.

“Again,” Kaz says, “I’m not. Shall we move on from that, or do you need more reassurance of how alive I am?”

The server simply sneers.

“Good. Now.” Kaz leans closer. “Who do you work for?”

“Van Eck,” the server says.

Kaz’s eyes flick to Wylan, who shrugs, then back to the servant. “I think there’s more than just Wylan Van Eck, isn’t there?”

“Not the son,” the server spits. “He’s useless. I work for Van Eck.”

Wylan flinches in the background. Inej watches Jesper holster a gun and reach out to the mercher, holding Wylan’s hand.

“Please note that the only reason I’m not letting someone shoot you in the head right now,” Kaz says darkly, “is because I want to know why I was poisoned.”

“Because if you die, then Van Eck can come back.”

“And how do you figure that?” Kaz asks. Inej has to hand it to him, he manages to play intrigued and murderous well simultaneously.

“You’re the only reason they keep Van Eck locked up,” the server says “They’re scared of you. If you’re gone, they’ll let him go.”

While Inej does not doubt that everyone is terrified of Kaz Brekker, she cannot say the same for the rest of the server’s conjectures. Jan Van Eck is in prison because dozens of other merchers think he should be there. Kaz only orchestrated it. Kaz cannot undo what he has done, not even in death.

“What purpose does this serve?” Kaz asks. “What does this do for you?”

“Van Eck comes back, and this household gets its honour back. That boy is not fit to bear the name Van Eck. He is a waste of—”

Inej would jump at the gunshot, but she almost expects it before it happens.

The server’s body slumps forward, but not far, as the overabundant ropes stop him from moving far. A hole marks the centre of his forehead, brutal and bloodied. Behind him, Jesper holsters his gun.

“Sorry,” he says, though he does not particularly sound it.

Kaz closes his eyes, inhaling deeply in vexation. “It’s fine. Wylan?”

Wylan, who has been busy staring blankly at the dead body, blinks wordlessly at Kaz.

“Are any of the rest of your staff still insanely loyal to your father?” he asks.

Wylan shakes his head slowly.

“Good.” Kaz toes his good leg at the body. “Well. I suppose the least I can say is, I hope someone’s this loyal to me in the future.”

Inej wants to roll her eyes. She would, but Jesper ushering Wylan out of the room catches her attention first. Wylan looks miserable. Jesper looks furious. She figures both parties require a long consolation.

“Heartrender?” Nina asks Kaz.

“Bluffing,” Kaz says. “You’re more immediately threatening to people when they think you can stop hearts, not make bodies move.”

“Just wait until I set some bodies on you,” Nina snaps.

Kaz winces and stiffens, but then instantly schools his features as he forces himself to relax. Nina sends a confused glance to Inej. Inej shakes her head, warning her off the topic. Nina drops it.

“Back to bed,” Nina orders. “You look dead enough for me to control you, anyway.”

“If you ever control my dead body, I’ll come back to life enough to strangle you with my own dead hands.”

“I’m sure.” She makes shoo-ing hands. “Get out. I’ll clean this up.”

“I don’t—”

“Leave, Kaz.”

Inej shakes her head at Kaz when he looks to her for help. This isn’t worth Kaz’s stubbornness. Today is one of the worst days for Nina. She can play it off as happy and put-together, but Inej knows how much she hurts. Today is just adding lots of insult to injury.

Kaz lets out an angry huff, frustrated at being outnumbered, then shoves himself off the table. He needs to steady himself twice before he can start walking. Inej quickly follows again.

Before they leave the dining room, though, Kaz turns back to Nina and says, “Tell Wylan he can explode anyone else who tries to belittle him. That, or I will do it for him.”

Then he stalks off. Or he tries. He’s wobbly with sickness and exhaustion.

Nina sends Inej a strange look. Inej can only shrug. Whatever dynamic Kaz and Wylan have, it seems to revolve around the things that hinder them in the eyes of society. Kaz takes the hits when Wylan does. Maybe this is just self-preservation. Or Kaz is being, for once in his life, kind enough to admit comradery with someone else.

Inej wants to take it as the latter. Perhaps today is a good day, after all. She cannot tell. It’s been so convoluted that she can’t figure out what is good and what is bad. The Kaz Brekker of days, then.

She follows Kaz out of the room. He has, as she predicted, begun leaning against the walls to hold himself up.

“I half expected you to faint halfway through,” she says.

He glares, but the sheen of sweat across his too-pale brow lessens the effect.

“If you don’t pass out before you get to the room, I will be surprised.”

“Well,” he grumbles, “prepare to be surprised, then.”

And he continues down the hall with determination, his shoulder against the wall, propping him up. Inej watches for a short while, until it gets too painful to watch. Then she swoops in, offering her hand again. He narrows his eyes at her.

“Swallow that pride for once in your life,” she says, exasperated. “Let me help, Kaz Brekker.”

He stares at her for a while longer, and then—with what seems like great effort—takes her hand. She guides him back to the room, letting him lean on her. She takes his weight with ease. He’s taller than her by a good length, but she does not care. She can shift her centre of gravity for this. Gravity bows to her the way greed bows to him.

Kaz grunts as he sits down on the bed again in the room. He sets his cane aside, resting it against the nightstand.

Someone had been in here to clean. The buckets are gone, replaced with fresh ones. Neither of them contains water. The glass on the nightstand is still there, but her scarf is not.

“I’m sure you can get it back before you leave tomorrow,” he says quietly.

Inej turns to Kaz.

“Who says I’m leaving tomorrow?” she asks.

“You never stay for longer than a day,” he reminds her.

She can say nothing about her past travels. But she can say about this time, “I’ll leave when I choose to, not when Kaz Brekker decides I should.”

His eyebrows raise.

“Will you stay, then?” he asks.

“That’s for me to decide.”

“Will you?”

She has the upper hand, she realises. So often, Kaz has this power. But she does, now. She wonders how far she can take it.

“Why should I?” she asks.

“Nina needs company,” he says.

“She has Jesper and Wylan.”

“You’re closest with her.”

“I can write her letters, like I have for a year now.”

“She’s had a rough time. She’ll want you today.”

“Kaz,” she says, tired of this. “Do you want me to stay, or not?”

His face is as blank as the canvas Wylan’s mother had yet to paint when Inej had arrived this morning. No emotion. No colour. That’s Dirtyhands, and Inej knows him well. But she doesn’t want Dirtyhands—she wants Kaz Brekker.

“Fine,” Inej says, turning to the door. “I suppose I will be leaving, then. I’ll go find—"

“Stay,” Kaz says.

It comes out so fast that Inej thinks she misheard him. She whirls around, blinking.

“What?” she asks.

“Stay,” he repeats.

She stares at him for some time. His face has changed, losing the stony impassivity. He has depth to him now. His eyes, if she has to say anything about them, look sad. Lonely.

“What for?” she asks. She can’t help but sound defeated. If he shoves her away again—

“I said I was working on it.” He rubs his hands together, leather grinding against leather. “I’m… I promise, Inej. I’m working on it.”

She opens her mouth, but she finds she has nothing she can think to say.

“Stay,” he says. “Because I don’t know how to work on it without you. I can’t do it alone.”

It is not the words she wants to hear, but it holds the same sentiment. She finds she doesn’t care what combinations of letters and sounds make that sentiment appear, she just wants it. And she got it.

“I’ll stay,” she whispers.

They hold each other’s gaze for some time. Inej doesn’t know quite what lingers in it, but she knows it means something. Not just to her, but to him. She wants to bottle it, whatever it is, and take it with her on her travels. Something to hold onto, to remind her that something is important to her. Something to keep her going.

Eventually, she breaks the eye contact.

“But not now,” she says. Kaz looks hurt for a split second, and she quickly grabs one of the pails. “I need to fill this.”

He rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch with some form of mirth.

“And find a towel,” she adds. “Which I’m keeping if they don’t give me my scarf back.”

“I think if you should steal something,” Kaz advises, “that something should be of equal value.”

“Fine. I’ll steal a bedsheet, too.”

Kaz just shakes his head.

Inej leaves to find a bathroom. She fills the pail with water, then scrounges through the cupboards to find a towel. She finds the handtowels to be too large, so she takes a washcloth. That isn’t the size she wants, either, but it is preferrable to the handtowels. She drapes the washcloth over her shoulder, picks up the bucket, and returns to Kaz’s room.

When she re-enters, she finds him fallen backwards on the bed. His feet are still on the ground, but the rest of him lies prone on the bed.

“Kaz?” she asks, her heart starting to race.

She quickly sets the bucket down and rushes to him. His eyes are closed, and his face is still pale and sweaty.

“Kaz!”

“What?” he grumbles, cracking an eye open.

She lets out an exasperated breath, then chucks the washcloth down at him. It slaps him in the face. He removes it, scowling up at her.

“What the hell?” he growls.

“I thought you were dead,” she says.

“Why does everyone want to think that today?”

She then notes that his hands are stripped of their shield. No leather gloves. She spots them on the pillow.

He catches her looking. “It isn’t easy,” he says again.

“I know.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know,” she says. “I am, too.”

He studies her, a sudden rage and sadness flying across his face.

“I would burn them,” he says quietly. “Every one. If it would help.”

“It wouldn’t,” she says. “You know that.”

He gazes at her longer, then nods.

“It isn’t easy,” she parrots.

Then she lies down beside him, folding her hands on her stomach and staring up at the ceiling. Her feet don’t touch the ground like his does, but the position is nonetheless comfortable.

“I never knew ceilings could be so intricate,” she says, frowning.

“I know,” he breathes, looking up at the high, painted ceiling. “I said we could be kings and queens, but we never truly ascended, did we?”

“We did,” she says. “We just chose not to live in castles.”

Kaz hums a note.

“Actually, I chose nothing,” she says. “You chose it.”

“You said it yourself. You would’ve gotten a boat if I hadn’t gotten you one first.”

“Maybe I changed my mind.”

“You didn’t.”

“Maybe I don’t like the name.”

“You like the name.”

“Fine. I like the name.”

She doesn’t need to see him move his hand to know he has done it. She can hear the bedsheets rustle. Slowly, she moves her own.

They meet halfway, though they do not touch. Not yet.

“Stay,” Kaz says.

She turns her head to find him staring at her.

“I’ll stay,” she says. She can't forever, because she has work to do at sea. But for now... "I'll stay."

His littlest finger brushes against hers. Once again, she feels him shiver. Finger by finger, shudder by shudder, he moves his hand into hers, then closes his gently.  

He turns his head to the ceiling again, closing his eyes. She keeps watching him. After some time, he drifts off, his hold on her hand loosening.

She doesn’t let go. She doesn’t want to. She won’t, not until she has to.

She looks up at the ceiling and closes her own eyes. She will wake up later and check his temperature. Maybe try to force him to eat. Until then, she will lay here with him, feeling safe for the first time in bed with a man.

It isn’t easy. But they can work on it.