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Chapter Text

Over his long lifetime, Aleksander had seen many revolutions and insurrections. Regimes rose and fell in one country or another with enough frequency as to be familiar and unsurprising. As such, Aleksander noticed the situation in West Ravka long before any rumors reached his informants.

It was hardly unexpected. West Ravka was separated from East Ravka. Tsar Lantsov spent extravagantly, enough to be known as the ‘spendthrift king’ in certain circles, and he levied more and more taxes to support his lavishness. The court was becoming more and more insular, with less and less representation of the common people’s needs, and the expectation that everyone would echo and support the Tsar’s views only. West Ravka bore the brunt of attacks from Ravka’s many enemies, both in men killed and in damage to the land. Any one of these things would have caused tension or sparked dissent among the common people, but added all together? An insurrection was all but guaranteed.

In all of this mess, along came General Zlatan. An up-and-coming military figure, successful in his campaigns, charismatic, and establishing a reputation as a ‘man of the people’. While Aleksander could see his hunger for power and his self-importance, the average soldier and farmer saw a man more similar to them than the king, who would improve their lives. When Aleksander started to hear whispers about Zlatan courting foreign dignitaries and having private meetings with other military leaders, he could see the civil war on the horizon.

Aleksander had started to subtly maneuver his people and consolidate his power in anticipation of the fighting that would come. He had briefly considered allying with Zlatan, as anyone with common sense could see the end of the Lantsov rule approaching. Even if the West Ravkan insurrection failed, the common people would revolt. The less and less they had to eat every year brought it closer as a possibility. But the Little Palace was in East Ravka and Aleksander had worked tirelessly to establish the need for Grisha among East Ravkan nobility and military members. While that could be worked around, there was also Zlatan himself to consider. Aleksander did not think he would be nearly as easy to manipulate as Tsar Lantsov.

It was a moot subject anyway, Zlatan had made it clear that he saw Aleksander as an enemy, not a potential ally. Already, he had made several clever and understated schemes to test the Second Army and had started moving to turn key military members against the Grisha.

And now this. Aleksander had just received a warning from one of his spies that Zlatan intended to send someone to infiltrate the Little Palace. His spy wasn’t sure what the end goal was, but Aleksander knew it meant nothing good for his Grisha.

Sharply folding the hastily scribbled, coded message, Aleksander placed it on his desk and got up. He would go speak to the guard captain about the security situation in the Little Palace. He should also perhaps place some Heartrenders in strategic locations. It was not a sustainable solution, they were needed on the front, but a rotation could hopefully be maintained long enough to find Zlatan’s agent.

-

Several days later, Aleksander was walking back to his quarters, after an extremely dissatisfying meeting with the king and his heads of military, when he saw something that instantly captured his attention. It was most likely due to his increased vigilance after receiving warning from his spy, as he normally didn’t pay much attention to the guards.

There was a man, dressed as an Oprichnik, who was limping. He was by himself, no partner in sight, and he was, for lack of a better term, looking rather shifty. He was walking with purpose, eyes scanning the corridor in front of him, as if searching for something in particular.

Aleksander took all of this in within a moment and knew he had found the agent planted by Zlatan. Now, to determine what the man’s mission was in the Little Palace. To steal something? Plant evidence that would turn the court and king against Grisha? Or maybe he was here on a long-term assignment to gather intelligence about Second Army troop movement and Aleksander’s battle plans.

Aleksander nearly captured him. He could hold the man prisoner and interrogate him, with Ivan by his side, teasing apart truth from lie. But Aleksander stopped himself from that first impulse. This was an opportunity in disguise. If the man was here for espionage, Aleksander could feed him false information. If it turned out he wasn’t, then Aleksander could still capture and question him.

Course thus decided, Aleksander called out, “You there,” clear and commanding.

The man turned sharply, eyes widening in surprise, before narrowing just as quickly. Aleksander was quietly impressed by how fast the man went from startlement, to determination and calculation.

“Sir?” The man responded, not moving from his spot ahead in the corridor. Aleksander realized that he didn’t want to walk over to him and reveal his limp.

“With me,” Aleksander gestured, before continuing to his quarters. He did not allow himself to look behind himself, affecting an air of indifference, but he listened closely. The man had hesitated, before following behind him, steps slightly out of rhythm. Aleksander wondered at that hesitation. Had he been thinking of making a run for it? Hardly possible, given his limp. Which was actually rather interesting. Why would Zlatan arrange for an infiltration, with an agent who visibly didn’t belong and would be at a disadvantage in a fight? The man must have some quality or skill that made physical prowess unnecessary. How curious.

When he arrived at his quarters, Aleksander informed the guard already standing there, “You are to report to the guard captain for a new assignment.” The Oprichnik was quick to obey, trained to not question orders.

Aleksander entered his war room, Zlatan’s agent following behind. “There has been a credible threat to the security of the Little Palace,” Aleksander began to explain. He would not tell a real Oprichnik anything, simply ordering them to stand guard, but if his plan was to work, he would need to establish rapport with the spy. “Until this threat has been resolved, you are to stand guard for me at this time every day. Is this understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” The man replied, but while his words matched exactly what a true Oprichnik would say, his expression told a different story. There was no mindless obedience or military fidelity to a commanding officer, instead, that same calculation from before whirred away behind his eyes.

Yes, Aleksander decided, this was the correct way to approach this. He would warn Ivan and Fedyor about the situation and have one of them follow the man. If his mission was short-term, such as stealing something, they could stop him and capture him. However, if, as Aleksander suspected, his mission demanded a longer duration, he would be required to report to Aleksander every evening, to prevent suspicion. Aleksander could then use that time to slip false information to him. It was the perfect plan.

Chapter Text

The robbery went off without a hitch. Inej successfully climbed the wall to the third floor and unlatched the door, Kaz cracked the safe in record time, and Jesper led the guards on a merry chase around the grounds. When Kaz planned heists, he had numerous contingencies and counterplans, for when things inevitably went sideways. Sometimes, his plans weren’t even applicable. When committing crimes, you had to employ a certain level of flexibility, and adapt to changing circumstances. No one could account for every possibility. Rarely did a job go as smoothly as this one.

As such, he really should have suspected their luck was about to change.

He was meeting with their fence, Gleb, haggling the price of the stolen painting. His irritation was rising, as they had already agreed upon a price before the theft, and he wasn’t sure what the problem was. Gleb wasn’t their usual fence, so Kaz was still feeling him out, figuring out his style and eccentricities. Their usual fence had gotten involved in an unfortunate bar fight that had ended with a rather dramatic head injury. Doing business with him again wasn’t an option for the foreseeable future, so Kaz had been shopping around for a new fence.

It was a delicate business, finding a new fence, as they had to be discreet, professional, and experienced. Kaz had thought Gleb might be a good fit, word about him on the street had been good, but now Kaz would have to revise that opinion. Some quibbling on payment, while in poor taste, could be forgiven. But this was dragging out an unreasonable amount of time. He wasn’t even arguing for much more money. Kaz narrowed his eyes, mentally stepping back from the exchange to observe the man.

He was twisting his rings around his fingers, and Kaz could see, just under his desk, that his leg was jiggling up and down. Those nervous tics, combined with the slight hint of sweat gleaming on his brow, sparked alarm in Kaz.

“Very well, ten Kruge more it is.” While normally Kaz wouldn’t settle for a pay cut, he knew how to pick his battles. Something more was at play here, and the discussion about money was a distraction.

This was further proven, by the way Gleb hesitated. “On second thought,” he started to say.

Kaz though, was used to listening to his instincts. They were all warning him that Gleb, for whatever reason, was intentionally stalling for time. Why, Kaz wasn’t sure, but he knew it wasn’t for anything good.

“On second thought,” Kaz interrupted, “I think we should be going. The painting will be sold, but not to you.” He gestured for Inej and Jesper to proceed him out of the office. Normally, he would question Gleb, discover what plot was afoot, but right now Gleb wanted them to stay in this office, which signaled to Kaz that he wanted to be as far away from this office as possible. He could send Inej to investigate later; for now, they were getting out of here.

However, it seemed Kaz had entertained Gleb’s delaying tactic for too long, because as Kaz limped down the hallway, Inej and Jesper had already reached the door and then doubled back to him.

“The house is surrounded,” Inej hissed. Jesper had his guns out, battle tension causing him to bounce slightly on his feet.

“They were in Grisha keftas,” Jesper added.

Kaz had to restrain a snarl. Turning right back around, he went back to Gleb’s office. Gleb had turned from suspiciously nervous businessman to a full-on puddle of fear. He raised his hands preemptively when Kaz entered.

“Why are there Grisha here?” Kaz didn’t bother beating around the bush, time was of the essence. He couldn’t think of one reason why Grisha would want the painting.

“Listen, it wasn’t anything personal,” Gleb implored, but Kaz had no patience.

“Jesper, shoot him.” Kaz commanded, cutting off Gleb’s pitiful excuse.

“Wait, stop, stop,” Gleb sputtered when Jesper pointed his gun. “It’s because of you, okay?” He gestured at Jesper.

Kaz felt a sinking feeling. What had Jesper done now? Gambled with the wrong person? He doubted very much that a group of Grisha would come just to collect a debt, but you never knew. Maybe it was a Grisha and his friends, off-duty, here to make Jesper pay up.

“What? Why?” Jesper sounded convincing in his confusion.

“That job at the Zaitsev estate? Apparently, you did something with a bullet? Made them think you’re a Grisha. Word was, they wanted to know who pulled off that job. I guess so they could conscript you in their little army?”

Of course. The Zaitsev estate job had gone wrong from start to finish. It was a much more typical crow job, if Kaz were being honest. They had ended up in a brief fight, with Jesper shooting several sentries. Kaz had always been aware that Jesper abilities with guns were…uncommon, to put it lightly. He thought it was important to know the skills of everyone under his command, and Jesper was no exception. He had deemed it useful for the tasks he gave Jesper, but had never brought it up, as Jesper seemed unwilling to. Understandable, given opinions surrounding Grisha. But it appeared they wouldn’t have the luxury of ignoring it any longer.

“And, of course, being the upstanding citizen you are, you immediately informed the Second Army.” Kaz said, tone as cold as permafrost. “Jesper, my order still stands. Shoot him.”

Kaz turned around as the gun shot ran out, not checking to see if Jesper aimed to kill or injure. It no longer mattered at this point. Gleb was insignificant compared to their current problems.

Heading for the door again, Kaz told the others, “We split up. Our goal is to get away, not confront them. Meet at the docks in an hour.”

Limping down one hallway, he heard Jesper go down the other, with the sound of a window latch signaling Inej’s route as well. Time to see just how good the Second Army really was.

-

Kaz was the first one to the docks, which immediately set him on edge. With his shuffling walk and the winding way he had taken here, at least one of the others should have already beaten him to the meeting location.

Standing still in the shadows of an alley, allowing his dark clothing to help him blend in with the surroundings, Kaz settled in to wait. His leg was screaming at him for overworking it, but he welcomed the sensation, the constant low-level anger at his disability and the pain from it keeping him sharp.

It was nearly a full hour past the designated meeting time, before Inej found him. She opened with, “They got Jesper.”

Kaz exhaled, feeling no surprise at this announcement. As soon as he had arrived first, he had known something had gone wrong.

“I followed them for a time,” Inej continued. She ignored his disapproving expression in response. She may be called a wraith, but she still had a heartbeat, something Heartrenders would have no problem sensing. “They told Jesper that Durasts are taken to the Little Palace, to work in the Fabrikator labs.”

Kaz’s mind immediately started to work the problem. The Grisha had a head start, they were dangerous opponents, and they had the connections, funding, and infrastructure in place to make the journey. Even if Kaz and Inej could catch up to them, would they be able to catch them unawares? How would they sneak Jesper away, when they no doubt were keeping a strict vigilance on their prisoner?

It was usually better to hit a package in transit, instead of at its destination. But this was not a normal situation.

“We need the blueprints for the Little Palace,” Kaz mused, mind leaping ahead.

He refocused, to see the approval and determination reflected across Inej’s expression. “We will need a way across the Fold,” Inej pointed out.

Yes, they certainly would. Kaz had heard rumors about someone, called ‘the Conductor’, who supposedly could get across the Fold. Kaz had always dismissed those rumors as baseless gossip, but perhaps he should look into them.

Jesper was counting on them.

Chapter Text

Finding the Conductor turned out to be harder than crossing the Fold. Once they had found the man, and enlisted his expertise, the journey itself happened quickly and without any grave trouble, just as Kaz preferred.

And now, here Inej and he were, in Os Alta.

Getting the blueprints for the Little Palace was a day’s work and it was relatively easy to get ahold of three Oprichnik uniform. If all had gone to plan, Inej had now made contact with Jesper, and they were heading Kaz’s way. Moving as quickly as his leg would allow, he rushed down the empty corridor. He needed to be in place for the plan to work.

Unfortunately, this is where things started to go wrong.

“You there,” called a voice behind him.

Turning, Kaz fought to keep the dismay off of his face. “Sir,” he offered, keeping still, mind trying to work the problem. Why would the Black General, one of the most important and dangerous Grisha, be addressing him, a supposedly lowly guard? Had he noticed something? Kaz took inventory of the nearest exits and the explosives he had in his pocket. Would he be able to distract the general long enough to get away? He didn’t like his odds.

“With me,” commanded the general, turning around and beginning to stride away, obviously expecting Kaz to obey.

Kaz had to make a split-second decision. With the general’s back turned, now might be the best opportunity for escape. But if the general knew he wasn’t actually an Oprichnik, wouldn’t he have already captured him? Well, it was difficult to say without knowing more about the general’s personality. If he hadn’t yet realized Kaz didn’t belong in the Little Palace, he might be able to act his way out of this situation and get back on task with saving Jesper.

With only the slightest delay, Kaz followed.

-

The next day, Kaz reported for duty outside of the Black General’s rooms. Because somehow, he was required to do guard work? He was rather confused as to how this happened, seeing as he wasn’t actually a guard and surely someone would have figured that out by now. Kaz despaired over the Little Palace’s security.

It was irritating, but Kaz couldn’t see a way around it. He had to revise his rescue plan and needed the additional time to set up a new escape route. If he didn’t stand guard, as was expected, it would cause suspicion and might put palace security on high alert.

Kaz had expected it would be a dull day of standing in front of a door, gazing blankly into the distance. But the Black General lived to be an annoyance, apparently. So, somehow, Kaz found himself invited into the general’s war room….for a conversation?

Kaz had not expected the Black General to be so chatty, but he supposed he would have to amend his view of the man. Currently, he was examining his battle map, while telling Kaz about the situation in Arkesk. Which was rather unnecessary, as Kaz had ears everywhere, and knew exactly what was happening in Arkesk.

“I have plans to send some Tidemakers to Arkesk. I’ve been receiving reports that the First Army is having difficulty with pirates in the area.” The general then turned to look at Kaz, as if gaging his reaction to this news.

Kaz was nonplussed. Did the general want his advice? Was this a normal interaction for an Oprichnik? Kaz had thought they simply stood guard, but perhaps they were expected to provide expert knowledge on battle tactics. He had heard that they were trained as soldiers, so maybe this was required. In which case, Kaz had better play his part.

“I’ve heard that the pirates in that area are working for a Ravkan and aren’t pirates at all.” Kaz said. He actually knew for a fact that they worked for General Zlatan, but he kept that information to himself. Now, if it were his people being attacked, how would he handle it? Kaz gazed at the map on the table, as he went through what information he had heard, coming up with a tactic that might work. “There’s a rumor that they like to get drunk at a bar named The Wretched Weasel. You would be better served sending some Heartrenders to the tavern, to capture and question them.”

Satisfied that this seemed like a decent plan, Kaz looked up from the map, to find the general staring at him, brow furrowed and expression puzzled. “And where did you hear that rumor?”

Resisting the urge to tense up, Kaz offered, “When I was off-duty, Sir. It’s probably just gossip.”

This was apparently a mistake, as the general then spent a significant amount of time grilling Kaz on what he did in his free time. Kaz horrifyingly found himself speaking of visits to the library and at one point he thought he might have said he liked to knit in his off-duty time? Well, hopefully the general would request a different guard after this.

Jesper had better appreciate this.

Chapter Text

Aleksander was mystified, to put it lightly. He had intentionally fed Zlatan’s agent false information. He had expected for the information to be passed along, and for Zlatan’s people to intercept a group of Grisha and attack them, thinking them Tidemakers. But in truth, Aleksander had planned to lay a trap. However, now his plans were completely derailed. Instead of taking the bait, the spy had told Aleksander about Zlatan’s men?

Aleksander had known the supposed pirates were actually employed by Zlatan. Furthermore, they were kidnapping Grisha and handing them off to Fjerda for payment. It was one of the chief ways Zlatan was bankrolling his rebellion. As such, concern for his fellow Grisha and wanting to cut off an important revenue stream fueling his actions, Aleksander had been looking for a way to tackle this issue. He had thought he had discovered it, with Zlatan’s agent, but now….

He had no knowledge of The Wretched Weasel. Surely it was false information? The spy must be trying to do the same thing Aleksander was, feeding false information to set a trap. There was probably an ambush waiting for any Heartrender that went to that bar.

But still, this could be useful. Aleksander could send a spy of his own, to investigate the bar and find Zlatan’s men. An ambush for an ambush.

Zlatan’s agent did not intend it, but he was already proving helpful.

-

Over the course of the following days, Aleksander found himself baffled by Zlatan’s agent. He had been probing the spy about his motivations and values, trying to figure out if he could perhaps turn the spy against Zlatan. So far though, the spy’s answers to questions were confusing and contrary to Aleksander’s expectations.

“…you don’t care if West Ravka separates from East Ravka?” Aleksander repeated the words back. He had been trying to figure out the spy’s feelings on the insurrection brewing, if there was a specific reason he wanted West and East Ravka to be separate, but that response had completely thrown Aleksander off. Did the man not care if Zlatan won or lost in his insurrection? But if that was the case, why follow Zlatan at all?

The spy shifted uneasily, as if only just realizing he hadn’t answered appropriately. Which was why Aleksander thought his answer was honest; it was too off the cuff. “That is, I don’t care as long as it doesn’t affect Grisha, Sir?”

“Are you asking or telling me?” Aleksander questioned bemusedly. Before the spy could come up with some lie to justify his answer, Aleksander pressed, “Why don’t you care?” He was actually genuinely curious, as he thought almost any Ravkan would have strong feelings about the issue.

The man looked at him for a moment, as if internally debating what to say, before offering, rather dismissively “I can’t see how it will affect my day-to-day life.”

“Families will be split apart, taxes will change, the Tsar may impose harsher laws in retaliation, people will die,” Aleksander began to list out. He intentionally left out how West Ravka would be affected, wondering if the spy would accidently reveal himself by stating that West Ravka would be better off for the insurrection, or something similar.

However, the spy once again showed a strange apathy to the issue, only saying, “Sounds like bad news for a lot of people.” Unspoked was the statement, ‘but not for me’.

Aleksander drummed his fingers on the table, trying to come up with a new angle. “I suppose you’re one of those people that believes in destiny and the will of the saints? That everything happens for a reason.”

“I’m no zealot.” The spy might have been skilled in containing his reactions, but apparently his disdain for that statement was too strong to hide. “The West and East Ravka issue is similar to the criminal underworld. Rulers and regimes are like crime bosses and their territories,” the spy began to explain. Aleksander felt his eyebrow raise at that statement. “The more established a crime boss is, the stronger his territory. But up-and-coming gangs always try to muscle in on that territory. It’s human nature to be greedy, to see what others have and want it for yourself. Usually the new gangs are defeated, but sometimes they’re not and they take control of the territory. Things change on the surface, but usually, they’re basically the same.”

Aleksander was completely fascinated. “So, you’re saying that the Tsar is an established crime boss? And it’s inevitable that someone will try to claim his territory.”

“It’s human nature,” the spy agreed, still nonchalant.

And if that analogy held, the spy believed that regardless of if Zlatan won or lost, things would stay the same? Which got back to the question of why even spy for him in the first place.

“If you do not value authority, do not value tradition, do not value religion, what do you value?” Aleksander’s interest now went beyond finding a way to turn the man against Zlatan.

“Money,” the man said sharply.

Ah, Zlatan was paying him, and that was enough to risk his life? Strangely disappointed, Aleksander replied, “Wealth is a motivator for many men.”

Perhaps he heard the unintentional reproach in Aleksander voice, for the man clarified, “I don’t value it for material things, but for what it represents.”

“Which is?”

“Freedom. A man with money in one hand and a knife in the other answers to no one.” The man’s expression was strangely compelling, some dark emotion coming through the mask he was trying to wear.

“And that is all you care about? Money?” Aleksander realized he was leaning closer in anticipation of an answer, and tried to lean back naturally, wondering at his own fascination.

“There are some things, even money cannot buy.” The man’s tone was final, a closed statement. But Aleksander had never done well with being told no.

“Such as?”

For a moment, the man didn’t respond, and Aleksander felt himself go still, as if trying not to spook an animal. Perhaps he had pushed him too far. This was no help at all to achieving his objectives with Zlatan, but still he had wanted to know.

Finally, Aleksander’s patience was rewarded. “Vengeance. That, you get yourself, through blood, not money.” Whereas the man’s tone from before had held a banked heat to it, now it was pure ice, cold and absolute.

Aleksander…was honestly conflicted. He found himself appreciative of the spy’s perspective, recognizing certain similarities between the two of them. He was even a little regretful that he would probably have to kill the man, once his mission came to light, and their little dance of subterfuge was over. But in the meantime, he would enjoy their conversations; they were certainly illuminating.

Chapter Text

There was a relief in seeing Inej; the world realigning. She looked as she ever did, a piece of Ketterdam in Os Alta. Kaz felt himself relax unintentionally, pulling the mantle of the Bastard of the Barrel back over himself. He might not know what he was doing with the Black General, what role he was supposed to play there, but at least in this he knew his place.

“What news do you have, Inej?” He asked, taking comfort in the routine of it.

“I’ve spoken to Jesper. He’s doing fine, says not to worry about the delays in getting him out.”

“I’m not worrying about the delays,” Kaz responded shortly, but he could see the upturn of Inej’s lips before she turned her head away. When had he become so transparent? He blamed the general. Somehow, this was all his fault.

“We’d already be in the clear, if I hadn’t been expected to stand guard,” Kaz gritted out, frustrated with the entire situation. How had no one realized a fake was near their precious general, day in and day out? The man was practically asking to be attacked, with such lax security.

Perhaps when all of this was over, Kaz would leave a note, letting the general know about the holes in his security. It was a matter of principle at this point.

“Are you safe?” Inej asked, concern dripping from her voice.

Kaz waved her off. “The general’s a pussycat. Very talkative, bit of a busybody.” He wrinkled his nose, remembering how prying the man was.

Inej raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Kaz understood completely. Somehow, the man had really built a reputation for himself that was not representative of his true self whatsoever. Kaz could appreciate a little theatrics and he had to admit, he was impressed by how much the man had managed to terrify people about him. If only they knew the truth.

“Never mind the general. I have a new plan.”

-

Kaz kept his pace slow but confident, presenting himself as a man who was meant to be in this deserted corridor, who was off to fulfill a duty. Despite his apparently successful infiltration of the Oprichniki, Kaz didn’t want to tempt fate by running into anyone who might question him. He had purposely chosen a route that wouldn’t be well traveled.

Inej was retrieving Jesper, pretending that his abilities were needed elsewhere in the Little Palace and that she was there to escort him from the labs. She would then meet up with Kaz, who would have cleared the way.

Of course, things just had to go wrong.

Hearing footsteps, Kaz quickly darted to a slight alcove, pressing himself into the wall. A maid rounded the corner, her steps faltering. At first Kaz thought she had seen him, but no, she hadn’t. Instead, her shoulders were shaking, and her eyes were wet. Setting her tray of food down on the floor abruptly, the maid began to cry.

As she knelt on the floor, face buried in her hands, great big heaving sobs shaking her shoulders, Kaz shifted uneasily. He couldn’t picture a way to extract himself from this corridor safely, so he supposed he would have to bear witness to what appeared to be a complete and total breakdown.

The maid cried for a while, with Kaz feeling like a clock was ticking the whole time. Were Inej and Jesper already in place, waiting for him? He kept himself from moving, forcing himself still.

Eventually, the woman’s sobs slowed. The maid, finally done crying, began to root around in the pocket of her skirt. Hopefully she would wipe her face with a handkerchief and be on her way, so Kaz could get moving again. But instead of drawing a cloth out of her pocket, she drew a vial.

Kaz’s attention sharpened, watching as the maid added the vial of liquid to the cup on her tray. Her hands trembled slightly as she poured the clear liquid in. She then tucked the vial back into her skirt, before wiped her face briskly with the sleeve of her dress and standing with the tray in hand.

Kaz watched her walk away, temporarily frozen to the spot. It wasn’t his problem, he reminded himself. He should continue on his way and meet up with Inej and Jesper. Whoever she was poisoning, it wasn’t his business.

Wavering uncertainly, knowing how disappointed Inej would be if she was there, Kaz was suspended on the knife’s edge between the smart choice, and the right choice. Normally, it would be no contest. Then, unbidden and unexpected, Kaz pictured the general, standing at his war table every day, trying to protect his people. Kaz could relate.

Imagining the man’s anger over one of his people being poisoned, Kaz snarled, and quickly limped after the woman.

-

Of course. Of course the poison was meant for the general. He should have realized. Watching the maid leave the general’s quarters, Kaz was conflicted. He had hoped to catch her before she delivered her poison, but she had inevitably moved much faster than Kaz.

And now here he was, standing outside the general’s rooms, when he was off duty. Not that he was an actual guard who was ever ‘on duty’, but well, it was supposed to be his time off. To save Jesper, not work more. He wasn't even getting paid. This whole thing was ridiculous.

With a disgruntled sigh, Kaz went into the room, not bothering to knock.

The general was just folding a letter, adding it to a stack that was in front of him. Kaz had hoped he would be able to casually knock over the tray, but it was right in the middle of the general’s stupidly large desk. Well, that put a bit of a damper on that plan.

The general had glanced up when the door opened, surprise on his face at seeing Kaz.

“You’re not supposed to be on duty right now.” He said, tone suspicious.

Well, Kaz was committed now. At this point, surely Inej would have had to return Jesper to the labs, to prevent suspicion, and he would now have to come up with a new plan. Thoroughly irritated by it all, Kaz announced, “Forgive me, Sir. But I remembered something I thought you would like to know. Those pirates you’re after? The rumor is that they’re kidnapping Grisha.”

Kaz edged closer to the desk as he spoke, still unsure how he was going to tip the cup over. The desk was too solid to bump into and have it shake.

“That’s…helpful. I suppose you heard this information in your knitting club?”

Glaring at the general, regretting ever coming into the room, Kaz said, “I didn’t realize this information would be amusing to you.” Having thus spoken, he took the extra step to the desk and snatched the cup from the tray. Forget subtle.

Turning around without an explanation, Kaz started limping out of the room.

“Where are you going with that?” The general asked bemusedly behind him.

Kaz didn’t bother replying.

-

Finding the maid was far easier than Kaz expected. Then again, she hadn’t traveled far. She had apparently collapsed to cry again. Well, she clearly wasn’t the mastermind behind this poisoning attempt.

He cleared his throat, watching as she jerked at the noise and then paled when she realized an Oprichnik was leaning over her.

“Sir?” She asked unsteadily.

Kaz held up the cup to her field of vision. “I know what you did,” he started, pouring menace into his voice.

She trembled, horror twisted her face, before some inner strength seemed to take ahold of her. “Please, they said they would kill my family. I had no choice! You must believe me.” She reached out a hand in desperation, but Kaz quickly stepped back, putting distance between them.

“Who said they would kill your family?” He asked sharply.

“I don’t know!” She wrung her hands together, eyes beseeching. “Men came to the house the other night. They had guns. They gave me the vial and said that if I put it in General Kirigan’s drink, they’d leave us alone. But if I didn’t…”

Narrowing his eyes, Kaz focused on the important part of that. “Do you know where the men went?”

“They never left, Sir. They’re at my home now, with my husband and children, waiting for me to return.”

Firming his jaw, determined to see this through, Kaz told her, “I’ll take care of it. Tell me where you live.”

She hesitated, some small spark of hope waring with uncertainty, before she finally told him. Turning around, Kaz strode away.

Time for him and Inej to pay these ruffians a visit. Jesper would have to wait.

Chapter Text

Aleksander refolded the coded letter, mind too full to pick out any one thought or feeling. The missive was from the spy he had sent to The Wretched Weasel. He had expected several outcomes. Most likely, he had thought his spy would find a group of Zlatan’s men, laying in wait for whichever unfortunate Heartrender was sent there by Aleksander, based on bad information. Another scenario he had considered was the staff at the bar being on Zlatan’s payroll. Perhaps they would slip something into the Heartrender’s drink. Poison seemed to fit Zlatan and his underhanded tactics.

But this was one scenario he had not planned for. It appeared….that everything was exactly as Zlatan’s man had said? The information he had provided Aleksander was legitimate; Zlatan’s Grisha snatchers did go to The Wretched Weasel to get drunk. Their guard was lowered, and they were an easy target. Aleksander could send a group of Heartrenders and have them effectively take them out, as Zlatan’s man had suggested.

But why would the spy betray Zlatan like that?

-

The next day, as Zlatan’s man was ‘standing guard’, Aleksander decided to try to feed false information to him again. It was less about trying to get that information back to Zlatan and impact his plans, and more about figuring out Zlatan’s agent, whose motivations and goals were still a complete and utter mystery to Aleksander.

“…to address the financial issues, I intend to send some Grisha to ask the Duke of Ivets for a donation to the second Army,” Aleksander said, aiming for a casual, conversational tone.

In truth, Aleksander knew the duke was in Zlatan’s pocket and a large source of Zlatan’s money for his insurrection. Aleksander would have his Grisha spy on the duke, while pretending to ask for money. The duke could not openly declare himself on Zlatan’s side, so he would have to allow the Grisha to stay on his estate.

It was not dangerous information to tell Zlatan’s agent. But it would be interesting to see how he reacted. Even now, Aleksander found himself watching his face, trying to puzzle out every micro expression.

“The duke is no friend to Grisha,” the man cleared his throat and then added, “or so I’ve heard.”

“Is that so?” Aleksander asked, amused at the man attempting to cover up his knowledge with the excuse of ‘gossip’ and bar rumors, but also increasingly frustrated. Why would the spy keep telling him the truth?

The man’s gaze was distant, thinking something through. He distractedly told Aleksander, “The duke is trying to make alliances with Shu Han’s most distinguished merchants.”

Aleksander was completely baffled. He knew the duke had been in communication with Shu Han, a fact that had caused some whispers among Ravka’s nobility. But a large majority of the aristocracy were purchasing goods from Shu Han, the tsar included, so it was generally allowed. However, if he was trying to form some sort of ties, perhaps Aleksander could make it seem like treason. He would need to send a spy to investigate this at once, to see if Zlatan’s man was being honest. The duke had been a thorn in Aleksander’s side for too long. If he could use this information to change that…although the duke wasn’t trying to form an alliance with the Shu rulers, just the merchants, so treason might be a difficult sell.

Zlatan’s agent though was still working the problem Aleksander had unintentionally put before him. “The duke also has a mistress whose husband is an important Shu ambassador. If the information about his mistress became known, it would ruin his attempts at alliance. You could have your Grisha subtly threaten to reveal this, unless the duke provides the Second Army with a sizable donation.”

“Extort him, you mean?”

The man shrugged apathetically. “Hush money is a time-honored tradition.”

Aleksander couldn’t see how telling him this would help Zlatan. If it was a lie, what would it lead to? Did Zlatan want Aleksander to have his Grisha threaten the duke falsely, and turn him against them? But the duke was already on Zlatan’s side; what would that gain Zlatan?

If it was the truth though, what would that mean? Was Zlatan’s agent trying to gain Aleksander’s trust by initially providing solid intel, but would then start feeding him false information later? But the information he had already given Aleksander would hit Zlatan very hard financially.

The Grisha snatchers and the duke combined were the majority of where Zlatan’s resources were coming from. He had members of nobility here and there providing money to his cause, but by and large, his supporters were the common people. They were effective in putting a large amount of people behind Zlatan’s insurrection, providing it legitimacy in the eyes of the everyman and putting him in a favorable position if he did depose the king. However, all governments needed wealth to function, and Zlatan especially would need a decent amount of funds, if he had any hope of keeping the power he had clawed for himself.

If Aleksander followed the spy’s suggestions, sending Heartrenders to The Wretched Weasel to take out the Grisha snatchers and blackmailing the duke into turning his considerable wealth towards the Second Army, Zlatan would lose his two most important revenue streams. There was no way he would sacrifice that, just to get a spy near Aleksander.

Had Zlatan’s man turned traitor? But why? Aleksander hadn’t even offered him anything.

Chapter Text

It was rather unfortunate but heading to the general’s quarters to ‘stand guard’ had become a normal routine for Kaz. He had also, horrifyingly enough, become part of other’s routines. As he limped there, a maid dusting a banister nodded at him in greeting. Her name was Angela, and she nodded to him every day. Somedays, after he had gotten ‘off duty’, she would give him some sort of baked good.

Kaz had accidently gotten involved in Angela’s love life and she now seemed to think they were friends. It had started when she had approached him and asked him what sort of flowers he thought looked best. At his completely stony look, she had somehow felt the need to clarify that she was trying to pick out a flower to gift to a cook in the kitchen she was sweet on.

Kaz had told her that any flower would probably be fine, trying to stop the conversation, but Angela hadn’t taken a hint. She had insisted that the woman, Sabina, had a lot of opinions about flowers and that she liked to learn about flower language. Kaz hadn’t even known you could communicate with flowers and was incredibly displeased he was only just now learning about this. It was a ready-made secret code that most gang members would think too fussy to ever know; it was perfect. He had made a note to look up a book and if it seemed useful, make Inej and Jesper learn flower language.

Kaz had also somehow found himself agreeing to find out what type of flower Sabina liked. He had decided to see it as a challenge and acted accordingly. A day of stalking, one poorly timed interrogation, and an artfully arranged cart crash later, Kaz had been able to smugly tell Angela that Sabina’s favorite flower was Fernleaf Peony. Ever since then, Angela had been pleased to see him, chatting to him about how her budding romance was going. She had made a joke about inviting Kaz to their wedding someday, and Kaz had walked away as quickly as he could. It was sweeter than the baked goods she kept foisting on him.

Then there was Stas, the footman. He and Kaz were locked in a fierce battle of wills. The less said about that, the better. If Kaz didn’t loath the man with all of his being, he would have tried to recruit him for the crows.

As he moved towards the general’s rooms, he passed Stas.

“Footman,” he said, as coldly as he could.

“Oprichnik,” the man said in reply, matching him in tone.

That ritual observed, they both continued on their way.

When Kaz entered the general’s rooms, not bothering to knock as was starting to become a habit, he immediately saw that the general wasn’t there. But the valet was.

The valet, whom Kaz had barely seen and didn’t know much about, had frozen as soon as Kaz had entered, shocked expression on his face. He had one of the general’s keftas spread out on the floor, with him crouched over it. He was wearing gloves, and in his hand was a bag of powder he’d been in the process of spreading over the kefta.

Kaz took this all in from one breath to the next, and then lunged for the man. The valet reacted by throwing the bag of powder at Kaz’s face. He dodged to the side quickly, avoiding the bag and powder spilling out of it, but his momentary distraction had given the man enough time to dart around the table, and scramble from the room.

Well, Kaz was never going to be able to run him down.

Turning to the powder, and crouching down with a grimace, Kaz examined it. Taking a pinch of it between his gloved fingers, Kaz sniffed it, a suspicion forming. It was as he had thought. It was a dangerous, Grisha made powder that killed on touch. It was ridiculously expensive and difficult to get ahold of. Whoever was trying to kill the general was trying very hard.

It also led Kaz to think that the valet was nothing like the maid from before. While she had been threatened into acting, no one would entrust something this valuable to anyone but a truly loyal servant.

What followed were a frantic few moments of cleaning up the spilled powder. Kaz didn’t know when the general would return from wherever he was, and he didn’t fancy having to explain this whole mess.

As fate would have it, the general walked in just as Kaz was shoving the kefta into the lit fireplace.

“….What are you doing?” The general glanced from the burning kefta to Kaz, eyebrow raised.

“Saving you from bad fashion choices,” Kaz deadpanned.

The general and Kaz stared at each other in silence for a moment, before the general continued on to his desk, puzzled expression on his face.

Kaz…had a lot of feelings about this. Mostly despair. The general was terrible at looking after himself and also seemed to have no common sense. Anyone else would have pushed the issue. Honestly, he was like a damsel in distress always needing saving. And somehow, Kaz had ended up his knight in Oprichnik armor.

Clearing his throat, Kaz informed the general, “I thought you should know, I saw the valet stealing. You should probably let him go from his position.”

As soon as Kaz was done ‘standing guard’, he would need to plant some evidence.

Chapter Text

Shadowing the general’s steps as he walked in the gardens wasn’t bad, per say, but it wasn’t how Kaz would prefer to spend his day. Still, at least the general was walking slowly enough to not bother Kaz’s leg too much.

“Would a cane be helpful?” The general asked, almost delicate in his tone.

“I have a cane,” Kaz replied. At the general’s raised eyebrow, Kaz sarcastically added, “It doesn’t match my outfit.”

He scowled at the way the general looked him up and down. “I suppose it would be strange, for an Oprichnik to use a cane.”

Kaz was suspicious of the emphasis he placed on the word ‘Oprichnik’. Did the general finally suspect he wasn’t who he claimed to be? It had taken him long enough. While he wasn’t excited at the idea of potentially fighting the shadow summoner, he was also not thrilled to be working unpaid everyday at a job he didn’t want. He figured being discovered had its positives and negatives.

But the general showed no sign of turning on him. Instead, he gestured to a stone bench under some flowering Magnolia trees.

“Dignity,” Kaz mused, pleased to have remembered correctly.

“I beg your pardon?”

Clearing his throat and trying to appear unruffled at accidentally speaking something so embarrassing aloud, Kaz resigned himself to his fate of becoming an utter joke. The only consolation was that Jesper wasn’t there to witness it. “I’m learning flower language,” Kaz explained stiffly as he sat down on the bench.

The general appeared to find this information funny. Kaz didn’t blame him; it sounded ridiculous. “So you knit and learn about flowers in your free time?”

Would he never let the knitting thing go? Kaz was tempted to hate-knit him something truly hideous and force him to wear it. “I’m a man of many talents,” was his short reply.

“So you are,” the general agreed, sounding surprisingly serious for the topic of their conversation. He cleared up Kaz confusion when he continued, “I took your advice and sent some Heartrenders to The Wretched Weasel. Your suggestion and information resulted in a successful operation.”

Kaz was pleased to hear that. While he had no stake in the Zlatan insurrection issue, he would always feel satisfaction in a job well done, even if he was only responsible for the planning stage. The general was still looking at him, clearly expecting a reply, so Kaz offered, “Happy to help, Sir.”

He wasn’t sure why that provoked such a perplexed expression.

“I want my people to be safe,” the general said, something direct and focused about him in that moment. “I want Grisha to be safe and respected. I want my enemies to fall. What do you want?”

To figure out a way to get Jesper out of the Little Palace without being pursued. To find a way to pay off Inej’s debt. To destroy Pekka Rollins. None of which he could say to the general. “I want nothing.” He had meant for it to come out neutral, but it instead developed a scornful bite. Ah, at least the general was used to him at this point.

“Very well,” the general responded, sounding frustrating. Kaz could relate.

He stood up, and Kaz followed suit. The general glanced at him, and amusement chased away his irritation. “You’re covered in flowers,” he said.

Kaz was just about to point out that he also had some Magnolia blossoms on him, when the general reached out, presumably to brush them off. Jerking back, Kaz snapped, “Don’t touch me.”

The general was frozen for a moment, with his hand outstretched, before dropping it. “I didn’t mean to…offend you.” His expression was confused again and almost hurt. Fantastic.

“I’m not offended,” Kaz stressed the word, wondering why he was even bothering to explain. But, well, he knew the general was sensitive to the fears people had about Grisha; he had heard him talk about it before. He didn’t want the man to think he was drawing away out of Grisha-hating bias or some such nonsense. “I just don’t like to be touched.” Which was putting it lightly, but Kaz certainly wasn’t going to share everything.

“Alright,” the general agreed. “Thank you for telling me.” He looked pleased. At least one of them was, Kaz thought in disgruntlement.

-

Kaz met with Inej in one of the stables, to set up their new plan to rescue Jesper. They would need a good carriage and some fast horses. Kaz was still ironing out the finer details of how they would get past the guards. Some sort of paperwork that made it seem like they were following orders to pick up an important dignitary? Kaz wondered if he could forge the general’s signature. In theory, he had access to the man’s signet. Well, hopefully there was time for him to work out that part of the plan.

Inej reassured him when he brought up the slow timing of their rescue. “Jesper is fine. In fact, he might be having a little too much fun.” Her expression was the fond exasperation a sibling might have at their brother’s antics.

“What do you mean?” Kaz asked sharply. If Jesper was getting into trouble, he needed to know.

“Well, I think he’s slept with half of the Grisha. And he’s also established a gambling ring.” Inej looked as if she wasn’t sure if she should be amused or disapproving.

“Gambling,” Kaz said flatly.

She shook her head, immediately understanding his point. “It’s fine,” she reassured him, “They’re gambling over sweets.”

Kaz supposed it could be a lot worse. Although he did have an alarming vision in his head of a disgruntled Tidemaker hunting Jesper down over a handful of chocolates.

Kaz had planned to get their little meeting back on track, when he heard a sound. Gesturing at Inej, they both edged to the corner of the wall, with Kaz peering around. It would be disastrous if someone came upon them while they were planning to break a Grisha out of the Little Palace.

Kaz at first didn’t see anything, just the general’s black carriage. He had purposely chosen this as a meeting spot because this was a low traffic area. But then, he saw some legs sticking out from under the carriage. Narrowing his eyes, Kaz walked up to the carriage. He did not hear Inej behind him, and when he glanced back, he didn’t see her. He had no doubt that she was circling around, to get to the other side.

“And what are you doing?” Kaz said, making sure to raise his voice slightly.

The legs jerked, and there was the muffled thud of their owner hitting his head. Then the man scuttled out from below the carriage. Kaz recognized him as one of the stable hands.

“Sir!” Kaz had been fully prepared to dismiss the man as just doing his job, but the man’s anxious demeanor caught his attention fully. “I was just...uh…cleaning under the general’s carriage. But it’s all clean now, so I’ll be going!”

He made to turn, but Kaz stepped forward, grasping his arm. His suspicions were confirmed, when the man swung around immediately, throwing a punch towards Kaz’s face. Unfortunately for him, Kaz had dodged his fair share of punches in his life. He was also unprepared for Kaz slamming his head into the carriage.

The stable hand slid down the carriage, crumpling to his knees with a groan.

“Now, why don’t you tell me exactly what you were doing with the general’s carriage,” Kaz’s tone was pleasant and conversational, trusting the man could hear the unspoken threat beneath.

The stable hand glanced up, and Kaz watched any fear he had be overcome by a zealous determination. “You would protect Lantsov’s dog?” The man sneered.

Kaz was not prepared for the jolt of anger he felt at the slur. Before he could decide how to respond, the man had already continued. “General Zlatan is the future, not the Grisha witch or the spendthrift king. If you cannot see that you’re on the wrong side, then you’re a fool.”

“I’m on no one’s side but my own,” Kaz corrected before slamming the man’s head into the carriage again. “Inej, I believe our friend here needs to be moved to a different location.” Kaz motioned to the unconscious stable hand.

“What do you recommend?” She asked, gliding up to him, tone all business.

Kaz contemplated the would-be assassin, before settling on, “Leave him outside the guards’ post with an empty bottle of kvas in one hand and a stolen noblewoman’s necklace in the other. Lady Garin is visiting with the queen and her rooms should have either an emerald or ruby necklace in them. She wears them interchangeably.”

Inej nodded, leveraging the man up and over her shoulder, moving out of the stable. Kaz then crouched down, and grimacing, slid under the carriage. He was met by a bomb, small and sophisticated, attached to the underside. Based on his examination, Kaz reckoned it would be set off when the carriage went over a large bump in the road.

It was quick and easy work to remove it. Sliding out from under the carriage, Kaz stashed it in his pocket. Massaging his leg, Kaz was frustrated at the continued delays. He and Inej hadn’t even gotten to discussing how she would be stealing the horses for their escape.

“What are you doing here?” Came a rather familiar voice from behind him.

Silently cursing to himself, Kaz turned around to find the general right behind him. It didn’t appear he had seen Kaz crawl out from under his carriage, but it still probably looked strange that Kaz was loitering in the stable. After all, he had chosen it as a meeting place because no one came here.

“I love the smell of horse manure,” was Kaz’s straight-faced response. He thought it was only slightly better than saying he was cleaning the general’s carriage.

Chapter Text

Kaz had studied the blueprints to the Little Palace extensively, but he also knew that things got left off of blueprints all the time. When he started to realize certain dimensions didn’t make sense in some of the rooms, he was immediately on alert. He was not surprised to discover secret, hidden passageways. In a place like the Little Palace, it made sense. The passageways themselves seemed very old; no doubt built when the Little Palace was first built. They were also rarely traveled, if the dust was any indication. It made Kaz wonder who else was aware of them.

He was now working them into his plan to rescue Jesper. Inej could get a carriage and horses, and Kaz could sneak Jesper out by way of the hidden passages. He was still working out the kinks in the plan, it was very broad, but it was starting to come together.

As such, he had spent the last few days mapping out the passages, figuring out where they led. He was interested to discover that there were quite a few near the general’s rooms. Coincide? Kaz doubted it.

So that was where he was now, a hallway near the general’s quarters, trying to figure out where the passage opened up at. He thought it might be in the man’s war room. Hopefully a different passageway could be used in their escape. Kaz didn’t fancy trying to smuggle Jesper in. Knowing his luck, the general would come upon them at the worst possible moment. Forget shadow summoning; bad timing was his Grisha power.

And then Kaz turned the corner, onto a corridor in direct view of the general’s door. The general was just leaving his room, turned in the other direction, no awareness of the Oprichnik behind him, with a gun raised and aimed at his head.

Kaz took all of this in, between one breath and the next, and before he had stopped to think, he took two running steps forward, grabbing at the Oprichnik’s wrist and jerking the gun up and away from the general.

What followed next was one of the strangest fights of Kaz’s life. It was as if someone had plugged his ears, so silently did they grapple and exchange blows. Distantly, Kaz realized that the both of them were actively trying to escape notice and couldn’t afford for anyone else to come across two Oprichnik trying to kill each other. Somehow, their fight had moved to the corridor Kaz had come from, which was fine in his book, as it seemed less traveled.

The Oprichnik kicked Kaz in the leg, his bad leg, and he went crashing to his knees on the marble floor. Without taking a moment on the pain, Kaz lunged for the man, grabbing him around his legs and yanking him to the ground with him. The man was briefly stunned; long enough for Kaz to straddle him and wrap his hands around his throat.

Choking someone unconscious always seemed to take forever. And every time the man bucked underneath him, Kaz’s leg flared with pain. But eventually, the man’s struggling ceased. Kaz made sure the man was actually unconscious, and not dead or faking it, before divesting him of his belt, to use to truss him up. Hardly the most secure binding, but it would have to do. Kaz wasn’t exactly carrying rope on him. It only needed to hold him long enough for Kaz to go and get Inej anyway.

Rifling through the man’s pockets, Kaz found a large bundle of money and a note. The note was vaguely worded and unsigned, but Kaz could read between the lines. It was clear the man had been paid off by Zlatan to shoot the general. It was also clear, to Kaz’s disgust, that the man was an actual Oprichnik, and not someone who stole a uniform, like Kaz. Well, Kaz would ensure Inej dumped him somewhere truly unfortunate.

Leaving him bound on the floor, Kaz tucked the note and money into his pocket and then limped away. Time to find Inej so she could deal with this.

-

Kaz was very cranky when he reported for duty the next day. His leg, bruised from the fight, was aching fiercely. It worsened Kaz’s limp and also made standing for too long excruciating. He wasn’t looking forward to the day.

To make matters worse, by the time Kaz had found Inej and sent her to get rid of the would-be assassin, the man was gone. Kaz had known the binding wasn’t the best, but he had thought the man would be unconscious long enough for it to be fine. So now, he was on the look out for the man coming after him for revenge or trying to continue in his mission to kill the general.

When he entered the general’s quarters, he found the man standing at his war table, looking at it in a contemplative manner. Maybe he’d ask Kaz to come up with another battle strategy.

The general turned when Kaz limped in, his eyes immediately zeroing in on Kaz’s leg. Gritting his teeth, Kaz tried to reduce how obvious it was that his leg was bothering him. He didn’t need any uncomfortable questions. Alas, it was not to be.

“What happened to your leg?” There was something dark about his expression, that put Kaz on alert.

“Well, I used to be an avid dancer. But then I had a partner kick me in the leg so hard, that I’ve limped ever since.” Kaz thought he might be getting too used to being sarcastic and sharp around the man, but he had never been reprimanded for it. And being belligerent cut that line of questioning right off.

The general visibly searched his face, before saying, “The Little Palace security found an Oprichnik, bound and unconscious near my rooms, did you know that?”

Kaz fought not to display any emotions. Well, at least the man wasn’t waiting around a corner with a gun in hand, ready to take Kaz out. But this presented new problems.

The general continued without waiting for a reply. “We questioned him extensively. It turns out, he was paid to kill me. He even had his gun pointed at my head, ready to pull the trigger, when another man intervened.”

Kaz said, in as neutral as a tone as he could manage, “Sounds like you got lucky.” Inwardly, he was already trying to think up ways to escape the room, without the general following him. With his leg in so much pain, the whole thing seemed like more work than it was worth. Maybe he could trick the general into leaving instead? Either way, he needed this conversation over, before too many truths were revealed.

The general stared silently at him, face unreadable, before saying in a low voice, “I don’t know why you did it, but I know you did. The man confessed. He described you.” Kaz worried he was the next to be interrogated, but the general continued, “He would have shot me in the head. Even with my abilities, I would not have survived that.”

He looked into Kaz’s eyes and said, in a heartfelt tone, “Thank you.”

Kaz swallowed and said roughly, “The Oprichniki are here to protect you, Sir.”

“Are you?” The general responded, something about how he asked it made Kaz think they were having two different conversations.

Kaz thought about it, about the assassinations he’d already thwarted and how much it had delayed him rescuing Jesper. He sighed. “Apparently I am. Someone has to.”

He watched the expression that crossed the general’s face, unsure what emotion he was feeling, but it was clear that it was strong. He tensed when the man took a step closer to him, but the general seemed to realize and stopped where he stood.

Clearing his throat, the general offered, “I have some massage oil that I think will help with the pain in your leg.” It might have been the most uncertain and awkward Kaz had ever heard the man sound.

“Massage oil,” Kaz repeated flatly.

The general took another step closer to him, uncertainty fading to be replaced by something more...intense. “If you need help using it, I’d be more than happy to assist,” the general said.

Imaging the general’s hands on him, Kaz shuddered in horror. “That’s the last thing I would want,” Kaz said sharply, before wondering if the man would think he was being rude.

The general’s expression softened. “Of course, I wasn’t thinking.” He seemed to lean closer to Kaz but did not move to touch him. “I understand. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I want to do.”

Chapter Text

They were in the gardens again, although this time, the general had headed straight for the bench under the magnolia tree. Which was…considerate of him, Kaz supposed. He sat down on it, secretly relieved. He didn’t miss the pleased little smile on the general’s face and scowled at him out of habit.

He wasn’t quite sure what they were doing out here. He had hoped the general might make use of his knowledge of Zlatan’s dealings and alliances, or perhaps require Kaz to put his strategic mind to use on coming up with ways to foil Zlatan. There was a part of him though that was concerned this little invitation to walk the gardens was the prelude to an interrogation. The general had seemingly let it go that Kaz had randomly thwarted an assassination plot when he was off duty and had neglected to tell anyone about it. But maybe he had only been waiting for Kaz to let his defenses down.

“The last time we were here, you spoke of learning the language of flowers. Tell me, is there a particular flower that’s your favorite?”

By the saints, Kaz would rather this was an interrogation about Zlatan’s assassin.

The general seemed to be earnestly waiting for Kaz’s response. He supposed he could list a random flower, but he found himself going over in his mind what he had learned about flower language. “Carnations,” Kaz said, “The yellow kind.” He had discovered they meant disdain and rejection, which was just perfect. He imagined handing them to someone as a subtle insult. Snubbing someone in a way they couldn’t argue against would never not delight Kaz.

“I’ll remember that.”

Kaz really hoped he didn’t. At this point, if the general ever talked to anyone about Kaz, his reputation would be ruined.

-

The king was hosting a ball, apparently to celebrate a minor victory against Shu Han. Kaz thought it far more likely he just wanted an opportunity to show off his wealth, an observation that the general had found very amusing and had agreed with, in an understated way.

Still, Kaz had no complaints. It was the perfect opportunity. With so many strangers on the grounds, security would be overtaxed and distracted. There were numerous opportunities Kaz could exploit, to get Jesper out of the Little Palace.

So far, the plan had gone off without a hitch. Jesper was now dressed as a visiting dignitary and he and Inej were enroute to meet Kaz. Meanwhile, Kaz had forged the general’s signature on a set of orders to escort Jesper’s dignitary persona. It would grant them the ability to easily leave the palace grounds, without anyone the wiser.

Before Kaz had left the general’s quarters, he had left a note. It held no sentiment, simply factual information. It contained suggestions of how to make the security patrols better in the Little Palace, recommendations about keeping better track of official uniforms, and also some advice on the general’s personal protection, which Kaz felt was rather lacking. He had left the note unsigned. The general had never known his name, and it was for the better really, despite the strange pang Kaz felt at the thought.

Kaz had never thought of himself as a man with friends; he couldn’t afford them with his lifestyle. But the general…Well, it hardly mattered. Kaz was leaving, never to see him again.

Just as he had the thought, fate saw fit to intervene.

Kaz squinted in the dark at the two figures heading towards the pond. One was nearly dragging the other. They both had the figure of men, although it was difficult to tell with the distance and shadows. And then one of the men shoved the other into the water and Kaz, damn his soft heart, moved to stop what was an apparent attempted drowning.

Dragging the would-be killer back by his jacket, Kaz saw that he was dressed as a manservant. The man he had been attempting to drown? What a surprise, it was the general. Kaz was shocked, it was the most unexpected twist to his evening. He could have never anticipated such an event.

At this point, he wanted to know who wasn’t trying to kill the man.

What followed was a very awkward few moments where Kaz was trying to drag the general back to solid ground, while the manservant wiggled in his grip. The man was pathetically easy to subdue, clearly with no fighting experience, and as soon as Kaz got them all out of the pond, it only took a quick right hook to knock the man unconscious.

Leaving him half in and half out of the pond, Kaz grimly hoped he got pneumonia. He then turned his attention to the general, who had been weirdly permissive of Kaz dragging him around like a mother cat with her kitten.

“Hello,” he said. Kaz tried to pull him into a standing position, only for him to sag into Kaz once he was upright. “You look lovely by the way,” was the general’s ridiculous addition to Kaz’s efforts.

“I what?” He asked disbelievingly.

“You always look nice,” the general tried to warmly impart.

“I’m wearing a uniform every time you see me,” Kaz blankly responded, before he stopped reacting so sluggishly and started to think. He tilted the general’s head to try to check his pupils in the moonlight. As he thought, drugged out of his mind.

“Well, black is your color. We match. But why are we wet?” He had no right looking that innocent in his confusion.

“Well, you decided to admire your reflection in the pond, like the narcissist you are, and accidently fell in.” Kaz told him. “I was the unfortunate soul that had to fish you out.”

His snark was lost on the general, who was now trying to nuzzle his neck. Oh no, Kaz was putting a stop to that right there.

Of course, his luck was awful, because it was right at this moment that he heard a gleeful voice say, “Kaz?”.

Looking past the general’s shoulder, Kaz saw Jesper watching his boss get fondled by the drugged general of the Second Army like it was the best entertainment he’d ever witnessed. Inej was at his side, eyebrow raised as high as it could go.

“Not a word,” Kaz snapped on instinct.

“There’s a lot of things I want to tell you though,” the general protested into his shoulder.

Jesper started laughing, which did not help the situation at all. Inej proved herself to be his favorite crow, by saying, “I take it you need me to handle that?” She gestured at the unconscious manservant.

“Yes,” Kaz sighed, deeply put-out and feeling like destiny itself was refusing to take him seriously.

“Is the escape plan on hold again?” Jesper at least didn’t seem disappointed, although that probably had something to do with how the general was trying to sniff Kaz’s hair.

Putting his gloved hand on the man’s face and pushing him away, Kaz sarcastically replied, “With present circumstances, I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule.”

“I got you flowers, they’re in my room,” was the general’s contribution to the conversation, words slightly muffled by Kaz’s glove.

“You what?” Kaz was praying to saints he didn’t even believe in that he had hear wrong.

“Yellow carnations, your favorite,” the general earnestly told him.

Kaz saw Jesper open his mouth out of the corner of his eye. “I said not a word,” he hissed at him.

Making a quick decision, Kaz said, “Jesper back to your lab, Inej handle that,” he gestured at the manservant. “I’ll get the general back to his rooms.”

“You enjoy that, boss.” Was Jesper’s cheerful reply. Kaz narrowed his eyes. At least Jesper hadn’t lost all respect for him, because at his irate expression, he quickly turned around and headed back the way he had come.

With another exasperated noise, Kaz jostled the general, and started half-carrying, half-yanking him towards his rooms. The general was confused, but still very pliable, leaning heavily on Kaz and apologizing because of Kaz’s leg.

“It’s fine,” Kaz told him, while everything around him was a complete disaster.

Chapter Text

The morning after yet another failed rescue attempt and another thwarted assignation plot, Kaz was moody and frustrated. At this rate, even if he got Jesper out, could he trust the general to survive without his interventions? He had already put so much work into keeping the man alive; it would be a complete waste to leave and have him immediately killed afterwards.

Kaz turned the problem over in his head, again and again, but hadn’t yet come up with a solution.

Meanwhile, the general was acting very strangely.

He kept staring at Kaz when he thought Kaz wasn’t watching. But Kaz was always watching. And rather than pretend he hadn’t noticed, he stared straight into the general’s eyes, daring him to say something. Unfortunately, the general took him up on that.

“I just want you to know…” the man cleared his throat uncomfortably, “last night meant a lot to me.”

Kaz stared back at him, at a loss for words. Being nearly drowned meant a lot to him? Well, at least he remembered. Without knowing the drug the manservant had used, Kaz hadn’t been sure how his memory would be affected.

“Was it…uh…good for you?”

Was what good? The fight with the assassin? “Not the best I’ve had,” Kaz said. “Kind of a pathetic attempt, really.”

The general deflated before his eyes. The man was fairly tall, but you wouldn’t be able to tell from the way he shrunk in on himself. “I’ll do better next time,” he promised.

“You had better,” Kaz said darkly. “You might not get another chance.” What if he hadn’t been there that night? The general would have been killed by a weak manservant that couldn’t even fight. Who knew what the next assassin would be like?

“That’s up to you,” the general’s tone was intense.

Yes, it apparently was. Well, Kaz had already subtly agreed that he would keep protecting the general, saints knew why. But that didn’t help him with the problem of when he inevitably departed with Jesper.

“Did you get the note I left?” Kaz asked, probably a little abruptly.

The general’s expression softened completely. “I did. You put a lot of thought into it. It will be very helpful for reforming the Little Palace’s security.”

“Yes, yes, the Little Palace security is important,” Kaz said dismissively, “but did you pay attention to the part about your security? I won’t always be around to help you; you need to take better care with your safety.”

“You’re very protective of me,” the general said, something questioning about his tone.

Kaz didn’t know how to tell the man that he was completely hopeless and Kaz didn’t understand how he had lived this long. Wasn’t the general supposed to be over a hundred years old? How?

“Just be more careful,” was what Kaz settled on.

-

The idea was in his head now. How was he going to ensure the general was safe after Kaz returned to Ketterdam? The most obvious answer was that he needed to stop the threats to the general’s life. Up until this point, he had been dealing with the immediate threats. But he hadn’t done anything about the cause of the threats: Zlatan.

How was Zlatan getting to all of these people; paying them, threatening them, and turning them to his side? Not to mention, the murder attempts all happened close to each other, timeline-wise. Faster than information and new kill orders would be able to travel around the Fold. But if missives were being passed through the Fold…

Thoughts connected lightning fast in Kaz’s mind. It would seem, he would need to look into the Conductor.

-

Kaz was restless, waiting for Inej to return. He hadn’t thought much of the Conductor when he contracted the man to get them across the Fold. Smart in an academic way and ruthless enough to exploit a horror like the Fold for his own financial gain; a snake in the grass. But not someone Kaz would consider a threat. Now that he knew the man was doing Zlatan’s biding though, and willing to arrange a murder, he was a little more wary. He might not know for sure until Inej returned from spying on him, but Kaz knew it in his bones.

And then Inej was there, silent and graceful. “I followed him to a meeting,” she launched into a report immediately. “He was contracting an assassin on Zlatan’s behalf.”

“Details,” Kaz demanded. He needed to know what the assassin looked like, to be on the lookout.

But Inej shook her head. “I couldn’t get too close to the meeting. And they split up when they left; I could only follow one of them and it seemed more important to know where the Conductor was spending the night.”

Kaz conceded this with a head tilt. Still, they were lacking in information and in resources. If this was Ketterdam, he would have people that owed him favors, would know places he could go for more information, and would have more avenues available to him. Now, however, he was limited to Inej and himself, and that was only when he wasn’t on duty.

“Maybe you should outsource this job,” Inej suggested. At his eyebrow raise, she clarified, “The general has no shortage of people and supplies.”

Kaz hated the idea; he liked to see things through himself. But in this case, Inej was right. He was spread too thin.

-

Kaz had hoped to be in and out, leaving his unsigned note about the Conductor. While the general would probably connect this note to the one Kaz had left last night, he wouldn’t be able to prove anything. Kaz would try to stay out of it and beneath notice, if such a thing was possible. But then, of course, the general walked in just as he was making to leave.

“What are you doing in here?” Saints help him, the general didn’t even sound suspicious or confrontational. Just curious. Did the man have no self-preservation instinct to speak of?

“Admiring the ambiance. Love what you’ve done with the place,” Kaz replied, dry as a desert.

The general laughed and said, “You know, you’re the only one who ever jokes with me.”

“I imagine everyone else is afraid of you.” If only they knew the truth, Kaz thought. The scariest Grisha in the world, and he got Kaz saints damned yellow carnations.

“But not you.” It wasn’t a question at all, but a fond statement.

The general stepped closer and Kaz resigned himself to not making a clean break. “I am curious,” the man said, almost delicately, “about what your goals are, your motivations. You once mentioned vengeance…”

The general trailed off leadingly. Kaz had no idea why he was bringing it up now. “Yes,” he said shortly, and nothing else.

The silence stretched out, and Kaz could see the general getting frustrated. He turned around, pacing a short bit away, before pacing back to Kaz. “I know something of vengeance,” he told Kaz, with some unspecified anger dripping from his tone. “Someone I loved once was killed and,” here his lips turned up in a dark approximation of a smile, “I wanted to rip the world apart. Tell me you understand this.” His words might have been commanding, but his eyes were pleading, asking Kaz if he was alone.

There was a moment where Kaz could see all the paths before him, and all of their outcomes. It would be easy to lie, to make up a story about a love of his who had died. Or to not say anything; leave the general alone in his room, raw and vulnerable. But what Kaz found himself saying instead was, “My brother…” His words choked out, throat closing in on him. He never spoke of Jordie. So why was he now? The general was right, Kaz did understand, and he wasn’t alone. “When I’m finished, Ketterdam might as well be torn apart,” Kaz vowed.

There was something dark and fiery passing between him and the general in that moment. They stared at each other, shared vengeance and the black hate in their hearts spilling out into the space between them, as they breathed together. Kaz had never felt so seen or accepted. It was terrifying.

Chapter Text

When Aleksander found the note on his desk, he had immediately known who had left it. Like the previous note about the Little Palace’s security, it was unsigned. But the tightly written words, no frills or loops in the cursive, just all business, matched exactly. Not to mention the no-nonsense, factual tone. Aleksander had done nothing to suppress the fondness he felt when he saw it.

The man was a study in contradictions. He acted cold and distant, but continually helped Aleksander, with no clear incentive to do so. Instead of seeking gratitude or a reward, he actively tried to avoid notice when giving priceless information, or even the time he saved Aleksander’s life from the Oprichnik Zlatan had paid off. He was sarcastic when speaking, words alone suggesting he didn’t like Aleksander, or anyone else for that matter, and yet, he had shared some valuable truths with Aleksander.

At first, Aleksander had been frustrated in his confusion. He had tried to figure out the man’s angle, why he had so thoroughly betrayed his employer, to help Zlatan’s enemy instead. Aleksander hadn’t offered him higher payment. The only thing he knew for sure the man even wanted was vengeance against the man, or men, that were responsible for his brother’s death. And he hadn’t asked for Aleksander’s aid in that, although Aleksander would give it gladly.

As time passed, and the man continued to be nothing short of competent and helpful, Aleksander felt his frustration fading into an exasperated affection. Here was someone who could keep up with Aleksander’s politicking and military strategies, who had a core of ruthlessness and wit, and who understood bloody retaliation against an enemy. Aleksander could feel himself shedding some of the layers of pretense he was forced to wear in his role as General Kirigan, trusting he could be his true self.

Aleksander wasn’t sure when he had changed from wanting the man’s opinion on tactics and seeking out conversations, to wanting to, for lack of a better word, woo him. Which was rather difficult considering his temperament. He wouldn’t be taken in by flattery or compliments, far more likely to have a biting response than a favorable one. He was averse to touch, so Aleksander couldn’t initiate subtle contact. And from what Aleksander knew of him, he would probably find gifts suspicious. Aleksander was at a complete loss.

He also really desperately needed to learn his name. The fact that this had gone on so long, without Aleksander knowing how to address him, was ridiculous. But how to ask, without the man fearing Aleksander was about to interrogate him about his work for Zlatan?

Perhaps this Conductor would know.

-

The information in the note led Ivan directly to where the Conductor was staying and by the evening, Aleksander had the man in the dungeon, bound to a chair, with Ivan standing over him, listening for lies in his heartbeat. The Conductor had pathetically tried to cover up his involvement with Zlatan, but Aleksander trusted the information he had received. Before long, the Conductor’s façade of innocence crumbled, replaced by an eagerness to avoid death and a willingness to sell out Zlatan to achieve that.

“Another question,” Aleksander had learned what he wanted to about how the Conductor got across the Fold, but now it was time to ask a more personal question (personal for Aleksander). “What is the name of the spy Zlatan has among my Oprichnik?”

“Boris? The one that tried to shoot you?”

“No,” Aleksander impatiently gestured the man away as irrelevant, “The other one.”

“I don’t understand.” And his desperate tone and near trembling fear suggested he was being truthful. Aleksander didn’t even need to look to Ivan to confirm it. “Boris was the only Oprichnik I could pay to turn against you. Unless you mean one of the others?”

“Others?” Aleksander let his voice become icy, while inside he felt only bewilderment.

“Yes, the others. I’ve, er, that is Zlatan, has been trying to kill you for a while. He tasked me with, ahem, finding people that could do the job.”

“Tell me of the others.” Aleksander checked with Ivan and found that so far, the Conductor was being honest. Curious. There had been no other attempts on his life.

“…Well, first a maid was threatened into poisoning your drink. And then there was the valet that was paid to cover your kefta in Grisha toxin powder, you know the stuff? Very useful. Umm, yes, anyway. Then there was the stable hand that put a bomb under your carriage. He didn’t have to be paid at all. He was loyal to Zlatan and came over across the Fold, ready to serve his general. And of course, there was the manservant from the other night, the one that drugged your wine and had meant to drown you. I’m not sure why you’re asking about this. You already know about them; you had your Oprichnik handle all of these attempts.”

Aleksander didn’t respond. He was too busy being completely shocked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ivan make a strange expression at him, obviously hearing something that alarmed him about Aleksander’s heart.

Previous events were replaying through his mind, now with additional information coloring them. The man, bursting into his room after the maid had left his tray of food, snatching his cup away without explanation. Him loitering in the stable, despite Aleksander having never seen him there before, and him having no reason to be there. Burning the damn kefta. And of course, the other night, which was still a fuzzy blur in Aleksander’s mind. He had been puzzled as to why he had possibly drunk so much as to impair his memory and had been horrified that he had missed an actual success in his seduction attempts. Now he found himself wondering just what had happened that night, because clearly his inference had been wrong.

But this made even less sense than before! Who was this man who had given him fantastic and legitimate information to thwart Zlatan’s finances and allies? Who had apparently saved his life five times, without any recognition or recompense? Who had given him information on how to improve security and given him the Conductor? And why was he disguising himself as an Oprichnik and hanging around the Little Palace, if he wasn’t working for Zlatan?

Aleksander was rather looking forward to their next conversation. It was time to press for some answers.

Chapter Text

Kaz had not forgotten about the man the Conductor met with. So, while the general was chasing down the Conductor, Kaz and Inej were chasing down the next would-be assassin. They didn’t have much to go on, just the last known location. Their day had been filled with a lot of backtracking, dead ends, and unhelpful conversations with various people that might have seen the man, but most likely hadn’t and were suspicious of being asked questions.

But finally, they had a solid lead….only to break into the man’s room at an inn, and find he wasn’t there.

“Perhaps he has gone out for food?” Inej suggested. “Or gone to the local brothel or bar?”

“Or,” Kaz said, feeling a sinking sensation, “he’s on his way to complete the job he’s been contracted for.”

So they rushed back to the Little Palace, Kaz frustrated that he had let the general out of his sight, when he knew there was a credible threat. But he had assumed the man would be busy interrogating the Conductor and would be safe enough.

“Go to the general’s rooms,” Kaz ordered Inej. “The assassin might be inside or laying in wait in the hallway outside.”

Inej nodded and left quickly, without a word; they were racing against the clock. Kaz moved as fast as he could towards where he knew the dungeon entrance was. He wasn’t sure if the interrogation was finished yet or not. The general might still be down in the dungeons, or he might be in his rooms. Or Kaz might have miscalculated horribly, and he might not be in either location, in which case, the assassin might already have access to him.

But Kaz had always had the strangest luck.

There was a man, loitering in the hall right outside the dungeon. He hadn’t even made a cursory attempt to blend in, dressed instead in plain black pants and a shirt. Kaz was insulted on the general’s behalf. The assassin could have had a little more professional pride.

With the empty hallway and marble floors, Kaz couldn’t see a way to sneak up on the man. And as soon as he saw an Oprichnik behind him, he would panic (Kaz assumed). So, speed over stealth.

Kaz rushed the man, hoping to catch him unaware. Unfortunately, the assassin had turned towards him, and quickly drawn a knife. He might not know anything about disguises, but he obviously had superior reflexes and at least some training.

Kaz first order of business would be to disable his knife. With that in mind, he ripped off his Oprichnik cloak, twisting it into a rope, which he used to whip the attacker in the face. It wouldn’t stun or even truly harm the man, but it worked as an efficient distraction, enough for Kaz to uncoil and toss his cloak over the man’s hand (and knife).

What followed was a truly ridiculous fight over Kaz’s cloak, with the assassin trying to remove it from his weapon, and Kaz trying to wrap even more of it around his wrist. Their wrestling, because it really couldn’t be called anything else at this point, also had the pleasant addition of punching each other with their non-dominant hands. Kaz wondered when his life had become a slapstick comedy.

The assassin seemed to give up on his knife, instead darting down to try to snatch a dagger out of his boot. Kaz promptly kneed him in the face. The man took two large steps away from Kaz, dagger in hand and lip bleeding profusely. They stared at each other for a moment, waiting for the other to make a move first. Kaz still had his cloak in hand but itched to pick up the dropped knife from the floor. After this, he was going to start carrying a gun. He may be no Jesper, but it wasn’t that hard to shoot someone at point blank range.

Just as Kaz was debating if he could be fast enough to snatch up the knife, the assassin saw something behind Kaz that caused him to jolt in surprise, before steely determination stole over his face. Kaz was already hitting the floor, slamming onto his knees in his haste, as he grabbed the knife up. The assassin was throwing the boot dagger at the general, who had just emerged from the dungeon door, when Kaz threw his own knife as well.

The knife hit the dagger, both of them crashing to the floor.

The assassin snarled, jerking towards Kaz, with killing intent in his eyes. Kaz, lacking better options, threw his cloak in the assassin’s face.

And then, both Kaz’s cloak and the assassin were falling to pieces, sliced in half by some dark, shadowy shape. Kaz stared, nonplussed, before glancing over his shoulder at the general, who looked completely furious.

“That’s useful,” Kaz commented, frankly admiring. At the general’s apparent confusion, Kaz gestured to the body.

“It’s called the Cut. It’s something any summoner can do, but it requires tremendous skill.” The general sounded distracted in his explanation, rushing over to Kaz. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Kaz said, instantly moving to push himself up. His knee protested, and he nearly collapsed back onto the ground, but the general gripped him tightly, hoisting him up.

Kaz glared at him, but the man was already releasing him. “Sorry,” the general offered, as Kaz sagged against the wall. “But I wasn’t going to leave you on the floor.”

“I’ve been worse places,” Kaz replied tiredly.

“Ivan,” the general addressed the Heartrender that Kaz hadn’t even noticed. Saints, his concentration was shot. “Get a Healer.”

Kaz tried to protest, but both the general and Ivan ignored him, with Ivan moving swiftly away. The general, meanwhile, had glanced back down at the body of his would-be assassin.

“I know you’re not an Oprichnik. Who do you work for?” The general’s voice was soft, not confrontational like the question really merited.

“Your mother,” Kaz said expressionlessly, intending it as a joke like always. Not one of his best lines, he’d admit, but he did just have hand-to-hand combat with a knife wielding assassin. He thought that gave him a pass on being witty.

“Baghra?” The general seemed shocked, as he searched Kaz’s face.

Kaz blinked at that, surprised. “Yes,” he decided to answer. He hadn’t met her himself, but he had overheard the Grisha talk about her, not to mention the staff. That old hag was the general’s mother? Well, that answered some questions Kaz had about the man.

“And she’s having you spy on me?” The general probed.

Interesting family dynamics. Kaz decided to remain silent.

“That explains some things,” the general mused.

Does it, Kaz wondered.

The general stepped closer to Kaz, which was quite a feat, considering how close they had already been to each other. Everything about him seemed warm and open. “Could I tempt you to work for me instead?”

“And how do you intend to tempt me?” Kaz didn’t mean for it to come out flirtatious, but….

The general raised his eyebrows, before leaning closer to Kaz, nearly sharing breath with him. His voice was a purr as he said, “you tell me the price. I’m willing to pay,” pure insinuation in his tone.

That was. No. Just no.

“You couldn’t afford me,” Kaz said tartly, before limping away as fast as possible.

Chapter Text

Kaz was sore from the fight with the knife wielding assassin, as well as rather conflicted over his own motivations regarding the general. He was expanding a lot of time and effort into protecting the man, and he could no longer lie to himself as to why. He would go this far for Inej, but she was one of his crows. The general was decidedly not. But some part of Kaz had decided to claim him. The combination of physical and emotional discomfort left Kaz prickly and short-tempered.

He nearly didn’t show up to stand guard for the general. Why should he? With the Conductor caught, it would be some time before Zlatan could arrange another assassination attempt. And the general now knew Kaz wasn’t who he was pretending to be. There was no need for the act. But something led Kaz to his rooms. He could bluff that it was concern the Conductor had managed to pay someone else before he was captured, but Kaz knew that was the coward’s way out.

It appeared he was the only one following routine though. When he arrived at the general’s quarters, he found food for two laid out at the table.

“Are you expecting someone?” Kaz asked distrustfully, already suspecting the answer. The general wasn’t exactly being subtle about his interest.

“Just you,” the general gave Kaz a little smile. Kaz gave him a slow up and down in return, bothered at the lack of kefta. Was it due to a credible threat, the Conductor revealing another kefta toxin powder plot, or was the general actually delusional enough to think Kaz would want less layers between them? Either way, it spelled trouble.

“I’m on duty,” Kaz dismissed, both the food and this weirdly underdressed version of the general.

“I’m quite sure you can keep me safe while seated at the table,” was the man’s insistent response, already turning. But instead of sitting down himself, he drew back Kaz’s chair.

For a moment, there was dead silence, as the two of them engaged in a battle of wills. Kaz was just stubborn enough to nearly leave right then and there, but the small bit of hope quickly fading from the general’s expression sealed his fate.

With a sigh, Kaz conceded defeat and limped over to the chair. He had too much dignity to collapse into it, but he couldn’t deny it felt a lot better on his aching leg to be seated. He also did not miss the feather light touch the general brushed on his shoulder when he pushed the chair in. No, not subtle at all.

Scowling at his plate like it had personally offended him, Kaz removed his gloves, and got to work grimly cutting into his golubtsy. He noticed the way the general’s eyes fixated on his bare hands and felt the strange urge to put his gloves back on.

He shouldn’t even be entertaining this! What was the point? It’s not like he was going to bed the man. And he wasn’t staying. He, Jesper, and Inej would be leaving eventually, with Kaz going back to his life in Ketterdam and the general staying here. There was nothing for either of them to gain with this pretense. Mind made up, he decided he would get through this dinner with minimal conversation, tell the general to put his damn kefta back on, and get Jesper out of the Little Palace. All of this was a distraction and he had wasted enough time on it.

Just as Kaz was talking himself into not caring anymore, displeased that he had ever started in the first place, the general had to go and open his mouth. “I’m curious. When you said you were on duty…do you actually get paid for pretending to be an Oprichnik?”

“Do you think Baghra has money?” Kaz was genuinely curious. The woman lived in a hut and, according to the palace staff, she never seemed to leave. But the general hadn’t been surprised she would have someone spying on him, so she must have some way to convince people to work for her.

The general seemed to be bemused by the question. “I have made sure to build up my finances over the years, but my mother certainly hasn’t. Are you not getting paid then?”

“Don’t even talk to me about money.” Kaz was not in the mood to be reminded of how much this little venture had cost him. Saints, he had put the Crow Club up as collateral to bring Inej. They had been gone long enough now that who knew what Heleen had done with it. And he still didn’t have a plan for how he was paying off her debt when they got back.

“If you need money…” the general trailed off, offer clear in his tone.

Kaz transferred his glare from his plate to the man across from him. “And I suppose you’d give me money out of the goodness of your heart,” he sneered. Nothing in life was free. As the man moved to speak, Kaz cut him off. “Save your breath. If you’re that desperate, I’m sure I could find you a good brothel.” He didn’t actually want Kaz, he had just somehow convinced himself he did. But he would come to his senses soon enough.

The general frowned, setting down his cutlery. “What exactly do you think is happening here?”

Kaz frowned right back at him. “What do you? What do you hope to achieve with all of this?” He waved at the food before them.

“A nice meal and enjoyable conversation?” The general answered dryly.

“And tomorrow? And the day after that? And next month? And next year?” As he spoke, Kaz could see his words impacting. It brought him no pleasure to see the dark expression steal across the general’s face, but he needed to be realistic. He didn’t plan to, but Kaz could feel himself softening. “I won’t always be in Os Alta. I have business elsewhere.”

The general was silent for a moment, watching him, before he very neutrally said, “Ketterdam, right? Your vengeance?”

Kaz leaned back in his chair, defeated. “And other matters. But yes, vengeance.”

“I could help you,” his voice was nearly pleading.

Kaz entertained the fantasy for a moment; The Black General showing up before Pekka Rollins. Then he dismissed the daydream with a headshake. “Would you share your vengeance?” It was a rhetorical question; Kaz already knew the answer. They were two sides of the same coin.

“This was a mistake.” Kaz drew his gloves back on and heaved himself up from the table, displeased by how stiff his leg had gotten. Maybe he should have taken the general up on his offer of a Healer. Too late now…for a lot of things. He had only gotten a few steps from the table though, before his leg almost gave out on him. Locking his body up and gritting his teeth, Kaz nearly swore under his breath. That was just what his dramatic exit needed, him falling flat on his face.

The general had rounded the table and approached him. “You should have been seen to by a Healer,” he said with concern. Kaz hated him a little for sounding so tender. They were arguing, weren’t they? And then the fool actually knelt down and reached out a hand to Kaz’s leg. His touch was hesitant at first, clearly worried about exerting too much pressure, before he gained more confidence.

Kaz stared at him in befuddlement for a moment, before closing his eyes with a sharp inhale as the general’s firm touch rubbed at a knot. It was both good and terrible, the warmth from his hands sinking past Kaz’s pants, being touched by someone as he hadn’t in years. Kaz nearly shivered away out of discomfort, but something made him stay.

“Is this alright?” Kaz opened his eyes to find the general looking up at him, furrow between his brows. “I can’t tell.”

“It’s a mistake,” Kaz insisted, although he was a little worried about how weak his voice sounded.

“I meant,” the general stressed, “is this alright with your…” He clearly struggled for a good description before moving to, “I know you’re uncomfortable with touch.”

Kaz wanting to be angry at how difficult the man was making this, but he was trying so hard, in a way no one had before. “It’s fine,” he conceded, although he wasn’t sure that was true. Still there was a layer of clothing between them and Kaz had been touched by Jesper and Inej during jobs before; he could manage this much. “Why do you care so much?” Kaz asked, nearly desperate.

The general’s head was tilted back, so he could maintain eye contact with Kaz while on his knees. He should have looked ridiculous, but instead, he looked like a beautiful trap. And Kaz didn’t want to fall in.

“Like calls to like,” he murmured. His eyes looked black and Kaz found himself wondering if the room was covered in shadows, or if he was just so magnetic that Kaz could see only him in that moment.

Jerking back a step, Kaz forced himself to look away. “Listen, General,” Kaz began, but the man made a pained noise.

“I think we’re well past the point where we should call each other by name,” he pointed out, as he stood up.

“Kirigan?” Kaz half-asked. No, wouldn’t he want to be called by his first name, Pyotr?

The general hesitated, before saying, “You can call me Aleksander.”

Kaz looked searchingly at him, before offering, against his better judgement, “Kaz.”

Aleksander repeated it lowly, as if the word in itself held precious value. Kaz…wanted to be apathetic to hearing his name spoken as if to a lover, but he really wasn’t. And then Aleksander leaned towards him, head turned slightly, and Kaz realized he was about to kiss him. It was instinct and fear that made Kaz shove him away, before he even knew he was going to.

Blinking, Aleksander said, “I apologize. In the moment, I forgot.” He cleared his throat, actually looking guilty. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Sighing, Kaz gave up. Clearly, he was outmaneuvered, and he needed to regroup and reassess. Reaching out, he covered Aleksander’s mouth with one gloved hand, before leaning forward and kissing the leather-covered back of his hand.

Kaz leaned back, feeling vaguely embarrassed, but his discomfort stalled out a bit at the beaming smile Aleksander wore.

“You’re insufferable,” Kaz grumbled to him, before turning and leaving.

Chapter Text

Kaz wasn’t sure if Aleksander thought Kaz was an idiot, or if Aleksander himself was really that terrible at being a criminal. Kaz knew his name was Pyotr Kirigan. And then he was told it was Aleksander instead? There was no world where Kaz didn’t investigate that.

And what he found made him despair.

The man was hundreds of years old. Hundreds! And he had never learned how to make a solid fake identity? It had taken Kaz all of a day at the library to figure out he was the Black Heretic (which he was never telling Inej). The backstory he had constructed was paper thin. Kaz would only accept such shoddy work for a temporary job, and maybe not even then. It certainly wasn’t a good enough cover for a hundred-year gig in a highly political and visible role. And he had apparently been doing this for centuries?

Despair.

It was an unimpressed and serious Kaz that entered Aleksander’s quarters. Only to be confronted by another damn meal. Really? Was Aleksander seriously trying to wine and dine him? He’d be better off putting Kaz in touch with a good arms dealer or finding out the latest Kruge counterfeit scam and letting Kaz know. Instead, here he was, proffering a bouquet of yellow carnations.

Fine, it was sweet. But still impractical.

Aleksander didn’t even have the self-respect to hide his pleasure at Kaz reluctantly accepting the bouquet. “Smug isn’t a good look for you,” Kaz told him waspishly.

“Everything is a good look for you.” Aleksander countered. Kaz couldn’t tell if Aleksander was being earnest or…alright, yes, he was being earnest. Kaz tried to facepalm, but unfortunately, did it with the hand holding the flowers and narrowly avoided smacking himself in the face with them.

“You told me that before,” Kaz remembered. When he had been drugged out of his mind. Well, he must actually mean it then. Aleksander’s brow furrowed as he clearly tried to recall every previous compliment he had given Kaz. “It was when that manservant tried to drown you,” Kaz prompted.

“Ah…when I somehow ended up in bed and undressed? Would you care to elaborate a little on that?”

“What’s there to elaborate on? You were drugged, then nearly drowned, and then I saved you.” Kaz rolled his eyes and added, “And then you were terribly handsy. See if I pull you out of the water again.”

“You would,” Aleksander replied confidently. “Did I ever thank you for that, by the way? All the times you saved me?”

Kaz shifted uncomfortably. “I wasn’t looking for gratitude.” Aleksander’s responding smile was soft and far too boyish and innocent for a man who had to be at least five hundred years old, minimum.

Right, Kaz needed to address that. “I didn’t come here for flowers. I came to help you with your cover identity.”

“…my cover identity?” Aleksander sounded cautious. If he honestly thought he wasn’t transparent as glass, he was in for a rude awakening.

“Yes, your cover identity as General Kirigan, Aleksander Morozova.” Kaz made sure to place special emphasis on his last name.

That was another thing. That Aleksander’s grandfather was a famous (and controversial) saint was mildly interesting. And Aleksander of course was reviled across the country as the terrible creator of the Fold. But his mother, Baghra? Not a whisper of her throughout history. She obviously knew how to cover her tracks. It made Kaz wary; she was clearly the Morozova to watch for.

Aleksander had stilled at Kaz’s words, all emotion bleeding from his expression. “What do you know?” His voice was flat, distant. Kaz found he didn’t like it.

“I know you’re absolutely terrible with fake identities. You didn’t think to sit out a century and keep your head down? Disguise yourself? You could have pretended to be a Grisha that wasn’t a shadow summoner.” Although Kaz wasn’t sure on the logistics of that one. Still, the shadow summoning was the most obvious part of all of his previous identities and the one major connection to his Black Heretic reputation. “You could have at least changed your hair or worn a color every once in a while!” Really, he did the bare minimum of changing his name and that seemed to be it.

Aleksander had looked more and more bewildered as Kaz kept talking, but at least he wasn’t cold and withdrawn anymore. “You know…about my history?”

Kaz wasn’t here to pussyfoot around. “That you created the Fold four hundred years ago and were labeled the Black Heretic? Yes, of course I know. What part of ‘you’re absolutely terrible with fake identities’ wasn’t clear?”

“And you’re not,” here Aleksander seemed to search for an appropriate word, before settling on, “horrified?”

“With your complete lack of criminal competence? Yes, I shudder at the thought,” Kaz deadpanned. Then, sensing he probably shouldn’t brute-force sass his way through this conversation, Kaz soberly added, “I know what it’s like to need to be ruthless. And from what I can tell, you were just trying to protect your own.”

“That’s not how history sees it,” Aleksander sounded rather bitter about it. He then added, tone softer, “The person I told you about before? The king’s men killed her. For being Grisha, and for helping me. I made them pay for that dearly,” his smiled was twisted and nearly cruel, but Kaz understood. There was a savage triumph in bloody-handed revenge.

“That was when you created the Fold,” Kaz confirmed, and when Aleksander nodded sharply, he offered, “I’d do the same.” At Aleksander’s expression, he added, “I once told you I’d rip Ketterdam apart. I might not have the Grisha powers to do what you did, but…” Well, he didn’t imagine going after Pekka Rollins would result in anything but a gang war. “when I have my revenge, the streets will run red with blood.”

Aleksander stared at him in dead silence, unmoving and expressionless, before turning away. Kaz curiously watched as he walked over to his desk and drew a pair of leather gloves from one of the drawers. As he walked back over to Kaz, he pulled them on.

“Would this be alright?” Aleksander gestured with his gloved hands as he asked.

“You want to hold hands?” Kaz asked bemusedly. But in the face of Aleksander’s completely serious expression, Kaz sighed and said, “That’s…fine.”

…it wasn’t awful. Kaz wasn’t sure he was getting anything out of it, but Aleksander certainly seemed to be. He had given their clasped hands the slightest squeeze, barely felt through the leather, and was now making a stroking motion with his thumb.

“I can make this work,” Aleksander murmured, almost to himself. Kaz didn’t think he was just talking about Kaz’s aversion to touch.

Chapter Text

Aleksander had loved Luda. She had shared his aspirations for Grisha, had been willing to stand by him and fight. She had been smart and kind, and above all, brave. She did not have the power or years of experience Aleksander had, nor could she use her abilities to defend herself, but she had been entirely willing to face danger anyway.

Even before the king’s men came for Aleksander, he had felt the creep of her years upon him. There had been a frantic, despairing part of him that knew she would die and held that knowledge close. He had sometimes, in his most gloomy moments, wondered if he had made a mistake in ever starting a relationship with her. But he had convinced himself that it was worth it. Even if he only had a hundred years with her, they would have been a hundred years of companionship and love.

Sadly, they had never gotten even a fraction of that time together.

After Luda’s death, Aleksander swore, never again. Long-term relationships were for others, not him. People were temporary in Aleksander’s life; there was no reason to tie himself to any of them. He was quite sure of this, content to pass a night or two with discreet men and women, but never getting attached or making any promises.

Kaz though, had changed everything. He had swooped in and upended Aleksander’s life without warning or apology, just like the man himself.

Aleksander now found himself contemplating a partnership, a future shared. He wasn’t yet sure what that would look like, especially with Kaz eventually having to leave for his vengeance in Ketterdam. Perhaps Aleksander could persuade him to return afterwards? Aleksander had obligations in Os Alta he couldn’t leave behind, but he didn’t even have a vague outline of what obligations Kaz might have himself.

They would figure it out. Aleksander was determined to make this work.

-

Aleksander had been contemplating another romantic dinner or stroll through the garden but had begun to feel a little repetitive. While Kaz might be receptive to Aleksander’s overturns now, he still wanted to put effort into their time together. But Kaz was a difficult man to please, and Aleksander had been drawing a bit of a blank in what else he could do to display his affection. After trying to subtly ask Ivan for advice (a venture he would not be repeating), Aleksander decided to go straight to the source and ask Kaz what he wanted to do.

Apparently Kaz’s idea of a romantic time was standing at Aleksander’s war table, debating strategies and coming up with plans. Aleksander found himself increasingly curious about Kaz’s seemingly inexhaustible wealth of knowledge. He was also rather…distracted with some of the more cunning plans Kaz came up with. While Aleksander hadn’t thought this would be a good way to woo someone, he would have to revise his thoughts on the matter; he was certainly feeling seduced.

“Being feared has its advantages,” Kaz mused. “You might as well go big and flashy with it, if that’s the route you want to take. It’s easier to start from a harsh position and then become more lenient, than go the other way. Less pushback.”

Yes, Aleksander could spend many more nights like this.

_

As soon as Aleksander had found out Kaz worked for his mother, he knew he would have to confront her about it. He cared far less about her spying, considering it expected even, than he did the fact that somehow, she had gotten Kaz to agree to it without payment. What did she hold over him, that he would leave his vengeance in Ketterdam? Kaz valued so few external things, keeping his vulnerabilities close and secretive. Aleksander couldn’t imagine Baghra had convinced him from a moral standpoint or had secured true loyalty from him. But what did that leave?

He had put it off long enough. Thus, that evening, he set out to his mother’s hut. As always, he had to withhold a grimace when he entered the oven she lived in. It had less to do with her living conditions, for they had both certainly lived in worse places over the many long centuries, and more to do with what it represented: Her ever present cold, due to refusing to use her powers. Her willingness to lessen herself and deny her true nature.

She was poking at her fire with a stick when he entered, stoking the flames. He saw the slight stiffening of her spine when he entered, but she otherwise didn’t react. He stood in silence behind her, debating the best approach, when she broke the quiet.

“It’s been a while since you’ve come to see me.” It was a question, without being phrased as one. Leaving Aleksander to fill her in on the details, without obviously fishing for them.

Aleksander had little desire to play a game with her, with Kaz as a pawn. The straightforward approach it was. “I’m here to ask you to release Kaz, from whatever obligation you’re holding over him.”

She turned towards him, expression blank, hiding whatever she thought. “Kaz?” This time, her tone lilted up into a question, but it held something mocking behind it.

Gritting his teeth, already fed up with the run around, Aleksander stated, “Yes, Kaz. The spy you have playing Oprichnik. Remember him?”

Her eyebrow raised. “And why would you want me to release him?”

Aleksander would not tell his mother the full truth. While he had no doubt she would eventually discover the extent of his feelings, and then weaponize them against him, he wasn’t going to give her any ammunition. “The why is not important.”

“Isn’t it? You’re going to have to give more than that, if you want something from me.”

They engaged in a brief battle of wills, and Aleksander was again reminded of why he avoided her, except when he was feeling his most self-punishing. She knew him too well to be thrown off by any number of tricks or lies of his, and she was one of the most stubborn people he knew. If a mountain was in her path, the mountain would move long before she would ever consider a different way.

Trying to stamp out any irritation in his voice, Aleksander reluctantly offered, “Kaz and I have struck up an…accord. I dislike the idea of him reporting back to you. Rather low of you, isn’t it?”

She seemed to study his face for several moments, before rewarding his reveal with one of her own. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Getting frustrated with her deceit, Aleksander snarled, “There’s no point in hiding it. He told me himself.”

“I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but he certainly doesn’t work for me,” she was back to sounding mocking, but underneath that, Aleksander thought he could detect a hint of confusion.

Kaz….didn’t work for his mother? Then what in the world was he doing in the Little Palace?

Chapter Text

Kaz adjusted his position in the carriage, across from Jesper and Inej, his leg already aching with being in one position for too long. It would be a long, uncomfortable, bumpy road back to Ketterdam. It was a shame that the Conductor was either dead or imprisoned, as he had made traveling through the Fold possible. Now, they were stuck taking the long route.

Kaz was back in his own clothes, crow cane in hand, but felt strangely unsettled by it, as if he had outgrown his clothes and they were too tight on his body. He held no love for his Oprichnik uniform, but he couldn’t deny that he had become very used to it. Now he was trying to slip back into his Bastard of the Barrel persona and found it ill-suited. The entire situation made his grumpy.

It was easier to blame his clothes though, than to admit the real reason he was so frustrated. He should be pleased; he had been trying to come up with a plan to get Jesper out of the Little Palace for quite some time now and had continued to run into roadblocks. But he had finally achieved it. His plans with the hidden passages, the general’s insignia, and a stolen carriage had all come together, and his people were safe and free. It should be a cause for celebrating, but instead, Kaz couldn’t shake the sense that he had unfinished business.

He had debated with himself about if he should talk to Aleksander about his leaving. But what would be the point? Kaz wouldn’t allow Jesper to be kept in the Little Palace indefinitely and he couldn’t ignore Inej’s debt or the precarious position he had left the Crow Club in any longer. They all had to leave; it was not open for debate. But he knew if he spoke to Aleksander about it, that Aleksander would try to convince him otherwise. And Kaz had been genuinely worried that he might be swayed.

So instead, he had left a note. A name and a single sentence. That was all he had given as a goodbye.

-

By the time they had gotten to Ketterdam, Kaz was completely done with both Inej and Jesper. Jesper was not the least bit subtle in his comments about Aleksander and Kaz had heard enough insinuations to last a lifetime. Inej didn’t tease him, which Kaz should have been grateful for, but the alternative was worse. She had wanted to talk about his feelings.

He supposed he should count himself lucky that Aleksander was nowhere nearby, otherwise who knew what his crows would do. Probably some awful attempt at matchmaking.

If Kaz felt nothing, he could have dismissed their comments, but he was self-aware enough to understand why their words were hitting so hard. He felt guilty for leaving Aleksander, angry at his guilt, and also furious that he had ‘allowed’ himself to feel anything for anyone. The result was a dangerously short-tempered Kaz Brekker arriving in Ketterdam, to find everything he had left behind in shambles.

But that was fine. Retaliation and forging a life from disaster were things he was skilled at. It also gave him something to focus his time and energy into. He would rip the Crow Club back, he would go toe to toe with the Black Tips for muscling in on his territory, he would get the funds to pay off Heleen once and for all, and he would remind Ketterdam why they should respect Kaz Brekker.

And after all of that, it was high time Kaz dealt with a certain Pekka Rollins.

-

Kaz had been visiting some of his contacts, trying to find information on the Razorgulls’ plan for the harbor, when he stumbled into some very different information entirely.

The Razorgulls, in the wake of Kaz’s retribution, had gotten a new lieutenant. Unfortunately, the man had proved a wily and vicious opponent. It was only a matter of time before Kaz would have to take him out. But for now, Ketterdam had seen enough upheaval, and Kaz was letting the dust settle before making any other moves. He was staying informed on the Razorgulls’ movements though, certain they were planning something for the harbor, and doubly certain he would want to stop whatever plan they had.

So, he had spent a fruitless day seeking information on their operation. And in doing so, had been told about a plot to kill the infamous Black General.

Kaz hadn’t been sure if it was self-flagellating to keep an eye on Aleksander, his version of romance, or just incredibly stupid, but regardless, he had made it clear to several of his informants that he would pay for credible intelligence on the man.

And now this. Apparently, Zlatan was still very desperate to kill Aleksander, in fact, his eagerness had only grown with Aleksander now traveling to meet him. The official statement was that the general of the Second Army was going to provide reinforcements to the general of the First Army for a campaign against Shu Han. The rumors painted a very different picture. And now, Zlatan had arranged to have an assassin lock Aleksander in an inn room and set fire to it.

As soon as Kaz had heard about it, he had moved to stop the assassin. Most of his resources were centered in Ketterdam, but he had money and determination. He hated that he couldn’t personally see to Aleksander’s protection, worried that the people he had paid wouldn’t be competent or motivated enough to ensure the job got done right. But he couldn’t leave Ketterdam again and he wouldn’t be able to get to Aleksander in time anyway.

He wondered if this would be his life now. Seeing to Aleksander’s safety, a guardian from a distance. The thought filled him with warmth.

Chapter Text

Aleksander was woken up by a sharp knock. He was already sitting up, calling upon his shadows, when Ivan entered the room. One glance at his serious, pinched expression banished the last dregs of sleep clinging to Aleksander.

“What is it?” He asked immediately, dismissing his shadows and getting out of the inn bed.

“There was an assassination attempt,” Ivan informed him, tone tight.

Aleksander’s movements stuttered slightly, before he resumed donning his kefta. Thoughts already churning, he confirmed his suspicion, “Zlatan?”

Ivan’s nod was hardly surprising. Aleksander was on his way to meet Zlatan, supposedly to bring aid to the frontlines. But Zlatan had no doubt seen through that paper thin excuse and was scrambling. Aleksander had not planned to be subtle and found some grim delight in the idea of Zlatan’s growing desperation to halt his imminent death.

“Did the Oprichniki or Heartrenders stop the assassination attempt?” Aleksander had just finished dressing and nearly missed Ivan’s grimace. Halting mid-turn, Aleksander turned back to him with a raised eyebrow, demanding clarity.

“Neither. The assassin planned to lock your door and set fire to your room. I came across them mid-fight with two other men. We captured all of them and questioned them.”

“And?” Aleksander took a step closer to Ivan in his impatience, brimming with an unnamed hope.

“The two men who stopped the assassin were paid to do so.”

Aleksander already knew by who, before Ivan voiced the name.

-

Aleksander had always struggled to fill in the blanks of Kaz’s past. His personality was as clear as blood on snow and his motivations were obvious enough as well. But who he had been before appearing in the Little Palace? It was a language Aleksander could not decipher. Anytime he had thought he was closer to knowing the truth, it turned out he had been going down an informational dead end.

Discovering he was a prominent crime boss in Ketterdam, well, it made sense. Aleksander could so easily picture his sharp comments to his underlings and his cold determination when facing down competition. He imagined Kaz’s limping, dark figure cutting a swath through Ketterdam’s streets, everyone knowing to part before his path.

Aleksander greedily pursued any information he could find about the Bastard of the Barrel. If before he had suffered a famine of details, now he glutted himself on a feast. Story after story of Kaz’s ruthlessness, of his cleverness and plots, of his defeat of numerous criminals, and his growing empire poured into Aleksander’s hands through coded reports. He learned all about Kaz’s crows and how one of them, the gunslinger, had been kept in the Little Palace, vanishing at the same time Kaz did. He heard about the bloody return of Kaz to Ketterdam, how he had been assumed dead and his territory divvied up, and how he had very pointedly taken it all back. The criminal underworld in Ketterdam cursed him, but quietly, for fear his wraith might be listening nearby.

Aleksander desperately wanted to see him in his element, pulling the strings of his kingdom and arranging his empire to his vision. Then again, Aleksander desperately wanted to see him in any form.

-

Aleksander rode alone in the carriage, his Heartrenders and Oprichniki surrounding him. Ivan was taking his protection very seriously in the wake of a credible threat, but Aleksander could barely be bothered to consider his defensive strategies.

He might have been the sole occupant of the carriage, but he felt as if a presence was with him nonetheless. Kaz was such a force as to be felt nearby, even when he was miles away in Ketterdam. Aleksander expected at any moment for another assassin of Zlatan’s to emerge, followed by the apparition of Aleksander’s unlikely guardian.

Even if Kaz couldn’t come personally, it was clear he was still watching over Aleksander. The thought pressed against an ache Aleksander had been attempting to ignore. In the wake of Kaz leaving, Aleksander had been angry, an anger that had stemmed from his sense of hurt and abandonment. He had nearly torn the note Kaz had left to shreds, only barely staying his hand. And now here he was, smoothing the paper between his fingers, thinking of the enigmatic man who had written it.

He had thought Kaz had rejected him and had been prepared to cauterize any feelings he might have for the man. But now…

Well, Kaz’s actions weren’t those of someone who had rejected him. Aleksander had thought his note a goodbye, but perhaps it was an offer. Gently unfolding the note, wary of damaging it, as it had already become delicate through frequent handling, Aleksander read the words again, as if they weren’t already imprinted in his memory.

Kaz Brekker. If you ever need help with your vengeance.

Chapter Text

Since Kaz had returned to Ketterdam, he had poured all of his time into reestablishing himself and reminding the citizens of Ketterdam why they should respect him. But after he was finished, the Crow Club back under his control, the Black Tips put in their place, Inej’s dept paid off, the Razorgulls’ harbor plans thwarted, and Pekka Rollins dealt with, Kaz was at loose ends.

So much of his life had either been struggling and scrapping to claw a place for himself or fantasizing about his vengeance. Now that both were no longer issues, Kaz felt a great, yawning emptiness in his life. No doubt there would be others who would come to challenge his authority, other criminals seeing what he had and trying to take it for themselves, but for the moment, Kaz was secure in his power and position.

As for Pekka…Kaz had known he would kill the man for years. Even since Kaz had watched Jordie’s pale, water-bloated body float away from him, the feeling of his sloughed and wrinkled skin still impressed on Kaz’s hands, Pekka was destined for death. Kaz had played out how he would do it so many times, a grand finale, Kaz’s magnum opus. In his fantasies, it was the culmination of his work as a criminal and his greatest becoming to be able to take on the giant that was Pekka. But he had never tried to imagine what would come afterwards, as if there was no future after he had achieved his vengeance.

Without Pekka hanging over his head, Kaz was unsure where to go from there. It was strange to think about how young he was, how many more years he had ahead of him, when it seemed like he had reached his life’s goal.

He had taken to navel-gazing, a pastime he had no patience for, but found himself engaging in with alarming frequency. Quite against his will, his thoughts would turn to Aleksander. How had the man found purpose, century after century? While Kaz was still deeply unimpressed with the man’s lack of criminal aptitude, he had to admit there was something admirable about his determination and sense of conviction. Kaz found himself wanting to converse with him about vengeance, even gain his opinion about what Kaz should do next. The man had been a general often over his many long lives, surely, he wasn’t completely useless at strategy. Or perhaps Kaz just wanted to talk to him, the only person Kaz had really allowed himself to be vulnerable with.

Kaz wondered what would happen if he just showed up to West Ravka, ready to assist Aleksander in his fight against Zlatan, whatever that entailed. He could easily picture Aleksander’s delight and how he probably wouldn’t even question Kaz on his disappearing act. It was a tempting image.

And the longer Kaz spent going through the motions in Ketterdam, the harder it was to stop himself from just going to him.

-

When Kaz found out Zlatan intended to ambush Aleksander, his first thought was who he might contract in the area to counter him. The list was actually a decent length. Zlatan was on Kaz’s side of the Fold and that meant he had access to a lot more resources. But, well, Zlatan was on Kaz’s side of the Fold. Which meant, hypothetically, Kaz could go deal with it himself. Completely hypothetically.

Which was why Kaz found himself making preparations to travel, because he was an infatuated fool. He had informed Jesper and Inej, warning them he would be away on business, trying to be vague. They were not the least bit taken in.

“So, you’re going after your general then?” Jesper had no will power to speak of.

“My general?” Kaz asked coldly, daring Jesper to continue. Unfortunately, Jesper could cheerfully ignore hints with the best of them.

“You know, tall, dark and handsome? Similar aesthetic to yours, all black. Scary, except for when he’s trying to cuddle you like a teddy bear. That general.”

Perhaps sensing Jesper’s imminent demise, Inej cut in and redirected the conversation. “Will it be dangerous? This business with the general?”

Giving himself over to the inevitable, that his crows were damn busybodies, Kaz conceded, “I imagine so, considering Zlatan wants him dead.”

At least the mention of murderous intentions sobered Jesper’s cheer. “You need a hand, boss?” Jesper asked, at the same time Inej insisted, “Then we should come with you.”

“That’s not necessary,” Kaz immediately replied.

He saw the glance the two shared, knowing them just as well as they knew each other. There was no secret communication they could hold that Kaz couldn’t decode.

“…are you going to just follow me anyway?” Kaz wasn’t sure if he was irritated or…no, he was irritated. Nothing else.

“Of course not,” Jesper said, with not an ounce of sincerity.

Kaz sighed. “I thought you were supposed to obey me. Didn't you used to respect me?”

“We do,” Inej promised. She was much better at sounding sincere, but Kaz didn’t trust it for a moment.

It looked like all three of them would be going to save Aleksander.

Chapter Text

Aleksander was prepared for many things to happen during his meeting with Zlatan. To be attacked, for Zlatan to attempt to manipulate or threaten or even bribe Aleksander, and everything in between. What had not crossed his mind, what he had not anticipated at all despite going over various outcomes with Ivan, was for someone very familiar (and adored) to be standing slightly behind and off to the side of Zlatan, in a military uniform.

All of his centuries of lying and acting nearly weren’t enough to make Aleksander tear his eyes away. Reluctantly, and hoping he wasn’t as obvious as he felt, Aleksander drew his gaze from Kaz and to Zlatan.

“General,” he addressed the man coolly, as inside, his heart galloped.

“General,” the man repeated back to him, tone completely mocking. Well, if Aleksander hadn’t already planned on killing him, that would have signed his death warrant.

“The Tsar has heard some rather alarming rumors concerning your loyalty,” Aleksander played his part, even though they both knew the score. He wondered which of them would attack first. He was on edge, summon nearly at his fingertips.

“Has he now?” Zlatan, the ass, didn’t even bother trying to fake concern. He sounded completely amused instead. “Well look at you, his little guard dog, eager to do your master’s bidding.”

There was a snarl and Zlatan blinked at him, before realizing the sound hadn’t come from Aleksander. As one, they both turned, but it was too late for Zlatan. Even as Zlatan caught sight of Kaz, Kaz was burying a knife in his chest.

As if that was some agreed upon signal, the entire tent broke out into fighting. Aleksander summoned shadows, but did not form them into a Cut, unsure who was on Kaz’s side and who wasn’t. People in First Army military uniforms were fighting each other all around. Aleksander knew Kaz would be upset if Aleksander hurt his people, so he stayed out of it, watching from the sidelines, gesturing his Grisha to do the same.

And when it was over, when Zlatan’s people were dead or captured, Kaz stood in the middle of it all, blood dripping from his knife. He locked eyes with Aleksander from across the tent, expression focused and cold. He looked as if he could leave the tent and slay Zlatan’s entire camp, as if he took on enemy generals and emerged victorious all of the time.

Aleksander had never wanted to touch anyone as much as he did now.

-

When they exited the tent, two people had sidled up to Kaz. One was a Suli woman, with long dark hair pulled up into a ponytail, and a sharp, watchful expression. Aleksander could see a multitude of knives on her, that she wore as comfortably as if they were part of her skin. The other was a young man with tousled hair, two guns in his belt, and the most ridiculous smile Aleksander had ever seen aimed at him. He seemed absolutely delighted to see Aleksander, which was puzzling indeed. These must be Kaz’s infamous crows.

“Well?” Kaz ignored the man and his smile, aiming his comment to the woman.

“Handled,” she replied.

“Zlatan had a second wave of fighters, waiting in the wings,” Kaz explained to Aleksander. He then expounded, “Drüskelle.”

Aleksander felt his expression go sour at the news, but Kaz had the most beautiful, little pleased expression. “I take it your people dealt with the Drüskelle?”

The man with the guns snorted. “Your people. Are we your minions now, Kaz?”

Kaz sighed, obviously completely exasperated. “Inej, Jesper, I trust you can manage on your own for the night? I will be taking the general somewhere safe.”

“Are you sure you don’t need backup?” The woman, Inej apparently, asked in a concerned tone.

“Aw, come on, Inej. These two need their space, am I right?” Jesper grinned at them both. His grin dropped at Kaz’s completely blank expression. “Right, sure thing, boss,” he hastily corrected, turning around and walking away.

Inej rolled her eyes, expression fond, before following after him.

“I don’t know why I keep them around,” Kaz grumbled. Aleksander thought his expression seemed fond too though.

-

“The Fat Cat? Is this a bar?” Aleksander bemusedly asked as he followed Kaz.

“A brothel. The owner owes me a favor.”

“And this is where you take me, to keep us safe?” Kaz wasn’t facing Aleksander, so he missed the incredulous expression that went with that question, but Aleksander trusted he heard it in his tone. He glanced suspiciously back up at the sign.

Kaz gave him a flat look. “There’s beds, baths, food, and prostitutes are the soul of discretion. Zlatan still has zealous loyalists running around. But none of them will be coming here to look for you, and if they do, they’ll be turned away subtly.” Kaz also added, as if an aside, “You’re as rubbish at laying low as you are at creating secret identities.”

“Well, I suppose if I need help of a criminal nature, I know who to ask,” Aleksander tried to smile at him, but Kaz was already turning away.

Aleksander kept quiet while Kaz either spoke to the madame of the brothel or exchanged threats with her. It was difficult to tell. But by the end of their conversation, Kaz and Aleksander had a room, at the tallest part of the building, in a tucked away corner. Due to the location and lack of frills, Aleksander thought it might not be a room for clients at all. It had a bed, a table with two chairs, and a bathtub in it, and the madame had promised to send up some food. Aleksander had to admit that Kaz had chosen well. But of course he had.

“That bed doesn’t look very big. I think now would be a good time to ask how you feel about cuddling.” Aleksander anticipated the glare Kaz sent his way and found himself strangely pleased to see it. But he also honestly wanted to know.

Unfortunately, Kaz responded with, “You will be the only one sleeping in it. I will be busy.”

“With what?” Aleksander stepped closer to him, hands itching to reach out. Since he had first seen Kaz across the tent, Aleksander had wanted to touch him. But with the fighting and then the aftermath of changing locations, there hadn’t seemed to be a good time. And yet, now that they were alone together in a room, Aleksander still felt a distance between them.

“Your protection,” Kaz replied. He then hesitated, before adding, “And I need to arrange passage back to Ketterdam.”

Aleksander cleared his suddenly tight throat, before offering, “I heard you made quite the impact with your return. Did you get your vengeance?”

“Yes,” was what Kaz said, and nothing else.

Aleksander searched his face, wondering what he was thinking. Kaz was always so prickly, saying one thing and doing another. Here he was, acting as if he didn’t feel anything. And yet, he had come all this way to save Aleksander’s life again.

“You got your vengeance, but you still plan to return to Ketterdam?”

“My life is there.” Finally, Kaz had a hint of emotion in his voice, and of course, it was anger.

“So it is,” Aleksander agreed, resolved in his course of action. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to Ketterdam. I’ve heard some rather concerning things about indentured Grisha. I think it’s high time I address that.”

Kaz seemed bewildered. “You and I both know you’re needed at the front and at the Little Palace. You can’t afford to come to Ketterdam.”

“Not permanently,” Aleksander agreed. “But from time to time, I could…visit. Do you think I have reason to?”

Aleksander didn’t need any promises from him, didn’t need any declarations. Even just an indirect admittance that Aleksander could come to Kaz in Ketterdam and continue the relationship they had started would be acceptable.

Instead of replying, Kaz stepped sharply closer to him, gloved hands grasping his upper arms, as he buried his face in Aleksander’s shoulder. Belatedly, Aleksander leaned down slightly, to provide more access. It wasn’t quite a hug, but it was close. And if Aleksander turned his head, his face could brush against Kaz’s hair. Hesitantly, Aleksander ran his hand down Kaz’s back. He wasn’t wearing gloves, but Kaz was dressed, so hopefully it would be alright. Kaz shuddered slightly, but instead of pulling away, he pressed closer.

Aleksander closed his eyes, as he stroked down Kaz’s spine, breathing in time with him. He allowed himself to feel content, as he so rarely did. Aleksander thought that he had gotten this wrong all along, his assumptions of what their relationship would look like. Of course, Kaz wouldn’t want a typical romance.

Perhaps Kaz would always leave, but maybe he would also always come back too. After all, that was what crows did for those they liked.