Archive of Our Own ^beta

This was not how this was supposed to go.

It was supposed to be easy. Easy enough, anyway. Nothing worse than what they had done before. But perhaps that had been what had gone wrong. Their confidence had warped to arrogance, turning a blind eye to consequences they felt beneath them.

They had set out to find Heleen Van Houden. The witch of the Menagerie. Inej’s demon. Kaz had come along. She guessed it had something to do with Heleen’s likely connections with Pekka Rollins, or something of the sort. (A part of Inej wished it was simply to serve as her support as she finally took down the devil of her dreams, but she knew that hellish gleam in Kaz’s eyes when he had said he would come with her. Maybe some of him was to act as her companion. But that was not the whole story. It never was, with Kaz Brekker.) 

But Heleen, who had fled to Ravka, was not at the location Inej’s contacts had said she’d be. Not anymore, at least. Someone had tipped her off, and she had fled not days before they arrived. But she had left a few of her friends behind to deal with the mess she had left trailing in her wake. 

Seven brutish men—likely Fjerdan, by their stocky breed and brooding nature—awaited Inej in Heleen’s vacated makeshift brothel. Seven men that, by all means, Kaz and Inej should have been able to take down. 

And they did.

For the most part.

They had counted seven downed men before they left, headed back through Ravka to lick their wounds on Inej’s ship. They needed to recollect themselves before they pressed on—if they pressed on, anyway. Inej had grown frustrated with false leads and misguided trails. She needed a break from Heleen’s infernal torment. 

But not all of the seven downed men stayed down. Hours into their hike back through the Ravkan winter, one of them caught up with Kaz and Inej. He had swiped Inej’s feet from under her. Kaz had come to her aid. The man, rightfully enraged when Kaz took out his knee, buried a knife into Kaz’s thigh. His good one. Kaz had let out a cry so alarming that Inej almost stopped her advancing, having picked herself up from the frosty grounds. But she didn’t let it distract her for more than a second. She had kicked her foot into the man’s back, and he toppled forward with a yell. That yell was short; Inej’s Sankta Peytr dig deep into his neck before it could resound into the frozen Ravkan wilderness.

Now, Inej squatted over the permafrost, trying to get a fire fully blazing. She dared not sit—that would likely freeze her down to the core. Kaz, on the other hand, had little choice but to lay out on the blankets and bags they had brought along for their journey. They had tried keeping him on his feet, but the blood kept running down his leg, and he couldn’t make it very far with no good legs at all. So, they had stopped to set up a makeshift camp while Inej saw to his injury.

“This is what’s left of the wood,” Inej said. They had collected another bundle for their retreat back to the Wraith, prepared for a day and night of cold. Obviously, that did not go to plan, just like the rest of this. “I can collect more on the way.”

“You won’t find any more on the way,” Kaz said, teeth gritted against pain and cold. 

Inej did not bother acknowledging his accuracy. What point would that serve? She focused her attention on nurturing the small fire she had managed this far. She needed more than a little blaze for what she was about to do. She needed heat.

Kaz drifted off during her tending of the fire. That sparked terror in her momentarily, and she shook him back to consciousness. He groaned, though he stifled it the moment he regained awareness. 

“Don’t sleep,” Inej said. “It’s too cold.”

“I know,” Kaz ground out.

As his frustration would lead to nothing other than an argument, Inej ignored the bite. Instead, she stuck the knife she had pulled from Kaz’s leg hours ago into the fire. She held it for a moment, then poked it into the embers, careful not to let her hands scorch in the flames.

“What are you doing?” Kaz asked. 

She stabbed the blade into the embers again, this time leaving it in there. The handle suck out of the fire, and she hurried to Kaz before that got too hot for her to hold. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded again, shuffling backwards on propped elbows as Inej approached him and began pulling away the cloak that covered his newly injured leg. She had torn off the trouser leg to get to the wound, then had repurposed the fabric as a wrap to keep it from bleeding. It was soaking wet now, drenched in his blood. Carefully, she began pulling it off of him. “Inej!”

She ignored him, continuing to work. Kaz could do very little against her, needing his arms to keep himself upright and having too much pain to pull his leg away. She felt him shudder, heard his choked breaths, but ignored them. 

When the makeshift bandage came free, she drew back, returning to the fire. Gingerly, she tested the handle of the knife. Warm, dauntingly so, but nothing that would damage her. She tugged the dagger free of the coals, shaking the embers and grit off of the blade. Quickly as she possibly could, she returned to Kaz. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, then straddled his leg.

The position was nothing either of them savoured—Inej’s thoughts whirling around the many men and women who had done so around her, Kaz likely drowning in the memories of death and deep waters—but she had to use her legs to push Kaz’s wound shut. She couldn’t use her own hands, as she needed to attend the hot knife, and she didn’t trust Kaz to hold it shut on his own. 

“I’m really sorry,” she whispered again.

Then she pressed the hot blade against his bleeding leg.

Kaz’s scream would probably haunt her into the next life. It ripped from his lungs and pierced the freezing air, shattering a bit of her heart she didn’t realise she had left to break. She tried to ignore it as best she could; she needed her focus on the blade and wound. 

It was fast, in hindsight. The blade had gone on and off again within half a minute, maybe. Hard to gauge time in situations like this. But it had been fast, in the grand scheme of things. In the moment, though, it had felt like an eternity.

Kaz’s breaths came in gasps as Inej plunged the knife into the frozen earth. It would cool off, and she would collect it before they left. For now, though, it was not her concern.

“You could,” Kaz panted, his eyes screwed tightly shut, “have warned me.”

“What did you think I was going to do?” Inej asked.

Kaz did not answer, his jaw locking and grinding against the pain. 

“I am sorry,” she said. 

He still remained silent.

Feeling like the worst person in the world as she did, Inej said, “We need to keep moving.”

Kaz wrenched his eyes open, glowering deeply at her. 

“We need to get you seen to,” Inej said. “And we can’t stay here. It’s too cold.”

“Give me a minute,” he grunted, “before you drag me halfway across Ravka.”

“I have to kill the fire,” she said. “You’ll have more than a minute. Rest.”

He didn’t respond, sitting up. A loud hiss escaped through his teeth as he did. Inej wanted to snap at him, tell him to lay back down. He wouldn’t listen if she did, so she did not.

Kaz rebandaged his leg as Inej saw to the fire. He pulled the knife from the ground, cutting off the bloodiest bit of trouser from his old bandage. He worked away at that for a bit, trying to get the cleanest bandage possible. Eventually, he gave up and began sliding it under his leg to wrap himself back up. She didn’t help. She had the fire to take care of. Besides, she’d had too much contact with him anyway; he likely wouldn’t be able to handle much more. 

Unfortunately, she did had to lay her hands on him once more. He couldn’t stand up on his own. Once he was up, though, he managed on his own. Not very well, mind, but enough that he could walk with a heavy lean on his cane.

Inej had packed most of the things into her backpack while Kaz had rested. Not everything, as there was a limit to what she could carry. Some things she had deemed unessential had been ditched beside or in the dying fire. Inej mourned the loss of some of the food, but she had hopes that when she could find someone to help Kaz, she could go sequester more. Still, she had a lot mounted upon her back—enough that she knew the straps would cut into her shoulders long before they reached the Wraith. But it did take quite a load off of Kaz. He only held the blankets in his pack. 

The next two days were arduous. They had to walk at Kaz’s slow pace, taking frequent stops so that he didn’t pass out or trip over his own two feet. She knew he hurt, badly so, but he never said a thing about it. He merely clenched his jaw, ground his teeth, and kept pressing onwards.

“Do you need a break?” she would ask every few hours.

“No,” he would grit out.

But she’d make him stop half an hour later, anyway. Sometimes, she’d have to claim her own fatigue, so that he would just sit down for her imaginary behalf. 

That stupid pride would be the death of him someday, she thought to herself grimly on the second night.

They tried to sleep sitting up, so that they minimised contact with the frozen ground. The frost could leech the warmth from their bodies, no matter how many blankets they set between it and themselves. The problem was, Kaz couldn’t sit up very well. It meant their nights were short and their stops were made more frequent. They had to walk by only the feel of the path beneath their feet at night, the moon and starlight not enough to light their way. 

On the morning of the third day, Inej knew something was wrong.

Kaz woke only when she roused him, shaking one of his shoulders gently. He made a grunting nose, then opened his eyes slowly. 

“Wake up,” she said.

He said nothing, a far cry from his usual griping. He blinked slowly in the blue morning light. She noted the flush of his face, patchy red splotching his cheeks. 

He was exhausted, she decided after a moment. Anyone in his condition would be. And the wintery Ravkan winds would sting anyone’s face. 

But when he stumbled with every step he took that morning, she began to worry. He moved sluggishly, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused. He tripped into Inej multiple times, far more than the days before. 

“Kaz?” she asked after the fifth time. “Kaz, are you alright?”

A huff of air escaped his nose. That breath felt like that went straight through to her heart, freezing it over with panic.

“Why don’t you sit down?” she asked. “I need to check your leg.”

Without a word, Kaz braced himself to sit. She had to help him, because he would have plummeted straight down otherwise. Another two concerns—listening to her, falling…

Since they had torn off the trouser leg to get to his wound, they had fastened one of the blankets around him, tying it to his leg to keep it from freezing. Inej undid that, trying to get at the bandages. 

She had already known what she would find when she unveiled the wound, but it still felt damning to see it. Red flesh, creeping in all directions, puckering the wound. 

Infection.

“Kaz?” Inej asked.

No acknowledgment. 

She looked up at his face. His eyes had slipped shut. 

Tentatively, she reached up. She pressed her hand to his forehead. Three things alarmed her. First, it felt hot. Excessively so. Dangerous, in this weather. It could suck the heat right out of him, and he wouldn’t get it back. Second, his skin was slick with a light sheen of sweat. Also dangerous. The sweat could cool too much, again sucking the heat from him. And last… he didn’t even seem to notice the skin-to-skin contact. No shudder, no tremble, no flinch, no pull backwards. His eyes remained shut. And perhaps she imagined it, but she could have sworn he even leant into the contact. 

Not good. Infection, plus a fever.

“Kaz,” she said, hearing her own voice betray some of her worry, “we have to get you seen to. Now.”

He didn’t say a word.

“We can’t stop anymore,” she said. 

Not stopping, though, lead to him leaning nearly all his weight on her after a while. She struggled to keep him up as he staggered onward, burdened by both the weight of him and her backpack. 

“Come on, Kaz,” she would mutter soothingly. “Just a bit longer. Just a little bit farther.”

He never responded—she didn’t know if he was coherent enough to. If he could respond, he would point out her lies. Just a bit longer and just a little bit farther were always just a bit more longer and just a little bit even farther. 

Eventually, she just could not carry him any farther. Every step felt impossible, her legs and arms burning, her back aching, her feet screaming. 

She didn’t want to quit. It killed her deep inside when she sat Kaz down. She nearly tumbled to the ground on top of him, but she managed to redirect her fall. Landing hard on her ass, she couldn’t help the tears of frustration, desperation, and pain get to her. She buried her face in her hands, letting out a few sobs. The hot tears burned her icy cheeks, adding one more stone to her mountain of woes. 

Inej rarely cried like this, not anymore. But she let herself have this. She wouldn’t regain any sense of rationality until she had wept her emotions out. 

After a while, her sobs died into sniffles, and she went to swipe her coat sleeve over her face. But just as she did, something caught her eye.

She leant forward, squinting. Something just off in the distance, rising barely above this hill…

Smoke.

“Kaz,” she said, hope springing anew. “Kaz! Look!”

She reached out to jostle him, but couldn’t find his body where she had left it. Heart dropping again, she looked over to him. He was lying on the cold, hard ground. Unconscious.

“Kaz!” she shouted again. 

She did shake him then. He didn’t move, but a groan escaped his lips. 

“Come on,” she begged. “There’s smoke. Where there’s smoke, there’s people. We can find help. Please. You have to help me. I can’t do it on my own.”

And she began to hoist him up then, struggling against his weight and lifeless body. She wanted to cry again. But, by some grace of some Saint, Kaz pushed himself up with her. His efforts were weak, and their effects meager at best, but they were enough to help Inej get him upright. He sagged against her as soon as they were on their feet, but she had been prepared for this. 

“Just a bit longer,” she promised. “Just a little bit farther.”

This time, she meant it.

Each step she took felt harder and harder, impossibility growing with every inch. She had a goal, though. She would not stop. She would not give up.

She was Inej Ghafa, and she would be damned if she let them die here.

The smoke, she found soon enough, came from an old house. It sat on its own in the middle of the Ravkan frost. Dead crops, killed by the winter, lined the back of the house, while an abandoned clothes line sat to the left side. The place looked bleaker and bleaker the closer they got to it.

When they reached the place, Inej pushed Kaz to the wall. His head hit it with a sharp crack, but not one that worried her. Just upset her somewhat, that she would bruise him when he was already so miserable. She helped him slide down the wall into a seated position.

“Stay here,” she told him. She nearly scoffed to herself. As if saying that had been necessary. The most Kaz could do was pull his coat and blanket to himself and shiver.

“Help!” she cried louder, beginning to knock at the door. “Please. Help!”

The door opened after her third plea, and Inej nearly wept at the sudden warmth creeping outwards from inside. 

A woman’s face broke through the opening, worn and wrinkled for someone of her evident youth. She couldn’t have been more than thirty, Inej figured, but Ravkan troubles could age a person. The winters and the wars and the broke governments and… everything. 

“Help,” Inej said immediately, rushing to get the words out. “My… He’s sick!”

“I do not know Kerch,” said the woman in Ravkan. She had a soft voice, but she commanded it well. 

“Help,” Inej tried again, this time in the correct language. “He is sick.” She gestured beside her, to where Kaz was seated against the wall.

The woman peeked outside, drawing her shawl around herself as she looked to Kaz. 

“Please,” Inej said. “Could you tell us where we could find someone to help?”

After staring at Kaz a moment longer, the woman turned back to Inej. 

“There is nobody here but us,” she said. “Not for miles.”

Something icy shot through Inej’s heart. Maybe Ravkan’s cold winds, the same ones that divided people so far across the country.

“Bring him inside,” the woman said.

Something else pierced Inej then. 

“What?” she asked, not quite daring to believe it just yet.

“Your husband,” the woman said. “Bring him inside.”

Inej froze for a moment at the woman’s assumption, but ultimately she had to let it go. “Friend” may receive less urgency than “husband.” She would do whatever she had to do to get Kaz up on his feet again. 

The woman tried to aid Inej in pulling Kaz up, but Inej shook her head. “He is Kerch. In Kerch… Only wives may touch their husbands.” She could use that lie to wrap the entire world, with how big and stretched it was. But Kaz would hate to be manhandled by someone he didn’t know. 

Frowning, the woman let Inej help Kaz on her own, only stepping in to shut the door behind them as they crossed the threshold into the warmth of the house. 

A little girl awaited them inside, clothed warmly in thick socks and a dress, both grubby in the way only a child could get. She held a stuffed stag; it dangled from her hand precariously, but it was clear the girl wouldn’t ever let it drop. The thing had faced much love in its life, as made evident by its worn fur. 

“Who are you?” the girl asked, her Ravkan sweet and high in that childish way. 

“Vitaliya,” the woman snapped. “Do not bother them.”

The little girl, Vitaliya, tilted her head and stepped back as the woman led Inej and Kaz—well, really just Inej, because Kaz had all but passed out at that point—into the small house. The farther inside they went, the warmer it got. They ended up in a sitting room, small but spacious, where a small fire blazed in its fireplace. 

“Wait here,” the woman said, then left them there.

Inej felt like her body was beginning to fail on her, as Kaz’s near deadweight bore heavily down upon her. His head had dropped against her shoulder. She could feel his fever, burning even through the top of his hair into her cheek.

Thankfully, the woman returned soon, dragging pelts and a thin mattress. The girl, who had followed them to the room, cried out at her mother.

“That’s my bed!” she whined, distraught. 

The mattress did seem to fit the needs of a child. Inej could likely fit on it, provided she curled up somewhat, but it was far shorter than Kaz. 

Hushing her child, the woman laid out the mattress. She threw one pelt down over it, then looked up at Inej. 

“Lay him down,” she said.

Inej did just that, and as carefully as possible. It was a hard job, but she did her best to keep his head from cracking against the floor. She had his feet dangle over the edge of the mattress, his head barely an inch from the top. Meanwhile, the woman set the other pelt down on the ground next to the mattress.

“Get his clothes off,” the woman said. “They are not helping; they will only get him sicker. I will get new clothes.” She studied Inej. 

Inej started, “Thank you, but you don’t have—“

The woman walked off before Inej could finish, calling her daughter after her as she went. But the girl stayed put, staring at Kaz. 

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked, sounding more intrigued than frightened. Strange for a child of likely only seven years. 

“Vitaliya!” shouted the mother.

The girl sighed loudly, dropping her head back as she did. She tromped away, angrily stomping her feet on the floorboards. Inej watched her leave, her stag dragging along with her. 

When Vitaliya had gone, Inej looked down to Kaz again. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, knowing how much he would hate this.

Then she began to strip him down.

She spread out his clothes near the fire, hoping to dry them out. The layers closest to his skin had become slick with his fevered sweat. She loathed the idea of putting those back on him later, but she likewise did not want to take the woman’s clothes. 

When she removed his shirt, she lifted his head up, trying to pull it over his head. His eyes flickered open. She stopped momentarily, heart skipping a beat. She would hate for him to wake to this. But his eyes, only opened in slivers, looked glassy, and they closed moments later. She pulled the shirt off of him and gently set him back down.

She left his underthings on. Everything in her life taught her that nobody should remove their own things without their knowledge and consent. 

“I have them,” came the woman’s voice, sailing from around the room’s threshold. Inej got up to meet her, standing in the hallway holding a pile of clothes. 

“Thank you,” Inej said. “Thank you.”

“I don’t know what to do for his sickness,” the woman said, ignoring the gratitude. “That you will have to do on your own.”

“I can!” Vitaliya poked her head out from behind her mother’s legs. The woman’s face went white. 

“Vitaliya,” she hissed. 

“It’s alright,” Inej assured her, though the woman looked entirely unconvinced. Inej smiled down at the girl. “Do you want to be a doctor?”

Vitaliya scrunched her nose, frowning. “No! I’m—“

The woman reached behind her, clamping a hand over her daughter’s mouth. “She’s invasive, that’s all. She does not respect privacy.”

“I’m not!” Vitaliya pouted, pulling herself free.

“You will leave them alone,” the woman ordered. She looked up to Inej again. “I apologise.”

“No need,” Inej said. And then, because she felt that kindness should beget understanding, at the very least, she said, “I’m Inej.”

“Polina,” the woman said, nodding. “And your husband?”

Now, Inej was a common Suli name. But Kaz… well. There weren’t so many Kazes with canes, and far far fewer Kazes that walked around with women named Inej. While Polina was kind now, perhaps that kindness would dissipate if she knew Dirtyhands was in her care. It was likely she wouldn’t know who he was, but it was better safe than sorry.

“Kasimir,” Inej said, for it was close enough. “Inej and Kasimir. Roggeveen.” 

Lies were best when they were small and unexplained, Kaz had taught her. Less holes to dig that way. And the more elaborate the lie, the less believable. Nobody expounded upon themselves when giving the truth (unless they were Jesper or Wylan, he had noted, but they were the exception. Jesper and Wylan were outside the realms of what people considered normal in the first place). But this time, Inej felt it was necessary. The less ties to Kaz Brekker they had, the less dangerous this could be. 

Polina nodded. “I will leave you to clothe him. I’ll bring you water and food when you are done.”

“Thank you,” Inej repeated. “Truly.”

“If there’s anything else you need…”

After a few moments, Inej recognised the invitation. “No. But thank you. 

Polina nodded again. She turned to her child. “Go,” she told Vitaliya. “Leave them alone.”

Inej returned to Kaz by the fire. He was deeply unconscious still, and still warm to the touch. She hoped the fire would have him sweat the rest of it out. 

She turned her eyes now to his thigh. More red had blossomed outwards, beginning to creep up to his hip and down to his knee. Carefully, she reached out and unwrapped the bandage. 

 Burnt flesh never looked good, she knew that. But this was… it was absolutely repulsive. Blood and pus and some other substance formed in the wound, turning it all sorts of horrific colours and textures. And perhaps it was merely the memory of the cauterisation lingering, but she swore she could still smell the melting skin. That would never not horrify her. 

Knowing she could do absolutely nothing about it, she turned her eyes away from the knife-printed blister. They came to rest on the blanket she had used to protect his leg from the icy winds. She reached for it, discreetly pulling out her Sankt Peytr blade. She tore a thick, long strip from the fabric, then turned back to Kaz. She quickly bandaged his thigh back up, trying not to look at the wound. 

Afterwords, she began dressing him again. This was trickier than undressing, because pulling clothing off of deadened limbs was easier than trying to stuff them into shirts and trousers. She managed, in the end, but once she had thrown the offered pelt over him, she had to sit down beside him and take a break. Her own arms and legs shook, tired from the strain of the past few days. She wanted to reach into her bag and pull out another blanket and pass out beside Kaz.

She couldn’t, though. Someone had to watch him. Just in case. 

Polina came back with bread, some boiled eggs, and a pitcher and glasses for water. She set them down beside Inej, then left, scolding Vitaliya for standing in the threshold and staring. 

“How many times? Leave them alone.”

“I was just looking!”

“Looking is too much already. Leave them alone.”

Inej didn’t much like boiled eggs, and Kaz absolutely detested them. He was fond of omelettes, as far as she recalled. She preferred those, too, truth be told. But, as this was the most portion that wasn’t dried meats she couldn’t eat that she had seen in a week, she shelled two of the eggs and ate them. She took a chunk of bread, too, and tucked into that.

“Kaz,” she said, moving to him and shaking his shoulder somewhat. He’d hate that. But he needed to eat. “Kaz. Food.”

Kaz groaned softly, but he didn’t wake. Inej would leave it for an hour, she decided. An hour was enough for her to rest. She would try again after. 

An hour passed long before she woke again. The fire blazed on, but the windows of the room suggested night, some of the darkest hours at that. 

Terror shot through her. What if something had happened when she had slept? She shouldn’t have done. She should have stayed awake. 

Leaning over, she pressed her fingers to Kaz’s neck, feeling for a vein. Pointless, really. She could feel him draw breath. 

“Kaz,” she hissed, attempting to be quiet. She did not want to wake up anyone (other than Kaz, that was). “Wake up.”

The food had been moved, so perhaps she shouldn’t have woken him. But she felt she needed to still. Water would do him good, and that had been left at Inej’s side. 

“Kaz.” She shook him gently again. “Wake up!”

A pained, sighing breath escaped Kaz’s nose. His face scrunched. Inej marvelled, perhaps rudely so, at how open he was. Stupid of her, really. Kaz wasn’t exactly himself at the moment. Still, it was something to behold, even if guiltily so.

“Kaz,” she whispered once more.

Slowly, one eye opened. It immediately found her, though whether it recognised her as quickly she did not know. The other opened lazily after, and he squinted up at her.

“‘nej?” he slurred eventually. 

“Yes.” She thanked any and all Saints that could hear her relief. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Mmm,” he mumbled. He glanced around the room at a leaden pace. She watched the cogs fail to turn in his head. “Where ‘r we?”

“A house,” she told him. “The sitting room of a house. I don’t know where exactly. But you’re safe.”

Kaz hummed another lagging note. 

“Let’s get you some water,” Inej said. “You lost a lot of it.”

He frowned at her distantly. 

“You have a fever. You sweat a lot.”

He continued to frown. She suspected not much would get through to him at the moment, so she skipped any further explanation in favour of pouring him some water. 

“Can you sit up?” she asked him.

He seemed confused by her request, so she reached over to him and slipped her hand under his neck. He shivered tremendously, but made no other sign of revulsion after that. So, she raised his head and pressed the glass to his lips. 

Most of the water poured down his neck, and some of what he drank he spluttered back out. But he managed to get some down, and that was what mattered. She lowered his head back down. 

“Tired,” he murmured. 

“Sleep,” she said. She had nothing else to offer him. “We’ll find help tomorrow.”

He let out another hummed acknowledgement, though she was certain he understood nothing beyond the affirmative she had given him.

She found she didn’t know what she felt about this. She didn’t like it when he wasn’t him. Maybe years ago she would have enjoyed this, but this felt like cheating. Maybe it was cheating. Kaz put so much effort towards himself, towards them. Sure, perhaps this was a more open version of Kaz, but beyond that, it held very little to the version of himself that Kaz wanted to be. It wasn’t fair to thrive in something Kaz did not want. Kaz was more complex than a fevered man; she had to allow him to be that. She would take the parts of him he consented to give her. She would wait as he worked. She owed him that.

Even still, she had to admit: she did find it somewhat endearing. She could add to that earlier guilt.

Inej sighed, hugging her legs to her chest. She wanted to be in Ketterdam now, sitting at Kaz’s attic window, talking about Ravkan coffers and Zemeni exports and Shu transports. She didn’t care, deep down, for any of those things, but that was what they did. They talked about something else, and every time learned a little bit about each other, somehow.

A rustling noise disturbed Inej from her thoughts. She looked up, frowning at the entrance to the room. She sat absolutely still and waited for whatever it was to move again. 

Soon enough, eyes peeked into the room, then immediately drew back. 

Guard dropping in an instant, Inej couldn’t help but smile to herself. 

“Vitaliya,” she said, just loud enough. “Stop hiding.”

The girl popped into view again. She had on a nightgown, thick socks still on her feet and stag still clutched in hand. 

“I’m not supposed to be in here,” she said, despite the fact that she had already disobeyed the order.

“I won’t tell,” Inej promised, putting a shushed finger to her lip.

Vitaliya giggled, then slipped further into the room.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered to Inej. She pointed at Kaz. “He has my bed. Sleeping with Mamma is no fun.”

“We’ll give it back tomorrow,” Inej said. “We will leave to find someone to help us.”

“I can help,” Vitaliya said. 

Because she had no other choice but to indulge the child, Inej said, “Oh?”

“Yes,” Vitaliya said. 

“How come?”

Vitaliya stalled then, pensive scowl crossing her face. “I’m not supposed to tell.”

Inej stared at Vitaliya, something akin to both understanding and shock smacking her from out of the blue. 

“Vitaliya,” she said carefully, cautiously, “can you… help sick people?”

“I’m not supposed to tell,” Vitaliya repeated.

“But you can, right?”

Vitaliya nodded. “Mamma says I can’t tell, because they’ll take me away.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Inej said. “I promise.” Then, because truth reassured, she added, “I have a friend like you. He didn’t want to be taken away, either.”

“They didn’t take him?” Vitaliya asked, tone crossing the gap between astonishment and disbelief. 

“No,” Inej said. “And they won’t, because he’s too smart to be taken now. He’ll find other friends like him, instead.”

Vitaliya’s earlier intrigue dropped to glumness. “I want friends.”

“I’m your friend,” Inej said. “And I won’t tell anyone.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Then I can help him?” 

“Please,” Inej said, nearly begging. 

“I like helping,” Vitaliya said, coming to kneel beside Kaz. “It feels very good.”

If Inej didn’t know better, she would think Vitaliya to be generous of heart. And she was, but not in the way one would thing. Generally, feeling good about doing good deeds was that of a kind person. But for Grisha, Inej knew from talks with Nina and Jesper, practicing their sciences felt… right. It must have been a rush for Vitaliya, who wouldn’t have gotten to experience it much.

“Let me pull his trousers down,” Inej said.

Vitaliya wrinkled her nose, giggling. “Ewww.”

Inej smiled. “I know. But that’s where it’s hurting.”

“I thought he was sick?” 

“He is. He’s sick because he hurts.”

“That can happen?” Vitaliya asked. 

“Sometimes, yes.”

“Oh.”

“Look away,” Inej instructed. “It’s rude to watch people undress.”

“I know,” Vitaliya scoffed, then pressed her small palms over her eyes.

As quickly as she could, Inej pulled down Kaz’s trousers. To her, it was uncomfortable, at best, undressing his lower half now that he was properly clothed. It went against everything she stood for. But this was a must. She ignored her pounding, racing heart and did what she had to do. Then she threw the pelt over what parts Vitaliya did not need to see, and finished by unwrapping the bandage.

“Done,” Inej said. “You can look again.”

Vitaliya pulled her hands down again, blinking at the firelight. Then she looked down at Kaz.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Vitaliya said. And that was all. 

Inej stared at her. “You’re not scared?” 

“Last year, Mamma’s hand got stuck in the fire,” Vitaliya said with a shrug. “This isn’t as bad.”

“Oh,” was all Inej could say. 

“Now, stay still,” Vitaliya said to Kaz. Inej raised her eyebrows at that. “This will hurt a little. But not a lot!”

Then she pressed her hands to the reddened, infected skin around the burn, closed her eyes, and breathed deep. 

Inej wanted to watch, but Kaz let out a whining moan as Vitaliya did her work. It wasn’t much of one, but it still shot picks through Inej’s heart. It hurt him. Hurting in her own way, she slipped her hand into his gloved one, holding it gently. 

“I’m here,” she whispered as he breathed labouredly. “It’s okay.”

All in all, it wasn’t more than a minute before Vitaliya opened her eyes and moved her hand back. To Inej, though, it had been ages. Watching suffering always felt like an eternity to her. 

“That’s not good,” Vitaliya said, drawing back.

“What?” Inej asked. “What’s not good? Vitaliya, what’s not good?”

“It’s not…” Vitaliya sighed. “It’s all splotchy!”

Inej scowled at her, then glanced down to Kaz’s leg. True enough to Vitaliya’s word, the skin looked “splotchy.” The area where the wound had been was discoloured, a sickly white against the natural pallor of Kaz’s thigh. The rest of the leg looked completely normal. A healed burn scar, then. 

“That’s good,” Inej encouraged quietly, life beginning to flood her chest for the first time in days. “It’s very good! Nobody is perfect on their second try.”

“It’s not my second try.”

“Second big burn, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“See?”

Vitaliya still grumbled to herself about the imperfection. Inej didn’t care. Kaz himself wouldn’t care. In fact, he would possibly be pleased. He did enjoy his scars. What a morbid man. 

Inej reached for Kaz’s forehead, testing the fever. His temperature had died down to that of a healthy person’s. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Why isn’t he awake?” Inej asked after a moment, confused. Wasn’t he well now?

“Because he’s sleeping,” Vitaliya said with a shrug.

Inej stared at her, then snorted. 

“He’s very pretty,” Vitaliya said.

“Yes,” Inej said, pressing her lips together to keep in the laugh that threatened to escape. “Yes, I do think he is.”

Vitaliya looked up at Inej. “I feel very nice now.”

“I bet,” Inej concurred. “Nice enough to sleep with your mother, even though it isn’t fun?”

Vitaliya sighed heavily. “I guess.”

“Maybe you should try. He’s asleep. I want to sleep. You’ll feel even nicer if you sleep, too.”

“Fine.” The young girl got to her feet, brushing off her hands. Then she bent over to pick up her stag again. She made his feet do a small wave to Inej. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight!” Inej replied, waving to Vitaliya and her deer both. 

And then Vitaliya disappeared into the hall, fading into the darkness as she went off to bed. Inej watched her go, then turned to Kaz.

He did look very pretty, she had to admit. The firelight cast lovely warmth over his face, and without the fever, he looked quite peaceful. 

She curled up on the floor beside him, exhausted once more. Kaz was safe now. She could truly rest. 

Morning came without her knowing. She would have gladly slept through it, truly, had she not been woken by a hand brushing against her head. She jolted awake. 

“Saints,” she said when her mind cleared of drowsy fog. “Kaz, don’t do that.”

Kaz, resting beside her, raised an eyebrow. “Your hair was sticking up.”

She sat up, running a hand through her hair and glowering at him. 

“I fixed it,” he said. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m not saying thank you for that,” she said. 

His eyebrows raised farther, but she could see that dark gleam of amusement in his eyes. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked, studying him. He looked healthy—though she supposed appearances weren’t all. 

“Fine,” Kaz said. 

“Good,” she all but sighed. “Thank the Saints.”

“I think I won’t, if you don’t mind.” Well, if he was up to his usual teasing, she knew for sure he was alright.

“Blasphemy will be the end of you,” she informed him.

“But not today.”

“No,” she said, smiling. “Not today.”

They were interrupted—should that moment have been something to interrupt, anyway—as Polina came into the room, staring down at the pair of them. Vitaliya sheepishly trailed behind her, hiding as though it would save her the repercussions. 

“He is better.” Polina did not ask. She knew better.

“Yes,” Inej said, looking Polina dead on. “A miracle.”

“A miracle indeed,” Polina said.  

“I don’t believe in miracles,” Kaz said. Inej forgot he spoke Ravkan. 

Polina looked sharply at him. 

“Kerch men,” Inej sighed, as if to brush it off. “They know nothing. They love their Ghezen and profit and nothing else.” Kaz’s eyes narrowed; she ignored him. “Give them a miracle, and they’ll go looking for a magician instead of being thankful for their blessings. Fools.”

Polina said nothing. Vitaliya began to cling to her leg, staring at Kaz, who stared right back at her. Inej could pin the exact moment understanding hit Kaz. His face hardened, but like Polina, he elected silence.  

“If you give us a few minutes,” Inej said, “we can return the clothes and be on our way.”

“Keep the clothes,” Polina said. “My own husband won’t use them again.”

Inej kept the apology inside her mouth. Polina’s face said how much she did not want it.

“Thank you,” Inej said instead. “We will start getting ready to leave.” 

Polina nodded, turning and shooing Vitaliya away. Vitaliya reluctantly left with her mother, not wanting to take her eyes off of Kaz. He likewise studied her, gaze calculating. 

“She’s going to end up like Jesper,” Inej murmured softly in Kerch as Vitaliya disappeared. 

“Perhaps she will be better at gambling,” Kaz replied. He looked around. “Where’s my cane?”

Inej pulled it from where it was wedged beneath the lip of his mattress. He accepted it, then began to help her pack. They split the load properly between them again, though Inej snuck some things back into her pack when he had his back turned. He knew she did it, but he did not stop her. Either it was a concession to how he felt, or it was that he knew she would continue shifting the weight until he let it be. Wise choice, either way.

Before they began to leave, Inej folded the pelts properly. She likewise propped the mattress up against the wall, where it would be easier for Polina to retrieve. 

“There’s a town half a day’s walk from here,” Polina said as they left the room. She stood in the hall, arms folded as she watched them. “You will be able to replenish supplies there.”

“Thank you,” Inej said. Kaz dipped his head in an attempt at gratitude. 

Polina merely nodded.

“Go ahead,” Inej murmured to Kaz as he made his way to the door. “I’ll be right along with you.”

He cocked an eyebrow, but he said nothing. He left the house, the door shooting freezing wind inside as he disappeared outside. 

Inej turned back to Polina, holding out her hand. Polina stuck her own out in return, scowling in confusion. Inej dropped a small emerald into her hand. 

Heleen’s haste to leave her brothel had her leave behind some messes. Inej had two sapphires and that emerald from Heleen’s own jewelry collection. 

“I have a friend,” Inej said. “He got himself into trouble suppressing himself. That emerald should buy you passage to Novyi Zem. He’s from there. They care for… people like him.”

Polina’s face grew tired, aging her at least half a decade more. “And if I don’t leave?”

“She will be lonely,” Inej said. “And she will find something—something troublesome—if nothing good comes her way."

“You can’t know that.”

“You let us stay because you knew she would help,” Inej said. “You know just as well as I do.” She placed a hand to her heart. “Good luck, Polina. I will pray to the Saints for you, and for Vitaliya. You are good people. I hope I will see you again someday.”

And then she left, sparing only a wave and smile to Vitaliya and her plush deer. 

Kaz stood waiting for her just outside, staring at the Ravkan horizon. She came to stand beside him, pulling her coat tighter around herself.

“Not telling anyone about the girl is payment enough, you know,” he said.

She didn’t ask how he knew. He always knew. “Enough isn’t enough, in this case.”

“You can’t save them.”

“No. But I can try. It’s the least I can do.”

He looked to her then, coffee-dark eyes studying her face. “You are too good, Inej.”

“I’m not,” she said. She tilted her head, squinting at him. “Perhaps you are simply too evil.”

“Hm,” Kaz said, taking his first step forward, cane making a decisive tap against the frozen ground. “Perhaps.”

Inej shook her head to herself, smiling. 

Their walk to the town Polina had mentioned was slow-going. Vitaliya may have repaired his knife wound (and subsequent burning), but she had not touched his bad leg, which had taken a week’s worth of stress from walking. Inej offered herself again as extra help, her hand slipped into his as a pretense. He could palate the support that way: gloved hand in gloved hand, acting as the spouses they been assumed to be.

From the town, they hitched a carriage ride to a larger town, and then a second towards Os Kervo and the Wraith.

“This wasn’t a loss, you know,” Kaz said as they walked across the dock to Inej’s beloved ship, finally wearing their own clothes again.

“Oh?” Inej shot him a sidelong glance.

“Heleen is on the run again.”

“That’s a good thing?” she asked, sceptical. 

“The girls are free.”

Inej stopped dead in her tracks. She hadn’t thought about that. 

“You did what you set out to do,” Kaz said. 

She looked up at him. “Thank you.”

He scoffed. “Don’t thank me. Just get me home. I’m tired of this fucking cold.”

“You know what’s wrong with you?” Inej said as they began their walk again.

“Lots of things, I’m sure,” Kaz said smoothly. 

“You’re a patriot.”

“I am not.”

“You can barely leave Kerch without wishing you were back again.”

“That’s not patriotism. That’s common sense. And I don’t like Kerch; I simply own most of Ketterdam and don’t wish to let it fall to the wrong hands while I’m away.”

“Excuses,” Inej said, sighing a mock sigh and shaking her head. 

She saw the curl of his lips. Any other day, she would reach up, with careful and gentle fingers, and trace that small smile. Today, she simply was glad she got to keep seeing it. Two days ago, she thought she might never again.

“I’ll get you back to Ketterdam, Mister Brekker,” she said, sliding her hand into his gloved one as they boarded the ship, “if you promise I get a bed for the night when I dock my ship there.”

He turned to her then, eyes kind. “There is a bed always waiting for you there.” His nose wrinkled. “One that does not have moth-eaten reindeer pelts on it.” 

And though nothing had gone right on this entire trip, Inej found that reward worthy enough of the journey.