Chapter Text
Wylan
Wylan hated the idea of soul marks. The idea that fate tied you so stubbornly to your ‘perfect person.’ He hadn’t always, of course. Growing up, the idea of soulmates had been one of wonder, something magical, something that filled his dreams at night and was on his mind every morning.
He had been born with a mark on his foot. At first glance it appeared to be a random splodge of colour, but at closer glance you could see it was a map. Wylan remembered crawling onto his mother’s lap and touching the pretty shape, as she told him tales of Noyvi Zem, a faraway land, and the people that lived there.
Wylan was five years old when he got his second mark. One morning, he woke to discover two gleaming revolvers settled on his wrist, resting directly over his pulse. It had impressed him greatly, as he imagined someone casually flicking a gun into their hand, while the most exciting thing five-year-old Wylan had done was take apart and reconstruct his father’s pocket watch (which might not have been the smartest idea).
A year later, Wylan’s largest mark appeared. A cherry tree had grown on his back, spreading its roots down at the small of his back and growing its tallest branches upwards, until they brushed his shoulder blades. He thought it was the prettiest thing he had ever seen and it made him long to meet his soulmate, and to learn the secrets behind all his different marks.
His opinion though, over the next four years, soon changed. Soon his childhood of magic and stories changed, as he foolishly allowed cracks to appear in it. He had managed to hide his flaws from his father for so long, but now he finally saw all of Wylan’s inadequacies, and it was as bad as Wylan had feared.
His father would buy new books, books about Noyvi Zem and its people, and place them before Wylan, telling him to read it, telling him if he wanted to find his soulmate, he should be able to at least read a page about their country. Wylan remembered crying, how in those days he had cried until he couldn’t any more, and then his mother had suddenly disappeared, suddenly died, and the tears flowed again.
Soulmates had been pushed to a dark corner of Wylan’s mind until one evening. As he got out of the shower, he caught sight of something in the mirror – a mark on the back of his neck, normally hidden under his ruddy curls. After spending some time craning round to try and see it properly, he identified it as what it was – the mark of a Grisha, a materialki, a durast.
He had rushed downstairs and burst into his father’s study, hoping the symbol might impress his father, earn him a rare smile. And his father had smiled. He had sneered down at him, his words so sharp Wylan felt as if they were carving the new mark out of his skin.
It had been foolish of him, Wylan agreed afterwards, tears in his eyes. To hope to one day find his soulmate. His marks told of someone with incredible talents, and why would someone like that ever be interested in him? Maybe he really was that stupid, to have ever thought otherwise.
Wylan didn’t get another mark until he was fourteen. By then, he knew how to duck into dark corners and agree with his father. But this new mark appeared on the very palm of his hand, two sparkling dice, displaying twin ones – snake eyes. Wylan held his hand behind his back when he spoke to his father, hoping to avoid notice.
Of course it didn’t work, and of course it brought up more reminders of Wylan’s general ignorance. Wylan dug his nails into his hand until it bled as he tried to ignore the new mark, tried to ignore any idea of someone out there waiting for him.
His plan wasn’t really helped when, a couple of months later, yet another mark appeared. This one ran down his right arm and he desperately wanted to hate it and the reminder of his soulmate and yet all he could think was, Oh.
It was his longest mark since the cherry tree, and despite being a dark black, in the light it seemed iridescent. A feather, he thought, and when he touched it lightly, he shivered. He couldn’t identify the bird, though he thought it must be a raven or crow. Part of him hoped it was a crow, because flocks of them flew over Ketterdam, perhaps tethering his soulmate to the same city. The other part of him told himself to stop thinking about it and move on.
In the end he literally moved on, as he left his house in excitement over the fact that he was going to the music school of his dreams. Of course it ended up being fake. And of course it was another attempt from his father to try and remove the one blot on his perfect life, and of course it had been stupid of Wylan to think otherwise.
By the time he found himself a job at a factory, he was resigned to the fact that this was the most he could ever hope to get from his life. He should be grateful to be alive and not complain about his lot.
And so when someone walked into the factory one day, tall and striding confidently towards Wylan, he felt conflicted. The pretty boy offered him an opportunity to be part of something, but Wylan was not a criminal. All he wanted to do was keep his head down, terrified one day his father would end him for once and for all.
So when the boy, Jesper, led Wylan through the Barrel, to a pair named Kaz and Inej, and they had asked him to create a bomb, Wylan had said no.
But then he had learned it was too late. He had returned to his flat only to discover a letter waiting for him. His father knew where he was. He had probably always known where Wylan was.
And to hell with him, Wylan had decided as he accepted the job, and the ones that followed. What he was doing was illegal, but soon he was making money for himself, money that was his, and not his father’s, and he began to feel some semblance of happy. He didn’t need a soulmate to make something of himself.
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Jesper
Jesper loved the idea of soul marks. His parents both had dozens, each telling the other’s life stories, and they had told him the meaning behind each mark time and time again.
Jesper didn’t get his first mark until he was one, and his mother told him this meant that his soulmate had been born then. His first mark was a single kruge, right on the back of his hand. He’d often wondered what it could mean. He was pretty sure it meant his soulmate was from Kerch, considering the currency, but the coin itself surely held more significance. Was his soulmate rich? Greedy? He longed to ask them.
When Jesper was six, a treble clef appeared on the back of his foot, and then, when he was eight, a flute appeared, which ran all the way down the side of his leg. He laughed to himself when he saw it, imagining some rich flautist as his soul mate.
As he grew older, things changed. He sobbed under the cherry tree that grew on the farm, that he had always loved and now marked his mother’s grave. He cried in the days that followed, his father’s voice firm about the dangers of using his power – his curse. But his soulmate felt present, somehow, offering him some comfort, despite how little the marks gave away.
When Jesper was ten, a new mark appeared in the middle of his chest – a bird cage. It was large, with a dove sat inside it, its head bowed and wings pulled down, as though to protect itself. It worried him, slightly. Perhaps it simply meant his soul mate had a pet bird, but somehow, he knew it meant more than that.
Trapped. He wanted to help his soulmate but he didn’t know how, and so he did nothing, although, when he lay in bed at night, he found it hard to think of anything else.
Nothing new came until Jesper was twelve when, one day, he discovered there was a paint brush behind his ear. It made him smile. He had often worried about his soulmate, ever since the bird cage, but the paintbrush seemed positive. Happy. It reignited a want to find his soulmate, but, if his suspicions were true, he lived all the way in Kerch.
One year later, a new image appeared. On the back of his knee, there was a conical flask, with bubbles which almost made it appear like a cartoon drawing; the sort of thing which would be held by a mad scientist. Jesper laughed at the way his soulmate seemed to have so many hobbies, wondering what marks were on their skin, wondering what they thought about him.
When Jesper was fifteen, and his father allowed him to go to Ketterdam for university, his heart had soared. Maybe now, finally, he would have a chance to meet his soulmate. He pictured himself, a young scholar, strolling through the picturesque streets, only to stumble on someone with marks which reminded Jesper of himself…
However, fast forward a few months and Jesper was almost none of the things in his daydream. University was some distant idea. He only knew the now, the roll of the dice and the lay of the cards, the burn of cheap liquor. He had affairs with dozens of people, girls and boys and anyone else. He told himself he was looking for his soulmate, but even he wasn’t convinced.
His life was a mess, a complete mess, until he joined the Dregs. Sure, it was still a mess after that, but at least as a sharpshooter he had some sort of purpose. For a week he harboured a notion of Kaz being his soulmate, wildly connecting his kruge mark to Kaz’s greed, only to imagine Kaz playing the flute and realise how daft he was being.
After he had been in the Dregs for a few months, a new soul mark appeared. Or an old mark was edited. He wasn’t quite sure how to describe it. The cage, which had plagued his dreams for so long, had opened. The dove now sat next to it. However, attached to the dove’s leg, there was a ball and chain, pulling it down.
It almost made Jesper cry. Could his soulmate be so trapped? Had they escaped one cage only to be forced into another? Could they be one of the many indentured workers he saw in the Barrel, trapped in a life of drudgery? It plagued his dreams and waking moments.
Only a few weeks after his new soul mark, Kaz gave Jasper a new job – to go fetch some budding chemist from a tanning factory. Jesper would normally complain about playing errand boy, but anything involving a chemist interested him, he thought, scratching the back of his knee where the flask was. He doubted his soulmate would just tumble into his lap like this but it never hurt to pretend.
He strolled through the tanning factory, his nose wrinkling at the smell. The management staff knew to avoid him, and soon enough he found who he was looking for.
A boy was standing over a huge vat, staring at Jesper, clutching to a stirring pole as though for dear life. He had ruddy, golden curls, plastered down to his forehead from the steam and sweat. He looked out of place in the grime of the Barrel, with delicate features and wide blue eyes, making Jesper think of some lost prince who had fallen out of a fairy tale.
Jesper walked over to him and grinned. “Heard you know your way around a chemistry kit?”
He found himself trying to catch a glimpse of a soul mark on the boy’s skin, but, apart from a flash of something dark poking out of his rolled-up sleeves, he couldn’t see anything through the steam.
The boy looked terrified. “What? I… yes. A bit.”
His voice was clear and sweet, like a bell. It made Jesper want to laugh. Nobody in the Barrel spoke like that, so nicely, so politely. He couldn’t help but wonder what Kaz wanted with the kid and he felt a ridiculous urge to protect him from whatever devious plan Kaz wanted him for. Shaking himself together, he led the boy to Kaz and Inej, and a night at the Makker’s Wheel helped chase away any thoughts of the boy – of Wylan, as he had learned.
The next day, a new tattoo appeared on the inside of his arm. It was a sealed letter. Jesper frowned. Most of the marks had some sort of obvious meaning, but this one could mean almost anything.
Then, a couple of weeks after that, yet another mark appeared, the third mark to appear in a single month. It was a bomb, on the top of his shoulder.
It caused Jesper all sorts of concern. Had his soulmate been blown up? But he shook the notion from his head. Maybe his soulmate simply had a bomb? Had made a bomb? Thrown one?
He thought about all the bomb-makers he knew in Ketterdam. There were quite a few. But why had the soul mark only appeared now? Was bomb making something new for his soulmate?
He couldn’t stop thinking about it as he sat to one corner of the Crow Club, watching some of the other Dregs having a rowdy discussion. Usually he’d join in, but the new soul marks were making him feel out of sorts.
“Are you alright?” a quiet voice asked from behind him.
Spinning round, he saw Inej, perched on a chair behind him.
“Yeah,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I just got a new mark and I’m kind of stressed about my soulmate.”
Inej nodded.
“I’m worried I’ll never meet them, or they won’t like me, or something will go wrong,” he continued.
He’d never really talked to Inej about soulmates, which was odd, considering she was probably one of his best friends.
She nodded in understanding. “Do you want to show me?”
He hesitated. He knew she meant his soul marks but they felt oddly private. Still, he nodded. Inej was someone who could always be trusted with privacy. Jesper glanced around the club, but nobody was watching the two of them.
He held out his hand. “This was my first one,” he said, showing her the single coin of kruge.
She smiled slightly.
Then he pulled down his sock, showing her the treble clef. “Then this one.”
Again, she said nothing.
Then, he rolled up his trouser leg, showing her the long flute which ran down his whole leg.
She held her hand to her mouth, trying to stop herself laughing.
He mock-glared at her. “What?”
She was still laughing slightly. “Sorry, but it’s just hard to imagine you having a soulmate who plays the flute.”
He laughed slightly too, though it did worry him (opposites attract though, he told himself).
“Is that all?” she asked.
“No,” he replied. Jesper paused for a moment, thinking of the dove and the bird cage on his chest. Instead of pulling his shirt up, however, he showed her the paintbrush on the back of his ear. The bird cage felt far too personal to share, even with Inej.
After she had seen the last three marks, including the most recent bomb, he looked at her, to see what she said.
She was still smiling, her eyes never losing their warmth. “Well,” she said, “your soulmate is certainly very different from you.”
Jesper laughed.
“But I wouldn’t worry. You’re soulmates for a reason. It will all be ok.”
Jesper felt reassured, the tightness in his chest lightened by talking about them. Then his mood switched to curious. “What about you?”
Inej looked self-conscious. “My soul marks?”
Jesper realised he was being insensitive and looked away. “Sorry,” he said.
Inej was quiet for a moment, and then said, “It’s fine. I can show you a few.”
Jesper spun back around, Inej smiling despite herself at his eagerness.
She showed him several marks, each dark and delicate against her skin. A playing card. A tiny glove on her neck. A cane running the length of her finger. The tip of a crow’s feather peeking out on her back from under her shirt.
Jesper’s mind pulled all these images together and stared at Inej. “Does this mean… Is your soulmate…” He gestured slightly with his hands.
She looked down. “Yes. I think so.”
Jesper could hardly believe it. “Have you talked about it?”
Inej laughed slightly. “Of course not.”
“Does… does he also know?”
“He must.”
“Then why- “
“Everyone works differently, Jesper. Kaz and I… we’re not the sort of people to talk about feelings. To have relationships.”
“But you’re soulmates!” Jesper felt like he was five, but he couldn’t help it.
“The heart is an arrow, Jes. It requires aim to land true.” She said it tiredly, as though she had repeated the same thing to herself many times before. “But don’t worry. A soulmate is a soulmate for a reason.” With a comforting touch on his shoulder, she was gone.