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It was finally quiet on the Ferolind. Hunched beside a few crates was Matthias, thumb carefully pressed to the dull side of a blade as he worked at a carving in his hands. The sun was nice, but the sea air was nicer. Out on the Ferolind like this it was less of a mockery of what he couldn’t have and what he was going towards.
Matthias just wanted silence, his aggravated hands shaving bits of wood onto the deck. With each word from the criminals he found himself on board the ship with, the more frustrated he found himself. It was like he wasn’t there, like they’d freed him as a tool not as a man.
There were no more voices speaking of plans to break into his people’s most respected military base and prison. It was quiet, though Matthias’ anger persisted. To be a free man and looped in with people without consciences, without understanding that this job was not freedom, not for him.
“Um, hello, I don’t mean to bother you,” Wylan had approached him so quietly Matthias didn’t hear his footsteps over the waves against the side of the boat. His cool, narrowed blue eyes flickered up from his carving, still far from done, he was laying out his shapes first. “I’ve just been working on the Ice Court sketches, and I’m not sure about this bit here…”
Parchment was turned around and presented to Matthias, his frown persisted and his eyes fixed themselves on the knife between his fingers. He’d just been freed from prison, why would he go back? Why would he turn his back on his people? Matthias carved faster, harsher, as noisily as he could despite craving peace.
He’d turned his back on his people once already, he’d trusted someone already, and look where he was now. Look at who he’d become.
“Okay, um, I,” Wylan blinked at Matthias, maybe he’d been too hopeful, maybe it was a bit too much to ask of him. He felt bad about it, not giving Matthias much of a choice but to work alongside them, it was complicated. “I-is that an isenulf? I just…happened to see...” The parchment was rolled back up neatly, tucked under his arm for later.
Matthias’ eyebrows furrowed a degree further. His native language came out of Wylan’s mouth like he had learned it within the walls of a classroom, like he had dreamt of going to Matthias’ home.
He spoke Fjerdan like an eager student, and Matthias paused his carving to consider his work. Maybe Wylan knew more than he gave him credit for, maybe this was the smart one he should be keeping an eye on, not Brekker.
His carved isenulf was far from completed, and Wylan had taken one small glance at it and identified it. Maybe Matthias was better at wood carving than he thought, maybe someone like Wylan, who’d drawn until his hands were stained with ink, had a sense for it.
“Mhm.” Matthias hummed in the affirmative, he hadn’t looked at Wylan and he hadn’t looked at his map. He didn’t have anything against the man, in fact, Wylan least of all. From his understanding, which had been thrown at him rapidly, Wylan’s father had landed him in a band of criminals.
His same father was the reason Wylan and the gunslinger–Jesper, he thinks his name is–weren’t on speaking terms. They wanted to be though. When Kaz Brekker had told Wylan and Matthias to put their heads together to make an accurate map, he had to call Jesper’s name twice to get his attention. Jesper looked at Wylan constantly, and when he looked away, Wylan looked back.
“My father, this is an old story, really old,” Wylan brought his arms up to his chest and held his hands there, his thumb working over his knuckles. “He took me to see Isenulf, the pups, actually. They were big, or maybe I was small, am small, just comparatively.” He softly tilted his head as he spoke about the wolves, Matthias paused his carving to listen better, Wylan was different. “Drüskelle took me to see them,”
The word, his identity, his life, nice and neat in Wylan’s mouth, on his tongue. Matthias tensed and untensed and stared hard at his unfinished statue. He ached thinking about the life he could have had, he missed how things were, yet he missed her, he missed feeling bigger than life. He missed his isenulf.
“Did you have one? An isenulf I mean.” Wylan kept touching his fingers, like he was nervous, terrified, like he was being brave. Matthias straightened his back softly, and Wylan took a barely noticeable step to the side. As if Matthias’ body language had been misinterpreted as being alert instead of being open.
He did not blame Wylan, he didn’t see a knife or a gun or a weapon hanging off his belt. He just saw his eager eyes and his hands coated in the remnants of his map. This man was different, he didn’t look at Matthias the way the others did, and yet the two of them were nothing alike.
“Yes.” Matthias finally answered, tightening his fingers around his small wooden craving and rubbing over where he imagined the details. “He was called Trassel. My greatest companion.”
“Trassel.” Wylan tried out the name, he hadn’t heard it before, nothing he would have learned from an instructor or a textbook. Matthias’ mouth twitched into the shadow of a smile, barely there but maybe it was before. “Does it mean something? Are you going to look for him when we get to Fjerda?”
Matthias leaned his head against the wall behind him, and cast his eyes to the sky. He would never see Trassel again. He was gone, the way his honour was, his welcome home would be, his sense of belonging was. He shook his head solemnly, and Wylan frowned, but did not push, Matthias liked that the man did not push, no matter how eager he appeared.
“Troublemaker. Trass was always causing trouble. Unfortunately, I cannot see him again.” Matthias swallowed the lump in his throat, his imprisonment had cost him his family, his greatest friend. “He is gone. Into the wild, without a pack.” Like him. Like Matthias in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people.
Wylan kept squeezing his own hand, his mouth opened and closed a few times. He was trying to come up with something to say, maybe to comfort him. The thought was comforting enough that Wylan came to speak to him, and overstayed his welcome because he saw they were more similar than Matthias thought.
This man, this alleged demolitions expert, this son of a merchant, was separate from this band of criminals whether he liked it or not. He was born differently, he was raised differently, but now he lived among them. The same way Matthias was on this boat, with these people, all his connections severed. Maybe this was one he could nurture. Maybe.
“You. Why are you here? With them?” Matthias couldn’t help passing judgment on the group the minute he laid eyes on them. They were so clearly used to this life, liars, thieves, ring masters, double crossers, cruel. Here was Wylan, pushing himself through a one sided conversation with an angry Fjerdan, who had a knife. “You are not…a criminal. Not like them.”
Wylan shuffled softly, eyes suddenly looking down at the floor of the ship. Matthias glanced at the man, and on his way over he caught sight of Jesper.
The gunslinger had gotten in the habit of stretching his legs. For a long time. He walked around and around the deck of the ship, slowly and languidly. He was growing ever closer to Wylan and Matthias, definitely within earshot, definitely within reach of a bullet.
They were hopeless, Matthias thought, insistent on not speaking but staring and willing to shoot if spoken to in the wrong way. Matthias rolled his statue over in his hand, working his thumb over the raised section he’d carved out for the tail.
“I’m like Trassel,” Wylan dropped his hands from his chest, collecting the map on the way down and clearing his throat. “I was released into the wild.” He nodded towards the other end of the deck, where Inej, Kaz, and Nina had been talking, plotting without him.
In disbelief, Matthias’ hands fell from his lap and his mouth perked into a smile. At first a small huff left his throat, and then, the more he thought about it, the funnier it was. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Wylan’s ears went red, he seemed to be half pleased he’d made Matthias laugh and half worried he was being laughed at.
“You…you are not a wolf.” Matthias shifted on top of the crate he was using like a stool, and turned his full attention to Wylan. Of course, in his peripherals, Jesper was there, bristling and trigger-happy on Wylan’s behalf. “You are more of a lamb.”
Wylan was still processing that he had made Matthias laugh, and Matthias thought he had been blushing badly then. It only got worse, cheeks flooding with the colour of blooming rose petals, of a lamb’s pink ear.
“Thank…you?” Wylan breathed out, wide eyes flickering between Jesper and Matthias. He had overheard some of it, maybe all of it, Wylan stayed put where he was, equidistant from the two men. “Thank you.”
Matthias did not think it was a bad thing to be either a wolf or a lamb, there needed to be both. His eyes skirted over Wylan’s form, frozen in place as if he was waiting to be dismissed or somebody to break the silence before him. He looked at the parchment in his hands, he supposed he had to look at the map eventually, it was more of a courtesy to Wylan’s work and not the mission.
With a final inhale, Matthias put the knife down on the crate beside him and pocketed his statue. He extended his hand toward Wylan, only looking away when Jesper stood taller, threatened. Matthias gestured for the map, he barely knew them, but they were being odd, and he didn’t care to insert himself in the middle of it.
Wylan handed the map over, then neatly clasped his hands behind his back. He was waiting for feedback now, teeth sinking into his bottom lip nervously. Matthias slowly unfurled the map, looking up at Wylan one more time before considering his sketch.
“I will protect lamb if threatened.” Matthias said softly, he waited long enough for Wylan’s eyes to blink rapidly and Jesper’s teeth to grit before giving the map some attention. Friend might be pushing it, a companion implied a sort of partnership or trust, an ally could work. Maybe Matthias could ally himself with Wylan, offer protection in exchange for someone seeing the humanity in him.
He studied the map for any inaccuracies casually enough that he didn’t miss how Jesper’s hands hovered and twitched but never touched. Matthias knew he wanted to, and he understood everything in an instant. They’d fought, but it had fizzled out now, and they were too worried about doing something else to set it off again.
Matthias rose from his seat, grabbing his knife on the way up, and walked away from the two of them to get better light. Wylan moved to follow him, then stopped, like he could feel the ghost of Jesper’s hand on his arm. Matthias looked over his shoulder to see Wylan catch Jesper stop himself from hanging onto Wylan’s sleeve, and thought this was the perfect conversation starter.
Maybe this was how he paid back Wylan, or maybe he was doing Jesper a favour. It was unnerving to have the man with the guns have him on some sort of list. At least this way, the lamb would have more than one protector, and nobody had to be in a room with two of them staring but not staring at each other.
The light had been fine on Matthias’ crate, he chose it for that very reason. He patted the carving sitting in his pocket, a promise to come back to it when he had some spare time. The map was excellent, he wondered if it was better to tell Wylan when they were alone. He leaned against the side of the Ferolind, following pen strokes and tracing lines with his calloused fingers.
He was not ready to commit to a life of treachery and betrayal, but if he didn’t, they didn’t stand a chance. He’d be dooming all of them, himself, and Wylan. Being compliant wasn’t enough, he needed to dedicate himself completely to the heist to pull it off. His fingers brushed the sacred ash. He was not ready.