Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jesper was late. Again.

He ran out the door of the Slat, jacket half-pulled over his creased shirt and the second sleeve obstinately hiding from him as he rushed into the street. The staves were quiet enough at this time for his hurry to be noticeable, but he didn't have time to care about the strangers glancing at him. He glanced at his watch as he ran, almost tripping over the cobbles. Nine bells. What time had he fallen asleep? He didn’t remember getting back to the Slat, but judging by the exhaustion clinging to his bones it couldn’t have been all that long ago. Dammit, Jesper . He knew he shouldn’t have gone out last night; he knew it would only end up with him being late this morning. But here he was, once again, trying desperately to pass as someone with reasonable respectability as he flew into the university district.

He was more than out of breath by the time he reached the dean’s office, trying to straighten his jacket and smooth his hands over his shirt. It was a deeply boring outfit; a once-white button down and a brown jacket, but Jesper had to forgo his usual Barrel flash on the occasional visits he bothered to make to the university. That didn’t mean he didn’t add his own little flares, of course, but he’d been in too much of a rush this morning to concern himself with that.

“I should have a meeting scheduled,” he said, “Jesper Fahey?”

The receptionist looked him up and down disapprovingly, then opened the almost comically oversized diary sitting on her desk.

“You’re late,”

You don’t think I know that?

“Sorry,”

“He had to start the meeting after yours. Should be another five minutes, but then he has a space open. You can wait over there,”

“Thanks,” 

She made a non-committal ‘mm’ sound, turning back to her other papers. 

Jesper sat opposite the receptionist’s desk, fidgeting, eyes on the door. Why had the dean called him to this meeting? The note had been frustratingly vague, and he’d only seen it because he was coincidentally back at his term-address to collect some fresh clothes when it arrived. There were three more on the table that he’d already missed, so he decided he’d better make it to this one. Maybe they were kicking him out - he wouldn’t be surprised. At least then the decision would be made for him. But if he was expelled, would they somehow inform his father? Jesper shuffled unhappily in his uncomfortable chair.

Another minute passed before the door clicked open and two people emerged through it - the dean, a tall Kerch man in his late forties trying to hide the fact that he was clearly going bald, holding the door for a boy Jesper recognised from one of his classes. A mercher kid , someone had told him on their first day, as they watched the boy walk in and take a seat, something Van Eck. Had some sorta accident when he was a kid, been blind ever since. He looked much younger than Jesper, though he knew they must be about the same age, with soft features and angelic, ruddy curls floating around his head like gravity had taken a liking to him and given them a free pass. Jesper had to admit, he found the kid intriguing. Even in the lessons he’d shown up to, he had several times caught himself studying the boy from across the room and had to force himself to look away. Even if whatever-his-name-was didn’t know he was staring, it still felt rude.

“Thank you, sir,” he was saying to the dean as he slipped through the door, slender cane tapping the ground in front of him.

It was almost rhythmic, like a beat that was waiting for someone to add a melody. The dean had noticed Jesper, he could tell, but waited until the Van Eck kid had left the room before he said:

“Mr Fahey. You came,”

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, and then when a brief pause added: “And that I missed the previous meetings you scheduled. I, er, had a problem receiving mail,”

“I see,” he said, a little coolly, eyes flicking over Jesper, “Well, come in,”

Jesper sat in front of the desk, drumming his fingers in his chair, waiting to be told that he was expelled. But the dean just droned on and on, without the final hit ever seeming to come.

“The only class you’ve attended in the last month is Economic Principles for Business and Markets - and even for that you’ve only attended three lessons,” he was saying, when Jesper suddenly remembered he was supposed to be listening and quickly tuned in, “Perhaps we could change your course load to classes more similar to this one, see if that helps motivate you. Do you enjoy Economics?”

Jesper did not. He shrugged.

“Not particularly,”

“Then may I ask why it’s the only class you’ve consistently attended? - even if you do have twelve late marks in it across the year,”

It hadn’t really been a conscious decision. It was an afternoon class, twice a week, easy to get to at least one of them if he got himself together enough - late enough that he’d probably be awake, early enough that he probably wasn’t on a job or in a gambling den. 

“I have a partner project in that class,” he said, truthfully, “I don’t want to let anyone down,”

“Perhaps you should consider not letting yourself down, Mr Fahey,”

Saints, he didn’t hold anything back did he? Jesper shuffled.

“Who’s your partner for this project?”

“Helena Dentte,”

The dean nodded.

“I’m going to switch who you’re working with,”

Jesper wasn’t sure what good that was supposed to do, but he didn’t argue. Helena was nice enough, but she was infuriatingly motivated and it drove him slightly mad when she suggested they meet to study after almost every class - and she probably hated his guts for the curse he was to be partnered with.

“What about the rest of your course?” he glanced through the papers on his desk, “You haven’t attended Comparative Literature - Kerch and Zemeni Poetry since going once last month, your other classes longer,”

Jesper just shrugged again. He was sinking slowly but surely deeper into his chair.

“Not for me,”

“We should look at changing your classes around then. Stick with the business class, whatever’s keeping you there I want to preserve it. But think about what else you’d like to study. If not economics or literature, Mr Fahey, what are you interested in?”

Unwelcome answers offered themselves up in Jesper’s head. He shuffled.

“I don’t know,”

The dean wasn’t particularly impressed. He told Jesper to come back in a week, with at least an idea of what else he might like to study. Sure , Jesper thought, that’s gonna happen .

“I’m very glad you came to this meeting, Mr Fahey. It’s the first step in making a change, and I am only here to help you,”

Jesper mumbled something of a thanks by way of reply as he slipped out the door and slouched away down the corridor.

“Jesper,”

A girl melted from the shadows and appeared at his shoulder, making Jesper jump out of his skin. His hand flinched reflexively towards the revolver hidden in his jacket, but got no further because it only took half a second to see who was talking to him.

“Saints - Inej, you scared the life out of me,”

Inej said nothing for a moment. They walked down the corridor together, would have been shoulder to shoulder if it weren’t for the fact that Inej’s head only just reached Jesper’s shoulder. He’d known Inej Ghafa only a short while, since she’d joined the Dregs a few months ago, but he already doubted he was ever going to get used to the way she appeared and disappeared so quickly, so completely. Never mind any other spiders crawling around in the Barrel, Jesper hadn’t met anyone who could do what Inej could do - to simply erase herself like that, to only be seen when she wanted you to notice her. She was also probably the toughest person he knew - except maybe Kaz, though honestly he might be more scared of getting on Inej’s bad side. Then again, if this was Kaz’s good side maybe he shouldn’t push his luck.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, as they turned the corner.

“Take a wild guess,”

She watched him for a brief moment.

“You’re a student?”

She sounded surprised. That was probably fair.

“Supposed to be. Anyway, I might ask you the same question,”

“Kaz is angry,”

“Kaz is always angry,”

“Kaz is angry with you ,”

Jesper shrugged.

“That’s hardly news, Inej. He send you here to get his money? I’ll have it by tomorrow,”

“We both know that’s not true, Jes. And he didn’t send me,” said Inej, frowning, “I came to talk to you, to say you should steer clear of him for a couple of days,”

Really? That bad? J esper frowned. What had he done to piss off Kaz Brekker this time? 

Inej was studying him, her dark eyes roving slowly over him, her frown remaining intact. She wasn’t exactly what Jesper had expected when Kaz told him a girl from the Menagerie was going to be moving into the Slat, but he wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting. A broken wisp of a girl, he supposed. Inej wasn’t broken, though she’d clearly taken damage, and she could hardly be described as a wisp. Jesper had seen her fight more than enough times to trust that. 

Inej also had a particular skill for the disapproving look she could get to glitter in her eyes on command - or maybe Jesper just brought it out in her. She touched two fingers to one of the knives slung through her belt, murmuring something in Suli.

“Should you really be carrying those in here?” he asked.

Jesper wasn’t actually sure how many knives Inej had, but there must have been at least five on her person at any given moment. She shrugged.

“You have a revolver in your coat,”

“Yeah, in my coat ,” he shook his head, “Not on show,”

Inej shrugged.

“Maybe I’m an arts student,”

“Why would an arts student be carrying a thousand knives?”

“ Art , obviously,”

Jesper snorted.

“Obviously,”

They were almost outside.

“Just, you know, don’t get arrested,”

Inej smiled.

“I think you’re giving the stadwatch a little too much credit there,” her voice suddenly moved to Jesper’s other shoulder and he turned to try and see her, “Who could possibly arrest a Wraith?”

She was gone. It was broad daylight in a wide courtyard, and Inej Ghafa was gone. Jesper shook his head. Unbelievable. 

*

Jesper didn’t know exactly what he’d done to get on Kaz Brekker’s final nerve, but he wasn’t about to go and find out. He sifted through the piles of stuff stacked unhappily in his university dorm, trying to make enough space for the room to actually be liveable. When had he last slept on campus? Not recently. Maybe it was a good thing Kaz was mad at him, if it was going to keep him out of the Barrel for a few days. Maybe he could even look through the course catalogue, to keep the dean happy, and find out whoever else he was going to partner him up with for Business and Markets . Helena would probably be glad of the change. She could take her thousand and one notebooks to someone who might actually be able to contribute something. 

But why lie? Jesper was itching for a hand of cards. He lay on his back on top of the mattress, studying the ceiling and twisting one of his rings round and round his finger. Unless he snapped and ended up running into a den and just facing Kaz’s wrath, the rings he’d slept in last night were apparently the only flash he was going to enjoy for the next few days. What other clothes did he even have here? He didn’t remember seeing much else in the wardrobe when he came to grab these the other day. He should probably check. He’d do it in a minute.

The next thing Jesper remembered was waking up, jolting upright and almost whacking into the headboard. Damn, he really must have been exhausted. How long had he slept for? He was momentarily disorientated, fumbling for his watch and discovering that it was nearing twelve bells. The curtains were still open and the midday sun streamed through them, highlighting the dust floating through the air. Jepser sighed - just his luck, the single sunny day of the year Ketterdam would bother to grace them all with, and he had slept through most of the morning. He’d needed it though. 

Almost twelve bells. He could make it to his one o’clock class - what was it? Poetry, or something - if he got himself together. Or he could just lie here a little longer, watching the world go by outside his window. 

No. No, if he was here then he should go. He should at least try. 

It was his poetry class today - he checked the timetable shoved in the desk drawer - and it proved to be just as irredeemably boring as he remembered it. But he went. He took a notebook and the fountain pen his Da had given him when he got into university. He didn’t make any notes, but he took them with him. It was something. Sort of. 

He counted it, even if only to make himself feel slightly better.

Chapter Text

“I’m going to kill him,” Kaz snarled, throwing open the door to his room at the Slat.

He marched inside, cane clacking loudly against the wooden floor.

“No you’re not,” said Inej, far more calmly.

She watched Kaz as she walked in behind him, studying every movement and trying to decide what kind of anger had its talons stuck in him tonight. She was not afraid of Kaz, or at least she didn’t think she was, but it was a practice she didn’t doubt would stick with her forever, to determine what kinds of anger different people suffered from, and what each one might convince them they should do. Kaz didn’t have any intentions of hurting anyone. Not tonight. Kaz got quiet when he was that kind of angry, and this was definitely not quiet.

“Careful Wraith,” he glared at her as he nodded for her to close the door, “Don’t add yourself to my hitlist,”

Inej raised an eyebrow. She didn’t need to point out the obvious but she did so anyway:

“And how long will you keep running on your currency of secrets, without someone to collect them for you?”

She pushed the door shut, and counted every breath she took until she’d crossed the room and opened the window. Kaz’s eyes followed her but she didn’t much care; every time he told her to close a door she always opened a window, and neither of them ever mentioned it. 

“He hasn’t come back tonight,” said Kaz, pulling off his gloves, “Do you know where he is?”

Inej watched Kaz’s pale hands appear from beneath the black leather of his gloves. She didn’t know why he wore the gloves, though for every theory and rumour flying around the Barrel there was a far less gruesome or fantastical rebuttal by the simple fact that she could see his hands in front of her now: pale, trickster hands, with long slender fingers and soft-looking skin. Like he was specifically crafted for card tricks, for picking locks, for cracking safes. She could see no affliction or deformity he may be hiding. She’d heard plenty of toughs in the Barrel call them theatre - they were performative, they were part of the image Dirtyhands wanted to sell you for his profit. And that was a convincing argument - everything Kaz did was for some kind of profit - but of course it was the tales of blood and demons that prevailed, and even Inej was unconvinced that they were for appearance alone. 

“No,” she lied.

Kaz watched her for a moment, then turned his attention to the water basin and began to wash his hands. 

“And when should I expect him to return?”

Inej folded her arms, leaning back against the window frame.

“Of all people, Kaz, you should know it’s useless to try guessing at Jesper Fahey’s schedule,”

Kaz seethed, but said nothing. Inej thought of Jesper at the university this morning, slinking unhappily away from the office. She’d tailed him when she saw him run out of the Slat suspiciously early in a suspiciously beige outfit, though she’d been planning on telling him to make himself scarce anyway after the mess that was last night. She hadn’t listened to his meeting in the dean’s office - she’d been tempted, but she didn’t know the layout of the university buildings and she trusted Jesper enough to tell her the truth of why he was here. Once he was outside Inej had followed Jesper back to what she assumed must be a dorm building - clearly she needed to come back and teach herself the layout of the campus - and when he didn’t return after a while she began to head back into the Barrel. She steered to the south of the University District and moved along the edge of the Financial District, hopping lithely over the rooftops, to come up East Stave so she was almost immediately met by the Slat. Would Kaz be home? Probably not. She slipped along the next few rooftops and crossed the canal to approach the Crow Club. Kaz was predictably still in his office, where she’d left him hours ago after she dragged Jesper home to the Slat. 

“What happened?” he’d asked as soon as she slipped through the window.

“It’s handled,” she said smoothly.

“Not what I asked,”

Inej had sighed, hand drifting to feel her knives. Their names murmured their way through her mind; Lizabeta, Vladimir, Anastasia, Petyr, Marya, Sankta Alina. 

“It’s fine,” she said, “I got him back to the Slat, he’ll-”

“I’m not asking if Jesper’s okay, Inej, I’m asking if my business is going to survive the shit storm he brought into it,”

Inej pursed her lips.

Now Kaz was shaking the water off his hands, grabbing a towel from the side as he stepped towards Inej. His dark eyes were stone, but most of his annoyance seemed to be fading. Possibly. It was difficult to tell with Kaz.

“I have a job for you and Nina. Starting next week,”

“Next week?” 

That was pretty short notice for the kind of thing she reckoned Kaz was planning when he got that glint in his eye. He nodded.

“I’ll give you details as we go, but for now I need you both to talk to Specht so he can forge some papers for you. You’re enrolling at Ketterdam University,”

Inej frowned. Something was telling her this wasn’t going to end well.

And did Kaz know that Jesper was a student? Probably, Kaz tended to know most things, but if Inej hadn’t known then maybe Kaz didn’t either. He must have other methods of getting his information beyond her, or he would’ve been struggling before he brought her in. Inej knew she had improved business, there was no point in being humble about it, she was damn good at her job, but the Dregs could hardly have been described as struggling beforehand. 

“Why?”

“Just do your job, Inej,” said Kaz pulling his gloves back on, “Specht’s downstairs, Nina should be here in an hour,”

Inej watched him for a moment longer, then turned and left the room to slip silently away. She didn’t go to find Specht immediately - Nina wouldn’t be early, because Feliks would never let her leave early, and Inej hadn’t had any time to herself between hauling Jesper back, reporting to Kaz, and being on shift all day. She sat cross-legged on her bed, watching night begin to fall behind her window. It was too loud for her to get any sleep - of course it was, this was the Barrel after all - but she didn’t trust that she’d wake up within an hour anyway, so she kept herself upright and fought the need to close her eyes. It was easy when she distracted herself with concern over whatever Kaz’s latest scheme might be. The last time he’d been this vague about a job it ended with Inej clinging to the ceiling above a bunch of merchers for almost three hours, with nowhere to escape to and nothing but a prayer that none of them would look up. 

The city had reached darkness by the time Nina arrived, clearly having rushed as she changed out of the kefta she never wore outside the White Rose because her hair was frizzy where she’d pulled her jumper on - if Nina Zenik had enough time to fix her hair, her hair would be fixed. Inej was just coming downstairs and Nina waved her across the room, smiling, her cheeks pinked by the cold.

“What does he want from us this time?” she asked, in a tone that could probably pass for reasonably cheerful, as they struggled their way through the shouting crowds.

Inej considered whether or not Kaz would want anyone else to know about the job yet, but he hadn’t told her to keep it quiet and if anyone wanted to overhear them this would be where they’d struggle.

“We’re going to university, apparently,” she said, “but of course we don’t know what for. How was your day?”

“Long. I don’t think Feliks understands the concept of tiring - it’s always using Grisha power is supposed to be energising and never you’re a human being and working for fifteen hours straight is exhausting, maybe you should take a break . You?”

Inej glanced up at the ceiling, as though Kaz could hear her from the floors above.

“Similar,”

“Well, when you’re a demon that doesn't sleep perhaps it’s difficult to remember that other people need to,”

Inej smiled, shaking her head.

“Students then,” Nina mused, “We robbing a professor? Lifting a rare book from the library, perhaps?” 

“You know as much as I do,” Inej sighed, “All he said was he wants us to get the papers together tonight, and that we’re starting next week. I didn’t realise you could enrol this late in the year,”

Nina snorted.

“As long as you're paying, I don’t think they care,””

There was a brief pause, before Nina turned to Inej.

“Wait, Kaz is paying right? I cannot afford this,”

Inej shrugged.

“I assumed it was going on our tabs,”

*

“He’s what ?” Jesper stared at Inej, halting in the middle of the corridor.

“Keep moving. And you heard me: Kaz is sending me and Nina to the university, I don’t know why. Specht forged papers that say we’re transferring from a school in Ravka,”

“I hate to point out the obvious, Inej, but how are you meant to study here if you don’t read Kerch?”

“I’m learning,” she said, defensively, “But anyway, I sincerely doubt Kaz’s intentions are anywhere near an interest in me furthering my education. Look, I can’t stay long - I didn’t tell him where you were but don’t think he won’t figure it out if I keep coming to see you,”

Jesper sighed.

“He’s really that pissed off at me?”

“Don’t you-?” Inej paused, studying him for a brief moment, “Oh, Saints, Jes, you really don’t remember the other night at all, do you?”

Jesper’s shoulders twitched as he averted his gaze, fidgeting with one of his rings - gold, or golden at least, with a green glass gem set at its centre. There was a long silence, before he said quietly:

“I went to class this morning,”

“How was it?”

“I wrote two lines of notes and then drew a butterfly,”

“Productive,”

“Well, it is a pretty cute butterfly,”

They were almost outside. Inej watched the rush of students crossing the courtyard opening up beyond the stone archway ahead of them, then looked slowly back to Jesper.

“I’m supposed to be on shift at the Crow Club tonight,” he said, “Should I-?”

“Don’t skip it,” Inej told him, “Just come back here afterwards. And…”

What was the point in telling him not to? It was not Inej’s job to drive herself insane over trying to fix people who would only ignore her. She had too many of her own problems to deal with. But she didn’t want to see Jesper fall any further out of reach.

“Just be careful, Jes,”

“Of course, love,” he winked at her, “Careful’s my middle name,”

Chapter Text

“So just to be clear,” said Nina, leaning back in her chair and studying Kaz across the desk, “All you want us to do is act like students ? What the hell kind of job is this?” 

Nina had been in Ketterdam for five months, and she’d considered strangling Kaz Brekker with her bare hands about three times in each of them. And considering that she could just stop his heart if she wanted to, it was a particular statement to just how infuriating he was that she would be willing to put in the effort of strangling him. She’d told him that once, and he took it as a compliment.

“You heard me,” he picked up one of the forged papers Nina and Inej had brought in with them, that were now sitting on his desk, “Use your own names, it’s only more suspicious if you get caught not answering to a fake and no-one there should recognise you anyway,”

“You might have told us that before Specht drew the papers up,” Inej sighed, “Will he be able to change them?”

“Should be,” Kaz tapped the corner of the page in his hand against the desk, and Nina caught her gaze flicking to his black leather gloves, “All you need to do is act like you belong and try to get close to the mark,”

The mark . Nina had thought she spoke Kerch when she landed in this Saintsforsaken city, but talking to Kaz and the rest of the Barrel may as well have been learning a brand new dialect. 

“For how long?”

“As long as proves necessary,”

Nina really was going to strangle this boy. She sighed.

“You’ll have to subsidise my income,”

“You’ll get paid when they job’s done,”

“That’s not good enough,” she said smoothly, ignoring the glance Inej shot her, “You can’t put me out of work for an indeterminate amount of time and not expect me to need the money for it,”

Nina was scraping by as it was. Her salary from the White Rose wasn’t bad, though it could be better, but her commission from the Tailoring was appallingly low and any spare cash she managed to strap together quickly drained away in the endeavours she was refusing to believe she’d reached a dead end in. Kaz nodded.

“We’ll discuss it,”

Inej leaned forwards to collect one of the papers, saying something to Kaz. Nina couldn’t help but wonder why the girl had been put on this job - this wasn’t her specialty, far as Nina could tell, and it didn’t seem to make any difference to the job whether there were one or two of them working on it. Mind you, Nina was glad to know she’d have company and Inej was about the best company she could have hoped for. 

“It’s listed in your application that you’ll require a tutor for written Kerch,” Kaz was telling her, “But I can pull that if you feel you don’t need it,”

Inej glanced at Nina. She spoke Kerch perfectly well, though Nina knew she’d learnt most of it at the Menagerie and there were occasional gaps in her knowledge even of words she would use every day at home - as well a collection of words she only knew in Kerch, that no classroom ever would have taught her - but she was still learning to read the language. Nina had been trying to help her, but she wasn’t convinced that her calling was as a teacher and sometimes wondered if she was actually hindering her. 

“Up to you,” said Nina, in Ravkan, “If you think-”

“Excuse me,” Kaz interrupted in cool Kerch, tapping the table, “Perhaps we can keep this discussion in a language we all understand?”

“Perhaps you could bother to learn another language,” Nina muttered in Ravkan, winking at Inej when she saw her smile.

Making Inej smile felt like winning something; she didn’t seem to have reason to smile nearly often enough. Kaz finished giving them the bare bones of the plan, which was really no more information than they already had or could have guessed at, and Nina and Inej left his office with copies of their enrolment papers in hand. 

“Will Feliks really be happy to let you go for an indeterminate time ?” asked Inej, as they walked downstairs together.

Not a chance. But he wouldn’t have much of a say in it.

“I don’t think ‘happy’ would be the right word,” she sighed, “but it’s Haskell who has the last word on wherever I go, and Kaz’s word is an extension of his. Feliks is just my employer, he’s not the one I’m in debt to,”

Inej’s shoulders squared, perhaps uncomfortably, and Nina cursed herself for not biting her tongue a sentence sooner. But the moment passed quickly, and they continued walking together in easy comfort. Nina checked the time - eight bells. She’d have to get back. Inej walked her to the door of the Slat, and as they reached the front Nina briefly squeezed her fingers before she made to leave.

“Sleep,” she told her.

Inej smiled.

“I will if you will,”

Nina shivered as she stepped into the evening air; even her jumper was not enough to keep the cold away. Ketterdam she thought dismissively, rubbing a hand up and down one of her arms. She sighed. This job was making her nervous - it sounded suspiciously easy. What was Kaz after? And what was he getting them into this time?

“Hey gorgeous,”

Nina looked up to see Jesper crossing towards her, and gave him a smile.

“Hey. How’s the arm?”

She nodded vaguely at the spot a little above Jepser’s elbow, where she’d fixed a bullet graze for him not too long ago. Seemingly unconsciously, his hand found the point on his sleeve that the freshly closed skin was hiding beneath and his fingers ran along it.

“Good as new,” he smiled.

“Well,” Nina winked, “I am good,”

Jesper smiled. He was wearing a shockingly dull outfit for him - the only splash of colour, the shimmer of the gems in his mismatched gold and silver rings - and he wasn’t wearing his gun belt. It only took a brief glance to realise he was still carrying his prized revolvers, Nina would probably have been concerned for his health if he wasn’t, but they were hidden beneath his jacket and she wondered why.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, before she could get her own questions in.

Nina avoided the Slat and the Crow Club whenever she could; this hellhole was a means to an end and she didn’t need to sink any lower into it than she already had.

“Talking to Kaz about a job. Where’ve you been?”

“Hell,” he said drily, “But as much as I’d love to chat, I have a shift to get to and I want to get changed before it starts,”

“Don’t let me keep you,” she replied, hopping down the last few steps, “I’ll see you soon,”

It wasn’t a particularly short walk back to the White Rose. Nina headed North as she left the Slat, following the canals as she moved from East Stave onto West. Here the world changed. The streets were alive, because they were alive at almost every hour, with tourists and locals alike dressed in every colour under the sun, their faces hidden beneath masks of the Komedie Brute. It was said - and Nina more than believed it - that the normality of the masks gave people confidence like nothing else. They were themselves, once they were hiding. People would come to West Stave looking for oblivion, sometimes even just to watch the crowds more than sample any of the entertainment for themselves. Or at least that’s what plenty of them liked to claim, anyway. Nina was less convinced by that.

She slipped along the edge of a crowd, trying to dodge between patrons clamouring for attention or downing the drink that was finally going to tip them over into too many. Someone dressed as the Scarab Queen dropped an empty bottle and giggled when it shattered at their feet, whilst Nina tried to pick her way through the broken glass and keep moving. On her way back yesterday, she’d found her arm grabbed by a masked stranger and had to panickedly plunge his heartbeat and knock him out before she hurried onwards, but it seemed she would be luckier today as Goedmed bridge came into view ahead and Nina knew she was almost back. She had to catch herself from thinking almost home . It was an easy habit to slip into, when referring to the place you slept every night. But Nina was several long weeks of travelling away from home, and she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to go back. 

A street performer was shouting something to a gathering crowd, drawing attention with close-up magic tricks before he made some grand announcement and splayed his hands towards an explosion of glitter. When the purple monstrosity had cleared enough that only a shimmer was left in the air, the crowd gasped and applauded at the apparently magical appearance of an acrobat dangling over the canal. A Suli girl, younger than Nina, hanging upside down from a collection of wires with her slender body barely covered by more purple glitter and alarmingly thin scraps of fake silk, her extended arm revealing the swirling tattoo of the Willow Switch. Nina shuddered, and kept walking. 

The White Rose almost looked more like one of the grand townhouses than it did a brothel; tall and slender, with its own dock, a pale facade, and a magnificent collection of white-petaled roses growing up the walls. The smell of the flowers was cloying, hanging over everything and refusing to let go. Nina may very well be stuck smelling of them for the rest of her life, even if she did ever get out of this town. 

“My house girls are as sweet as my roses,” Feliks had told her when she first moved in, clapping his hand over her shoulder uncomfortably.

It had been clear even then that it was a line he liked to feed, but Nina had also since learnt that the roses he used - according to Kaz, the only ones that were strong enough to survive year-round in the hardy weather of Ketterdam - were naturally scentless. Every flower was perfumed by hand, on constant rotation, by the boys and girls in white uniforms who tended to food and drink or anything else clients might need beyond what they had really come for. Some of them were indentured; Nina didn’t know how many, but considering the number of the house girls who were thus she guessed it was a good number. Then again, if that was the case then why did Feliks just have them perfuming roses? His facade was thin enough for her to feel certain he’d be making proper money off the kids if he could. It was part of Nina’s job to Tailor them, paling their skin and turning their hair and irises a vague white - in Feliks’ own words, so that all the decor matched . She slipped them cash, if she could spare it, whilst they were in with her, same with the occasional house girl who needed Healing. It didn’t happen often, but it happened.

But the White Rose was undeniably safer than most, if not all, of the other houses on the Stave - for Nina, at the very least, and as much as it gnawed anxiously in her gut she had to keep herself alive and safe before she started trying to do the same for anyone else - and she had not borne witness to anything like the stories she’d heard of the buildings opposite her and down the street. The girls here were safer, even if they weren’t safe.

She couldn't go through the front door looking like this - messy and out of costume and so on - so she slipped down the side of the building. She actually wasn’t sure if she was supposed to use the front at all; she never had because she never left or returned to the building in the fake kefta she couldn’t enter the lobby without. She’d only seen girls use the front door when clients who’d paid to take them from the building were whisking them away or returning them again, arms often slipped through arms, the girls’ fake giggles and batting lashes somehow fooling them. Maybe they were just willing to be fooled, ready to ignore anything that would crack their illusion. That was what they came for, wasn’t it? A pretty lie. Oblivion. 

As she reached the back of the building, the ugly outline of the Menagerie came into view on the other side of the canal; taller than most of the buildings surrounding it, structured like a tiered birdcage. It was the largest and most expensive house on the Stave, shimmering even as darkness began to close its heavy blanket over the city like a forest fire reflected by a mirrorball. How long since Inej left that place - six months? Seven? Maybe a little longer; she had already seemed to trust Kaz Brekker - if trust was really the right word - when she appeared through a window at the Emerald Palace five months ago and convinced Nina not to take the deal Pekka Rollins’ was offering her. She probably owed Inej her life, for that. Or maybe Kaz, but that was the far more disappointing option of the two. 

Most of it was obscured by other buildings across the canal but where the lower floor of the Menagerie was almost entirely open, held up the columns that became akin to the bars of the birdcage, Nina could see the blurring edge of a girl lying on a sofa. Someone in the red cape of Mr Crimson approached and she slipped her hand into theirs as she sat up slowly, her neckline slipping off her shoulder. The wind picked up and blew goosebumps down Nina’s neck as she turned quickly away to slip through the back door, her mind foolishly concerned that the girl was going to catch a cold in those scant silks.

“Nina,” began Adrian, as soon as she stepped inside.

“I know,” she breathed, quickly hurrying towards the staff staircase, “I’m a little late, but I was with Brekker. I have half an hour, it’ll be fine,”

“No, it’s not that,” he sounded nervous.

Nina turned back to face him. Adrian was about two years younger than Nina, she reckoned, and before she’d started Tailoring him his wide, dark eyes had made him look akin to a doe. Now they were pale and slightly unnerving, but as someone for whom Tailoring did not come as easily as it did others she thought she’d done a decent job. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his white shirt, threatening to mark the cuffs if he wasn’t careful.

“He scheduled you three more clients, this evening,”

Nina resisted the urge to scream. When had she last slept? Apparently it would have to wait. The rich of Ketterdam having their minds relaxed and their emotions altered took precedence over anything else, and definitely her.

“Fine. Who?”

“That might be the concerning part,” Adrian shuffled, “Two folks from the Zelvar District, one who’s been before, one I didn’t recognise,”

Not much of a problem. And if it was a first visit then maybe it would be more of a consultation about what they wanted than it would be actually altering moods. Maybe it would be marginally less tiring. But Adrian still looked nervous, and his voice had trailed away.

“The third?” she prompted.

Adrian bit his lip.

Chapter Text

By the time Jesper woke up, he was supposed to already be in the library. Shit. Shit shit shit. He fumbled his way into his coat and hurried out of his dorm, arriving just in time to see his new Business and Markets partner walking back out of the building. Shit shit shit.

“Excuse me,” he’d said, hurrying to catch up with the boy yesterday.

He’d turned to face him slowly. 

“Hi. Are you…” Jesper surveyed the piece of paper in his hand, as if he didn’t know exactly what it said and exactly who he was talking to, “Wylan Van Eck?”

Wylan raised an eyebrow, tapping his slender cane pointedly against the floorboards. Up close Jesper could see that the kid’s eyes were slightly clouded over, softening the edges of what otherwise would have been a startling blue, but there was no sign of whatever accident might have caused him to lose his sight - except maybe a small, slender scar above his right cheekbone. But unless a good deal of it had faded since he was a child, the scar didn’t cross either of his eyes.

As soon as the note had shown up at his dorm this morning, stating his new partner for Business and Markets was none other than the merchling he’d seen leaving the office yesterday, the reason the dean had put them together was glaringly obvious: Jesper would have to take responsibility for writing the project, so he would be forced to do the work himself instead of letting Helena Dentte gift-wrap him a decent grade. Not that a single decent grade would’ve let him escape from the approaching surety that he was going to flunk out and end up wandering aimlessly around the Barrel until - until what? Until he ended up dead in a ditch somewhere?

“You already know that,” said Wylan, folding his arms.

“Alright, yeah, I already know that. I’m Jesper Fahey, I’m in your class; Economic Principles for -”

“ For Business and Markets , right,” he nodded, “We’re being reassigned as partners?”

“Yeah,”

There was a pause.

“Do you, erm, want to meet some time to get started, or…?”

Jesper wasn’t really sure where that ‘or’ was going. 

“I have to get home pretty quickly after class,” Wylan swallowed, “My father worries. But I could meet you in the library tomorrow morning?”

Jesper nodded, then caught himself and said:

“Yeah, that sounds good. Say ten bells?”

“Ten bells,” 

To be entirely honest, he hadn’t been thrilled to see Wylan Van Eck’s name on the note he was currently distractedly crumpling between his fingers. The chances of him being more likely to pay for a grade than work for it were too high, and if Jesper was going to be stuck doing all the work alone then this plan of the dean’s was going to crash and burn about twenty times faster than it was already likely to. But at least he seemed prepared to start the project - Jesper couldn’t actually remember what the project was, so he’d have to hunt through the piles of abandoned papers in his room later to try and find the original assignment. But he’d had things to attend to first, and judging by this morning he’d apparently let them get out of hand. At least he woke up on campus though.

“Wylan!” he called, rushing up to the boy as he reached the base of the stone stairs, one hand on the railing and the other using his cane to find the edge of each step, “Hey, sorry, it’s Jesper. I’m so sorry-”

“Oh, so you decided to grace me with your presence?” Wylan snapped, turning to face him.

Jesper was taken slightly by surprise.

“Really,” he said, “I’m sorry, I just-”

“Showed up horrendously late,”

“Hey, look kid,” Jesper snapped, because it only took about three seconds for him to get defensive, “I’m trying to apologise to you here-”

“Don’t call me kid,” said Wylan, turning away, “If you want to try showing up tomorrow, I’ll be here from eight,”

Jesper was too taken aback to reply, and for a moment he just stood at the base of the stairs, watching Wylan walk away. He sighed - what time was it? He pulled the timepiece from his pocket and discovered he was over two hours late. Okay, maybe Wylan was right to be a little annoyed. More than a little annoyed. 

Twelve bells. He could go to the library alone, to study for a while. He could go and find that assignment, so he knew what he was actually doing when he met Wylan tomorrow. There were a thousand things he could have done.

He walked back to the Barrel, wondering vaguely what Wylan Van Eck was doing at the library from eight in the morning. It was a rare thing for Jepser to see eight in the morning. Jesper didn't want to cross paths with Wylan again until tomorrow; it was impossible to avoid the Geldcanal on the way back to the Staves but Wylan had gone North so Jesper moved South and crossed into East Stave not far from the Slat. 

When he’d arrived last night it had been about eight bells, leaving Jesper just enough time to change out of his ugly brown coat before he got to the Crow Club, and he’d found Nina on the doorstep of the Slat. It had taken him by surprise - she didn’t come this way much. Kaz had branded her a snob for it, but they all knew Nina was only here to find a means to an end. Jesper didn’t know the full story, but her beau was stuck in Hellgate on some false charges - at least she was claiming they were false, anyway - and she was making very slow progress through the living nightmare that was Kerch’s legal system in an attempt to win his freedom. But she wasn’t here tonight, and as Jesper wandered past and up towards the Crow Club he wondered what she’d been up to last night.  He hadn’t seen Kaz, in the end, except very briefly when he crossed through the Club and gave Jesper nothing more than a sidewards glance, but he had seen Inej. 

When Kaz walked through, Jesper was briefly overcome with the need to go and apologise to him. But that was the stupid in him; the part of him that imagined Kaz would forgive him and move on as though this weren’t the fifteen hundredth time he’d brought trouble to his door. He had to wonder why he kept him around, but the answer came pretty easily: he was a good shot, and they both knew he would stay no matter what Kaz said because he had nowhere else to go. So he didn’t make eye contact with Kaz, and instead turned his attention back to his hand of cards and the group of pigeons ready to pour their hard-earned cash into the Dregs’ coffers. It had been a couple of hours later when Inej appeared from nowhere and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Saints -” Jesper jumped, “you have got to stop doing that,”

“Not likely,” she said, “I might need you, I’m going to West Stave,”

Jesper frowned. 

“You are?”

“Nina needs me for something, didn’t say what in the message. I just - well, I don’t know what she wants. She said she’d meet me at Goedmed bridge,”

“Okay,” Jesper paused, “What do you need me for? I’m supposed to be here all night,”

“Kaz knows,”

Jesper fidgeted with one of his rings for a moment, then nodded. He kept up a steady stream of chatter as they walked to West Stave, because he knew Inej would find it easier than the quiet.

“And you’re joining me at university this week then?” he asked, when he was finally starting to run out of topics.

“In three days, if all goes to plan. I don’t really know what the plan is , but…”

“Let’s face it,” Jesper sighed, “even when he tells us, we never actually know the plan. I’ll never know how he does it,”

“I think it’s called running on up to sixty percent dumb luck,” said Inej, as Goedmed bridge and the silhouette of Nina Zenik came into view ahead of them.

As they approached Jesper realised the strange thing: Nina was wearing her kefta . Of course he knew she wore one at the White Rose, he’d been enough times when jobs went wrong and either he or a compatriot needed Healing, but he also knew she never wore it outside of the building. It just wasn’t safe to wander the streets so brazenly proclaiming you were Grisha like that. He fidgeted, finally falling quiet, and he felt Inej’s eyes flicking over him. Did she know? Had Kaz told her?

“Sorry,” said Nina, looking at Inej as they met on the bridge, “I know the note was vague, I wasn’t sure how much I could really say,”

“What’s going on?”

She played with the sleeve of her kefta .

“I’ve got a job, I don’t… I don’t know exactly what it’s going to look like, and I don’t like going out in this thing. I was just going to ask if you could tail me?”

Inej nodded, slowly.

“Where’s the job?”

“The Geldstraat,”

Jesper raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing on the Geldstraat?”

“I have absolutely no idea. Something a Merchant Council member didn’t want to touch the White Rose for,”

“So literally anything?” offered Jesper.

Nina made a face that said ‘yeah, pretty much’. Inej rested her fingers on the knife handle in her belt - the one with the roses on, Jesper couldn’t remember which Saint she’d named after. He was distracted, because he’d noticed that she laid her hands on it or any of her other knives the same way he did his guns. She was on edge.

Now, as Jesper reached the Crow Club and the sun remained obstinately hidden behind a cloud, the building was about as quiet as he had seen it all month. He fought a yawn as he wandered in, surveying the several empty tables, but before he had a chance to take a seat at one of them games that was actually in progress Kaz had appeared ahead of him.

“I need you at Fifth Harbour,”

“Well, good morning to you too,”

Kaz didn’t look amused.

“Fifth Harbour. We’re quiet,”

“It’s always quiet at this time,”

“It’s too quiet. Go,”

Jesper went. And as much as he might have wanted - needed - to do otherwise, he took himself back to the University District that evening and he went to the library the next morning. He didn’t go at eight, because that was just ridiculous, but he managed to make it for nina bells half chime and he didn’t think that was bad at all. He found Wylan sitting alone at one of the tables, apparently not doing anything.

“Hey, kid, it’s me - Jesper,”

“I’m not a kid,” Wylan snapped, turning towards Jesper’s voice.

“Sure,” Jesper sat down opposite him, “You’re an elder statesman,”

Wylan ignored him. They started work, evidently both half-heartedly, and at some point Wylan muttered:

“I hate economics,”

Jesper snorted.

“Same. What a perfect partnership,” he plunked his fountain pen onto his desk, “Why do you even have to take this class then? Don’t you inherit Daddy’s business either way, merchling?”

Wylan grimaced.

“That’s even worse than kid . And no, I don’t,”

“What do you mean you don’t?”

“How am I supposed to run a business, Jepser?” he shook his head, “My stepmother’s kid’ll take it,”

There was no spite or jealousy in his tone, and yet there seemed something profoundly melancholic about every word he spoke. Jesper wasn’t sure why being blind meant you couldn’t run a business, so he said so, and Wylan just scoffed. 

“I’m just saying,” said Jesper, “if they think there’s any hope of teaching me how to run a business they must know how to teach you to run one. And anyway, if you hate economics and you’re not even gonna run the business, what are you doing in this class?”

Wylan shrugged.

“It was the only thing that would make my father agree to let me come to the University,” he said, “One business class. Just in case,”

“Just in case of what?”

Wylan either didn’t hear that question or just ignored him, but Jesper was pretty sure it was the latter based on the blush that gathered in his cheeks.

“Why are you here, if you hate it so much?”

“To find my entrepreneurial spirit, of course,”

Wylan raised his eyebrows, his scar shimmering ever so slightly in the sunlight coming through the window.

“And what’s your grand business idea, then?”

Jesper grinned. 

“I’m thinking of providing a service for rich kids who want to make their parents mad,”

“I’d roll my eyes, but that would probably be quite fruitful,”

Jesper barked a laugh.

“And that’s without even knowing how cute I am,” he teased, “Trust me, if you knew what I looked like you’d know I’m gonna charge a pretty steep fee,”

“Is that so?”

“Sure is. What do you think merchling? You could be my first client,”

Wylan did roll his eyes then, and Jesper watched the blue move beneath the slightly cloudy film.

“I think you need to stop calling me merchling,”

“I’m afraid that would come with a price tag attached,”

“Are you flirting, or just broke?”

Jepser laughed again.

“Oh, it’s almost definitely both,”

Chapter Text

“It can’t be a coincidence,” 

Kaz mused over Nina’s words for a moment, the cogs in his mind turning slowly to put the pieces together. It definitely didn’t feel like a coincidence. But Kaz tended to follow a strict practice of believing nothing was a coincidence. He’d told Inej that once, and she’d nodded wisely.

“Fate has plans for us all,”

She’d been sitting on his windowsill, watching the rain running down the glass. She began to trace one with her fingertip, and he followed it with his eyes. Kaz frowned. He’d left the door open, because it was raining and he didn’t want her to open the window, but for some reason he was suddenly compelled to push it shut. Like there was something here that should be hidden, that he didn’t want to entertain the possibility of anyone else ever bearing witness to. He flexed his fingers and gripped his cane tighter, refusing to move.

“Suddenly, I believe in coincidences again,”

Inej looked at him for a moment, then back to the rain. 

But it seemed very unlikely that Nina landing a strange job on the Geldstraat right before this job started was a coincidence. Kaz didn’t know what it added up to yet, but he would figure it out.

“Well, anyway,” said Nina, “I spoke to Feliks, all good for the job. He’s not thrilled about it though,”

“Of course he’s not,” said Kaz.

“He said you’ll owe him for the lost income,”

That would be more concerning if Feliks didn’t already owe Kaz money. And anyway he wasn’t really paying attention to that; mind still whirring away trying to solve the puzzle of Nina’s job on the Geldstraat last night. Not a coincidence. No such thing as a coincidence. No such thing as fate either, but Kaz really shouldn’t be thinking about that right now.

“Did they want you to go routinely? At the Geldstraat?”

Nina bit her lip.

“He said it could be an ongoing offer, if I wanted it. But he also said he lost an indentured Healer recently, if he gets someone else I don’t see him forking out any extra cash for the pleasure of my company,”

“When you say lost… ?”

Nina grimaced.

“Concerningly vague,”

Kaz wasn’t surprised. He nodded.

“Alright, I’ll look into it. If this ends up being an ongoing job for you it might be good for intel. Inej is at the Crow Club, tell her to get a bag together - I want you at the university tonight,”

“ Tonight? Kaz, you said two days, I have clients-”

“They’ll wait,”

“Kaz-”

“Update Inej. I need to talk to the old man,”

Nina huffed a little, but she turned on her heel and went on her way. Kaz watched the empty doorway for a moment before he slowly stood up - his leg was wreaking havoc today, and he leant heavily against his cane to find his balance. He was going to be vulnerable without the Wraith for a time, and now she was vanishing slightly earlier than expected. He’d set up a communication line but it still felt dangerous not to have her close by, gathering secrets. 

“I’m not sure I’m following,” she’d admitted last night, when they were discussing the plan.

It was before word had come from Nina and she’d left to follow her to the Geldstraat. They sat in Kaz’s office at the Crow Club - the door was closed and the room had no window, but they needed privacy and there wasn’t much Kaz could do about that. He watched Inej, wondering if they would need to step outside, but she seemed fine perched cross-legged on a chair, posture perfect, hands planted on her knees. Kaz found himself studying the tiny movements in her fingers, the occasional movement of her boots against her knee as she shuffled her feet. He bought her the boots the night they came back to the Slat, because he was an idiot and he hadn’t brought anything with him for her to wear. She’d traipsed after him all the way from the very North of West Stave to the very South of East still dressed in those ridiculous purple silks, completely barefoot. It hadn’t helped the whispers amongst the Dregs about what he’d hired her for.

“What connection does any of this have?” she asked, beginning to drum her fingers against her knees.

“It’s about forming the connections,” he’d told her, “Just focus on getting close to the mark - or let Nina get close and follow suit. Then we can discuss what comes next,”

Kaz’s leg screamed at him all the way down the stairs, only quieting slightly when he began to cross the ground floor of the Slat towards Per Haskell’s office. The Slat was nothing special to look at - actually it was ugly as hell to look at, with its faded, faintly mossy eaves, the wonky boards at the front that made it look like it was leaning on the buildings either side of it for support, and the fact that it probably was leaning on them but the boards just accentuated it - but nothing had come as close to feeling like home to Kaz as the Slat did since he’d arrived in Ketterdam and his entire world was slowly pried from his weak little childish hands. That was what this city did; took everything from you. And this is what you did to survive it: demand something in return. Scrape and claw and bleed your way through the Labyrinth until you didn’t just defeat the monster at its centre, you became it. Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel. He wasn’t quite there yet, on the very top, but he would be. He would taste the monster’s flesh, and embrace the city as his own. The Labyrinth was meant to be a prison, but if you played your cards right you could own it. And Kaz never sat down to a card game he couldn’t win. 

“Enter,” came the gruff, muffled response from Per Haskell to Kaz’s sharp, single knock on the door.

It sounded like he’d already been drinking, and when the door was open the smell alone confirmed it. Kaz fought the urge to grimace, keeping his face a cool, flat mask as he closed the door behind him. There was a window in this room and for a strange, ridiculous moment Kaz almost moved to open it. He needed to get his head on straight - the Wraith wasn’t even here, and if she had been then she could open a damn window herself if she wanted to. 

“Kaz, my boy,”

Haskell gestured for him to take a seat, and Kaz’s leg was putting up such a protest that for once he took up the offer.

“Sir,” he said, nodding.

Haskell grunted. He was playing with one of his little ships in a bottle things again, and for a moment just let Kaz stew whilst he drove his focus into rearranging one of the tiny pieces. Kaz didn’t get the appeal of these little models but they were popular to display in merchant houses, to sit on desks or mantelpieces like the homeowner was waiting for your gaze to linger on it just a second too long so that he could tell you a long story about it and how it’s an exact replica of a ship he, in fact, owns himself. There were two half-constructed ones sitting on Haskell’s desk that he’d given up on over the last few months, and Kaz watched the man’s meaty, and slightly shaking, fingers fumble over the details of his newest one, feeling unsurprised that he’d never been successful at finishing any. After a minute had passed Haskell sighed and plunked the thing carelessly against the table, then picked up his glass and downed the last few drops before all but slamming it back down. Kaz flexed his fingers over the crow’s head of his cane, tightening his grip. 

“Brandy?” asked Haskell, as he began to pour himself another glass.

Kaz abstained.

“Alright,” the old man breathed, taking a sip before he continued: “What trouble are you here to tell me this time, then?”

What could Kaz tell him by way of trouble? That Jesper Fahey abandoned his security shift without telling anyone where he was, only for the Wraith to drag him back five hours later from a Dime Lions club? That Nina Zenik had been sent to the Geldstraat to complete a highly suspicious Tailoring job that might have had something to do with the job Kaz had been planning for so long? All he said was:

“I need Nina and Inej to start the job earlier than I thought,”

Haskell frowned.

“How long will they be gone?”

“I don’t know yet, but it’s all under control. You’ll get your twenty percent,”

Haskell’s jaw twitched. It always got on his nerves when Kaz didn’t tell him what a job was, but that wasn’t part of their agreement. And besides, Kaz didn’t want to spread the details of his plans to too many people - everything in Ketterdam leaked.

“You can’t just take my Heartrender and my best spider without telling me h-”

“They’re not yours,”

“Well they ain’t yours ,” growled Haskell.

“That isn’t what I meant,”

He groaned loudly and performatively, shaking his head.

“Don’t go getting righteous on me now, boy. I want them back here within the month, at minimum,”

Kaz pursed his lips.

“I’ll try to arrange that,”

“You see that you do,”

“Yes, sir,”

Haskell snorted, but Kaz knew he lapped up every stupid politeness he gave him. He liked to think of himself as the patriarch of a large, criminally-inclined family, but everyone knew it was Kaz who did the real work. It was more of a formality for Kaz to ever tell him anything at all.

“The Black Tips are still edging away at Fifth Harbour; pushing their luck,” he said, watching Haskell run a ringer along the rim of his glass, “We should move quickly if we want to re-establish our dominance,”

Haskell waved a hand dismissively through the air,

“A mere dog yapping at our heels. Monitor the situation, if things are any worse in a few months time we can organise a parlay,”

The man really was an idiot. Kaz nodded.

“Yes, sir,”

By the time Kaz left the office, disgruntled and impatient, Nina was back at the Slat. 

“Where’s Inej?”

“Upstairs getting her stuff,” Nina said, nodding vaguely towards the stairs, “You really not going to tell us anything at all?”

Kaz sighed.

“When you get to the University, go straight to the office opposite the Boeksplein; it’s 24 hour, and they should be expecting you. You just arrived from Ravka - private journey, pepper it in because the tourist ferries don’t arrive this late - and there should be transfer papers waiting in your name. They might kick up a fuss about you being early, accommodation-wise, but-”

“But we’re two young rich girls from Ravka, it’s the middle of the night, we’re exhausted from travelling, and we’ve nowhere else to go,” Nina finished in a falsely distressed voice, winking at him, “I think I can manage that,”

“Good,” he handed her a thin stack of kruge , “That’s a month’s salary in advance, if it takes longer I’ll give you more but if it’s shorter I’ll need it back,”

She narrowed her eyes.

“This is your money? Not the Dregs’?”

He shrugged. He had to pay her somehow.

“Thank you, Kaz,”

“You won’t be any use to me if you run out of cash and starve,”

Nina sighed, tucking the notes into her pocket.

“Well thank you anyway,”

Chapter Text

It was nearing ten bells when Nina and Inej reached the University District. They both wore Ravkan clothes that Kaz had stolen from someplace or other, costumes probably though Nina hadn’t checked for a ribbon, and Nina fidgeted unhappily with her sleeve. It felt wrong; not exactly like wearing her uncomfortable, Kerch-made kefta but in some ways similar, more like she was trying to sell herself a lie than she was anyone else. She sunk her hand into her pocket and rubbed one of the purple kruge notes buried inside it between her fingers, like she had to remind herself it was still there. 

There was little to no problem getting things sorted at the office; Nina switched between speaking in Kerch to the woman behind the desk and saying a few random phrases to Inej in Ravkan whenever there were silences or it looked like there might be a issue, and at one point she kept telling Inej how wonderful she was in an increasingly anxious tone because the woman had said something about not knowing if their rooms were ready. But eventually everything was sorted and they left with an address, two sets of keys, and a map of the campus in hand, only to cross towards the Boeksplein and walk straight into Jesper Fahey. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Well it’s good to see you too, gorgeous,” he winked, “And as it so happens I am in fact a student - not a fake transfer student,”

“Keep your voice down,” hissed Inej, glancing back at the office building they’d just left.

Nina didn’t think they’d have an issue with that - the woman behind the desk had been about as bored and fed up as a person could be, Nina didn’t think she liked the night shift much - but she was more distracted processing the rest of Jesper’s sentence.

“You’re a student?”

“As I said the last time I was asked,” he smiled at Inej, “I’m supposed to be, but here we are. I thought you two weren’t getting here for a few days yet?”

He looked almost nervous, fingers moving to play with one of the mirrored buttons on his waistcoat. Nina watched him for a moment, the movement leading her to take in his ensemble and realise that he must be on his way to the Barrel. Maybe it wasn’t nerves that were sending this energy fizzling through him, then.

“Change of plans,” replied Inej.

Jesper nodded.

“Well I’m sure we can compare timetables and squeal over new stationery tomorrow,” he said, “but I’ve got to keep moving,”

Inej pursed her lips, but she kept her very obvious thoughts to herself as they bid each other goodnight and Jesper walked away.

It took a few minutes for Nina and Inej to orient themselves on the poorly designed little map they’d been given, it looked more like a tourist trail than something designed for consistent use and darkness had fallen long ago by now, but then they made their way to the dorm building they’d been assigned to. The flats were structured to house up to five people, the bedrooms arranged down a corridor that looked like it should belong to a hotel. The sixth door was a kitchen, and not a big one, and at the other end was a seventh for the bathroom. Nina didn’t know how five people coped in that kitchen without treading on each other’s toes or hitting each other over the head with a frying pan, but luckily Kaz had wrangled in advance for them to be alone in an otherwise empty cluster. Nina wondered how they ended up with empty flats - weren’t these places always oversubscribed? - but when they arrived and traipsed their way up five flights of stairs she thought maybe everyone who was supposed to be in this flat had been defeated by the staircase before they ever even moved in. She was out of breath by the time they reached the top floor.

The building was quiet - Nina had expected the sounds of student nightlife, but perhaps by this time anyone up for anything had gone out to find themselves in the Barrel instead of sitting around in tiny kitchens lit only by whatever candles they had between them. Inej unlocked the door to the cluster and then passed Nina the key to her individual room. They both stood in the doorway of the first bedroom together and Nina raised her eyebrows.

“I suppose it’s… quaint?”

“It’s bigger than my room at the Slat,” said Inej, dropping her bag onto the floor.

But she looked on edge, and Nina watched her hands drift towards her knives. She wondered if it was a way of praying, she knew Inej named her knives after her Saints, or if it was just a comfort to feel them in her hand. Maybe both. 

“You alright?”

“Yeah. It’s just…” Inej took a breath and squared her shoulders, then smiled at Nina, “Yeah, I’m good,”

Nina didn’t feel convinced.

“Okay, well I’ll be next door. Come and get me if you need me,”

Inej nodded.

“Same to you,” she said softly, “Night Nina,”

Nina grabbed her hand briefly, squeezing her fingers.

“Night Inej,”

It didn’t take Nina too long to drift asleep, though the mattress was not particularly comfortable, and the next thing she knew she was jolting awake to a sharp knock splitting the air like a knife blade. Nina jumped upwards, mumbling something so incoherent she wasn’t even sure what she’d said, as the knocking turned to frantic little taps against the door. She almost fell out of the bed as she tried to fumble to her feet in the dark, her heart skittering into a panic with a thousand questions of who on earth might be banging on her door in the middle of the night. The thin dressing gown she’d dropped onto the floor earlier was hurriedly yanked over her shoulders and pulled to cover her nightdress. It only occurred to her as she reached the door that she’d grown unused to the absence of the peepholes at the White Rose, and as much as she’d been enjoying the lack of them in the walls here thus far it might have been helpful to have one here and now, to see whomever might be about to attack her in the corridor. Though, of course, that would be using them for quite the opposite of their intent at the pleasure houses. And anyway, Nina doubted that assassins knocked first. It didn’t stop her from flexing her fingers and preparing to drop into a fighting stance as she reached for the door handle, ready to stop a heart or two if necessary. She was possibly more surprised by the sight that greeted her than she would have been an attacker.

“Inej?”

She looked unbelievably small. Her night clothes were loose enough that Nina thought they must be second hand, from some cupboard or other at the Slat perhaps, and although the button down’s droopiness aided Inej’s preference for long sleeves it also left a neckline wide enough for Inej to evidently be discomforted. She fidgeted with the collar, dark eyes staring up at Nina through her thick lashes. Her voice was barely a whisper when she ventured:

“Can I sleep on your floor?”

“Wh-? I-?” Nina didn’t actually know what the ends of those sentences were, “Come inside,”

What time was it? Nina fumbled across the desk for a match and held it by her watch without bothering to properly light a candle. Two bells. Had Inej slept at all yet? How long had she been sitting alone in her room, wide awake, weighing up whether or not she should come through?

“Do you want me to find a bonelight?”

Nina didn’t want to leave candles lit overnight, but she didn’t know how Inej felt about the dark. As if it had been waiting to be perfectly in time with this thought, the flame of her match began to close in towards her fingers. She quickly shook it out. Inej just shrugged.

“Okay, well there’s one on the desk if you want it. You can sleep on the bed, I can-”

“I don’t want to,” she whispered, her voice somehow barely in existence and yet still fraying at the edges.

Nina nodded.

“Well, I have two pillows so maybe we could lay them out-”

Inej shook her head. Nina bit her lip.

“At least let me give you a blanket,”

For a while both of them lay in silence, knowing the other was still awake, and after a long time Inej said:

“Talk to me,”

“About what?”

“Anything. About the job, last night,”

Nina half-shrugged, still lying down.

“I don’t know that there’s anything to say other than what I already told you,” she admitted, “It was just… strange,”

It had been past midnight when Nina arrived at the Geldstraat, which was almost definitely the first warning sign that this was going to be an unusual job. Walking down here felt like a different city than the Barrel did - here night was a real thing and people slept through it, here the houses dominated your sight so you could barely see anything beyond, here the air even seemed to taste different on your tongue. Nina fidgeted with the sleeve of her fake kefta . The street was completely silent but for her, illuminated by streetlamps few and far apart, their flames flickering and casting shadows that ought not to have frightened a soldier of Ravka’s Second Army across the stones. She shivered, reminding herself that Inej was somewhere with her, hidden in the shadows above her head, and she was not alone. 

She’d knocked on the door half expecting there to either be no answer or to find herself being shouted away for bothering them at this ridiculous hour, but a maid had opened it almost instantly. She looked her up and down, clearly clocking the Heartrender kefta , then hurried her inside.

“He’s waiting for you in the drawing room,” she said then, just as NIna opened her mouth to ask questions, added: “Stay quiet. Follow me,”

Nina followed her down the hall, studying the extensive panelling in the walls. Mahogany, she reckoned, with carvings of the three flying fishes of Kerch and several depictions that she thought must be stories of Ghezen. The maid knocked on the closed door of the drawing room, and after a moment had passed and someone called for them to enter she held it open for Nina. The second Nina was through the doorway it was closed loudly behind her, and she found herself alone with a tall man she guessed to be in his forties, his tie set with a ruby, his hairline making a distinct retreat from his forehead. He stood up slowly.

“Miss Zenik, I presume?”

She nodded.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr Van Eck,”

He’d spoken to her a short while, telling her about how his son had lost his sight in an accident - he didn’t say what - when he was eight.

“I…” Nina hesitated, “I can try to do anything I can to help you and your son, Mr Van Eck, but I’m not a Healer. I don’t even know if it would be possible to restore his sight, but I definitely won’t be able to,”

“You misunderstand me, Miss Zenik,” he said coolly, “I don’t want you to Heal Wylan. I want you to Tailor him,”

Nina frowned. 

“His scars are obvious,” Van Eck told her, “He doesn’t like to have them on show, but Tailoring only lasts so long. Up until recently we had a Healer in the Grisha workshop who could tend to them whenever necessary, but unfortunately she is… no longer under my employ. If you do a good enough job, and you are interested, then perhaps this can be an ongoing agreement between us, Miss Zenik,”

Once he’d brought the boy - Wylan - into the room he left them alone, nodding at Nina. If Nina hadn’t already known from Kaz that Wylan Van Eck was a university student, she wasn’t sure she’d have been convinced he was more than fourteen - if that. But he was only a little younger than her, a similar age to Inej. 

“Hi,” she ventured, after a moment, “I’m gonna sit down in front of you - oh sorry I should’ve said, my name’s-”

“We’re not supposed to talk,” he whispered.

Nina leaned back slightly, taken by surprise.

“Okay…” she frowned, “Can you just tell me if it’s okay for me to touch your face, now?”

Wylan nodded.

“Alright. Stop me if you need to,”

Nina leaned back over him and gently pressed two fingers beneath his left eye. Her hands must have been cold; Wylan shivered and for a moment she thought he might pull away, but then he settled. She couldn’t see any sign of his scars though, except what she assumed must be the trail end of one of them - a small cut above his right cheek bone. Her lessons at the Little Palace had taught her to find the seams of the previous Tailor’s work, but Nina couldn’t feel anything at all. She had never been a particularly skilled Tailor. After a long moment, she ventured:

“Can I ask you what kind of accident it was? So I know what kind of scars I’m looking for?”

Wylan swallowed hard. He said nothing. 

Nina did find something, after a few more minutes, and she traced the scar above Wylan’s cheek until she discovered a long, thin slash through his right eye. Once she knew what she was looking for it was easier to find the two lines that crossed the left, and the slightly jagged one down the side of his nose. It took a while to properly smooth his skin to cover all of it - if she’d only recovered the edge that had become visible she would have left his skin blotchy and probably only drawn more attention to the marks - and the process seemed to thicken the slight haze over Wylan’s eyes, further blurring the edges of his irises. When all that was left for her to cover was the trace edge above his cheekbone that she’d started uncovering from in the first place, the door to the drawing room suddenly banged open and both Nina and Wylan jumped.

“Time’s up,” said Van Eck, watching them from the doorway.

“I’m not finished-”

“You’ve done splendidly,” said the merch, beckoning her to her feet.

Nina didn’t think Wylan looked very different from when she’d started, but something was tugging at her edges and telling her she definitely shouldn’t argue. So she stood up and walked slowly towards the door.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Zenik,” Van Eck shook her hand, pressing a kruge note into her palm as he did so, “My staff will show you out. And please, we would appreciate your discretion,”

“Of course, sir,” said Nina, before immediately reporting the entire bizarre experience to Inej and Kaz. 

Kaz had been concerned it was going to ruin the job, but Nina wasn’t convinced.

“He doesn’t know my name,”

“He won’t recognise your voice?”

“I don’t… I don’t think so; we barely spoke. But Kaz, it can’t be a coincidence,”

Inej shuffled a little on the floor, and Nina rolled onto her side so she could see her.

“Tell me something you haven’t told me before then,” she whispered, eyes finding Nina’s in the dark.

“Like what?”

“Tell me about Matthias,”

So she did. Quietly, with several details omitted, curling the corner of her blanket tighter and tighter around her fist. Inej eventually fell asleep curled up on the ugly carpet, knees tight to her chest, blanket draped flatly over her like a shroud. Nina lay anxiously on the bed, watching her. 

Chapter Text

Inej did not sleep well. When she woke, to dawn streaming into her eyes beneath the base of the blind, Nina was still sleeping soundly with one arm wrapped around her pillow. Inej sat up and stretched the aches of the floor out of her spine. She didn’t like the idea of being away from her knives all night but she also couldn’t really sleep with them all hidden in her night clothes, so she’d brought two - Sankt Petyr and Sankta Alina, from the quickdraws she wore on her arms - and lay one on Nina’s desk, the other beneath the tiny nightstand above Inej’s head so she could grab it at a moment’s notice. 

The sunbeams caressing Inej’s face were warmed by the glass but when she dared to pull the edge of the blind a tiny enough fraction open that she thought should not wake Nina, she saw the world far below them looking cold in the winds that chased each other through trees and battered the bushes. Inej dropped the blind and turned away, freezing in place for a moment when Nina stirred on the bed - but she didn’t wake. And Inej didn’t need to be afraid. She took a slow breath, trying to shake this feeling away, and picked up her knives. When Nina awoke, an hour or so later, Inej was sitting cross-legged on the desk chair with both of their new timetables in her hands. Kaz had told them he just stuffed random classes around the ones they needed to be in; Wylan Van Eck would probably get wise if they showed up from nowhere into every one of his lessons, so he picked and chose a few for each of them. 

“Morning,” said Inej, smiling as she looked up to see Nina slowly emerging from beneath a pile of pillows and duvet.

Nina mumbled something incoherent and flopped back into her cushions for a minute, before rolling over and asking Inej for the time.

“Just past eight bells,”

“Ugh, how disgusting,” Nina muttered, slowly sitting up, “How long have you been up?”

“Not long,”

Nina stretched, sighing softly, then stood up. Inej got to her feet, toes wriggling inside her socks. She didn’t like sleeping barefoot, but she hadn’t gone as far as to carry her boots with her to Nina’s room in the middle of the night. She felt suddenly exposed though, in her ill-fitting pyjamas and her socks, like she was doing something wrong. She wanted her knives. And her boots.

Inej shuffled, ready to move to the door and tell Nina she’d meet her in the hall once they were both dressed.

“You need some new pyjamas,” said Nina, taking Inej by surprise. She was watching the way Inej fidgeted with the droopy neckline of her button down, “Those aren’t yours, are they?”

“They’re the only ones I have,” Inej shrugged, “Jesper found them for me,”

It had only been a day or two after she’d come to the Slat, when he’d happened upon her waking up, fully dressed. He snatched them from somewhere, she supposed. Inej had waited all week for him to take what he wanted in return, a quaking, gnawing sensation growing in her chest whenever she saw him. Kaz had told her nothing was expected of her here but he had also told her he wouldn’t be able to watch out for her; she had to take care of herself. So every time her path crossed with Jesper’s, Inej would slip her fingers into her brass knuckles and keep them hidden in her pocket, waiting. Waiting, and praying she’d be strong enough to fight whatever he might bring her way. But nothing happened. Nothing ever happened. And when Inej finally convinced herself that nothing ever would, she started sleeping in the night clothes he had given her. 

“It didn’t occur to Kaz you’d need real night clothes?” asked Nina, shaking her head.

Inej smiled.

“Demons that don’t sleep forget that other people need to, remember?”

Nina made a sound closer to just exhaling than real laughter. She looked annoyed, but Inej didn’t think she needed to be. Kaz had done a thousand things for her and more. And even the first night they’d walked to the Slat, Inej’s bare feet slowly gathering dust and grime and little nicks on the unpleasant streets of the Barrel, she’s arrived at the Slat to neatly folded collections of clothes sitting on the bed he said was hers; shirts, trousers, socks and real underwear. And it was barely any time later that he appeared again, holding out a pair of boots.

“They won’t work for climbing though, will they?”

She shook her head.

“What will you need?”

“Something with rubber soles. Preferably,”

Kaz had nodded, then he was gone. 

Compared to everything, what was a pair of pyjamas? 

“Can I ask you a question?” asked Nina, pulling a dressing down over her flighty nightdress.  

Inej watched her warily for a moment.

“I guess. I can’t promise that I’ll answer,”

“Do you… do you sleep in your bed at the Slat? Or on the floor,”

Inej swallowed.

“Depends,”

She waited for Nina to prompt her further, genuinely not sure if she would answer her or not, but no further questions came. 

There wasn’t really room to sleep on the floor at the Slat; the room - her room - was barely big enough to fit the bed and the slim chest she kept her clothes in. But some nights she would curl up on the cold boards, her legs partially beneath the bed so there was enough space for her to fit, a thin blanket pulled around her shoulders. Or maybe the duvet, depending on the night. Other times the floor was the worse option, summoning memories of punishments and dark rooms. Inej had once been unable to lift herself off the floor for days, when Tante Heleen had beaten her so badly she couldn’t work for a week. 

“What’s first?” asked Nina, nodding to the timetables Inej had forgotten she was holding.

She looked down at them.

“I’ll see him first,” she said, “for chemistry . I don’t know anything about chemistry,”

“Well with a bit of luck he might,” said Nina, now rooting through her bag, “You can ask him for help, get his attention”

Inej was going to be terrible at this. She knew, theoretically, that Kaz had put her on this job because it would give her better facility for what came next - the part she was actually good at - but she still couldn’t help but continually wonder why on earth he had thought this would be a good idea. 

“Excuse me?” she said, approaching the boy sitting near the end of a row towards the back of the lecture hall, and the empty seat next to him, as soon as she got into the classroom.

It had taken so long to find this building that it was a good job she’d left early. Tonight’s job was definitely to learn the layout of the campus. Inej knew the city’s rooftops intimately, for the most part, but she'd never before had cause to venture through the University District. It sprawled just South of the Geldin District, built neater than the Financial District to its West but still with the same practice of generous spaces between the buildings, roads stretching wider than anything they were used to in the Barrel. The further West you moved through the city the more crowded it became; the buildings got closer to each other, the streets got thinner, even the canals narrowed until they were barely wide enough for the pleasure barges of the Barrel to move through them. 

Wylan Van Eck looked up. If Inej hadn’t already known they were the same age she would’ve thought he was younger than her. His curls were soft, almost glowing in the sun pouring through the window behind them, and Inej noted the silvery line of the little scar above his right cheekbone, just where Nina had said it was. Three thin lines over his eyes, Nina said she’d found, and one down the side of his nose. Inej wondered what had happened. 

“Hi,” she said, “Erm, do you mind if I sit here?”

He looked a little surprised, but nodded all the same.

“Yeah, sure”

“Thanks,” she took the seat next to his and place her notebook on the table, “I’m Inej, I just started here”

“Wylan,” he smiled, a little awkwardly, “Are you a transfer student, then?”

“I’m from Ravka,” she said, trying to calm the twitching of her fingers. It wasn’t like she was lying, “I just moved here,”

Okay, well that that was a lie. But it was close enough.

“Reckon I’m going to have quite a lot to catch up on,”

Wylan hesitated, and then there was a pause so long that Inej thought they were done talking before he said:

“It’s not too difficult a class. If you already studied some chemistry in Ravka I think you’ll be okay,”

Inej had never studied chemistry, but all the same she sighed in what she hoped sounded like relief.

“Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better,”

There was another long bout of silence. The lecture started and Inej made vague, confused notes to keep up appearances, mostly half sentences followed by question marks. The professor had been going on about the same molecule for an entire fifty minutes and Inej was starting to wonder why anyone cared, but Wylan seemed to be paying rapt attention. She watched him closely; she didn’t know how anyone kept all of this nonsense in their heads when they could look back through notes to remind themselves, let alone how Wylan was supposed to manage it. At one point the professor drew the structure of the molecule slowly on the board and Wylan must have been able to count the strokes of the chalk and align them with what they’d been told so far because he traced an almost perfect rendition of it across the desk with his finger, but other than that he didn’t seem to have any way of taking record of the lecture. The class eventually began to filter out.

“How did you find it?” asked Wylan.

“I, erm…” Inej hesitated, “I was a little lost,”

“Which part? I can try to help, if you want - I don’t know any Ravkan though, if it’s because you don’t know it in Kerch,”

Inej looked at her notes. At some point she’d doodled a bunch of flowers in the margin and not much else - maybe she owed Jesper an apology about his butterfly. 

“I’m just not sure chemistry’s my thing,” she admitted, “What does nucleophilic substitution mean?”

“That’s the mechanism,” Wylan explained, “Opposites attract. In this one the carbon is slightly more positive than the bromine it’s bound to, and the hydroxide ion has a negative charge because of the electron pair,”

As he went on and described the movement of the ions, or whatever they were, Inej wasn’t entirely convinced he was still speaking Kerch, but she nodded anyway and tried to sound like she understood. 

“Thank you so much - oh, I should be going, I have another class. I don’t suppose you know where the Gierveld Building is, do you?”

“I’m going that way too,” said Wylan.

Inej already knew that, but she was hoping it was a good sign she was doing her job right that he was happy to volunteer the information.

“What class do you have?”

Inej glanced at her timetable.

“Religious studies,” 

Kaz had seriously signed her up for Religious studies? She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her or not. Probably. Almost definitely.

“Tricks,” he’d told her, when she had once again fruitlessly argued with him about miracles not long ago. She didn’t know why she still bothered, “Frauds, conartists, whatever you want to call them,”

“Saints,”

“Liars,” he pulled a card from thin air, and handed it to her. Queen of Spades. “I don’t see you throwing yourself at the feet of every cheap coin magician you meet, Inej,”

“Those are tricks,” she snapped, “And I don’t throw myself at the feet of anyone,”

Kaz rolled his eyes. He was sitting at his desk in the Crow Club, papers in neat stacks in front of him as he updated the ledgers. Inej knew he only kept books for the sake of Per Haskell, or so he had something to point at for proof when someone skimmed or if the stadwatch claimed he wasn’t paying his taxes; he could track every deal, every exchange, every single coin in his head with barely a second thought. She wondered sometimes what it felt like; was there a neatly organised filing system in his head, like the one she was looking at on his desk and on his shelves? Or did he need those here, because in his mind it was quite the opposite? She imagined all those details, all those memories, clamouring for attention and climbing over each other for the spotlight. Maybe remembering with such accuracy had a kind of price to it, just like everything else in this Saintsforsaken town.

“What about Sankta Alina?” Inej had asked him.

“What about her?”

“She was a living Saint, Kaz, right in front of everyone,”

“Was she? Or was she just a very unlucky girl with the weight of the world shoved on top of her until she wound up crushed to death beneath it? Grisha aren’t Saints,”

“Not all Grisha do what she did,”

“And not all Grisha are martyrs , Inej,” he shook his head, “What are you really worshipping here, if your Saints have to die to be listened to?”

They could chase each other in circles forever and at this rate maybe they would, but that night Inej had left him with parting words muttered in Suli as she swung out into the evening air and seethed at him her entire journey home.

“I have a business class,” said Wylan, standing slowly and running his hand along the desk until he found the slender cane leaning against it, “but we can walk over together,”

Inej smiled.

Chapter Text

“Hey, merchling. It’s Jesper,”

Wylan looked up.

“You don’t have to announce yourself every time, you know. I know it’s you,”

“Really?” asked Jesper, in spite of himself.

“Well for starter’s no-one else calls me merchling ,” Wylan would have been glaring at him if his focus wasn’t ever so slightly too far to the left, “But also I can recognise your voice,”

“Wow, you can already recognise my voice? You must be smitten,”

Wylan’s cheeks heated, and Jesper grinned.

“I recognise everyone’s voices,” he snapped, defensively.

“Relax, I’m teasing. Anyway, can I sit with you?”

Wylan blinked. For a brief moment no-one said anything, and then Wylan quickly nodded and shuffled slightly further along the otherwise empty bench so Jesper could take a seat. It was a new phenomena for Jesper to arrive at a lecture on time; to decide where he wanted to sit instead of hastily perching on the end of anywhere where a space was free. And he’d come to the recent realisation that, other than Helena Dente and a couple of others, rowdy groups he’d been to the Barrel with or pretty almost strangers he probably shouldn’t just sit back down next to without explanation of awkward conversations, Wylan was pretty much the only person round here he knew. He hadn’t hung around long enough to make any real friends. Somehow though, he trusted Wylan. Maybe that was stupid of him - how good was his track record with trust? Then again, how much of that was his own fault?

The lecture began and droned on for what felt like an awful lot longer than the hour that actually passed. Jesper fidgeted, twisting his rings and drumming his fingers against the desk. When the class finally drew to a close and people began to file out, he turned back to Wylan.

“Okay I’m not insane right, we’ve been in here for like five years?”

Wylan smiled, laughing softly.

“It wasn’t… the most interesting lecture we’ve ever had,”

Jesper laughed in agreement, like he’d know. 

“We’re both free the rest of the day, right? Do you wanna go to the library to work on the-?”

“I can’t,” Wylan breathed, almost nervously, his smile dropping “Sorry. I have to get home,”

“Fancy dinner party?” teased Jesper, “Journeying to a royal wedding, perhaps?”

Wylan didn’t laugh.

“I just… I’m not supposed to stay out too long,”

Jesper raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything.

They walked out into the corridor together, and Jesper found himself watching the end of Wylan’s cane tapping from side to side against the glossy wooden boards so distractedly that he almost walked straight into a wall. He spent the evening on a job with Kaz - nothing big, intercepting some shipment of jurda so Kaz could sell it on; they’d repackage it, line the boxes with coffee grounds to hide the scent, and move it out in their own illegal shipments, but that would be someone else’s job - and the night solidly losing at Three Man Bramble and buying drinks he couldn’t afford. He missed his whatever-subject-it-was-supposed-to-be lecture the next morning, but managed to run back to the University District in time to meet Wylan.

“So come one then,” Jesper said, at some point, tapping the end of his fountain pen against the table, “You had to take the business class, but what do you actually want to do?”

Wylan shrugged.

“I’m good at chemistry,”

“But do you like chemistry?”

“What does it matter?” asked Wylan, shaking his head, “Just doing something I like won’t get me anywhere,”

“You don’t need to get anywhere,” Jesper couldn’t help but reply, “You could sit around your fancy house doing nothing for the rest of time, if you wanted to. So why are you here?”

Wylan flushed.

“I wanted to learn,”

“Learn what?”

“Anything. Everything,”

He looked almost earnest in it. Almost.

“Come on, there has to be something specific you want to do,”

“Well why are you here?” asked Wylan, “You said you hate economics, but it’s the only subject we’ve ever talked about. What else do you study?”

Jesper wasn’t actually even sure.

“I’m in the midst of switching around my classes,” he admitted, remembering suddenly that he was supposed to meet the dean tomorrow with his new ideas, “Everything I’ve ever tried wasn’t for me - on the farm, at a gunsmith. I was supposed to come to Kerch to find my direction,”

Wylan nodded, slowly.

“And… have you?”

“Saints, no. I don’t know what I want to do - what else do you study?”

“Chemistry, mathematics, biology,”

Jesper sighed.

“Well they all sound boring as hell. I have to volunteer some ideas of what to study by tomorrow, and at this rate it’s gonna be absolutely nothing,”

When Jesper did show up to his meeting - ten minutes late, but at least that was a considerable improvement on last time - he didn’t actually know what he was planning to say until it came out of his mouth. But then the next morning there he was, sitting next to Wylan at the back of a biology classroom. 

“What happened to this being boring as hell ?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it will be,” said Jesper, lightly, “But you’re smart, and I’m sitting next to you,”

Wylan shuffled and Jesper was trying to figure out if he’d said something wrong, when the figure of Nina Zenik appeared in the doorway. He grinned as she waved and sauntered over. He hadn’t noticed that Wylan had all but completely frozen. 

“Hey gorgeous,” he moved along a little so she could sit down, “Where’s Inej?”

“Doesn’t take bio,” said Nina, at the same time that Wylan said:

“You know Inej?”

Jesper used the second he needed to process that question to introduce Wylan and Nina to each other. Uncomfortable wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how Wylan looked, but Jesper couldn’t tell why. 

“Nina and Inej just moved here from Ravka,” said Jesper, smoothly, “We met the other day. But you know Inej?”

“She’s in my chemistry class,”

Wylan fidgeted with his sleeve whilst Jesper gave Nina a furious, questioning look that she pointedly ignored. What were they doing honing in on Wylan? Jesper definitely didn’t trust that Kaz had any kind of good intentions, and he didn’t want them to get the kid mixed up in whatever scheme he’d concocted this time. 

It also turned out to be pretty annoying to sit in between Wylan and Nina during a biology class, because they both cared . The professor was apparently a big fan of making everyone discuss the topic with each other and they seemed to have to do it every ten minutes, which meant that every ten minutes Jesper had to sit there trying to wrap his head around the size differences between DNA and genes and alleles and chromosomes he was also stuck listening to them both going on about the action of RNA polymerase in the process of transcription. Eventually, he murmured to Wylan:

“I don’t get it; what does the enzyme do?”

“Enzymes are like natural catalysts,” Wylan replied, “The DNA helicase enzyme catalyses a reaction that unwinds the two strands of DNA, and the DNA polymerase enzyme catalyses a reaction that forms a new phosphodiester bond to make a new strand. That one’s like welding; the two pieces of metal you want to connect are the bases, the backbone is what you’re going to use to form the link, and the enzyme is the torch,”

It was like he knew exactly how to explain it in a way Jesper understood. He didn’t know how he did that. Jesper smiled.

“Okay, so when they make the protein it's like welding again, right? Just between amino acids, instead of bases,”

Wylan nodded.

“With peptide bonds, instead of phosphodiester,”

“Well, that’s kind of interesting,” said Jesper, in spite of himself, “It’s just like metalwork. And if you unwound it all without damaging it - that’s what the helicase does, right? - you’d be able to know what all the bases were. So it’s like a code, you could figure out any protein the DNA can make just by reading the bases,”

“Yeah,” Wylan smiled, “That’s the proteome,”

Jesper did his best to listen to the rest of the lecture, trying to follow along with the descriptions of mutations in the order of the bases and what they could lead to. It was an overview, the professor told them, of what they’d be studying in a lot more detail over the coming weeks. As the lecture drew to a close and the students began to file out, he called:

“Do we have a Miss Zenik, in here? Might I have a word?”

Nina glanced back towards Jesper and Wylan, frustrated, but then smiled her way to the front of the room. Jesper looked at Wylan.

“Do you, er… do you think that maybe we could meet up some time to talk about some of the biology stuff from earlier this year? 

“Yeah,” Wylan smiled a little nervously, “Yeah, we could do that. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow. I guess in the morning again?”

There was a pause, and then Wylan ventured:

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to be late home one night, right? We could go to the library after lunch,”

Jesper grinned.

“Sounds like a plan,”

His good mood lasted him all the way to the door. He waited alone in the corridor for Nina to leave the lecture hall, and soon as her foot was over the doorstep he pounced.

“What the hell are you doing with Wylan?”

“My job , Jesper,” she said lightly, tossing her hair over her shoulder as they began to walk down the hallway together, “And anyway what do you care?”

“Don’t turn this around on me. We both know there’s no good intentions behind this, and I’m telling you to leave him alone,”

“Well if you want to take it up with Kaz then be my guest,” she replied, “But I think we all know how that conversation would go,”

*

Jesper didn’t realise how long he and Wylan had been in the library until they left and discovered the sunset was waiting for them. They’d sat downstairs on some of the comfortable sofas beneath the towering bookshelves in a far corner, opposite each other, Jesper cross-legged with a notebook open in his lap. Wylan started by describing mitosis, which Jesper already vaguely knew was how cells replicated. He didn’t stop Wylan though, even when he was going through topics that Jesper already understood. There was something wonderful about watching him explain it.

“The entire world is a puzzle,” Wylan said, “And sometimes you get to learn one bit of it, you solve one piece or one equation, and it’s like it’s clicked into place. Like you won something, by figuring out this tiny piece of the puzzle. I feel like I’ll never know enough about anything, there’s always something new,”

Jesper smiled slowly, watching him, the sunlight warm through the window and drifting over them. 

“Like when I went to the Ice Court,” Wylan was still saying, “All I could think about was the Ice Moat.It’s just a layer of ice over water, but the court is on top of a hill and there’s no aqueduct - where does the moat come from?”

“You went to the Ice Court and that’s what you were thinking about?” Jesper shook his head, “What were you even doing there?”

“I went to an embassy dinner,” Wylan’s voice drifted a little, like he regretted bringing it up in the first place, “When I was a kid,”

Jesper didn’t know why he asked, but his curiosity was piqued so he continued:

“You travel a lot?”

“I used to. Before…” he gestured vaguely towards his eyes, and Jesper found himself wondering again about the little scar above his cheekbone.

“Where did you go?”

“Lots of places; my father used to take me everywhere with him. We went to the Shu oil fields, Elling, the jurda fields near Shrifport,”

“They’re beautiful,” Jesper murmured, thinking of the orange fields at home and forgetting what a stupid thing that was to say, “I mean - sorry,”

“It’s okay. And anyway, that was before the accident. They were beautiful. I’m glad I got to see them. But we don’t really go anywhere anymore, not anywhere that isn’t in Kerch anyway,”

“Why not?”

“This, mostly,” he shrugged, gesturing to his eyes again. Jesper wasn’t sure why that should stop them, “But we lost my mother not long before the accident, and I guess… I guess my father just felt like he was losing us both,”

Jesper wanted to say that was stupid; he hadn’t lost Wylan, Wylan was sitting right there and maybe if his father didn’t suddenly start treating him differently than he used to then it wouldn’t feel like they’d lost anything at all. But all he said was:

“I’m sorry. I…” he breathed, “I lost my mother too, when I was a kid,”

For a strange, stupid moment Jesper reached out and tried to take Wylan’s hand. He didn’t even really know why. But as soon as they touched Wylan flinched near on violently and Jesper drew away.

“Sorry,”

“No - sorry, I -” Wylan fidgeted with his sleeve, “I can’t see it coming; you took me by surprise,”

There was a pause.

“Biology?”

“Biology,”

“Right,” Wylan smiled, “So, erm, meiosis has two specific mechanisms that add more to the daughter cells not being identical. The first is where the homologous pairs cross over each other…”

And on he went. 

Jesper could hardly believe how late it was when they stepped outside, the sky above turned a thousand shades of pink and orange as the sun began to sink over the horizon.

“Gorgeous sunset,” he said, eyes focused above him as he hopped down the last few steps.

He turned back and realised Wylan was still a short way behind him, with one hand on the railing and the other keeping up the rhythmic beat of his cane as he searched for the edge of each step. Jesper was slightly glad he could see him blushing as he bit his tongue and said:

“Oh. Sorry,”

There was a long silence, even after Wylan had reached the the base of the stairs and stood for a moment beside Jesper, before he murmured:

“What does it look like?”

“I don’t…”

Jesper swallowed.

“Okay here, can-” he hesitated, thinking of Wylan flinching away in the library, “Can I take your hand?”

A brief moment passed before Wylan nodded. Jesper closed his hand slowly over Wylan’s, giving the merchling time to pull away if he wanted to. He didn’t. Jesper lifted his arm and pulled Wylan’s gently with him, and pointed out to the horizon.

“Right here, this is soft pink - like spring and cherry blossom, when you can kind of feel it in the air. Then this bit,” he moved their hands slowly, “This is like the jurda fields, and over here it’s a kind of gentle warmth, like late summer evening sitting outside. When the air starts to cool but it’s still comfortable and light. But then here - this is like sitting in front of the fireplace in winter. It’s warm, and you need it to be warm, and it makes you feel…” Jesper looked down at Wylan, and realised that if Wylan could have been staring straight up at him he would have been, pale lashes caught in the light and curls glowing ever so softly. His voice had somehow become a whisper when he finished: “safe,”

Jesper’s breath caught in his throat. He studied Wylan for a moment; those eyes that should have been a slightly brighter shade of blue but were dazzling even as they were, the freckles scattered across his cheeks like lost stars, the curls still shimmering in what was left of the sunlight. It took him a long moment to realise that they were still holding hands.

“Safe?” Wylan whispered, tilting his chin up slightly.

Jesper let his hand trace slowly higher up Wylan’s arm, ready to move away if he stopped him. But he didn’t stop him. Jesper breathed slowly, leaning in, his free hand moving to push one of Wylan’s curls away from his face.

“It’s a pity you don’t know how beautiful your eyes are,”

Wylan blushed as Jesper ran a hand over his cheek and gently tilted his hace up towards his own. He leaned forwards, reading to close the space between them, but Wylan squirmed and Jesper tensed as he pulled his hands away. 

“And me, of course,” he added, letting his voice take on a teasing lilt to brush past the moment, “It’s a shame you don’t know how gorgeous I am,”

Wylan almost smiled, but he had stepped away.

“I - erm,” he brushed his fingers through the lock of hair Jesper had moved and cleared his throat, “Excuse me,”

And then he was gone, and Jesper was standing alone at the bottom of the stone steps, the sunset above his head continuing on impassively.

Dammit, Jesper. What have you done this time?

Chapter Text

If he hadn’t been terrified someone would see him and start asking questions, Wylan would have run all the way home. As it was he walked as fast as he thought he feasibly should be able to, his heart in his throat, too distracted to pay proper attention to his cane - not that it mattered. No-one else on the Geldstraat used one like his, so no-one could accuse him of using it wrong. Probably. He wasn’t really sure. It didn’t make him any less nervous every time anybody saw him. Every time he saw anybody. Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? 

Wylan Van Eck was not blind.

Actually, that’s not true. “Wylan Van Eck” was blind. He had been since the accident, when he was eight. But Wylan wasn’t. Wylan was an idiot and a liar and almost definitely a terrible person. And what was he supposed to do now?

It had been fine when he sat opposite Jesper in the library, complaining about economics. It had even been okay when he thought they might be flirting. It had been okay because they didn’t really know each other and Jesper didn’t really care who he was talking to; Wylan had seen him around the campus before flirting with anyone who looked his way. Wylan just wanted someone to talk to for once. He’d begged his father to let him go to university, and even when he finally relented all he’d said was:

“I thought you trusted me enough to believe me when I said this was a bad idea, Wylan. But if you need to discover it for yourself, I will let you go - just don’t expect sympathy from me when everything goes wrong. You are trying to force your way into a world in which you do not belong,”

And then, of course, there were strict rules to accompany the agreement. They couldn’t risk anyone finding out about Wylan’s deficiencies , could they? For every one of them Wylan found the tiniest, silliest defiances he could muster. He had to be home from class immediately, but he could get there as early as he liked and would sit alone in the library for hours every morning - not even doing anything for fear of being caught, just sitting alone anywhere that was not the house. He was supposed to avoid talking to anyone if he could, so he picked classes that would mean he had to do group projects. They were stupid things, inconsequential, but they meant something. Wylan didn’t know if his father hadn’t noticed he was doing these things on purpose or if he was just letting them slide, but either way he was going to cling to them for as long as he could. 

“What happened to this being boring as hell ?” Wylan had asked Jesper only yesterday, stupidly joyful to discover he was sitting next to him.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it will be. But you’re smart, and I’m sitting next to you,”

Oh. Right. And here Wylan was foolish enough to think he might have made a friend. His first friend, since Anya. 

But anyway, if Jesper wanted to use Wylan because he thought he was smart then he was going to be sorely disappointed. Wylan was not smart. Wylan was useless.

Wylan didn’t remember an exact moment when his father realised that he could not read. He hid it for as long as he could but he must have been six or seven, he supposed, because there had been a long time of trying new methods to teach him even before he started claiming he was blind. Even before his mother died. Wylan had heard them arguing about him several times, but he couldn’t bring to mind what they’d said. And then his mother was ill, and then she was gone. It was all rather blurry. Rather sudden. 

There was also the problem of the Heartrender. Wylan’s stomach dropped like a stone when she walked in - his vision was imperfect through the Tailoring but it was hardly worth real complaint over and he knew that it was her. Did she know? Had she come to accuse him of his lies? What if he’d done something wrong when she was at the house, and his father had punished her like he promised he would Anya? Maybe she was here for revenge.

But Nina - for that was how Jesper introduced her, now - didn’t even show a sign of recognition. She leaned over Jesper and batted back his flirting like they were old friends, even though they’d only met a few days ago, and chatted happily to Wylan about biology until he eventually convinced himself he should join in before they both questioned why he’d fallen quiet. She loved biology, and she was good at it - but she should be, he supposed, if she was a Corporalnik. And yet when Jesper had questions, he turned to Wylan. And Wylan had been stupid enough to convince himself that meant something. He had been so suddenly, unexpectedly, and naïvely enamoured by the idea of finding friends in Jesper, Nina, and Inej that he had not only stayed after class, but he had stayed until sunset. And as soon as he stepped through the door at home he was met by the consequences of it. 

His father didn’t shout. He didn’t even look that angry - just tired. Weary.

“Why didn’t you come home, Wylan?”

Wylan looked at his shoes.

“I was studying,” he mumbled, “I lost track of time. I’m sorry,”

A brief moment passed. 

“You are not to attend classes at the university anymore,” said his father, simply, like he was telling him to wash up before dinner, “Go upstairs and prepare for this evening, it’s lucky you haven’t arrived so late as to burst in upon the event and embarrass us both”

Wylan had forgotten about this evening. His father was hosting a dinner party for the rest of the Merchant Council; Wylan would have to spend the entire night sitting quietly but still acting engaged, answering awkward questions, and trying not to spontaneously combust. Perfect, that was just what he needed today.

“No, father please-”

“We had an agreement, Wylan, and you’ve gone against my wishes. Besides, with your concerning grade in your business class I think we both know what’s happening here don’t we? I tried to warn you,”

You are trying to force your way into a world in which you do not belong.

Wylan felt his cheeks heat. 

“That’s one class!” he found himself crying out, which was probably the worst decision he could have made.

But why did Jan Van Eck only see the struggling business grade? Wylan wasn’t even failing business, he just wasn’t doing as well in it as the others. Why couldn’t his father see the soaring grades in the sciences that Wylan and thrown himself at and buried himself in, in some desperate attempt to make up for all his other failings? He could see now that it had always been a lost cause, that there was nothing he would ever be able to do to apologise for the hurt he had caused his father with his uselessness. 

“Please, father, I promise you I’ll-”

“Don’t talk back to me, Wylan,” his father’s eyes flickered dangerously, but his voice remained level, “You are not to attend classes any more; I shall submit your withdrawal from the school tomorrow morning and if you are going to argue with me then you will stay in your room until such time that I’m convinced you won’t foolishly run off and leave yourself privy to any potential danger again. You are vulnerable , Wylan, and if you aren’t sensible enough to keep to the house yourself then I will be forced to do it for you,”

It was nothing he hadn't heard before. Nothing that hadn’t been done before. Wylan’s bedroom locked from the outside, and had done so for about as long as he could remember. 

“Please-”

“One more word, Wylan, do you hear me?”

And Wylan didn’t know why he did it, didn’t know why he was stupid enough not to just fall silent and do as he was told. But he lifted his chin and said:

“I don’t care. I want to continue attending university,” 

He registered the sting afterwards more than he did the slap itself. His cheek was burning and his neck hurt from moving so suddenly. The unwelcome bite of tears pressed into him and he tried desperately to quash it before his father noticed.

“What you want , Wylan,” his father hissed, as Wylan suddenly realised he was being dragged stumbling up the stairs, “Is entirely irrelevant to what any of us need. Now stay quiet, and I will speak to you tomorrow,” 

And then the door was closed and Wylan heard the lock click shut. He gripped his cane so tightly that his knuckles turned white and he might have snapped the ridiculous thing in two, and then before he really knew why he had thrown it across the room and collapsed onto the carpet. He pulled his knees to his chest and let the waiting tears spill onto his face, bursting from his throat in sobs even as he held his nose to try and force them to be quieter. 

Years ago, after a lousy reading lesson and a similar message of crushing disappointment from his father, Wylan had been sitting on the floor of his bedroom like this when Anya found him. She wasn’t supposed to come into the main house; she was a Grisha Healer, indentured to Wylan’s father after fleeing Ravka, and she was not officially allowed anywhere but her room and the Grisha workshop unless specifically summoned. But she risked it, to come and find him.

“Anya- what are you doing?” he’d whispered, panic rushing in his throat, “he’ll-”

“I could not leave you all alone, could I?” she smiled, moving slowly away from the door she had leant against when she hurriedly pushed it shut.

“But-”

“He won’t find out,” she whispered, “and if he does it is my fault, not yours. Promise,”

It wasn’t himself that Wylan was worried about, but he kept quiet and linked his index finger around Anya’s.

“Promise,” he breathed.

Wylan didn’t know the details but he thought Anya must have left a while before the civil war broke out, because she just seemed to always have been there, and was only a similar age to him - surely she was too young to have been fleeing the fighting? He had never asked her. Maybe she just didn’t want to end up being part of the once-compulsory draft - no-one was less inclined to unnecessary violence than Anya was.

“And yet now I find myself wishing I was a Heartrender,” she’d said to him, stolen into his room to sit on the floor and hold his hand, “so I could make your father sorry for this,”

Wylan just shook his head. 

“It’s not his fault,”

It was part of Anya’s job to Tailor Wylan’s scars, and his eyes too. She hadn’t been told the truth, of course - like when Nina came to work on them, she believed the cloudy layer it brought of Wylan’s eyes was an inescapable byproduct of the process and not the real reason she’d been hired. But Anya was kind and sweet and easy to talk to. Wylan ended up telling her all of it, and as soon as she knew what she was doing she was horrified.

“I can not be part of this,” she’d told him, at first, “I do not want to hurt you like this,”

But Anya had never hurt him. Wylan had hurt her; he didn’t know exactly what he’d done but he knew that she was his only friend in the world, that he had pushed his father too hard, and that one day Anya was gone. 

“She’s no longer under my employment,” his father had said, the last time he ever mentioned her.

It was the only explanation Wylan had been given. It was the only one he dared to ask for. 

Because whatever had happened to Anya - and he had no illusions of it, he knew his father had probably sold her like a bolt of cotton - was entirely Wylan’s fault. 

Now he lay on his bed, listening to the dinner party downstairs, mulling over his father’s words. Did he even want to go back to university? He couldn’t tell Jesper the truth, but he couldn’t go on lying to him either. He was evil, and cruel, and Jesper had looked at him like that… Wylan thought of Jesper’s hand on his, his fingers in his hair, his lips moving closer to Wylan’s. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lie to him - but there was no way of telling him the truth. What would Jesper say if he did? What would he think of him? Maybe this was for the best. Wylan couldn’t face Jesper, he couldn’t face Nina, and if Inej and Nina were here together then he was deluding himself about befriending her as well. The only class he properly looked forward to, except in the past week or so, was mathematics and he already knew almost everything they’d been learning. And his grade in the business and economics class was terrible. He didn’t know what he was doing. It was every proof Jan Van Eck had ever needed of his son’s failings. Wylan listened to the muffled conversations of the dinner party two floors below, the footsteps of staff passing by his door, the distant clattering sounds in the kitchen downstairs, and wondered if anyone had asked where he was. If they had even noticed that he wasn’t there. When the next morning came and his father came to speak to him, Wylan was still lying on his side in the previous day’s clothes, tears tracing down his cheeks. If he’d slept he didn’t remember it.

“You were right,” he whispered, “I never should have gone,”

Van Eck sighed, and Wylan turned slowly to see his father shaking his head. He sat up on the bed and pulled his feet in to perch cross-legged. 

“I tried to warn you, Wylan,”

You are trying to force your way into a world in which you do not belong.

“I know,” he murmured, wishing his voice wasn’t shaking, “I’m sorry,”

And then the tears came again. His father sighed again.

“Don’t cry, Wylan. It’s unbecoming,” 

Wylan wanted to sob that it didn’t matter, because everything he even did was unbecoming , there was no part of him that was not considered such. But he just lowered his gaze, and apologised again. 

“I’ve submitted your withdrawal for you,” said his father, as though it were a great kindness to have done it instead of putting Wylan through the shame of doing it himself.

It probably was.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Take a day. You need to think everything through, and I want you to properly understand that this was a mistake. Then maybe tomorrow we can discuss alternate options for your future,”

Alternate options? Wylan wasn’t sure what he meant by that. University has been his one chance; to find a pathway, to prove to his father that he was worth something. But he’d been wrong. What other options could possibly be left?

Chapter Text

Kaz cracked his knuckles, surveying the blood splattered across his gloves. The man in front of him whimpered, leaning as far away from Kaz as his restraints would allow. His nose was broken and spewing blood faster than one of the ugly city fountains outside the exchange. Kaz’s clock was ticking down - he was supposed to meet Inej in only a few minutes, and he needed to get back to the Slat yet. 

“Are we done here?”

He opened his mouth, only for more thick, black blood to spill over his lips and drip down his face, bubbling in the corner of her mouth. Kaz sighed.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Money by next week, you skip town and I put a bullet in your skull. Nod if you understand,”

He nodded.

“Good,”

Kaz turned on his heel and snatched his cane back from Anika, who was standing in wait next to him, and they began to pace back together. 

“What time is it?”

“Almost five bells,” said Anika, before shoving her little fake-gold watch back into her pocket, “How much does he owe you?”

“A little north of three thousand kruge. You would know that if you read the paperwork I gave you,”

Anika shrugged, and Kaz rolled his eyes. No wonder anyone else ever got anything done around here.

Almost five bells. He was going to be late - he’d have to forgo the Slat and go straight to meet Inej. 

“There’s a line of credit waiting for you at the Crow Club,” he told Anika, “Keep the tables busy. But I need you to stop and update the old man first - and tell him I’m changing some of the shift schedules,”

There was a particular bruiser at the Club that Kaz wanted on a new pattern, so he could see if he was right about him - Big Bolliger. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of coins, tossing them to Anika; her money for tonight’s job, which seemed more than generous considering she threw two punches then just stood there holding his cane. 

“Tell Jesper he has a line of credit as well, but only for the Crow Club. He wants to wander off and get himself into deep shit again I’m not digging him out of it,”

Anika nodded and turned away, as Kaz began to make his way to the meeting point to see Inej. Halfway between East Stave and the University District would be the Financial District, but there was no safe place to meet undetected in the area and Inej could traverse the city much more quickly and subtly than Kaz could, so they were to meet in the Barrel - far South, below the Staves, where the tourists were fewer and the drinks were cheaper, if you cared about that. Kaz wasn’t drinking tonight and he sincerely doubted Inej would be either, but it was hardly a suspicious meeting place for two Barrel rats to wander into a rowdy bar even if they didn't order anything. The hope was that it would be busy enough no-one could overhear them, and far enough away from their usual haunts for anyone to try to do so anyway. By the time Kaz arrived, bad leg complaining at every step in the sudden turn the weather had taken to this damp, drizly misery, Inej was already inside. Kaz nodded to the barkeep and waited for two waters to be placed in front of him, then slid into Inej’s otherwise empty booth. Only when he planted the glasses on the table did she look up.

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming,”

“I was delayed,” he replied, picking up his water without making eye contact.

“I can see that,” Inej murmured, and Kaz realised that her gaze was focused on the blood splattered across his shirt.

He sighed - he wasn’t in the mood to deal with Inej’s righteousness tonight. Or this morning, actually. Dawn was just beginning and the distant, dreary sun leaked through the clouds and crawled over the window sill to vaguely illuminate the booth Inej had chosen. She always chose somewhere with a window, if it was an option. Kaz looked up and saw the sunlight catching in her oil black lashes, fanning lightly over her cheeks as she lowered her eyes to the table and collected one of the discarded menus laying between them. The sky was pink and yellow and golden orange, and when she glanced back up Kaz could see the reflection of it shimmering in Inej’s dark brown eyes. Even the pale, dreary sunlight could turn to glitter in her eyes, like stolen stars shimmering at him across the table. He tensed. 

“Well?”

“Well, all the food here looks terrible,” said Inej, sighing and dropping her menu back onto the desk, “I love Nina but she's a terrible cook; I need real food. But in other news, we have a problem,”

“Problem?”

Inej drummed her fingers against the desk, eyes still flicking through the disappointing menu. 

“I’m not sure local fish is as appealing as they think it is,” she mused, “I’ve seen the water here; there’s nothing good living it,”

Something about the environment of the city? Kaz didn’t have time to crack codes Inej was making up on the spot. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but just as he did she glanced up at the other patrons of the inn, then went back to idly skimming through the menu. Kaz followed her gaze, and his eyes found a Black Tips tattoo sitting at the bar. Dammit - it was a good job Inej was paying attention, because apparently Kaz wasn’t.

“Maybe that’s because they’ve taken all the fish out. What’s the problem?”

“That,” she said, turning over her menu to look at the drinks, “The fish is gone,”

Kaz almost choked on his water.

“Excuse me?”

Inej looked up.

“You lost the target?” he hissed, leaning forwards over the table. 

Inej’s eyes flashed so briefly that Kaz thought he might have imagined it. He flexed his fingers over the crow’s head of his cane as he leant back again, attention flicking towards the thug at the bar. The bruiser wasn’t looking in their direction but that didn’t mean he didn’t know they were there, and if he’d seen them he’d surely recognised them. It wasn’t an unimaginable thing for them to be here and it wasn’t an unimaginable thing for this to be a coincidence, but Kaz didn’t trust coincidences. Neither did Inej, but fate and rotten luck were a debate for another day. 

“Oh, they do cocktails,” she smiled, “I didn’t expect that,”

Something out of character had happened - rotten old inns at the bottom of the Barrel didn’t serve nice cocktails and rich kids with question marks on them didn’t just disappear - and Inej hadn’t been ready to respond to it. Kaz sighed, then begrudgingly took the bait.

“Are you going to order one?”

“I probably shouldn’t,” she mused, lightly, “the last time I had something as strong as these my head ached an entire week,”

He’s been missing for a week.

“A week ?” Kaz spat, struggling to control his tone.

“Well I thought maybe it was just illness,” 

He missed a few days of classes, but people get ill and when they get ill if they’re rich enough they stay at home. It wasn’t worth reporting on.

“But now I’m quite sure it was something else,”

Something else is going on - something more sinister?

“So I had a good think about what could have caused it,”

Scoped out the house, probably the university offices too, just looking for news.

“And I decided the solution was probably to quit drinking,”

Kaz frowned. Had he followed that one right?

“You mean-?”

“Withdrawn,” she dropped her menu and lifted her glass of water to her lips, “Completely out of nowhere; no word of anything since. I felt completely rotten, I’ll tell you, holed up alone in my room and didn’t speak to anyone for days,”

There was a pause. Kaz nodded, slowly.

“There’s nothing I want to eat here,” said Inej, standing up, “We should go back to the Crow Club,”

Kaz stood, leaning heavily against his cane. His leg was grateful for the brief reprieve but Inej was right; they needed to move, so they could lay this out properly and so they were out of here before that Black Tip got ideas. Only they were too late for that.

As soon as they both stood up the bruiser turned towards them, a wicked dagger gleaming in his palm. Kaz sighed as several other patrons came to alert along with him, all drawing their weapons. The rest of the inn either panicked, fell completely silent, or both. Mostly both, actually.

“What business?”

The bruiser at the bar grinned.

“Not business this time, Dirtyhands,”

“Everything’s business,” Kaz said, catching Inej in the corner of his eye. 

He didn’t risk a nod, but she didn’t need any more signal than that fleeting moment of eye contact.

“And as flattered as I am that you’d go through all this just for us,” Kaz pretending to swallow a false yawn, “It’s been a long night. If you’ll excuse me,”

He took a step forwards, smiling at the sudden intensity that took hold of the motley crew surrounding him. They actually looked a little afraid - he was down by at least five men, his chance at a head count had been brief and the odds were about to swing in his direction but it was a fair estimate, and was yet to draw a weapon. And they were afraid . 

“You ain’t going anywhere,” snarled the thug who’d moved away from the bar to close in on Kaz, apparently some sort of ringleader to this group of clowns.

“I don’t know what your boss is after,” Kaz said coolly, “but you can tell him that he won’t get anywhere by having me killed - first and foremost because I have a nasty habit of coming back from the dead. And secondly-”

Kaz’s cane whipped around the back of the bruiser’s legs, finding pressure points in the the back of his knees to bring him stumbling to the ground whilst Kaz grabbed his arm and thrust it backwards until he felt the shoulder popping out the socket. The dagger clattered towards the ground and before anyone could draw breath Kaz’s good leg had come down on the handle so it spun upwards and he could catch it midair in his free, gloved hand. He pressed the blade against the bruiser’s throat.

“- because I don’t take kindly to threats. What’s your name?”

Silence. Kaz pressed the blade closer to the bruiser’s neck, so it just began to break the skin.

“What’s your name?”

“Velthuis,”

Kaz smiled, slowly.

“Even if you manage to kill me today, Velthuis,” he crooned, leaning closer, “you’re starting a war with the Dregs. You really think the Black Tips would survive such a proposition? Because I’m not sure they would,” he tightened his grip on the dagger, and Velthuis released a slight, pained yelp, “I’m definitely sure that you wouldn’t,”

He released him, and stepped back. Kaz had no more intention to start a war with the Black Tips than they did with him; he wasn’t going to kill one of their own in the middle of a busy inn with their own gang members watching, whether he could plead retaliation or not. If they were going to have to fight their way out of this, he needed this skiv to draw first blood.

“He don’t want you dead,” blubbered Velthuis, shaking his head, lifting a hand to the bare scratches Kaz had left on his neck as though they were an open, gaping wound, “Not yet, anyway,”

“What does he want?”

“Information,” he spat, “He wants the-”

Velthuis stopped, looking around and finally realising that Inej was no longer standing next to Kaz.

“Where did she go?”

“Who?”

“I - the Wraith, she was -”

A body thudded to the ground behind Kaz. And then another. And then another. 

They were still breathing, he was quite sure, but they’d be incapacitated for some time. Kaz smiled as he watched the horror spreading across Velthuis’ face. He stumbled to his feet, trying to back away from the sudden carnage, and fell straight into Inej’s knife as she appeared from the shadows behind him. He cried out as she grabbed his shoulder and leaned over, a second knife now pressed against his throat in as many minutes.

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” she breathed, “But you can tell your boss I’m not interested,”

“Let’s move,” said Kaz, turning towards the door.

She forced the bruiser to his knees and patted him lightly on the head, then walked to the door with Kaz following in her wake.

Chapter Text

At first Jesper thought that Wylan was just avoiding him; he’d pushed too far too fast, and Wylan didn’t want to talk about it. But an entire week rolled by without a single sight of him - Jesper managed to make it to one business lecture and two biology lectures, and Wylan wasn’t in any of them. 

“We haven’t seen him all week,” said Nina in a falsely light tone as they left a biology lecture that Jesper hadn’t listened to, “I’ve just been hanging around hoping he’ll show up. Inej went to scope out the house-”

Of course she did. Saints, what did Kaz want with Wylan?

“- and she said he hasn’t left his room once, but he doesn’t seem to be ill. The staff bring him his meals and he doesn’t even talk to them,”

That was two days ago. Now Jesper was sitting at the Crow Club, eavesdropping on a conversation at the next table about a girl from the Menagerie who had gone missing two weeks ago. If there was anything about the disappearance worth knowing then Kaz probably already knew it, but it still couldn’t hurt to pick anything up and pass it on. Might make Jepser feel useful for once. He glanced down at his cards, then tossed a few more chips into the centre of the table and promptly lost. Then again, and then again. Dammit. By the time he was wandering back towards the Slat dawn was beginning, he’d lost count of how many drinks he’d ordered, and he got the fright of his life when the Wraith appeared at his shoulder.

“He dropped out,”

“Saints!” Jesper jumped away, hands flying to his revolvers before he’d had time to properly acknowledge who was there, “Inej what are you - wait, what?”

“Wylan,” said Inej softly, nodding in the direction of the Slat as they slipped out the other side of the thick crowd outside the Crow Club, “He dropped out. Nina and I are coming home,”

“ What ?”

“Kaz isn’t happy,” Inej breathed, “It was an expensive venture to have to cancel the job. But Kaz is never happy, and it isn’t directed at you anymore so I thought you’d want to know,”

Jesper hadn’t quite processed that part yet. Wylan was dropping out? Wylan ?

“Do you know why he’s leaving?”

“No idea. The staff at the house are paid too well to bribe, and as far as listening in got me was that he hasn’t left his room or spoken a word to anyone all week. No word of him dropping out on their end, I found out from the school offices. Anyway, if you’re staying out tonight you need to be alert, Kaz and I just had a run in with the Black Tips,”

Jesper frowned, not really listening to Inej’s last sentence. Something felt off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it - and let’s be fair, he wasn’t sober enough to think it through properly. He blinked, trying to sort through his thoughts, and when he came back into focus he realised that Inej was looking up at him with that look of disappointment catching in her dark eyes. 

“You need to sleep, Jes,”

“What did Kaz want with the kid?”

She shrugged.

“Nothing he told me about. I expect it’s as simple as Van Eck has something Kaz wants, and getting close to Wylan would give us an easy way in. He probably knows some safe code or business details that Kaz wants,”

Jesper shook his head.

“Barking up the wrong tree then, anyway. Wylan isn’t set to inherit the business,”

Inej looked up at him, surprised.

“He said his stepmother’s pregnant, and her kid’ll take it once their grown,”

“His stepmother’s barely older than us, you know,” Inej shook her head, “Married six months ago; two months pregnant. Van Eck… I don’t know. He’s an unusual man. There’s a portrait of him and Alys up where there used to be one of him with Wylan’s mother and Wylan, when he was little. Apparently he had the old one burned,”

“ Burned ?”

Inej nodded.

“Grief is strange,” she murmured, “But there are no portraits of Wylan or his mother anywhere in the house; it’s not even like they’re being stored somewhere,”

Jesper swallowed, his mind slowly catching up to itself. 

“Where’s Nina?”

He needed to talk to her. He needed to ask her about the night she went to the Van Eck mansion. 

“I- at the university, but why-?”

“I’ve got to go,”

“What? Jesper-”

“I’ll be back!” he shouted over his shoulder, as he began to run towards the University District.

He raced back past the Crow Club and towards the canal, then followed it South until he reached the wide waterway that ran beneath the Financial District. This early there was no-one in the area to see him but he felt strangely on show anyway, moving faster than his head could keep up with in the slowly growing light. He had to stop running not long before he got to the university, his brain swimming and his feet unsteady as the dizziness and nausea of the drinks and the sudden movement finally caught up with him. He promptly threw up in the first bin he walked past, and after that there were few thoughts in his head beyond getting to anywhere he could lie down. 

“Oh Saints, Jesper,”

Inej. She had followed him. She followed everybody, somehow. Jesper was faintly amused, and very vaguely aware of Inej’s hand on his as they wandered through the slowly lightening streets of campus.

“Where’s your dorm?”

He directed her absently, and the next thing he was really aware of was stumbling into his room and Inej closing the door behind them. At some point she gave him a glass of water and not long afterwards, Jesper was asleep.

He woke up alone, not many hours later, with the headache to end all headaches and a vague memory of needing to talk to Nina about something important. He couldn’t remember what. What had he been talking to Inej about? The job was cancelled. She and Nina were going back to the Barrel. Kaz was pissed off, but at least he wasn’t pissed off at Jesper anymore. But why…? Wylan. Wylan had dropped out of university.

Jesper sighed, hunting through his wardrobe for the least creased shirt he could find and downing a glass of water before grabbing his revolvers from the desk - Inej must have taken them off him last night - and leaving the dorm room. He’d go back to the Slat, sleep off the headache, and hopefully be conscious again in time for his shift at the Crow Club. He should find Inej and apologise to her as well. But maybe that could wait until after he’d slept. He was so completely and utterly exhausted that he briefly wondered if he was imagining it when he crossed in front of one of the libraries - the one near where he had his business lectures - and saw Wylan Van Eck. 

“Wylan?”

“Jesper…” Wylan paused, then nodded vaguely towards the corner of the building.

They walked to it together, finding themselves stood half hidden in the shadows cast by the tall stone steps that lead up the library. For a moment no-one said anything. Wylan bit his lip.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he whispered.

Jesper hesitated.

“Why are you then?”

“I… I wanted to explain. And apologise,”

“Apologise?”

Apologise for what?

“You asked me what I really want to do,” Wylan swallowed, “It’s music. I… I play the flute, but I never thought it could go anywhere - you know, if I couldn’t see the sheet music,”

“Okay…”

“But I got into the music school in Belendt, just found out. Apparently they’ve had students like me before - even for piano,” his face briefly lit up and then dropped again just as quickly, “I just… I didn’t want to just disappear without telling you,”

Oh. Jesper nodded, slowly. 

“Right,” he shrugged, “Well, thanks. Have fun, I guess,”

“Jesper-”

He turned away. He was being awful and he knew it, but he didn’t want to say anything else. Why should he? Wylan had avoided him for over a week, just to show up and tell him he was leaving - but then something struck him. Had Wylan been avoiding him?

“What do you mean that you’re not supposed to be here?” he asked, slowly turning back to face him.

He hasn’t left his room once, but he doesn’t seem to be ill.

I have to get home pretty quickly after class. My father worries.

He doesn’t even talk to them.

I just… I’m not supposed to stay out too long.

What was Wylan Van Eck doing in the library every day from eight in the morning?

And what had Inej been telling him last night? There are no portraits of Wylan or his mother anywhere in the house.

Wylan’s cheeks flooded.

“I just - I’m supposed to be staying at home,” he managed.

“Why?”

Wylan didn’t say anything for a moment. And then:

“I have to go - I’m sorry. I just wanted to say goodbye,”

“Wylan, what aren’t you telling me?”

Wylan turned around and Jesper felt an unknown panic seizing him. He grabbed Wylan’s wrist to try and pull him back, and the merchling flinched as he spun back to face him. The hand holding his cane rose to cover his face for a bare millisecond before he righted himself again, pulling away from Jesper. 

“What happened? When you got home late last week?”

“Nothing,” Wylan’s face glowed pink, highlighting the scar that stayed thin and silvery over the rush of colour, “ Goodbye , Jesper,”

“Don’t go,”

“I have to, I-”

“No. Look - I have a second place, in the city. I can stay there and you can take my dorm, as long as you need it. I mean, you might want to give me an hour to clean in there but…”

“Jesper I’m going home, and then I’m going to Belendt. I’m sorry, I really just wanted to say goodbye,”

He turned to leave again and Jesper grabbed him arm - refusing to let go this time, even as Wylan tried to twist away.

“I…” he wasn’t entirely certain what his end goal was here, “I can’t let you go back,”

“Let go of me,” said Wylan, quietly.

His voice had suddenly taken on an almost dangerous quality, like something raw was tugging at the edges of his soft, calm tone, and something flashed across the cloudy blue of his eyes. Jesper was reminded briefly and almost disturbingly of Kaz. He let go.

“Wylan, you can’t go back,”

There was long pause, and then Wylan murmured:

“I’m not running away, and I’m not finding out what happens if I try to. I’m sorry, Jesper, I-”

“Please don’t apologise,”

Wylan smiled. He stepped closer and reached out slowly, hand finding Jesper’s wrist and slipping down to tightly squeeze his fingers. He smiled.

“I’m leaving tomorrow. It’s okay, Jes. I promise. I’m okay,”

Nothing was okay. 

But Wylan was walking away and Jesper didn’t know what to do to stop him. There was something going on in that house and Jesper was just standing here, watching, letting Wylan walk straight back into it. But what could he do? He couldn’t force Wylan to stay with him.

There was only one thing he could think of. It was either going to fix everything or make it all ten times worse, but that tended to be how most of Jesper’s ideas went. And he couldn’t see another option.

He was desperate. 

He went to Kaz.

Chapter Text

“And exactly why do I care?” asked Kaz, coolly.

Kaz’s office at the Crow Club was by far the most difficult room to eavesdrop on in any of the Dregs’ main haunts, and Inej didn’t doubt that was why he had chosen it. Inej also didn’t find a lack of windows or accessibility at all off putting, and was currently laying flat on her front so she could just about squeeze into the space between Kaz’s ceiling and the floor above it. There was a gap between some of the slats, barely perceptible from below unless you were at the perfect angle, that Inej had found after only a few weeks of working with the Dregs when she was preparing herself for her first real job by trying to move about the Crow Club undetected. It proved a surprisingly simple task, but Inej had never been quite sure if Kaz knew that she was there. As she peered through the gap now she was gifted the slightly hazy image of Kaz, leaning back in his chair with his gloved fingers closed over the head of his cane, and the very edge of Jesper sitting opposite him at the desk. 

Perhaps Inej should feel guilty for spying on Kaz; here, outside his window at the Slat, through a vent above Per Haskell’s office. But it was him who had made her the Wraith, wasn’t it? You couldn’t train a falcon and expect it not to hunt. If he never bothered to tell her anything himself, she would have to find the information her own way. 

“You’re going to steal the secrets of the rich men of Ketterdam,” he’d told her, months ago, amongst a longer speech. It felt like years ago. It felt like days. “And I’m going to use that information to take that money,”

“What happens when you take their money, and you become a rich man?”

That had made him smile.

“Then you can steal my secrets too,”

Well, Inej had seen the books: Kaz was more than comfortably on his way to being rich. So what if she was jumping the gun a little? Of course she knew, or at least she supposed, that the dark shimmer of humour behind his words was because he would never be rich ; no matter what money Kaz Brekker accrued, he lived in the worst slum in the Barrel, his cash wasn’t safe to just spend without thinking, he would always be DIrtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel. When Kaz said rich he didn’t mean money, not always. He meant old money, real money, Geldin District money. Even Zelvar District; it was earned money, then, not old money, but five kruge from a lawyer would always be worth more than ten of Kaz’s ill-gotten gains. Plenty of people got rich in the Barrel - people like Pekka Rollins, and Tante Heleen - but no-one made real money. Inej had realised a long time ago that you couldn’t make real money, you could only inherit it and add more to the pile. 

“If you want to make anything off that kid-”

“If there’s truth to anything you’ve told me, Jesper, then I wouldn’t have been able to make a penny off him anyway. I’m cutting my losses,”

Inej had come late to the conversation, but she assumed they must be talking about Wylan. Once she’d got Jesper back to his dorm last night, she made him drink two glasses of water and then waited until he’d fallen asleep - it didn’t take long - before she went to find Nina and tell Kaz was calling them home.

“We’re not even hanging around tonight?”

Inej shook her head.

“Everything completely cancelled,”

“Damn,” Nina shook her head, “I owe him back for two weeks income now,”

They’d walked back to the Barrel together, bags in hand, following the waterway along the Southern border of the Financial District until they were at the very bottom of West Stave. Because of the canals and where the bridges were situated, they had to go up past the Crow Club before Inej could turn back towards the Slat. They stopped on the bridge and Nina put her arms around Inej’s shoulders.

“You sure you don’t want to come back to the Slat for a while?” asked Inej.

The sun was rising but Inej was going to try to get a few hours of sleep anyway, and she could tell that Nina was tired as well. But she shook her head, smiling. 

“No, I should get back. I probably have a thousand clients waiting,” she teased, “But I’ll be insisting on taking a nap first, I think,”

Inej stood and watched for a moment as Nina began to head North, and then slowly turned and began to wander back to the Slat. She was exhausted, and she thought she might have managed two hours of sleep since she got back and got everything sorted through, but as soon as she woke up she’d come to the Crow Club and found herself hiding inside Kaz’s ceiling. 

“You reckon she was already dead, or that The Peacock got her?” Rotty was saying to Anika and Pim as Inej walked through the door.

“Too clean,” said Anika, quieter than Rotty had, her words holding more melancholy where his did intrigue, “Nothing I’ve ever heard makes me think she does deaths that clean,”

Inej frowned, feeling a sudden alertness taking hold of her at the sound of that name. The Peacock. That was how the rest of the Barrel referred to Heleen Van Houden, but to her girls it was Tante Heleen or the back of her hand. 

“What happened?” she asked, turning to Rotty and the others.

None of them had realised she was there, and a surprised whisper of Wraith quickly flew between their mouths. She prompted again.

“The Leopard showed back up this morning,” said Rotty, “They found her a couple of hours ago. Dead,”

Inej shivered. At the Menagerie each girl was known by her animal counterpart; a Fjerdan wolf, a Shu serpent, a Zemeni fawn, a Kaelish mare. A Suli lynx. The Leopard was the costume worn by the girl from the Southern Colonies. Inej didn’t know her - no-one had been wearing that cloak when Inej was there, except for the last month of her indenture when a little scrap of a thing from the Colonies had shown up. They’d never spoken, in fact Inej had seen very little of her because the Leopard had spent most of that month in the room downstairs, but Inej had recognised her on the occasional time she crossed through West Stave. A pretty girl with blonde curls and deep brown eyes that looked more like they belonged to a doe, despite the spots painted on her neck and across her collar bones. She’d heard about her going missing because it happened right before she and Nina went to the university and she didn’t doubt rumours had flown across the staves - by all accounts, the Leopard was currently Heleen’s most popular item on display. Or she had been, anyway.

“How?”

“Strangled, it looks like. They left her on the steps outside the Menagerie, I heard the Peacock complaining it’s gonna reduce business,”

Inej’s hand drifted to her knives.

“Where’s Kaz?”

“In his office, with Fahey, last I saw,”

Inej nodded, then walked away and ignored the whispers that surely followed. She slipped upstairs; it was mostly private game rooms up here but none were populated this morning, and the staff room at the far end was probably empty or near it if the rooms weren’t currently in use. Inej slipped into the store cupboard above Kaz’s office and leant against the door, whispering a prayer for a girl with no name. 

“Demo,” said Jesper now, suddenly, as Kaz stood up.

Inej was pulled out of her thoughts. Kaz paused at the corner of his desk, leaning heavily against his cane as he turned back to see Jesper.

“Demo?”

“You said you want more hands on demolitions,” Jesper breathed, “Last week, I heard you telling Raske,”

Kaz conceded it with a nod. Inej was only mildly surprised; Raske was the best demolitions expert in the Barrel, but he was also one man and the only member of the Dregs who knew what he was doing with a bomb. 

“Wylan can do demo. He’s a chemist, Kaz, he can make anything,”

“You’ve seen his work?”

“Yes,”

Inej was pretty sure that was a lie, but apparently Kaz was either fooled or willing to be fooled, because he nodded slowly.

“What are you staking on it?”

Oh Saints, Kaz.

“What?”

“I’m not putting my neck on the line for no reason, Jes. I’ve already lost a lot of money this week, I don’t fancy adding to that. If this goes sideways or the kid isn’t any use to me I want compensation, and I know you don’t have any cash so I need some insurance. What are you staking?”

There was a long pause. An inexplicably long pause, actually. A noise behind Inej made her flinch and she had to restrain a gasp as one of the boards beneath her creaked. Kaz looked up, almost straight at the tiny gap Inej was peering through, but he mustn’t have been at the right angle because he only mused:

“Layla’s dropping my merchandise again,”

Layla waited tables at the Club, and had an unfortunate reputation for accidentally smashing rather expensive bottles and platters. Sometimes Inej wondered why Kaz kept her on, but then she saw her at the tables and knew exactly why; Layla could dazzle anything out of anyone, and she would sail back past Kaz and Inej armed to the teeth with political gossip for Inej to follow up on.

Silence fell back over the office for a time, but Inej could hear footsteps behind her now. Any minute Layla or another staff member could wander in and find her spying on Per Haskell’s best lieutenant, and probably - especially if word of the run-in with Velthuis and the Black Tips was spreading as quickly as she predicted it would - accuse of her of betraying the Dregs. Even though she trusted that Kaz knew she never would, that was a near-on impossible thing to come back from around here. Your gang was your family, and Inej already felt like she didn’t entirely belong. 

“Well?” asked Kaz, after another long moment had passed, “Am I doing this or not?”

Jesper stood up, unslung his gun belt, and dropped his prize revolvers onto Kaz’s desk. 

“Your insurance,”

Inej couldn’t see their faces properly, but she could imagine the exact arch of Kaz’s brow. 

“Alright then,” he said, walking towards the door, “I’m in,”

Chapter Text

Nina left Inej on a bridge just North of the Slat, and began to walk towards West Stave alone. On the way to the Barrel they had watched the world come awake with the final dregs of sunrise - black-suited merchers, mediks, and lawyers appearing and disappearing as they rushed between the streets on their way to work, runners moving back and forth like lightning between the Exchange and the Financial District to update on the earliest news of the day - but here there was no need for the slow progress of early morning; here the streets were as bustling as they would have been at midnight and every hour after, performers and players and tourists shouting and cheering and exchanging that beloved coin. It was perhaps quieter than it would be this evening, but the only true lull in the Barrel came with the lazy hours of mid afternoon. Nina watched the outline of the White Rose growing on the horizon as she darted in and amongst the crowds, lavishing the thought of curling up on her little chaise and closing her eyes for the rest of the day. She didn’t doubt she’d be working this evening but hopefully being back unexpectedly early would mean there was little time to schedule and she’d have a lighter day. Nina didn’t make commission on her work altering moods, so unless there was a good Tailoring job lined up she didn’t feel the need to take on any more clients than was the minimum for her monthly quota. Her percentage cut of the Tailoring was upsettingly low anyway, but she’d take it over nothing. Money was too tight to complain; there was a tiny stash of kruge beneath one of her floorboards, on its approach to two hundred and fifty, and if she didn’t remain frugal for the next month she may be forced to dip into it. She really didn’t want to. That money was earmarked for other means, but if she got any closer to falling behind on her interest payments to Per Haskell she might have to temporarily prioritise her survival over Matthias’ freedom. 

“Nah, I swear!” someone in the goggle-eyed mask of the madman shouted, as Nina slipped by, “I saw it, all splayed over the steps outside the House of Exotics,”

“You’re a damn liar, Al,” laughed his companion, her face hidden beneath the veil of the Lost Bride, “She’s ashes on the Reaper’s Barge by now,”

The same Suli girl from the Willow Switch was performing over the canal again - the swings this time, partnering with a lithe Shu girl in scraps of green silk. Neither of them could have been more than sixteen, and the only section of their arms not covered by glitter were covered instead by the dark ink of the Willow Switch tattoo. The Shu girl flipped in the air and landed upside down on the next swing, knees hooked tightly over the bar. Her long hair came loose as she twisted and fell in a black wave, dangling into the waters of the canal as she swung back and forth, the glittering pins that had held it in place flopping into the water with tiny ripples. The crowd gasped and Nina couldn’t tell if it had been an accident or part of the performance, to hold their intrigue. She hoped it was on purpose, but the brief flash of fear in both girls’ eyes made her doubt that it was.

For no real reason - and she probably shouldn’t have done - Nina stopped and watched the end of the performance. The Suli performed another trick and her hair fell from its tight spiral as well, spinning and shimmering as it unfurled, but Nina was pretty sure she’d seen her loosen the pins. Maybe she thought it would look better if they matched. They finished and landed on the side of the canal, bowing deeply to the crowd and accepting their applause. No-one seemed to notice that, once they’d finished their bow, they did not release each other’s hands. The Shu girl, eyes still frightened above the smile of an actor at the stage door, tightened her grip and mouthed something to the girl next to her, her lips barely daring to move. Even from this distance, it looked distinctly like I’m sorry. 

Nina kept walking. 

As soon as she was through the back door of the White Rose she saw Adrian and Elodie leaving the little kitchen, and as soon as they saw her they faltered. She didn’t notice straight away.

“Hiya, is Feliks in?” asked Nina, shaking the Ketterdam mists out of her sleeve cuffs.

She was already thinking about her nightdress and her blankets as she set down her trunk to briefly stretch out her arms, but if Feliks was at the house she’d let him know the job was done before she went upstairs. 

“Not for another hour yet,” said Elodie, softly.

Her face was slightly hidden behind the silver tea tray she was balancing on her palms, but even so Nina could see that her hair would soon need Tailoring again. Elodie was one of the few in the house that Nina knew for certain was there on indenture - even the salaried staff generally slept in the building just as Nina did, so it wasn’t always easy to tell - because she’d told her so the first time she Tailored her. 

“Will my eyes ever be blue again?” she’d asked quietly, looking up at Nina.

She could only be about twelve. 

“They will,” Nina promised her, “And if I’m still here when you leave then I’ll undo it for you, so you don’t have to wait for it to fade,”

Elodie had just stared at her blankly for a moment, then said “Oh”.

“What’s wrong?” asked Nina, gently coaxing the girl’s head back so she could continue working on her eyes.

Elodie gave a sort of shrug, as best she could from the position.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever leave,”

Now she was teetering slightly and Adrian caught the edge of her tray to level it.

“Go on,” he said, nodding towards the door as he helped her rebalance, “Mister Norell is waiting,”

Elodie’s cheeks flushed for a moment, and then she hurried on her way. Nina rolled her shoulders.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” she said to Adrian, “But would you mind bringing me a cup of tea?”

“Yeah, Nina, but-”

“I’ll make sure to come back down in a few hours, but could you let Feliks know that I’m back when he gets…” she finally took in Adrian’s anxious gaze and fidgeting, “…here - why are you looking at me like that? Oh Saints, don’t look at me like that,” 

Adrian blushed a little, but the nervous energy didn’t leave his twitching fingers or those wide, unnervingly pale eyes.

“Don’t tell me,” she sighed, and then a second of fraught silence: “Okay just tell me,”

“Five clients,” he all but squeaked.

“No,”

“And then the Geldstraat job again,”

“No,”

“The first client is going to be here in twenty minutes,”

“Adrian my love, I’m sorry but if you say one more word I will be forced to shoot the messenger,”

Adrian pursed his lips and Nina noticed that the colour was returning to them; she’d need to Tailor him again soon too. She tried to leave it as long as possible between sessions because Feliks charged them no less than he charged any of the other Tailoring clients would get charged for such a long job, and in the case of Elodie and several others it was added to their indentures. 

“Brekker hasn’t paid him yet,” Adrian but his lip, leaning the teeniest bit farther away from Nina as though she might actually lash out of him, “so he’s going to take it out of your cheque,”

Nina closed her eyes and took a very slow breath. 

“Saints give me strength,” she muttered, just on the off chance the old ghosts might be paying attention. 

“I’m sorry,”

“Not your fault, darling. You got a copy of the schedule?”

Adrian nodded. 

“I’ll bring one up with your tea,”

“You’re a star,” she turned towards the stairs, “See you in a minute,”

There was really very little time to prepare for her first client but luckily it was the third appointment with Langen, a merch from the Zelvar District who visited her once a month - she knew what the plan was, and he wouldn’t have complaints about her recent absence. Nina flung her travel bag into the bottom of her wardrobe, then changed and thrust herself into the uncomfortable fake kefta as quickly as she could manage. By the time Adrian knocked on her door she was sitting in front of the vanity, Tailoring the dark circles under her eyes as best she could in such a rush and running a brush through her slightly tangled hair. Even as she set herself to rights her mind was not yet on work - it was too busy being furious. Kaz must have already told Feliks that she was coming back early, which honestly pissed her off more than knowing he hadn’t paid him yet. But then again, why hadn’t he paid him yet? It seemed a very un-Kaz thing not to have done so. It probably had something to do with whatever money Feliks already owed Kaz; Nina didn’t know or care about the details.

Ah well , she told herself as she gratefully accepted the tea that Adrian had brought her, you can’t change it now. You’ll just have to keep Kaz’s money hostage until he’s settled everything. If there was one thing she could use to bend Kaz Brekker’s insanity to her will, it was cold hard cash. 

Nina had bare minutes to read through the schedule for the rest of the day and she salvaged every one of them. It wasn’t quite as bad as she’d thought it might be; a two hour season now, then no-one until four bells. Plenty of time for a cat nap. Why did they want her back at the Van Eck house so soon though? Nina might ask Inej to follow her again; she felt better knowing where she was going and why she was wanted, but the whole experience had left a strange sense of rotting in her stomach. And she’d have to watch herself now - no saying her name, as little talking as possible in front of Wylan. There was every chance he’d already recognised her voice when they were at the university, but if he had then he hadn’t been obvious about it. 

Nina sighed, finished the last gulp of her tea, then straightened the cuffs of her kefta and flicked her hair over her shoulders. Time to put on a show. 

Or it would have been, if the plan hadn’t gone out of the window very, very quickly. 

Nina glided down the stairs and into the lobby, hand poised on the bannister, mysterious wise Grisha smile setting into place. Langen was sitting on one of the white sofas, an untouched glass of near-colourless wine in front of him on the table. If he drank at all he had never done so in front of Nina, though she always offered and he was of course always given something whilst he waited. His eyes were drifting through the room but she knew that he had seen her, and she gave him a slow nod as she approached. He finally looked up when she was just a few steps away, and stood to meet her.

“Nina,”

“Mr Langen,” she gave him a brief, polite bow of the head, and the next step should have been to ask him to follow her upstairs.

As Nina lifted her gaze back to meet his, she stopped. Across the room she could see Elodie, still with her tea tray as she refilled the bone white teacup of someone who, though he had removed his mask to sip his drink and eat his pale little cake, was dressed in the distinct cape of Mr Crimson. What had actually caught Nina’s eyes was that the man had leaned forwards, close to tiny little Elodie, and his hand was slipping down her back. Elodie gasped and stumbled a pace backwards, then cried out as tea spilled from the pot and onto her hands. She almost dropped the thing and set it hastily down onto the table, rubbing her hand repeatedly down the front of her skirt. Attention turned vaguely towards her and then drifted away again just as quickly, but Elodie’s cheeks had turned scarlet and Nina’s head was crying alarm bells. She stood quite still for a moment, aware of Langen watching her, her eyes on the laughing Mr Crimson as Elodie apologised profusely and tried to reach back to the teapot with shaking hands. He said something Nina was too far away to hear, and then leaned forwards again. 

“Excuse me sir,” Nina said to Langen, “I will be right with you,”

Her tone shifted quite irrevocably as she marched across the room.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Mr Crimson looked up at her, grin not even slipping.

“Just a bit of fun, eh pretty girl? Why, you wanna join us?”

“Sir, I am going to very politely ask you to leave but I am only going to do that one time,”

His eyes flashed. In an instant he had grabbed Elodie’s wrist and pulled her towards him, the cup still in her hand spilling over her shoes as she gasped. 

“Well now I’m just intrigued what happens after that one time,”

“My patience wears thin quick,” she didn’t risk using her power - not yet, at least, though she wouldn’t hold back if she had to - but she clamped her hand onto the collar of his stupid cape and yanked him close to her, “And then things get ugly,”

He shook away from her, shoving Elodie to the floor and advancing on Nina.

“You think your boss’ll be happy with you talking to me that way?”

“My boss isn’t here right now so you will have to deal with me,” she hissed, raising her hands ready to make good on the threat if she needed to, “Get out,”

He made a fumbling grab for her shoulder and she dodged easily, then twisted her arm around his so he was stuck in place as she kicked him hard in the shin.

“Nina!” someone shouted in panic, she wasn’t exactly sure who. 

Everyone was looking at them now. One of the house girls had helped little Elodie to her feet and one of the other servants was looking at the burn on her hand, but Elodie was staring straight at Nina with wide eyes. 

“You get out of this house,” Nina hissed, releasing the man’s arm, “And you don’t fucking come back,”

He glared at her for a moment, eyes wilder than black seas beneath a storm in the night, and then marched through the open doors with a swish and billow of his ugly red cape. Nina breathed. Everyone was still staring at her. 

She took Elodie upstairs - Langen could wait - and sat her down on the little chaise. 

“Are you okay?”

“I ruined my shoes,” she whispered.

“Did you burn your feet?”

“No,”

“You can get new shoes. Are you okay?”

She nodded, a little shakily. 

“Can I see your hand?” 

There was a brief pause before Elodie slipped her hand into Nina’s, and Nina ran her fingers over the reddened skin until it healed. 

“Thank you,”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Nina told her, smiling.

“Not just my hand,” she whispered, “Thank you…”

She trailed away, but Nina nodded.

“I’m always here for that too,” she promised.

There was a brief pause and Elodie’s voice was anxious when she ventured:

“Will you, though? Nina… are you going to get fired?”

“I…” Nina tried to control the shake in her own voice, the real weight of what she’s just done finally hitting her over the head like a sack of bricks, “I don’t know,”

She had attacked a client. She had attacked a client . Oh Saints, she was cooked. What was she going to do if she got fired? Would Kaz be able to find somewhere else for her, or would she be stuck running deeper and deeper into debt with Haskell until… until what? There was no way out of this, not without going back to Ravka - maybe not even then, what money did the Triumvirate have to bail her out? And she couldn’t go back anyway. She couldn’t abandon Matthias any further than she already had. 

Elodie shuffled closer and Nina offered her an arm so she could lean in.

“I don’t like it here,” she whispered, resting her head against Nina’s side.

“I know you don’t, poppet,” Nina murmured, “I’m sorry. We’re gonna figure it out though, yeah? You and me,”

“Really?”

“Promise,” 

What a stupid fucking thing to say. But if it made Elodie smile, even for the briefest moment, was it okay to lie so terribly?

Chapter Text

Going to see Jesper had been a mistake. Wylan could see that now. How damn ironic, he knew, but still. He shouldn’t have gone back to the university, and he didn’t really know why he’d done it. I really just wanted to say goodbye. What could he have possibly stood to gain?

It had been surprisingly easy to slip out of the house. Wylan’s door actually hadn’t been locked most of this week, but he didn’t know that because he hadn’t bothered to try it and he hadn’t been paying enough attention when the servants came in and out with his food to listen for the clicking sound. Only once had someone spoken to him; Paige, a maid a similar age to Wylan and a girl with whom he had made occasional conversation before Anya had been sent away. He didn’t put anyone through the danger of his presence, after that. 

“Master Van Eck?” she’d asked nervously, setting a little tray onto the table.

Wylan blinked slowly, his unseeing eyes staring focused on the curtains and without bothering to turn towards the sound of her voice. 

“He’s not here,” 

Paige stared at him for a moment quite startled, and then left the room. He wondered if she would leave the door unlocked for him, as she had once before a long time ago, or if she was done taking punishments on his behalf. He hoped she wasn’t foolish enough to help him. He didn’t try the door. 

“Why does nobody in this house have half a brain but you?” Anya had asked him once, folding her arms into a grumpy knot.

They were sitting in the Grisha workshop at the back of the house, Anya’s deft fingers just finished moving over a purple bruise on Wylan’s arm. He didn’t remember how it had got there by now, but he remembered sitting there with her as it shrank beneath her touch. Wylan was pretty sure that if he were the one with half a brain they’d be in a very different situation, but all he said was:

“What do you mean?”

She jutted her chin towards the door of the workshop, where a servant had just left after bringing them both tea, apparently forgetting that Wylan wasn’t supposed to be able to see the gesture. 

“They must know what is happening,” she said, “Why do they let it?”

Wylan wasn’t sure he knew what she meant. No-one else in the house knew that Wylan’s blindness was false or the reasoning behind it, or as far as he knew anyway. The only person he’d ever voiced it aloud to was Anya, even private conversations with his father treated the lie as a fact, and Wylan found Even Alys believed the half-baked story of an accident of undisclosed nature, but this conversation had come long before her appearance in the house. 

“They must see what he does, hear him talk to you,”

Wylan shrugged.

“So what?”

“So are they all fools?” she’d asked impatiently, “Why do they not help you? Tell someone?”

Wylan almost laughed.

“Tell whom?”

“I don’t kn- the stadwatch ,” 

“So they can be discredited, ignored, and lose their employment?” he asked, out of habit running his hand along the table until he found his mug instead of just lifting the tea straight to his lips, “There’s no need to help me, and even if they wanted to they’ve no choice,”

Anya’s frown just deepened. 

“They have more choice than you or I,”

Wylan felt uncomfortable to be aligned with her like that; it felt cruel on his behalf to try and compare their situations. Anya had far less than Wylan ever would and even if his autonomy was half as limited as hers she had not brought such things upon herself, as he had. Anyway, Wylan didn’t need help because all of this was necessary - but the last time he tried to point that out to Anya she’d fallen quiet for a time. When he turned to see her, wondering what had happened and if he ought to try and draw her back into conversation, she’d looked like she might be about to cry. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done to upset her, but avoided mentioning such things after that. Maybe she was ashamed of their comfort with each other, when she remembered what he was. Anya didn’t believe in Ghezen but Wylan didn’t doubt people could be curses from the Saints as well, and he supposed it made her nervous to be confronted by it. He didn’t want to lose her, so he kept quiet. 

Wylan wondered what Anya would say to him now. He hoped that wherever she was she was safe. Maybe he could try to find her - but he had no idea where to start, and he had no money to free her from her indenture. And he would need someone to read her contract; he couldn’t trust anyone but her for that, and she didn’t read much Kerch.

But since telling him about Belendt, Wylan’s father had seemed to be in the closest he could get to a pleasant mood. When he and Alys left that morning - he hadn’t deigned to tell Wylan where they were going and Wylan didn’t really care - Wylan watched them go from his bedroom window. It wasn’t until they’d disappeared from view that he ventured to his door and found it was unlocked. 

He made it back in time for his absence to remain unnoticed, but it all left a gnawing feeling in his gut.

I can’t let you go back.

But Jesper didn’t know what he was. He shouldn’t have gone. He should have just vanished and faded and let himself be forgotten. He was almost looking forward to that. Wylan couldn’t lie to himself enough to believe that things would be different in Belendt; he would still be lying about his sight, and it would make him too noticeable to have his name unsaid. Maybe he would be far away enough from Ketterdam that being a Van Eck didn’t mean being one of those Van Ecks, but maybe his blindness would just pin him to it anyway. Still, it was another chance - and he wasn’t going to screw this one up. 

He was to leave tomorrow morning, with the sunrise his father had said, so now he packed his things together as nearly and as quickly as he could manage; the trunk that would follow after him was mostly just filled with folded piles of his clothes, but in his travel bag he had clothes for the first couple of days tucked beneath his flute, and the odd other thing he came across and thought he might want to have with him on the journey. He filled a water flask and added it in, and having not left the city since he was a young child he wasn’t sure what the length of the journey would feel like so he put a few crackers wrapped in waxy fabric into the inside pocket in case he was going to need a snack. 

“Are you feeling better, Wylan?” asked Alys, when Wylan ventured downstairs with his bag.

His father must have told her he was ill. Wylan thought he must tell her that quite often; she probably thought he had some kind of weak immune system, but better lies than letting her know the real ways he was weak. She had strange habits around him for her belief that he was blind, including occasionally over pronouncing words as if he didn’t know what she was saying.

“It’s me,” she added, now, as he turned towards her voice, “ Alys ,”

Wylan smiled, nodding.

“I know,” he told her politely, “And yes, thank you, much better,”

Bidding her goodbye was brief and awkward, and Wylan found himself slightly dazed as she nattered on about what baking projects they could perhaps undertake together when he returned for the holidays. All he could think of was the baby; he knew that she was pregnant but somehow seeing the little bump beginning to form and the way she’s put it - soon we’ll have a new friend to play with - had seemed to knock him right out. He wondered if it had always been the plan to pull him from the university and send him away, no matter if he’d stayed late that night in the library or not. He would be out of sight and out of mind, and no-one would bat an eye when Alys’ child was set to inherit the Van Eck empire. Wylan would fade into the background, just as he was supposed to; he was not supposed to be a leader or a businessman or a scholar, he was hardly supposed to exist. You are trying to force your way into a world in which you do not belong. 

Well fine, he would vanish. Maybe it would make him happy. Maybe it would at least make his father happy. 

“Your father wants a good strong boy, of course,” Alys was saying, when Wylan remembered he was supposed to be listening, “but I think it’s going to be a girl, and I’ll tell you why…”

On she went. Wylan watched her, nodding when he thought he was supposed to. Somehow hearing her talk about the baby struck him with the reminder that she was only a few years older than he was, in a marriage he knew she hadn't chosen. He didn’t know how his father could walk down the street with her without feeling ashamed. But at least she seemed happy, he thought. He hoped she was. 

The rest of the evening passed slowly. Nina was supposed to be coming to the house again - or at least Wylan assumed it must be her, his father hasn’t specified - but the midnight appointment came and went without her ever appearing. How was his Tailoring to be kept up when he was in Belendt? Wylan wasn’t sure. But his father had told him he’d arranged for him to have a private secretary, who would handle correspondence on Wylan’s behalf, so perhaps they would know to arrange something for him. He didn’t want to ask his father. When Nina didn’t show he thought Jan Van Eck would get angry, but he just released a heavy sigh and sent Wylan up to bed. 

“You have a long day tomorrow,” he said, lightly, “Rest while you can,”

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and placed a heavy envelope into Wylan‘s hands, guiding him to take hold of it as though Wylan really couldn’t see the thing. It was always like that, even when they were alone. Why risk it? Why break the habit and let yourself get caught? 

“These are your enrolment papers,” he told him, “Keep them safe on the journey, and give them to your secretary when you arrive,”

That was as close to a goodbye as they came. Wylan would take what he could get. By tomorrow it wouldn’t matter, would it? One can but hope, anyway. 

Chapter Text

By the time he was leaving Kaz’s office, Jesper already missed his revolvers. He hadn’t entirely expected Kaz to agree to the offer, let alone entertained the thought of actually not having the guns with him, and now he felt their absence as he paced back into the Crow Club. 

“Really?” Jesper had asked, staring at Kaz, “You’ll do it?”

Kaz held out his gloved hand, expression unchanged.

“Revolvers,”

“I’ll need them for the-”

“You can make do with something else for the night,”

“But-”

“We both know that you’re a pretty unstable credit risk, Jes, and we both know that I don’t strike bargains that won’t be kept to or that I know I can make people keep to. Revolvers,”

Jesper hesitated, then picked them up from where he’d placed them on the desk and handed them over. He knew Kaz had two safes, one at the Slat and one at the Crow Club, and he also knew the code for the one at the Slat was more complicated. But either Kaz didn’t care about it potentially being easier to break into or he didn’t want anyone else to know about their deal, because Jesper had to stand fidgeting unhappily as he watched his guns disappear into the wall of Kaz’s office. 

“You know they aren’t worth what you already owe me,” said Kaz, coolly, “Even if I end up keeping them-”

“You won’t,” Jesper hurried, “But yeah, I know,”

This only covered what Jesper would owe Kaz if Wylan didn’t prove useful to him, it wouldn’t eat away at any of his debt. Jesper didn’t expect it to. Kaz extended a hand across the desk.

“The deal is the deal,”

Jesper wondered, not for the first time, why Kaz wore those gloves. He had never seen him without them, but he wasn’t sure that anyone had. It was perhaps an entertaining thought to consider his potential claws, but Jesper didn’t doubt something more sinister than a fairytale was hiding behind the theatre.

“The deal is the deal,” he agreed.

They shook. 

“Find Inej, she should be here or on her way,” said Kaz, glancing briefly towards the ceiling as he spoke, “If we’re going to go forwards with this we need to find out what their plan is, as quickly as possible,”

Now, as Jesper walked back out onto the floor of the Crow Club with his hands fidgeting unhappily over his empty holsters, Inej appeared at his side. She nodded across the room and they walked together in silence for a moment - whatever she was about to tell him, she wanted Kaz out of earshot.

Jesper wasn’t sure it would matter - Kaz tended to know everything, whether you avoided him or not. But maybe that was because it was nigh on impossible to avoid Inej, and she reported back. Jesper couldn’t help but wonder again if that bargain went both ways, if Inej knew the things that Jesper had told only to Kaz and no-one else. She had never mentioned it, never so much as given him a sidewards glance when the topic came up in conversation, but he thought she might have clocked some level of his discomfort with such things and it made him nervous. He had to remind himself that he could trust her - at least as far as Kaz could trust her, and it seemed Kaz would trust her with almost anything. Maybe Jesper shouldn’t feel stung by that, but his gunbelt and his wallet were still both empty. 

The Crow Club was relatively busy, considering it was still before noon, and the overlapping voices began to provide cover for conversations as Jespr and Inej wandered farther from Kaz’s office. Anika nodded at them as they passed her table, laying her cards out and drawing in a small pile of winnings from a group of Shu tourists. Jesper’s fingers itched. 

“Are you going to tell me why you just staked your prize revolvers on the likelihood that a boy you met two weeks ago will happen to be good at demo?” asked Inej, her tone deceptively calm.

Jesper frowned, his attention snapping back to the problem at hand. 

“Should I be concerned that you know that?”

“If you wish to be,” she shrugged, “But you probably shouldn’t be surprised. Now we both know that boy hasn’t so much as built a firecracker his entire life so tell me why you did that,”

He swallowed. To be entirely honest he wasn’t sure, but he knew he had to help Wylan and maybe if he could convince the kid to do even one or two jobs for Kaz he would be able to. It had been a last minute gambit to call demolitions, and Jesper didn’t tend to have the greatest luck with such things, but he had to do something. 

“It will work,” was all he told her.

Inej didn’t look particularly convinced.

As it turned out, she hadn’t heard the entire conversation. Jesper filled her in with quick, broad brushstrokes - to be entirely honest that was really all he knew - and watched a little divot growing on her forehead as her eyebrows furrowed deeper with every word. 

“What’s the time?”

“Almost twelve bells,”

“Alright,” Inej nodded, slowly, “and he’s supposed to leave tomorrow morning?”

Jesper nodded.

“Give me three hours,”

“Three hours? We need time to make a plan-”

“Three hours. I’ll be back,”

Jesper didn’t have a chance to protest again, because Inej had already vanished. He found himself a miserable lump of a pistol and slipped it into his holster so he wasn’t completely defenceless, then played a few hands of Three Man Bramble to try and control his fizzing nerves. It didn’t help much. When Inej returned he was sitting at the bar and she took a seat next to him, ordering a drink before she said:

“You were right. It’s a hit,”

Jesper almost spat out his drink.

“A hit ?”

Inej nodded, taking her glass from the lad on the bar tonight - Kortier, his bare, muscular biceps almost pulsating with tattoos. He had the Dregs’ crow and cup, of course, as they all did, but it was almost difficult to spot amongst the others.

“A hit,” she repeated, by way of confirmation, “And by all accounts not a particularly tidy one. You’d think a man hiding that many properties and cheating that many taxes knew how to better hide a paper trail,”

Jesper could hardly believe what he was hearing. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, exactly, and he hadn’t expected it to be good, but a hit ? Jan Van Eck was planning the assassination of his own child. What on earth could motivate the premeditated murder of your own son? There was a long silence before he dared to murmur.

“What’s he gonna do?”

“He’s hired two toughs,” said Inej, swirling the drink in her hand, “and booked three tickets to Belendt, but he’s leaving the details up to them. It doesn't seem he really cares, so long as Wylan steps onto that boat in Ketterdam and never steps off the other side,”

Jesper felt a bit sick. Inej sipped her drink.

“So… what do we do?”

“We talk to Kaz,” Inej glanced behind her, as though Dirtyhands could hear them from across the room and through his closed office door, “And we pray you can convince the kid to do some demo, or Saints only know what’ll happen to him next,”

*

“I still think we should’ve brought back up,” Jesper sighed, fingers dancing unhappily along the edge of his pistol. 

They were walking through the Barrel, making their way North slowly enough that they wouldn’t attract attention but well-timed enough to get towards the docks before Wylan’s boat was due to leave for Belendt. Inej shrugged, hands finding comfort resting on her knives. Jesper’s fingers twitched. 

Night had long since fallen and Kaz’s plan had been set in place, but Jesper was on edge. Something didn’t feel quite right, and he couldn’t tell if it was because something was off or just because of the inherent absurdness of this job. He was just anxious without his revolvers, he told himself, and worried about what the hell was going on with Wylan. And with what to say to Wylan as well; he had some explaining to do anyway, adding so, funny story, I’m here to stop your Da from murdering you and also if this is gonna work I need you to convince the most terrifying person you’ll ever meet that you know how to build bombs was making for a slightly concerning mix. Jesper twisted one of his rings around his finger and watched the empty shadows in the alley ahead of them. The world was quiet here - disconcertingly so. Even for the backstreets, this felt too quiet.

“Two on two,” Inej shrugged, “We just need to get to them before the get to the boat,”

The plan was theoretically simple: apprehend Wylan and whomever his father had hired along the dock, before they reached the boat, and take care of the toughs as quickly and discreetly as possible before bringing Wylan back to the Barrel. If they were late, they’d have to follow the boat back down the canals of the city and try to reach them; the Belendt line travelled inland and had a second stop farther South in the city, but Kaz reckoned Wylan would be dead before they reached it. 

“It’s too well organised to be a last minute plan,” Kaz had said, voice as cool and even as ever, his expression unreadable, “Van Eck knows what he’s doing, and unfortunately for Wylan he isn’t an idiot. If you miss them at the docks it may be too late. If they leave the city before you get to them, he’s cooked,”

“Encouraging,” sighed Inej, “Glad to know you believe in us,”

Kaz ignored her. 

“So what do we do if we miss them?” asked Jesper.

“Don’t miss them,” said Kaz, “Or shout goodbye to your little boyfriend from land because you aren’t going to manage any closer than that,”

Jesper muttered a few choice words under his breath in Zemeni, letting Kaz guess at what they meant. 

Inej caught Jesper’s arm, stopping him midstep, and shook her head. He followed her gaze into the shadows to their left, but he couldn’t see anything.

“Wh-?”

Inej pressed a finger to her lips.

Jepser tensed, hand poised over his pistol as Inej shucked two knives out of their quickdraws and into her palms. She turned slowly, weapons raised, and Jesper followed so they could circle the thin, tipsy little alley back to back.

“Whose territory are we in?” he whispered.

“On the edge of Razorgulls’,” she breathed, “But if I’m right…”

There was a brief flash of something, a sound of flapping fabric in the shadows. 

“What business?” Inej asked of the darkness.

A soft laugh echoed off the walls, rolling in ripples from the figure of a woman clad in black and grey as she melted into view. She was tall - though not as tall as Jesper - with long angular limbs that gave her the air of a stick insect, an image not particularly flattered by the antenna-like raise her plaited hair  brought over her scalp. 

“Liesbeth,” Inej sighed, shaking her head.

The image clicked into place for Jesper - Liesbeth Stoevelaar, spider for the Black Tips, would’ve been considered excellent at her job if Inej weren’t her competition. She was perhaps five years older than them - but maybe a little less, it was difficult to tell amongst these shadows and Jesper had never had cause to meet her before. 

“Wraith,” she crooned, “A pleasure, as always,”

“I’m sure,” Inej’s voice was cool, “But I can only see two potential reasons for you being here; I’m not interested in one of them and I’m too preoccupied to bother entertaining the other, so if you’ll excuse us I think we’ll be on our way,”

Inej stepped forwards and Jesper made to follow, but Liesbeth’s hand shot out like a bullet to land itself on Inej’s shoulder.

“I only want to talk,”

Inej’s eyes were dark stone.

“I’d let go of me, if I were you,”

“And if I don’t?”

Inej smiled.

“You’ll have to learn to climb one-handed,”

Liesbeth’s laugh came short and sudden this time, the lines beneath her eyes briefly creasing before her face settled again. 

“Oh you have a bark,” she grinned, “but from what I recall you don’t have too much bite. Do you still not kill, Wraith, or will you be falling on your Saints’ mercy in the afterlife?”

“Don’t make me regret letting you live, Liesbeth,”

“You didn’t let me live,” she snapped, her humour vanishing as she dropped her grip on Inej’s shoulder. 

Inej just sighed. Jesper was getting nervous - but he wasn’t stupid enough to draw lead, unprovoked, on someone else’s territory. Still, the clock was ticking down, and Liesbeth didn’t seem to be here for a quick hello.

“What do you want?” he asked.

The woman looked up as though she’d only just realised he was there, and frowned. 

“Fahey, right?”

He nodded.

“With you,” she mused, “very little. But my boss has a proposition for the Wraith, and if you’re smart Inej-”

“I already told him I’m not interested,” Inej cut in, “Or was Velthuis too busy blubbering to pass the message on?”

“Oh we got your message,” Liesbeth sighed, “I’m not here so we can repeat ourselves - but the interest hasn’t dropped, you see. You’ll be coming to see us one way or another, so long as my boss gets his way. And trust me, he always gets his way,”

There was a pause; Liesbeth was waiting for Inej to reply and Inej was refusing to give it to her. Eventually, the older woman continued:

“I’m not here on his behalf tonight - I’m here for me. The fact is, Wraith, that now he’s developed a growing interest in you you’re not just competition anymore; you’re a problem. And I deal with problems via the toe of my boot. If you take his deal, I’ll probably lose my job. If he finds some other way of bending you to his will, I’ll probably lose my job,” Liesbeth rolled her shoulders, and Jesper caught a brief glint of metal, “But if I bring you in? If I split that pretty little skull open so the secrets all come tumbling out, mop away the mess, then pass them on myself?” her smile widened, a wild cat about to pounce, “Then everybody wins. Well, except you my dear, but I don’t much care about that,”

Inej sighed.

“I thought as much,” she conceded, “But as I said: I’m currently preoccupied. Perhaps you’d like to make an appointment some other time,”

Liesbeth laughed again.

“I wonder if Brekker’s going to miss that wit,”

The claws came out. 

Chapter Text

Kaz left Jesper and Inej at the Crow Club with their plan not long after Inej had returned from the Geldstraat, following the busy streets North and along to West Stave. The elusive sun was making its second appearance of the month, a rare occurrence in Ketterdam, but it was ruined by the clouds and mist and growing threat of a storm on the horizon. A far more common occurrence for Ketterdam. Kaz didn’t mind the damp cold air of the slightly greyed quality of the sky today though; what good would sunshine do him?

He crossed Goedmedbridge and approached the White Rose, eyes drifting farther ahead and to the other side of the canal to see the glistening façade of the Menagerie. It wasn’t closed - Kaz wasn’t sure it ever closed, few businesses in the Barrel ever did unless there was no other choice - but the crowds were certainly thinner than usual. Dead girls on your doorstep were bad for business. It might have actually been better to close for a day, to let the rumour mill die down and the suspicion be replaced with intrigue before the doors opened again. But apparently Heleen Van Houden disagreed, and the doors remained open. Or they would have done; the lower floor of the Menagerie didn’t really have doors, as such, but was more of an open courtyard with the rest of the birdcage teetering above it, only the back wall was solid and along it ran the staircases to the upper floors. On the occasional time the building was closed, the doors at the top of the stairs were locked, the girls and anything else of value tucked safely away above them. 

Part of Kaz wondered what had happened to the Leopard over the past week, part of him was pretty sure he knew. He paused for a brief moment as the feathered figure of Heleen appeared in the parlour, letting his eyes follow her across the building. As though she could feel his eyes on her, the Peacock stopped and turned to face him. Kaz doubted she could see him properly from across the canal - he could only she it was her from the extravagant blue silhouette she cut across the image but as she stayed in place looking across the canal for a moment he thought that perhaps she was seeing him a similar way, recognisable as a shadow-clad black suit in the swirling rivers of tourists in colourful capes. He turned away. 

As soon as he stepped into the parlour of the White Rose, the boy behind his desk caught his eye. His white hair was either too long for his face or poorly styled, and it flopped slightly into his colourless eyes so he had to push it out of his way to see anything. Kaz had once asked Nina if the removal of the eye colour actually affected the sight, and ended up with a half hour lecture on something called rod and cone cells that he hadn’t bargained for, but in short the answer was no. 

Kaz wrinkled his nose beneath the stench of the falsely perfume roses hanging above the desk, matching the ones that climbed the front of the building and bloomed somewhere between spirited and drooping in the strangely sized plant pots that seemed to shimmer where they sat between the white sofas, as though someone had trapped the stars in between layers of linoleum. They were incomprehensibly ugly. 

“Mister Brekker,” the boy - Adrian something? - began, as Kaz approached the desk like a run of spilt ink across the white parchment of the space, “Nina is with a client,”

Good. Feliks hadn’t fired her yet, then, unless of course he was just trying to wring every last coin out of her he could before he sent her on her way. 

Nina had shown up in Kaz’s office not long after Inej had left for the Van Eck house, convinced she was about to lose her job. Kaz leaned back in his chair, drumming his gloved fingers along the crow’s head of his cane as he leant it against his knee. 

“Am I missing something here?”

Nina had only frowned, glancing briefly over her shoulder as if the question wasn’t directed at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m failing to see what you did wrong,”

She sighed.

“I’m not sure Feliks is going to see it that way, Kaz,” she seemed to drift for a brief moment, “I haven’t seen him yet but… If I’m not careful he might get rid of Elodie too,”

“The girl?”

“I’ve seen it before,” Nina shrugged, “She was the root cause of the problem, wasn’t she? I just-”

Kaz sucked his teeth for a moment.

“You know how much her indenture is?”

“No idea,”

“We’re short staffed on tables at the Club,” he sighed, “If she wants a salaried-”

“She’s twelve, Kaz, you can’t put her in a gambling hall,”

“I worked a bar when I was eleven, Zenik, and it was better than my previous job,”

It had still been shit, mind you, but better than his previous job.

“You were on your second job at eleven?”

“You catch on quick,” he said, not bothering to mention it was actually his third, and when Nina only rolled her eyes: “Well were you at eleven, miss high and mighty?”

“I was in a classroom, Brekker, like a normal person,”

Kaz almost laughed. 

“What year were you born, Nina dear?”

“I - why is that relevant?”

“Well I’d like to have some confirmation, because sometimes you say the kind of shit that convinces me you’ve only just stepped out of your goddamn cradle,”

Now Kaz adjusted his grip on his cane to reposition it - his leg was complaining at the angle and doubtless at the damp hanging in the air as well - as he distractedly caught the edge of a conversation behind him. 

“I’m not here for her,” he said, and when Adrian looked briefly surprised before trying to school his features back to the remarkably blank state he kept them in, as though he were trying to keep his personality as colourless as his Tailored skin, added: “I need to talk to Feliks,”

The boy swallowed.

“About…” he glanced towards the stairs.

Kaz just nodded.

“Where’s the girl?”

“Downstairs,”

He nodded, slowly.

“There’s two people behind me trying to direct your business to the Menagerie,” he turned and began to walk towards the office, “When Nina’s done tell her to find me,”

Chapter Text

Liesbeth struck first. 

Inej dove backwards as a blade arced over her head, so close to her nose she could hear it moving through the air, and rebalanced on the balls of her feet to remain standing as she tried to control her steps backwards. She saw Jesper draw his pistol and quickly waved him off - gunshots would surely draw attention and they were on Razorgulls’ territory, but with a bit of luck she could keep this knife fight quick, neat, and quiet. 

Liesbeth was strong and violent and by the looks of things not as utterly exhausted as Inej and her two hours of sleep in as many days were, but Inej’s one advantage was that Liesbeth didn’t want to kill her - yet. Of course there was always the chance that she’d mortally wound her and just drag her to a Corporalnik, but if she wanted her to talk Inej doubted that was the plan. She’d want to hurt her, certainly, but only enough to get her off her feet and end the fight. Of course then she’d probably torture her, but for now that tiny slither of advantage was still Inej’s. They both wanted her to survive this fight. 

Liesbeth was not better than Inej. But she was older, had been doing this for longer, had all the real motivation behind her in this fight. She was taller, her reach was longer than Inej’s, but maybe it would throw off her balance. Inej was very aware of the clock ticking lower. It was almost sunrise, almost time for the first boat on the Belendt line to leave the Ketterdam docks behind. How long would the walk be from here - twenty, twenty five minutes? 

Metal flashed and Inej caught Liesbeth’s arm in the air, struggling to find purchase as she drew her knives.

 “Jesper,” she managed through gritted teeth, as she dodged a blade and just missed catching Liesbeth’s flesh with her own, “Go,”

“Inej-”

“There isn’t time,”

Jesper turned and began to head for the mouth of the alley, and Inej made the mistake of watching him. She hissed as Liesbeth’s knife sliced across her arm, blood rising to the surface like something inside was forcing it out and beginning to drip over her skin. It wasn’t a deep cut, barely a slash really, but it had taken Inej by surprise. Liesbeth lunged, trying to take advantage of Inej’s brief daze, and Inej was forced to step backwards or take another hit. They moved like they were in a dance, stepping between each other, blades rarely finding flesh. Inej got a hit across Liesbeth’s forearm but paid for it on her shoulder, then returned the favour with a small arc over Liesbeth’s cheek. Blood ran slowly down her face, a bed of white flowers slowly stained red.

Liesbeth lunged again and Inej threw her weight to one side so both of them toppled as she forced the woman’s wrists farther and farther apart. It was from there, kneeling with Liesbeth pinned beneath her, grappling in an attempt to wrestle enemy knives away from her stomach and do something about the fact she could see Liesbeth was poising herself to spring free, that Inej heard the first gunshots bouncing down the little alleyway. She flinched, flattening herself towards the pavement with no idea where the shot had come from or where it was aimed at. Liesbeth took the opportunity to roll away, but Inej hadn’t missed the way she flinched as well, knives retracted and arms drawn round her to cover her head. Not back up then. Or not expected back up?

Inej slipped her knives away and scrambled backwards towards the wall of one of the drunken buildings leaning into the alley, trying to find purchase and begin to climb before anyone followed her. Her eyes scanned down the alley - three shadow clad strangers, at least one with a gun, and Liesbeth pulling herself back to her feet. Dammit. She shouldn’t have told Jesper to leave. 

Footsteps began to gather behind her as Inej turned to face the wall; she grabbed a slightly crooked brick above her head and reached to pull herself up only to falter at a terrible, stinging pain deep in her thigh. She gasped, struggling to keep her fingers connected with the stone, and when she dared to flick her head over her shoulder it was not to see Liesbeth, as she’d expected, but one of the newcomers. She recognised him after all; Oomen. An enforcer for the Black Tips, gangly and shambling, built as though his joints had been put together at wrong angles, but a terrifying cut nonetheless. Word had it he’d once cracked a man’s skull apart with his bare hands, then gone on drinking. 

Had Liesbeth been lying about having come alone, or were they both about to face some kind of trouble? After all, trying to kill Inej when the boss wanted to get hold of her may very well count as betraying one’s own gang. 

Oomen’s grip had closed tightly over Inej and he dragged her down, hand scrambling to find the knife in her leg and twisting it sharply. She had to fight not scream. 

“Did you think finding him a prize would get you back in favour, Liese?” one of the others was asking, a man Inej didn’t recognise. He had thrown his arm over the woman’s shoulders, his hand alone practically bigger than her face, “Or did you just want to keep her for yourself?”

Inej drew Sankta Alina back from the quick draw on her forearm, but one attempted step forwards and she knew her leg couldn’t take her weight. Her knee began to buckle before Oomen grabbed her again, and forced her back towards the wall as she struggled. His free hand fell to hers, twisting her wrist until the knife clattered to the ground. 

“Easy, Wraith,” he crooned, close enough for to smell his rotten breath, “Gotta learn when to stay down,”

Panic began to seize Inej, as though it were slowly creeping up from the floor and growing over her inch by inch, overtaking her limbs and holding them in place; a thousand spindly fingers closing over her ankles, then her legs, her waist, her arms, her throat. Her breaths were shaking as she tried to lean her head as far away from Oomen’s as she could manage. There was brick dust in her hair; the wall was scratching horribly against her scalp but it was the closest thing left to an escape she could feel. 

“I’ll have to teach you when to be still,” he hissed.

And then Inej could not bite back the scream that ripped into her chest as he pulled the knife out and plunged it back into her flesh. 

It’s just your leg , she tried to tell herself, he wants you alive, he won’t go anywhere important. It’s just your leg. It’s just your leg.

But there was another voice in her head too, cruel, perhaps, but also frightened. It’s your leg. You can’t climb, you can’t swing, you can’t fight without your leg. What use will he have left for you without your leg? 

The knife met Inej’s thigh a third time as the fear began to swallow somewhere deep inside her. She bit her tongue and still cried out in pain. Oomen pulled her briefly forwards and then slammed her hard into the wall, bracing his arm across her collarbone to pin her in place. Her toes were barely brushing the pavement. Inej’s breath was leaving her. She could feel blood dripping down her leg and soaking into the fabric of her trousers. 

“That’s enough,” someone snapped, their hand appearing on Oomen’s shoulder. 

Pale, thin fingers pulled him away so Inej fell the few inches to the ground and almost immediately slumped over the wounds throbbing in her leg. Liesbeth? She was barely visible in Inej’s spinning, darkening eyesight. Saints, how much blood had she lost? How deep had the knife gone into her leg? She shivered, palms grazed against the stones, trying to pull herself upright with shaking arms and drag herself along the street. Someone caught her shoulders again and she wanted to sob, to give in, to close her eyes and curl into a ball and wait for the world to end. 

They dragged her to her feet and she found herself held close to someone’s torso, their arm tight around her shoulders the only thing that kept her standing. One chance. No matter how far she managed to run or climb on adrenaline alone, she knew that Liesbeth would be able to follow her in an instant. But it didn’t matter, as long as she had just enough time. She gritted her teeth, gathered as much strength as she could muster, and hooked her foot around the stranger’s ankle. He stumbled, momentarily releasing his hold on her, and Inej managed almost five blundering paces as she tried to gain speed. 

“What did I just tell you,” hissed Oomen, his hand closing on the back of her neck and shoving her downwards so her legs were forced out from under her and her face hit into the stone, “about staying down?”

And then the knife came again. Inej was breathing hard, scrambling forwards in vain so she probably looked like a butterfly trying to thrash between pins and a page. The knife struck a fifth time - or was it sixth? She couldn’t even remember - thrusting through the muscle of her thigh so close to the other wounds it was as though he were trying to gouge a hole into her flesh. Her head was clouding and she was losing track of time and attention and her vision was blurring, but she thought it was about now that the gunshots started. 

Oomen swore loudly as he ducked, his chest suddenly tight against Inej’s back. It was a brief moment, before he lurched away and drew his own gun against the newcomers, but it sparked fire in Inej’s heart and she that age-old panic rising over her limbs again. She was ready to meet it, to best it, to control it. She took a slow breath. And in that tiny window of opportunity before he moved away she pulled Sankta Lizabeta from her belt, rolled onto her back, thrust the knife upwards. Oomen cried out as he stumbled off her, blood dripping from his shoulder and down the rose-etched blade still clasped between Inej’s palms. It wasn’t a deep cut and as far as she could tell it had done little but bother him; he still drew his pistol and joined the fray. But she felt better for it. Maybe that was bad of her, but in this exact moment she couldn’t quite bring herself to care.

Inej bit back more screams as she rolled herself to one side, trying to reach the far wall of the alley. The knife handle was still protruding from her leg at an ugly angle and she didn’t realise until she rolled her weight over it, which definitely hadn’t helped the situation. She had no idea what was going on between the fighters as she begged herself to keep moving, hand scrambling over the bricks of the wall, lips moving feverishly as she whispered prayers to her Saints for enough strength to pull herself up by her arms alone. 

Climb, Inej .

She was trying. 

It took as much power as she could muster to haul herself onto a window ledge, just wide enough for her to lay there, lengthways on her back, her boots dangling over the edge. She breathed slowly. No-one seemed to have noticed her vanish; she may not have slipped away as subtly as she usually could, but they were too distracted by the fight to pay her proper attention now. For a moment she just lay and breathed, running a hand down her leg to find the cuts and the knife handle. Her palm came away wet. 

There would be time to panic later. Inej swallowed her fear, or tried to at least, and leaned cautiously over the ledge to see the fight unfolding below. Her vision was hazing, her head ached, and the pain in her leg was only growing. But… was that Jesper? He had come back. Well, either that or Inej had lost more blood than she realised and had started seeing things.

The Black Tips were on the run from Jesper and two other Dregs, whose outlines Inej couldn’t align to faces from here. She thought one of them might be Pim. There was a body on the ground and Oomen was running, dark blood spilling from his arm and decorating the cobbles, and for a moment Inej lost track of Liesbeth. She reappeared on the rooftop on the other side of the alley, and Inej tensed as their eyes met. She wouldn’t manage another fight now.

But Liesbeth gave her a single nod, then ran across the shingles and vanished in the shadows beyond a chimney. Inej let her eyes drift back to the sky. Dawn was beginning to tinge it orange and pink and the first signs of warmth were in the air, though judging by the gathering clouds that wouldn’t last them very long. It never did. 

What time was it?

The pain in her leg redoubled when she tried to move, but the sounds of the fight below had died and Inej could hear Jesper calling her name. She inched her way along the window ledge and tried her best to drop to the ground, leaning her weight against the wall. Something almost shameful crawled through her, chastising her for still feeling the panic rise and clutch at her now the danger had passed, but when Jesper’s hand found her shoulder she still flinched away. 

“Sorry - Are you alright?”

She nodded, but she was slipping slowly down the wall. 

“Wylan…” she whispered, through thick breaths.

“I sent Anika and Roeder in our stead,” said Jesper, “Are you sure you’re-?”

Inej pulled her hand away from the bloody mess that her leg had become. There was a wound in her knee as well that she had barely registered; he must have dug the blade in when she was on the floor.

“Saints, Inej, that doesn't look good,” Jesper’s voice was distorted, as though he were underwater.

She could hear what he was saying but she couldn’t quite listen.

“I think…” she took a breath, “Jesper, I think we have a problem,”

And then she was falling, and the pavement seemed dreamily far away.

Chapter Text

Jesper was barely in time to stop Inej from smacking into the pavement, catching her shoulders and gently laying her the last few inches instead of letting her fall through them. She shuddered as his hand found the wound on her leg, his fingers almost instantly turning wet with blood. He thought he should probably apply pressure to it - even though the knife was still there, protruding from her flesh at an ugly angle, blood was soaking through her trouser leg and dripping onto the ground - but as soon as he made contact she flinched away. The movement elicited a deep groan from the pain, but Inej just shook her head and seemed to be leaning as far away from him as she could manage from where she lay.

“Don’t touch me,” she whispered, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

Jesper began to nod, then paused.

“Is this a… touching-my-leg-makes-it-hurt-more kind of situation, or a don’t-touch-me-at-all kind of situation?”

“Not at all,” she managed, through gritted teeth and a tight breath.

“Okay,” Jesper nodded, shuffling back a little, “Okay,”

But he wasn’t sure what to do now. He had to get her to Nina - no, he had to get her back to the Slat and have Nina come to them. He couldn’t take Inej to the White Rose. He sent Bolliger and Pim running to fetch Nina, and hoped with such fervour it might have been a prayer that he’d be able to get Inej back home in one piece.

He tried to study the cut for a moment and realised it was worse than he’d thought; the wound with the knife handle still visible was only one of several deep, jagged caverns that had been dug into her leg, and around all of them the ripped edges of her trousers bubbling with blood. The lowest was at her knee but the rest were close together in her thigh. He didn’t see her getting back to the Slat without help. 

“We’ve got to move,” he said, after a second had passed, “If I just help you up, do you think you can walk alone?”

“You came back,” Inej whispered, sounding almost surprised.

“I heard a gunshot,” he said, “The others were steering down the street, I sent Anika and Roeder to the docks and pulled Pim and Bolliger into the fight with me,”

Jesper was still nervous about that decision. It was hazy enough for him and Inej to show up and ask him to trust them on such insane information, but looking at Inej he knew he needed to be here. And the main thing was just that the others got Wylan away from the hired guns and back to the Barrel. 

“You came back,” Inej whispered again.

Jesper tried to force his focus to Inej’s face, and not the throbbing flesh in front of him. He nodded.

“Do you think you can let me help you up? Can you walk?”

A brief moment hung in the air.

“I can try,”

Jesper held his hands out so Inej could choose to take them when she was ready, and she gripped him so tightly he thought the pressure from his rings might break skin. She was clearly holding in a scream as she anchored herself against him to drag her legs beneath her and sit upright. 

“Inej-”

“Just let me try,” she breathed.

Jesper held his arms out at right angles, as stiff as he could make them, and Inej leaned on them like they were the top of a wall she’d climbed as she pulled herself to her feet. He watched her fingers tighten on top of his sleeve, her knuckles almost turning white. As soon as she was standing she released him, took one shuffling step forwards, and very nearly collapsed as her leg buckled and a low, almost angry scream burst from her chest. Jesper  caught her on instinct as hse fell, then quickly pressed her against the side of one of the buildings leering into the alleyway so she could stay upright as he stepped away. She stared at the floor, breathing shakily. Her shadow loomed across the paving stones, disfigured by the dark blotch of the knife handle. Jesper took a slow breath.

“Inej, you’re not going to get back to the Slat like this,” he hesitated, “It’s not a long walk. You can lean on me, and we can take breaks if you need them. Okay?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again she still avoided his gaze.

“Okay,”

Inej swayed a little as she tried to straighten, then fell into Jesper’s arm with a few slow, stumbling steps. He held her up, trying to keep weight off her leg if he could, trying to watch her face and figure out if she needed him to let go.

“Just tell me if you need to stop,”

They managed the first few steps, Inej limping badly, and had almost reached the mouth of the alley before she grabbed his sleeve. Jesper froze, scanning for something to lean her against to stay standing. He pulled away but kept his hand on hers, seemingly all that was holding her up. But all she said was:

“I’m dizzy,”

Her voice was barely a whisper, with a worryingly light tone that sounded faintly amused. Jesper glanced down - Inej’s face had paled quite considerably, and the cobbles beneath and behind them were dark and slick with red. Shit.

“Inej?”

“Jesper…” she whispered, swaying slighlty, “Jesper…”

Panic began to close its tight grip over Jesper as he tried to tug Inej another step forwards, hand over hers, arm outstretched for fear she’d fall or faint. 

“You’re okay,” he told her, wishing he sounded more convincing, “You’re okay; we’re not far from the Slat now,”

Inej glanced around her like she was surprised to discover where she was. 

“It’ll just take ten minutes,” said Jesper, even though he knew on a brisk walk it would probably take you fifteen, “Come on, you can do it,”

Inej gripped his hand tighter, took a slow but confident stride forwards, and promptly fell straight towards the pavement. Jesper grabbed her by the shoulders before she could face-plant onto the stones and tried to encourage her to balance, but he could tell it was a lost cause. He hesitated, but there was still blood pouring from Inej’s wounds and she was swaying between his hands on her arms, eyes half-closed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, then quickly looped an arm around her waist and scooped her up into his arms, “I’m so sorry. We’ll get home as quick as possible, okay?”

Inej didn’t reply. She struggled briefly and rather half-heartedly as he picked her up and her face contorted in pain. He genuinely wasn’t sure if that came only from the knife wounds, or from him as well. But he had to get her back to the Slat, and he wasn’t sure she’d make it on her own. He all but ran back through the Barrel, moving as quickly as he could manage with her drooping in his arms, feeling her blood soaking into his shirt and murmuring a thousand apologies into her ear. 

They burst messily through the door and Jesper immediately saw Layla, a sweetheart but probably the clumsiest girl he’d ever met, jump up from her chair at the sight of Inej. The chair fell over in her wake but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Find Kaz,” he told her, “Quick,”

She vanished. Inej mumbled something, her eyelids drooping.

“Hey,” Jesper tried his best to give her a shake without risking dropping her, “Hey, Inej! Look at me, come on, keep your eyes open,”

“Don’t…” her voice was weak and breathy, “... Kaz,”

Jesper shook her again, hurrying towards the stairs.

“Keep talking to me,” he said, “We’re gonna get you upstairs to lie down, and Nina’s gonna be here in no time, okay? Repeat it back to me, come on,”

Inej shuddered. 

“Jesper… don’t…”

Her voice faded.

“Talk to me, Inej,”

“Don’t tell Kaz,” she whispered, shaking her head, “He won’t… if I… don’t…”

Jesper swallowed.

“We’ll-” he glanced back over his shoulder, but Layla was long gone, “Okay, Kaz is coming, but I’m gonna keep him out of your way, alright?”

Inej groaned.

“I can’t… he’ll…”

“He’s just going to know something happened,” Jesper didn’t know why she didn’t want Kaz to know about this, but he had a growing suspicion he could work it out, “He doesn't have to know how bad it is. I’ll keep him out of your way,”

They got upstairs as quickly as Jepser could manage and he laid her onto her bed. She groaned softly, rolling quickly away from his touch and immediately wincing at the pain, whilst Jesper grabbed a towel that he found sitting on top of her little clothes chest. He hesitated. 

“I’m just gonna lift your legs up,” he told her, slowly, “to put the towel underneath you. Is that alright? I’m just gonna touch your boots, it’ll be two seconds,”

There was already blood on her duvet and maybe this was a futile gesture, but it would probably take a good while to track down any other clean bed sheets at the Slat if these ones got completely ruined. Inej nodded. She closed her eyes and when Jesper took hold of her shoes she gripped the quilt either side of her, the fabric balling into her fists. He pulled the towel along and folded it beneath the wounds as quickly as he could, then gently lowered her legs again. 

“All done,” he whispered.

Inej’s pained whimper was her only response.

“Nina’s on her way, she’ll be here any minute. I’ll give you some space, I’ll be right outside the door if you need me-”

He made to leave, but before he could take a step further Inej’s hand had shot out and closed tightly over his own. She winced - she’d sat up slightly to reach him - and her face was contorted in pain as Jesper turned back to her. 

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered, “Please,”

Jesper nodded, moving back to her side and squeezing her fingers softly.

“Of course not,”

There wasn’t a chair in Inej’s room - there wouldn’t have been space for one - but Jesper sat down beneath her window and stretched his legs out in front of him. She lay on her side so the knife handle was sticking into the air, dangling her arm over the side of the bed and loosely interlocking her fingers with his. 

“Talk to me,”

“About what?”

“Anything,” she whispered, and after a minute, “How did you know? About Wylan?”

“I didn’t. Not really,” he shrugged, “I mean, I noticed stuff was weird… I didn’t think he would try to kill him,”

Inej closed her eyes for a moment and Jepser squeezed her fingers tighter.

“Inej? Inej, look at me,”

“I’m okay,” she whispered, “Still breathing,”

Jesper didn’t want to let go, but he gently loosened his grip on her fingers. They stayed loosely connected, index fingers hooked around each other. He was fighting to stay in this room, in this moment, with Inej and not… Jesper breathed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen death, since his mother, he saw it almost every day. Hell, he may very well have killed a man barely half an hour ago, before he brought Inej back to the Slat, he didn’t stop to check if the tough was still breathing. And Inej was going to be fine, Nina was coming, she would know what to do. But there was something about this that was forcing him to face the cavern that would be left in him if he lost Inej, to bring the cavern already inside him back to the surface. He took a breath, trying to shake himself away from such stupid thoughts. He was not seven years old anymore. And Inej was going to be okay. 

“Jesper?”

He blinked, smiling at Inej.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, “Do you want some water?”

“Jesper,” her voice was soft, “are you crying?”

“No,” he cleared his throat, standing up and dropping her hand, “I’ll get you some water,”

When he came back, Inej had shuffled herself up the bed to sit leaning against the headboard, propped up by her pillow, wincing as tried to settle herself.

“What are you doing?” asked Jesper, shaking his head, as he set her water down and offered her an arm so she could steady.

“I…” Inej breathed heavily, “... it hurts,”

“Well I hate to state the obvious, love, but I think that’s going to be a given when there a knife sticking out your leg,”

Inej made a sound that might have been laughter, but it was hard to tell through her pained breathing. She clutched his arm, resting her head briefly against his shoulder.

“You should lie down, try to keep it still,” he told her softly.

“Where’s Nina?”

Jesper had no idea. Shouldn’t she be here by now? Shouldn’t she have gotten back before they did?

“On her way,” he promised, “She’ll be here any minute,”

It took a short while longer for Nina to arrive, though Jesper wasn’t sure exactly how long it had been. He got Inej to drink an entire glass of water, but she was still losing blood badly and he thought she might be close to passing out. He didn’t know how much blood you have to have lost to get to that point. Should he try to put pressure on the cuts? He didn’t want to risk moving the knife around, and he wasn’t sure if I he would be okay with his hands on her leg again. If Nina wasn’t here in a few minutes, he decided, he would find something to tie around them and hope that would be enough pressure until she arrived. 

“Talk to me,” Inej said again, her voice weak, “Please,”

Jesper nodded.

“I… I don’t know what to say,”

“You always know what to say,” Inej laughed softly, and Jesper echoed her.

She was right. He could’ve talked for King and country, as his Da would’ve put it - which always made Jesper laugh when he was little, because they didn’t have a King in Novyi Zem. There wasn’t a King in Kerch, either, but that didn’t stop him. Still, now it felt like there were simply no words within his reach. A moment passed, before Inej murmured:

“Tell me about Wylan,”

“What about him?”

“Well, I only met him twice,” she said, softly, “In chemistry lessons, of all places. I’m still yet to have a go at Kaz for those,”

Jesper laughed.

“Tell me what he’s like,” Inej said, closing her eyes again until Jesper grabbed her hand and she said: “I’m awake. I’m okay. Just… talk,”

Jesper talked. The minutes ticked by. He panicked that Nina still hadn’t appeared, wondered if he should send one of the Dregs looking for her or looking for a Healer, tried to keep his voice even and carry on talking to Inej. He didn’t know how long it had been when the door was flung open and Nina ran into the tiny bedroom, taking Jesper by surprise so much that he jumped up to his feet. 

“Inej?”

“Nina…” Inej groaned, softly, reaching out towards Nina’s outstretched hand, smiling as she said, “funny story…”

“Oh Saints, Inej, I’m so sorry I took so long,”

Nina clutched at Inej’s fingers for a moment as Jesper tried to shuffle out of her way in the tiny room, so Nina could get to Inej properly.

“What-?” when she saw the full extent of Inej’s injuries, Nina gasped, “Oh Saints, what happened?”

Jesper opened his mouth but before he could the door opened again and Kaz appeared through it.

“Wraith-”

Inej seemed to almost flinch, pulling herself quickly upright and immediately wincing at the pain.

“Nope,” said Jesper, before Kaz could get another word in, “There’s too many people in here,”

“What happened?” asked Kaz, his rough voice grating through the air. 

“Out,” Jesper pointed at the door, “I’ll fill you in,”

No-one moved for a moment; Jesper walked towards the door so Kaz was forced to back out into the corridor again, though he didn’t look pleased about it, and nodded at Nina and Inej before he pulled it shut behind them both. 

Chapter Text

Nina had not been fired. It was about the closest thing to a highlight in her day.

She had no idea what Kaz had said to Feliks and she wasn’t about to try pressuring it out of him; she’d take any win she could get. And the Saints knew she needed a win or two now. She had to coax Inej back to lying down on her flat little pillow, and after a few moments of incomprehensible disagreement had passed between them - Nina in half, slightly confused sentences and Inej mostly in pained groans and attempts to sit back up - Nina pressed her hand against Inej’s forehead and gently calmed her.

“Breathe,” she whispered, speaking Ravkan as she usually did when they were alone, “Just breathe,”

Nina had learnt Suli at the Little Palace but had never had much opportunity to use the language in practice, and although she had spoken it with Inej on occasion she always felt that she wasn’t quite good enough at it to keep pace. As she thought about she supposed she would never get better at it if she never conversed with a native speaker, though then she shook herself free of the ridiculous direction her mind had wandered in. 

“I can’t stop the pain completely,” she told Inej, “I can only ease it some,”

A real Healer might be able to do a better job of it, but Nina’s work with emotions at the White Rose helped. She pulled her hand slowly away from Inej and the girl shuddered, closing her eyes for a moment before her gaze flicked up to Nina. 

“What happened?”

“Oomen,” Inej breathed, “The Black Tips. Nina…” 

She winced, screwing her eyes shut, flinching as though to reach for her leg and then collapsing onto her back again. After a moment and another, denied, offer to alter her tension and her pain, Inej let Nina run her hands over the wounds on her leg. It didn’t feel good. The puncture above her knee Nina had thought she would just be able to knit closed, but the flesh felt tough beneath her fingers and when she applied gentle pressure with her thumb the muscles of Inej’s leg spasmed wildly. She gasped in pain, fists closing tightly over the quilt she was scrunching into her hands.

 “Sorry! Sorry,” Nina breathed, leaning away, “It’s damaged the ligament,”

It might be worse than that - Nina couldn’t tell yet. If the ligament was ripped all the way through, Nina may not be a good enough Healer to give Inej her full range of movement back when she sewed the pieces together. Moving up to Inej’s thigh didn’t feel a whole lot better. She was still bleeding but the flow was slowing, and as far as Nina could tell in an initial brush over the internal bleeding wasn’t as bad as the external was. But she couldn’t see the wounds properly yet, and the knife was still sticking out of Inej’s leg. That concerned her too; there would be more blood to come when she removed it and it was so deep into Inej’s leg that only the thinnest slither of metal was still visible, glinting in the sunrise creeping through the window. 

“What…” Inej pursed her lips, “What will that mean?”

“It’s gonna hurt like hell whilst I fix it,”

But Nina couldn’t do much until she could see Inej’s wounds properly. She found a blanket and a pair of shears, then stepped outside so that Inej would cut herself out of her trousers and cover herself with the blanket alone, and as she closed the door behind her she was surprised to find Jesper and Kaz just slightly further down the corridor. They weren’t quite shouting at each other but it was definitely an argument, and as Nina approached she saw Kaz’s eyes flashing with something dark in response to something she hadn’t quite overheard.

“I would never-”

“ What , Kaz?” Jesper hissed, “Because I don’t know where you draw the line, and neither does she. There is nothing that we can safely believe you would never do and if you let her think that-”

“What are you doing?” asked Kaz, suddenly looking up at Nina.

Jesper turned to see her, his cheeks glowing, breathing hard.

“I need to know what happened,”

“I didn’t see,” said Jesper, “By the time I got back she was already injured,”

“Who was it?” growled Kaz.

“Why do you care? So you can make them pay you back for the money you might lose on her?”

“Jes-” Nina tried, but fell quiet as quickly as she’d started.

“What would you do, Kaz? If she couldn’t be the Wraith , anymore?”

There was a brief moment of silence. Kaz’s flat, shark-like glare flicked briefly between them, and then he turned sharply and began to march away. The clacking of his cane against the creaky old floorboards shrank away into the sounds of the house, and Jesper breathed loudly. 

“He wouldn’t -”

“You weren’t here, Nina,” he said, shaking his head, “You didn’t see her when - when she first got out of that place, I don’t -” Jesper ran a hand over his face, “Does he not see what he’s doing? He can’t make her feel like that again,”

Nina breathed. She didn’t think Kaz would ever do anything to hurt Inej, but she also knew that nothing she or Jesper could say would make Inej feel any safer. What else could she do? Praying to Saints she didn’t believe in for the power to fix Inej’s knee well enough that the Wraith could still do her job was starting to look like the last remaining option. She knocked on the door and Inej called her inside. 

“I’m going to have to take the knife out,” she said, slowly, “I can knock you unconscious whilst I do it, if you want, but-”

“No,”

Inej shook her head.

“Okay,” Nina nodded, slowly, “You might want something to bite,”

The fabric in between Inej’s teeth did little to dampen her screaming, but that came later. First, Nina closed what she could of closing the other puncture wounds around the knife, closing the skin where there wasn’t internal bleeding and trying to mop up what she could of the blood with a damp cloth so she could actually differentiate the problems from the congealing masses of crimson. There was so much blood. Inej must be close to passing out - she had definitely paled, and Nina thought the knife coming out might be the final straw.

“Tell me about the job,” she said, doing her best to keep Inej talking, “What were you doing?”

“We…” Inej hissed a sharp intake of breath, “We were there for Wylan,”

“Kaz is still going after Wylan?”

“Change of plans,” Inej managed, gripping the duvet again, “I don’t… really know what he wanted originally, but Jesper -” she broke to groan as Nina tugged hard to manipulate her flesh.

“Jesper…?”

“Jesper convinced him Wylan would be able to do demo. He realised something was… something was off, about Wylan’s father. Turns out this whole music school thing is a trick to-”

Nina winced, because she knew that gasp of pain had been her fault. She’d applied slightly too much pressure.

“Sorry,” she said, but Inej only shook her head, “Keep talking,”

“It’s a hit,”

Inej’s voice was drooping into a mumble and Nina had to make her repeat herself to be sure she’d heard right.

“It’s a hit ?”

“Van Eck wants his son dead,” Inej confirmed, “I didn’t have time to find out why,”

Nina shook her head - but she didn’t have time to dwell on it for too long. She found some fabric for Inej to bite down on, and swallowed hard as she placed her hands either side of the knife handle.

She had to make quick work of things when she drew the blade free. The femoral vein was buried somewhere deep within the muscle of Inej’s thigh and though Nina couldn’t feel any perforations when she reached out with her power she didn’t trust her judgement as well as she would a Healer’s. She’d have to Heal Inej from the inside out - and quickly. Inej’s scream was still echoing as the knife clattered to the floor, dripping blood onto the wooden boards, and Nina’s fingers began to dance to a tune nobody else could hear. She felt Inej’s pulse change and knew she’d fainted from the pain, but she was coming around again within a few seconds. Nina worked as quickly as she could and Inej’s taut muscle responded about as well as she could hope, but in the back of her mind she was still more concerned about her knee. 

“Nina…”

She looked up, fingers hovering in place over half-closed skin and the throbbing flesh beneath.

“I can’t… Can you make me sleep? Please?”

“Of course,” Nina drew her fingers sharply towards herself to finish the motion she was partway through, then leaned away.

Her hands were covered in blood and she tried to wipe as much of it off in the little water basin and along the cloth she’d brought in with her, but both of them had long since turned a murky red. She shook the excess water off her hands. It didn’t take long to settle Inej into sleep and suddenly the room felt very empty, very cold. Nina breathed, listening to the ever-present cacophony downstairs without really managing to hear any individual conversations, just the edge of the odd word.

“- still?”

“...owes me, don’t…”

“- tell you!”

“- Leopard,”

Nina shivered. She’d heard what had happened to the girl who wore the Leopard cape at the Menagerie when she got back today - no, not today, yesterday morning. Dawn was well on its way now, and Nina needed to shake off this tiredness and keep her focus on Inej. She worked steadily, but her mind drifted back to what Adrian and Petra had told her. Nina had heard a girl went missing from the Menagerie around the same time she and Inej started the botched university job, but she hadn’t heard who it was or any further details. Apparently she’d been discovered in the dark hours of early morning, left lying half-dressed on the steps of the Menagerie with extensive bruises around her throat. 

“Maybe she tried to run,” said Petra, “and the Peacock caught her,”

Adrian shook his head.

“She was gone two full weeks. That’s gotta be long enough to get away if she ran on purpose,”

Nina wasn’t quite listening by that point. She hadn’t known until now which of the Menagerie’s girls had vanished. But it was her, the Leopard, the girl Nina had watched from across the canal two weeks ago as she sat up on one of the ugly sofas and slipped her hand into that of a red-caped Mr Crimson. Nina had seen her, watched her. And now she was gone. She didn’t know why it was quite this gutting, but Nina felt like her insides were being scraped right of her. She had seen her. Right before she disappeared.

Not disappeared. Disappeared was too passive. It made it sound like there wasn’t somebody to blame.

Nina stayed in Inej’s room for a long time after she’d patched up her leg. She’d done her best to fix the ligament in her knee and she thought it felt smooth enough, but there would be no real telling until Inej tried to use it again, and though the flesh on her thigh was still tender the skin was closed and the wounds didn’t seem to be bruising beyond what Nina had already cleared up around the exit point of the knife, but Inej had lost a lot of blood and Nina didn’t know what she was supposed to do about that. Still, Inej had not passed out from blood loss. She’d fainted from the pain but that was normal, and she was only unconscious now because Nina had put her that way. Yet somehow she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was doing something wrong. She didn’t know enough to do this right, her cut-short education was finally failing her. She imagined the smug look on Zoya’s face at the knowledge that she was right, that Nina should not have been sent out early no matter how much she begged.

“Congratulations,” she muttered drily to the dark, as she knelt to pick up the discarded knife, “You were right once again,”

She wiped the excess of Inej’s blood off the blade, thinking she could do her best to get some of it off the floor though she’d probably need ammonia to clean it properly, and realised that there was a small engraving on the metal. It was a little hard to see and even as she rubbed the cloth over it she knew it was all but futile without proper cleaning supplies because the blood had seeped into the design and dyed it red, but it seemed to be a single rose blooming along the base of the metal. Nina ran her finger over it for a moment, then stood and placed it on the side. She gently pulled Inej’s boots off, placed some folded clothes at the end of the bed to prop her feet up in vague hopes of keeping blood flow consistent and healthy, and gently pulled the folded corner of the blanket down over Inej’s injured leg before she left the room and closed the door behind her. 

She would wash her hands properly, she would get some water, she would get something to eat. Then she would come back and sit with Inej until she woke up, and hope that she had done enough. 

Jesper waved her over as soon as she stepped downstairs, and she scrambled a little through the crowd to reach him. No-one in this place would look twice at her for being covered in blood, but the hem of her right sleeve had now begun to actively drip so she decided this conversation would be a short one before she hurried off to soak her arms in soap and warm water. She also definitely needed to wash them before she ate anything, and Nina was famished. 

“How is she?”

“Doing pretty well,” said Nina, gratefully accepting the drink Jesper offered her and not really caring when she smeared blood onto the glass, “She’s asleep now - I’ll go back in a minute, but I just-”

She was cut off by someone calling Jesper’s name, and both of them turned to see the doors open over Anika and Roeder as they hurried inside. For a long moment no-one said anything. Jesper looked back and forth between them, as though in the second he looked away something might have changed, and then eventually:

“Where’s Wylan?”

Chapter Text

The water of the canal was cold enough that Wylan wondered if he was going to go into shock. He swam without direction or plan, his heart skittering in a panic that refused to quell even as the sounds that might have been someone following him faded into silence. It had shocked him when he heard the splash that surely meant either Miggson or Prior had jumped into the water after him, but since he ducked under a market barge and came up the other side alone they seemed to have disappeared. Maybe they thought he’d drowned, or was at least well on his way to it - after all, as far as they knew he couldn’t even see the waters he was lost in.

There was no doubt in Wylan’s mind that he was borne aloft by adrenaline alone, and he knew that wouldn’t last forever. His satchel was heavier than he could stand against his back, dead weight slowing him down and pulling him back but somehow he just couldn’t force himself to relinquish it. It was foolish, stupid even, but he wanted to cling to the few things he had on him as though they were the only things left in the world. His flute dug painfully into his ribs from where it was tucked inside his jacket, but he couldn’t stop to try and readjust it. He had a horrible feeling that if he stopped he wouldn’t be able to start again, and would just sink quietly to the bottom of the canal. Maybe everyone would be better off if he did. But he kept swimming, though at some point it had turned more to desperate thrashing than real strokes. It was perhaps the worst place to lose his energy; the water was still deep enough that even someone considerably taller than Wylan wouldn’t have been able to stand, in fact even in the shadows he guessed you could’ve stacked two of him on top of each other and still not reached the surface, but he was approaching a lock and the walls either side of the canal rose so high above him that he could no longer see the sunrise. He felt panic beginning to rise again, and it didn’t entirely settle even when he eventually came across one of the flimsy-looking metal ladders clinging to the high stone walls. He remembered finding them disconcerting when he was little, like seeing them made it a real possibility for someone to fall into the water and be stuck, and somehow that was more frightening than if there’d been no aids there at all. 

Wylan hadn’t swum in eight years. Not since the accident . Thank Ghezen for muscle memory, but he still knew he couldn’t carry on much longer. 

His arms ached. He didn’t know if he was out of energy or just not strong enough, but pulling himself up and over the top of the ladder onto the pavement was almost painful. For a minute he just lay there, listening to his own ragged breathing and trying to convince himself that even if it sounded wrong it was good, because it was still there. The shadow of Prior’s hands was still tight over Wylan’s neck. It felt like hours ago that he had been standing on the boat, trying to watch the sunrise without looking like he was watching it.

Right here, Jesper had said to him, as they stood beneath the sunset just last week, moving Wylan’s hand across the skyline to show him its beauty. This is soft pink - like spring and cherry blossom, when you can kind of feel it in the air. Then this bit is like the jurda fields, and over here it’s a kind of gentle warmth, like late summer evening sitting outside. When the air starts to cool but it’s still comfortable and light. But then here - this is like sitting in front of the fireplace in winter. It’s warm, and you need it to be warm, and it makes you feel… safe.

Wylan’s mind had gone into overdrive. He could feel it eating him up inside to lie to Jesper, to let him hold his hand and guide him through the sunset as if he couldn’t see it right in front of him - albeit a little blurrily. But there was another feeling inside him too, something rushing and whispering as he felt Jesper’s fingers closing over his and realised that he didn’t want him to let go. His heart skipped and leapt as Jesper turned to look at him.

“Safe?” he’d whispered, as if the word was brand new.

Jesper had smiled.

Wylan wanted to cling to that moment, to the feeling of Jesper’s hand cupping his cheek, their faces moving closer. But the panic inside him, that gnawing feeling, the knowledge that he was lying and the knowledge of what anyone, even Jesper, would say if they knew… that feeling won. Of course it did. It always did. 

He stood on the boat, one hand light on his cane and the other closed tightly over the railing, and felt the wind on his face. The air smelled of the Ketterdam slaughterhouses and the clouds far above were ruining a lot of the view, but Wylan was hoping that when they were on open water, snaking their way into the countryside, that the breeze would be fresh and welcome. He would be able to see the windmills and the fields, smell the flowers in the air, hear birds other than the squawking pigeons that crowded every walkway of the city. Maybe this was always what he’d needed; maybe he just wasn’t built for cities. He entertained that thought for a moment, immediately amused by his own foolish naivety in the idea. Wylan was built like a fern and probably not even as strong as one; he would be just as useless in the countryside as he was in the city. 

Dawn glowed across the skyline and danced on the water; Wylan chose a spot on the horizon and stared at it, trying to take in as much of the sunrise as he could without letting anyone realise that he was watching it - that he could watch it. He fixed on an orange glow, tinged by the pink of spring and cherry blossoms, and felt the warmth of it on his face. Like the hearth in the darkest midst of winter. Safe. 

When he turned around, it was to walk straight into Prior’s hands as they closed around his throat.

He needed to move. As much as he might want to, he couldn’t just lie on the side of the canal shivering for the rest of time. He lifted himself slowly on the shaking reeds he had for arms, and sat for a brief moment to try and push the wet hair out of his eyes. His cane had fallen into the canal with him but he dropped it on impact with the water; there was barely enough time to wonder if the pain the drop was burning through his chest meant he’d broken something, let alone splash around looking for the stupid cane he hated so much. The pain in his chest was still strong but Wylan didn’t think the impact should've been hard enough to break his ribs and when he ran a hand down them nothing felt swollen or out of place, but everything was still burning. He stumbled to his feet and tried to wipe the water away from his eyes. They came back to as close to focus as he ever got - the Tailoring in Wylan’s eyes made it a little harder to see, but it was hardly worth complaining over - and as the colourful blur became a slightly blurry street he forced himself to take a step, and then the next and then the next. 

He had no idea what he was doing, but he just had to keep walking. 

When Wylan was eight, barely days after his mother died, his father called him to his office. Wylan didn’t actually remember the conversation all that clearly, he just remembered the horrible feeling in his gut, the screaming in his head that wasn’t allowed to ever be set free. As his father spoke Wylan sank deeper and deeper into his chair, fingers shuffling where he’d wedged his hands beneath his knees. He barely even noticed that he was doing it until his father slammed his hand against the desk, snapping something about his posture. Wylan shot up faster than if someone had pulled on a string that ran all the way down his spine. 

“Are you even listening to me, Wylan?”

He nodded quickly.

“Yes, Father. I’m sorry,”

He didn’t look particularly impressed. 

“You understand, Wylan, this embarrassment must be contained. And if we are to do this successfully, it has to look realistic,”

Wylan looked at his shoes.

“Yes, Father,”

His father stood up and stepped forwards, clasping a hand on Wylan’s shoulder whilst Wylan tried not to flinch away. He gripped the sides of his chair so tightly it might have snapped in two. 

“What good are eyes to you, anyway, if you aren’t going to use them properly?”

As he walked, wandering blankly onwards with no idea of where he was going, the slaughterhouses faded vaguely into the distance and the streets got narrower and narrower, until it began to feel like the crooked buildings were closing in on him. They leaned on each other and leered down at him in garish colours, every window was lit and most with candles low enough that they’d either been burning since the dark hours or the houses’ denizens couldn’t afford to replace them, and Wylan had the odd sense that every window was an eye staring out at him. The world was suddenly loud, with shouting and laughter and music and other sounds that Wylan decided he was going to pretend he couldn’t hear. He was in the Barrel. The one place in the entire city he had never been to - never wanted to go to. 

Wylan stopped walking. He shouldn’t have done, because now he didn’t want to start again, but his feet had simply frozen in place as though they’d given in and were refusing to carry him any farther. Even now, his only vague thought was that he didn’t know how to get home. He had rarely been permitted to leave the house before university and even less likely alone; he barely knew his way around the Geldin and University Districts, let alone anywhere else in the city - let alone here . Any signs were few and far between but that didn’t even matter because he wouldn’t be able to read them anyway. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t go home anyway, could he? He was soaked from head to toe and had bruises growing on his neck, he didn’t have to dig that deep to know the truth of what had just happened to him and yet - and yet he was just a small, stupid child with no knowledge of the world or anything in it and he wanted to go home. He wanted to curl up in his bed, hide beneath his duvet, and know that this - maybe even that all of this - had been some kind of terrible dream. 

He wanted his mother.

Perhaps that was the most ridiculous, foolish thought of them all but he couldn’t help having it, and as soon as he had it hit him like he was being run over by a horse. It was a physical pain. He wanted her so badly that it ached, that it burned next to the pain that was already bubbling in his chest, that he thought if he let himself keep this idea at the front of his mind any longer he may very well go insane. Wylan wanted to be held, to be loved, to cry and to be forgiven. Wylan wanted his mother and he wanted to go home. But maybe it was the truth of it all that was hurting the most.

Wylan wanted his mother and he wanted to go home. And he knew now, that both had been taken from him forever. 

Chapter Text

“What the fuck do you mean it was already gone?” Jesper was trying not to shout. Or scream, “You should’ve got there twenty minutes before-”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Jesper,” said Roeder, “The boat was gone, there was no-one there,”

Jesper ran a hand over his face. 

“Nina, what’s the time?”

She glanced at the slim, silvery timepiece on her wrist.

“Five bells half chime,”

Jesper grabbed his jacket, took Anika’s gun straight out of her hand, and began to run towards the door.

“Hey!”

“I’ll give it back to you,” he shouted, “Promise!” 

He could hear all of them calling for him and Nina hurried a few steps in his wake, but he knew she wouldn’t leave Inej. It didn’t matter. He ignored them all and broke out into the street, almost falling over his own feet as he tried to move faster than they could carry him, and trying desperately to remember which canals the Belendt line travelled down. Five bells half chime. There was a very tiny chance of that boat still being in this city, and damn it to hell Jesper was going to find it if it was. 

He flew South, forcing his way through the crowds that were slowly thinning the farther he went, trying to picture the map in his mind; the little red line Kaz had referenced snaking its way out into the countryside for them to follow if they missed the boat at the harbour. He followed the canal until he reached an East-West waterway blocking his path, with Black Veil island, the long since closed cemetery, coming vaguely into view farther South on the other side. Jesper stopped, bouncing on the balls of his feet with anxiety fizzing through his limbs, trying to decide where to go. He didn’t have much time to just stand here trying to make a decision. 

The ferry wouldn’t have passed the graveyard, would it? And surely it wouldn’t have gone down the Geldcanal either - imagine the complaints the Merchant Council members would have at such a thing blocking their private docks or ruining their pretty view. The boat had set off from Third Harbour so it must have gone past the embassies in the Government District and then down the back of the Church of Barter, but after that would it slip straight South or weave its way around the Financial District and then trace the edge of the Barrel before it went South? Jesper didn’t know the way to Belendt, but that red line hadn’t been perfectly straight. The boat must have travelled West along the canal currently blocking Jesper’s path, which meant he needed to find the first bridge he could and get to the next North-South waterway. 

His lungs were starting to put up a protest but he tried to force himself to run again anyway - or he would’ve done, if he wasn’t convinced he'd just heard someone say his name. He sputtered to a halt before he’d really started, turning to look around for the voice he’d heard. There were thin crowds ahead of him, mostly moving North towards the Slat and the Crow Club, and beyond - there was little this far South for the tourists; this was where the Barrel stored its sharpest teeth. But there didn’t seem to be anyone looking at him, or even in his direction. He must have imagined it. He began to turn away, to set back off and pray his stupid little setback hadn’t cost him too badly, when the corner of his eye caught a boy with what would have been ruddy golden curls, if he wasn’t completely and utterly sopping wet.

“ Wylan ?”

Jesper was in disbelief. He wasn’t close enough for Wylan to have heard him, and as he hurried over he placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“Wylan-”

Wylan flinched so violently he might actually have come a foot off the ground, stumbling away as he turned to face Jesper, panic burning in his eyes. Jesper stepped backwards, retracting his hand.

“Shit- sorry, sorry. It’s just me, it’s Jesper,”

Wylan blinked for a moment, nodding quickly and breathing heavily. Jesper stared at him. He was dripping wet - literally dripping right onto the cobblestones, there was even water starting to pool in the cracks between them - and his hair had darkened where it was plastered to his forehead. His clothes clung to him and he was wearing a very wet satchel on his back, he didn’t have his cane, and Jesper wasn’t entirely certain if he was shaking because he was cold or because he was so taken so badly by surprise from him touching his shoulder. Quite possibly both. Jesper should’ve thought it through - whatever had just happened to Wylan had clearly not been fun, and he couldn’t see him coming.

“Jesper?”

“Yep. What-?” Jesper hesitated. He wasn’t entirely sure where to start, “What happened?”

There was a shaky pause.

“I… I fell off the boat. On the way - on my way to Belendt,”

“You just fell off the boat ?”

Wylan nodded. He looked about as convinced as Jesper felt.

“Right…”

Jesper didn’t want to take Wylan back to see Kaz like this, but he was pretty sure Dirtyhands had gone to the Crow Club whilst Nina was Healing Inej. He could take Wylan back to the Slat, find him some dry clothes and suggest he got some sleep, but for as long as he didn’t want to volunteer the truth of his apparent swim Jesper wasn’t going to press for it, or let Wylan realise that he knew more than he was letting on. He swallowed.

“You remember I said I had a second place, in the city?”

Wylan nodded again.

“It’s about a ten minute walk from here, more or less, we can go there,”

He didn’t really want to say that it was the Slat, he didn’t know if Wylan would agree to follow him there. He was doubtless going to have a good guess at what kind of place they were in when he heard the crowds and the voices of the Dregs’, but hopefully by that point already having arrived would be a good enough argument to convince him to hang around. 

“Why?”

Jesper was taken slightly by surprise.

“Because it’s cold and you’re soaking wet, perhaps? Or maybe because I’m not just going to leave you standing alone in the middle of the Barrel looking so deeply lost that you’re basically just a walking target?”

Wylan’s face blanched a little at that. It then occurred to Jesper that the kid might be wondering why he’d assumed he had nowhere else to go, so he added:

“I mean, I can walk you home of course, but I thought you might want to get some clean clothes-”

“No,” Wylan managed, as if the word had been forced from his chest, “I… it would be really nice of you, to let me come to yours. Thank you,”

“Of course,” Jesper tried to smile reassuringly, and then remembered that wouldn’t make much of a difference to Wylan. 

He was about to set them both moving, when he remembered again that Wylan didn’t have his cane.

“Er, the ground’s kind of uneven,” he ventured, “Are you okay…?”

“We might have to go slow,” said Wylan, after a moment, “but I’m okay,”

The Slat was, of course, still busy when they arrived, but it seemed like Kaz was still absent. That was good; Jesper didn’t think this was a good time to spring anything more on Wylan than he was already dealing with. There were a few Dregs hanging around outside the building but the crowds weren’t thick around the place like they would be at the Crow Club, and Nina must have gone back to Inej’s room because he couldn’t see her as they came in. Someone on the far side of the room dropped a bottle and it shattered across the floorboards, leading several of the people around them to give a loud cheer.

“Jesper? Where are we?”

“It’s just, erm - careful, step - it’s just like a… small apartment building?” He probably shouldn’t have said that like it was a question, “I’m upstairs, just this way,”

Eventually they made it to the relative quiet of Jesper’s room, the door closed behind them. It was a little messy in here, but Jesper quickly dug through his stuff and found a clean towel to give to Wylan. He didn’t have any clothes that would fit him but he was sure he could find something somewhere in the house that would work until Wylan’s things were dry. 

“You can sit down,” he said, glancing over his shoulder and realising Wylan was still hovering next to the door handle with the towel clutched between his shivering fingers, “If you want. I’ll get you a drink - do you want something to eat?”

Wylan didn’t say anything, so Jesper returned with tea in the cleanest looking mug he could find and a slightly pathetic looking plate of two bread rolls and a hunk of cheese that was the best he could do at the moment. He knocked and waited for a moment, then when Wylan didn’t call him in knocked again and said:

“It’s Jesper. You alright?”

The door creaked open. Wylan must have run the towel through his hair because it was now slightly frizzy through the damp, and he’d dried his hands and face as well. He sat back down as Jesper set the plate and mug onto the little table that just about fit into his room. 

“I’ll go find you something dry to wear,” he said, after a minute of silence, “But then I’m, erm, due at work pretty soon,” he needed an excuse to run and tell the others Wylan was alive, and ask Kaz to wait until at least tomorrow until he followed up, “You gonna be okay here for a few hours? Or I can stay, but I’ll need to run out to let them kno-”

“It’s okay,”

Wylan’s voice was soft, almost distant. He sat very still where he was perching on the edge of Jesper’s bed, hands folded on his lap, eyes fixed blankly on the wall. After a minute, Jesper sat down next to him.

“Do you want to talk?”

“No,”

“Do you want me to talk about something else?”

There was a pause.

“Maybe,”

“Alright,” Jesper pulled his feet onto the bed so her could sit cross-legged, drumming his fingers against his knees, “Just let me know when you’ve decided,”

Wylan turned slowly so they were facing each other again. His scar glistened in the light that was coming through Jesper’s window; sunrise was all but complete and the rays painted dreams of light and shadow across Wylan’s face, and glistened in the water droplets still clinging to his curls. 

“Jesper…”

There was silence for a moment.

“Talk to me,” he whispered, “Just… keep talking. About anything. Please,”

“You’re in luck, merchling,” Jesper grinned, “That just so happens to be be my superpower,”

Chapter Text

Jesper was right - talking really was his superpower. If Wylan hadn’t eventually said:

“Jes, don’t you need to go to work?” he wasn’t sure he ever would’ve stopped. 

He had encouraged Wylan to drink the tea he’d brought up for him, pressing the warm mug into his hands and guiding Wylan’s fingers to the handle as he chattered, but for the most part Wylan just sat feeling the heat of it between his palms. There were a couple of bread rolls lying on a plate across the room as well, but Jesper hadn’t mentioned them and Wylan wasn’t hungry. Jesper had paused briefly in the middle of a story Wylan wasn’t really listening to when he realised how much time must have passed, because the tea was cold. He was grateful for the sound of Jesper’s voice to occupy his mind even if he wasn’t really listening to what he said, it felt like an anchor keeping him in this room, in this moment. He almost regretted stopping him, but he didn’t want to be the reason Jesper was late or missed work. 

“Oh, shoot, yeah,” Jesper laughed, “I can stay, if you want-”

“I’ll be okay,” Wylan breathed, trying to smile, “Really. Thank you, so much,”

“Of course, love,” Jesper stood up and leaned a little closer; Wylan felt himself tense, “You want a new drink?”

He was looking at the half empty mug, its steam long dissipated and its colour fading from the most welcoming sight. 

“Oh- it’s alright, thanks,” Wylan let Jesper take the cold tea off him and set it back on the table, “Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay here?”

He didn’t know why he was risking asking - he didn’t have anywhere else to go. But he didn’t want to make Jesper feel like he had to take care of him. 

“Of course,” he said, again, “Long as you want. I’ll run and find some dry clothes and then I’ll go,”

Wylan nodded, but even so when Jesper returned and knocked on the door again he felt himself flinch. His breathing grew sharp and one of his hands fumbled to his neck, as if he was still trying to pull Prior’s hands away from his throat. He knew it was just Jesper, he knew that, he knew that. But apparently that wasn’t going to stop his brain from going into overdrive. 

“Wylan?”

He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t breathe.

“Wylan, are you okay?”

“Yeah - sorry,” his voice didn’t sound right, “I - sorry -”

“Don’t apologise. I can leave these here for you and you can just get them when you want, or-”

“Uh, no, it’s okay,” Wylan managed, flexing his fingers in and out of his fists, “You can come in. Sorry,”

“Do you know what don’t apologise means?” asked Jesper as the door opened, smiling at Wylan, “Here,”

He tossed a shirt and a pair of trousers, which landed sort of haphazardly on Wylan’s lap as he tried to catch them. He dropped the shirt.

“Sorry, probably should’ve thought that through,” Jesper picked it up and pressed it into Wylan’s hand, “But I think those should fit okay - and there’s a railing on the wall opposite the bed, you can hang your stuff on there to dry,”

Wylan nodded.

“Thank you,” 

“Yeah of course - okay, I’ve gotta run or I’m gonna be late, are you sure you’re okay on your own?”

Wylan just nodded again. 

He had been glad to sit with Jesper for a while, listening to whatever he’d been talking about without really taking it in, but he was glad to have a little time for himself as well.

Jesper’s room could only be described as chaotic. The bed was unmade, the pillows in disarray and the duvet falling half onto the floor where the corner drooped into a pile of discarded clothes. The table where Wylan’s cold tea and the little bread rolls were sitting in wait was also decorated by several other used cups and plates, some stacked on top of each other and some shoved to one side to make space for the ones Jesper had brought up earlier. It wasn’t a big space but there was a window that peered onto the street below and, if Wylan’s sight hadn’t been blurry, would have given him the vaguest hint of the canal behind the next few buildings, with frayed curtains that had clearly faded from whatever colour they were once supposed to be. Other than the faded curtains Jesper’s room was actually very colourful, like it was impossible for him to own more than one item in the same shade. Wylan turned back from the window, fingers brushing the sill and spilling dust onto the floor. He brushed his hand down the leg of the trousers he’d just changed into, trying to get the remnants off himself, and then picked up his dripping clothes and pushed one of Jesper’s waistcoats to the end of the little railing so there was space to hang them over it. 

The room was definitely chaotic, but that made it feel real. Lived in. Wylan’s room at home could have belonged to pretty much anyone if you didn’t know it was his, but this place looked like it actually belonged to someone. Or like someone actually belonged here. 

It took him a few minutes to convince himself to open his satchel; he wasn’t sure why it felt like he couldn’t do it, but if he left it where it was the water would end up ruining Jesper’s already slightly dodgy floorboards and all of Wylan’s things would be ruined. He wondered what his father had done with the trunks that were supposedly being sent after him, and had to suddenly pinch his nose and swallow hard to try and keep from throwing up. 

Everything in his satchel was soaked through. He had to wring his favourite jumper out over the window ledge before he put it onto the railing with everything else because the wool was holding so much water, and he was pretty sure the shape was all warped and ruined but he was trying to convince himself away from thinking about it. It was an incredibly stupid thing to be concerned about right now, but it was his favourite jumper and it was probably ruined and it was making him want to cry. And what about everything in his trunk? His clothes, his shoes, everything - even the sheet music he’d managed to keep hidden in his wardrobe for so long… all of it must be gone. He’d taken his flute out of his jacket pocket when he hung it over the railing, but now he didn’t really have anywhere else to put it except back into his sopping wet bag and that didn’t seem very practical. He stood in the centre of Jesper’s room, holding his almost definitely ruined flute, staring at his almost definitely ruined jumper, his hair still wet and the goosebumps on his arms still shivering beneath the too-long sleeves of his borrowed shirt. He hoped it was borrowed, anyway, though walking through this building had set him on a pretty certain path that this was probably stolen. 

There were still loud noises chattering through from downstairs and the rooms either side of this one; conversations that were either mostly unintelligible or didn’t make sense to Wylan. There was a couple arguing in the room next door, sounding like they were on the verge of throwing things at each other, and a couple in the room above who were definitely doing something else. Wylan stared at the ceiling for a moment - it’s half six in the morning! - and then shook himself back to his senses. It was like he’d fallen into another world, some kind of mad mirror dimension of the city that he’d thought he knew, and he had no idea how to function here. He wished he’d drunk all of his tea; he wasn’t going to dare venturing anywhere else to get a new one. He settled for the water flask that he’d set on the floor when he took it out of his satchel, running his fingers along the newly acquired dents in the metal. 

Jesper was only gone for about two hours. Wylan paced around the room, finished all the water in his flask, convinced himself to rip an edge of one of the bread rolls. He caught himself in the smudgy mirror and realised there were bruises growing on his throat. He pulled his collar up, as if that would be enough to hide them, and hoped that Jesper wouldn’t notice.

The sounds of the house were relentless and every single one of them was someone coming to find him, Prior or Miggson ready to finish the job. By the time Jesper returned, Wylan was sitting between the wall and the foot of the bed, with knees pulled to his chest, his flute clutched loosely between his fingers. The wood was warped. It was useless. 

“Wylan?”

Wylan jumped. He hadn’t heard Jesper come in. 

“Oh, is this the famous flute?” Jesper grinned as he sat down in front of Wylan, apparently not caring to question what he was doing sitting on the floor, “Do I get to hear you play?”

“It’s ruined,” Wylan mumbled, without looking up, still running his fingers over the misshapen wood.

He was an idiot. If he had just left his flute in his bag, tucked it safely into its case, it probably wouldn’t have been quite so far beyond repair. It might have survived. But he’d wanted it in his jacket, he’d wanted to be able to feel it and know that it was there for what ? He couldn’t even describe the nervousness he knew he would’ve felt in its absence. He had a vague memory of going travelling somewhere once, he didn’t remember where and he’d only been a small child, and checking his bag every few minutes as though all of his belongings might have vanished the moment he looked away. That one stuck out, other than all the other travels he had once been happily - even excitedly - welcomed on by his father, because by whatever age he was then he’d had his first flute and it was sitting in that bag, on the verge of disappearing every few seconds if he didn’t keep an eye on it. Keep it safe and close and in a strange way almost secret. So what? For some stupid sentimentality or foolish, entirely impractical and irrational fear, Wylan had destroyed his flute. He may as well have clung to it so tightly that his fingers snapped it in half, for all the infuriating irony was not lost on him, and he wanted to scream his frustration and his loss. But he just carried on sitting there, running his fingers over the ruined flute, grieving for something that had never been alive in the first place.

“Oh, Wy, I’m so sorry…” Jesper’s voice felt distant.

Wylan just shrugged.

“I shouldn’t care this much,” he whispered, “Not… not about this , of all things this is what’s…”

He couldn’t finish the thought; he just shook his head. The pain in his chest had only slightly released since crawling out of the canal hours ago, and he felt nerves rising as he wondered if Jesper could see his bruises. He had to hold himself back from fidgeting with his collar. 

“Wylan, you’re allowed to be upset about-”

“Don’t,” he whispered.

He couldn’t talk about it. He shouldn’t have mentioned it. Jesper shuffled, but he didn’t say anything. Wylan felt his hand wanting to drift to his shirt collar again and tightened his grip on his flute. Trying harder to hide them was only going to draw Jesper’s attention to the bruises.

“That wasn’t a long shift,” he said, eventually, when the quiet - not silence, apparently there was never silence here - got too much.

“I just sorted out a deal with them,” said Jesper, smiling, “So you weren’t stuck here alone for ages,”

Wylan nodded. 

“Where do you work?”

There was brief pause, before Jesper ventured:

“At a bar,”

He didn;t sound entirely convinced about his own statement, but who the hell was Wylan to call someone out for lying?

“I, erm…” Jesper hesitated, then began again talking so quickly it was like his own words - or perhaps his thoughts - were overlapping each other, “I know someone, who I think you should talk to. I mean - well, he wants to meet you so if you want to - tomorrow, you don’t have to like now, I mean…”

He trailed off for a moment, then said more succinctly:

“You can stay here tonight and I’ll get out of your way, but if you’re feeling okay tomorrow then there’s this guy I work with, Kaz - he’s my boss. He’d like to talk to you,”

Wylan leaned back, feeling tension run through his shoulders.

“Why?”

“He’s hoping you’ll make a deal with him - you don’t have to, okay, but if you just have a conversation with him he might be able to help you out,”

“Help me out?” asked Wylan, raising an eyebrow, “By making a deal? You sure you’re not talking about the devil, here?”

Jesper laughed.

“You might be more accurate in that than you want to be, Wylan,” he laughed again, “But he probably can help you, and you can probably help him. Look, if you just talk to him - and I can be there too, if you want me to - you don’t have to agree to anything. But he might be able to help you make some money, maybe even… I dunno, but he could get you a job, I’m sure,”

The actual practicality of everything hadn’t quite dawned on Wylan until now. He was alone - or almost alone, anyway - in the Barrel, his father had tried to have him killed and may very well believe him drowned, he had no money but a couple of very wet kruge notes, and no skills or methods of income whatsoever. He would have to find a job somewhere; would have to do something to survive. And Jesper had said he could stay here, but he could hardly do that forever could he? He needed money, he needed somewhere to live, he… he needed to at least survive this part, if he would have any hope of ever figuring out the next. 

“Okay,” he murmured, eventually, “I’ll talk to him,”

Chapter Text

Everything hurt. The world returned to Inej in slow, strange flashes as her eyes opened but her vision blurred and bled. Short, shallow breaths heaved in her chest as she tried to sit up, sharper pain suddenly rocketing through her leg. She hissed, grabbing the mattress and the headboard to steady herself.

“Easy,” said a soft voice nearby, “easy, you’re okay,”

It took a moment for Inej to find her room at the Slat and come to proper attention. Nina spun into view standing opposite her, arms outstretched as though she were expecting Inej to faint and fall right off the bed. She very well may have been about to. 

“Nina…”

“Lie down,” Nina murmured, as Inej let her slip her hands through hers and ease back against the pillow, “You need to rest,”

Inej wanted to protest but the pain was terrible and there were dark spots crowding in her vision, their edges fizzling with sparks as they clamoured for her attention. Her breaths came shakily and she closed her eyes, lying on her back, tightening her fingers around Nina’s hand. Between them they managed to move Inej’s pillow and prop her up against the headboard, but Inej wasn’t entirely convinced she would have been able to move herself alone. Her leg was on fire and her skin was shaking as though it intended to stand up without her muscles following it, to leave her cold and throbbing like an oyster pulled out of its shell.

“You should drink some water,” said Nina, softly, pressing a flask into Inej’s hands.

“How long was I out?” she whispered, raising the water slowly to her lips.

“Not as long as I’d like you to have been,” admitted Nina, “Only four hours or so. You need to sleep,”

Inej didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to stand up and prove to herself that she was fine, that her pain would dissipate and she would be able to walk, run, climb as soon as possible. She settled for sipping her water, watching Nina over the rim of the flask. Inej’s room was tight but Nina had brought one of the many spindly, mismatched dining chairs from downstairs and just about managed to fit it in. It was a snug fit, the chair was pressed against both the wall and Inej’s mattress so it wasn’t possible to sit on it without bringing your legs to the side, like Nina was now. For a while they sat there in the relative quiet, the voices below a distant ocean chorus, as Inej tried to sort through her clouded thoughts, a sudden panic seizing her as her hands began to trace her belt, her sleeves, her sides. 

“Do you want something to eat?” asked Nina lightly, in the middle of turning back to face Inej and apparently not yet having noticed her frenzy.

“Where are my knives? Nina - Nina, where -?”

“It’s okay,” Nina looked briefly panicked, “It’s okay, they’re here,” she opened the top drawer of Inej’s little nightstand, the only furniture she had but her bed and clothes chest, so she could see the knives neatly laid out along the base of the wood, “I’m sorry, I needed somewhere to put them and the drawer was empty. I could put them on top so you can see them-”

Inej shook her head.

“It’s alright,” she breathed, “I’m sorry, I… I don’t know,”

But she knew where they were now. As much as she might want to ignore that nervous, irrational part of her mind instead of having to find the right ways to calm it, at least it had relaxed some, now, and she could temporarily set it to one side. She breathed.

“What happened?” she ventured, after a minute had passed, “After…”

“Kaz went to the Crow Club, I assume he’s still there; I haven't seen him. Anika and Roeder missed Wylan at the docks, Jesper ran after the boat - I don’t know what happened, but he came by a few hours ago to say Wylan was alright,”

“He’s okay?”

Nina shrugged.

“He’s alive,”

That was probably about the best they could have hoped for. Inej hadn’t been able to make much sense of half the things she’d found at the Van Eck house, but fathers didn’t just decide to send hired guns after their children on a casual whim. The paper trail that led Inej to Miggson and Prior had not been the only plan, though as far she could tell it was the only one that ever got further than a half-baked shape of an idea, and Van Eck didn’t seem to be trying particularly hard to hide them anywhere but beneath other papers in one of the many drawers in his unnecessarily large desk. Inej sipped her water again, nodding vaguely in response to Nina as she said something about bringing her some food. She let Nina feel her forehead when she asked, and the Heartrender returned with a cold compress before she went to get them both something to eat. 

Once Nina had returned and they’d both had some lunch - cheese sandwiches followed by a few little sweet rolls Nina had bought from the bakery down the street recently enough that they weren’t too dry yet - Inej reached her arms either side of her and sat up off the headboard to stretch her spine.

“I need to move,” she said eventually, when Nina had taken her plate off her and set it on the little nightstand. 

“You should rest,” 

Inej just shook her head.

“I need to move,”

She rolled slightly, planting her hands onto the mattress so she could lean her weight into her arms and drag her leg slightly behind her. The compress round her neck - she’d almost forgotten it was there - slipped and flopped onto the mattress as she moved, and Nina stood to pick it up. Inej’s knee screamed at her as soon as she moved it, spots clouded into her vision once again and she tensed, feeling herself sway, clutching Nina’s outstretched hands. 

“You’re okay,” Nina whispered, holding her close, “You’re okay. Come here, sit on the edge of the mattress,”

Inej shuffled forwards and Nina sat down next to her, one hand hovering between them as though Inej was going to collapse at any second. To be entirely honest she wasn’t sure she could discount the possibility. 

“Just lift your leg up and down,” said Nina, hinging her own leg from knee as she spoke, “Go slow. Just try to get some movement there,”

Inej found herself gripping the edge of the mattress until the sheet began to ball up inside her fists, gritting her teeth as she moved her leg slowly up and down. It took an infuriating amount of effort just to do it once, and despite Nina forming the beginnings of a question Inej just bit her lip and tried again. She was left almost breathless, with burning annoyance heating in her cheeks.

“Don’t rush it,” Nina’s voice was gentle, “Just keep trying when you can,”

Over the slow remainder of the day Inej switched between lying down, trying to quell the voices in her head, and slowly pushing her leg to each new limit she could think of, trying to quell the screaming in her head. Nina stayed with her all day, letting Inej lean on her as she tried to put weight onto her knee, keeping the damp cloth round the back of Inej’s neck cool, easing her pain when it got to its worst and telling her stories when other things got to their worst.

“Nina…” Inej said at some point, when it suddenly occurred to her they’d been together for hours on end even before she woke up, “Don’t you have to be at work?”

“Oh, erm…” Nina bit the inside of her lip, “I’m kind of suspended. But Kaz talked Feliks out of firing me, so that’s good,”

Inej stared at her. 

“What did you do ?” she asked, and then about five minutes later, “You did the right thing, Nina,”

Nina smiled sadly, moving Inej’s hand up and down a little where their fingers were clasped.

“Why does doing the right thing feel so rotten?”

“Nina-”

“I’m not sure I really helped Elodie very much. We had to talk him out of not getting rid of her, too,”

“Is she alright?”

“I think so? I can’t be on premises, Feliks doesn’t want to explain my absence so he’s delayed all my appointments by excuse of being on a job with the Dregs - or probably in vaguer, nicer sounding terms to the clients, but the point is I’m not supposed to be there,”

Inej squeezed Nina’s fingers.

Jesper slipped briefly in and out a couple of times to check how she was doing, and Nina took the opportunity to stretch her legs and get them both some more food or drinks. 

“How’s Wylan?” 

“I’d say he’s been better,” Jesper shuffled the precarious chair a little closer so he could take Inej’s hand, and both of them cringed slightly at the ugly squeaking it made against the floorboards, “But he agreed to meet Kaz tomorrow, I guess that’s good,”

“Did you tell him Kaz wants him for demolitions?”

Jesper sucked his teeth.

“... I may have told him I work at a bar,”

“And when he meets Kaz tomorrow?”

“I’m very much operating on a figure-it-out-as-you-go-along-and-hope-for-the-best kinda plan,”

“That’s all your plans,”

“Aw, you know me so well!”

When early evening fell, Nina closed Inej’s curtains and found her pyjamas to lay them on the end of the bed. Inej stayed sitting as Nina leaned over her for a brief embrace, then bid her goodnight as she left the room. It took a while for Inej to manage changing into her ill-fitting pyjamas but that may have been a blessing because the energy it took was about  the right amount to leave her ready to sleep. She crawled beneath her duvet in slow bursts, pushing herself gently down the mattress by pressing her weight against the headboard until she was all but horizontal. Her head was heavy, the pain in her leg was slowly dulling to an easy enough ache after the sharp, explosive pains that changing had fired through her, but as she leant into the pillow she was allowed only the briefest moment of closing her eyes.

 “Saints,” said someone’s crisp, cool voice as a breeze wound its way into Inej’s room and she shot upright like a marionette with a tugged string, “I thought she’d never leave,”

Pain spiralled its way through Inej’s leg and the fuzzy, swimming sensation in her head returned at the sudden movement, but none of that mattered now. Because Inej could barely move. And Liesbeth Stoevelaar was standing in her bedroom. 

Chapter Text

“Oh, and Rollins is kicking up a fuss,” Anika added to the end of her report, “some girl pulled a runner from the Sweet Shoppe and I guess she must be a good earner ‘cause he ain’t happy about it. He’s offering money for information ‘bout it, or for bringing her back,”

Kaz frowned, leaning back in his chair. They were in his office at the Crow Club, and up until now Anika hadn’t told him much he didn’t already know. An update on the death of the Leopard, which was pretty much that no-one knew anything and the world was quickly moving on, a follow up on Roeder having tailed Oomen and some of the other Black Tips to try and find out if there was something specific they wanted from the Wraith, the Black Tips themselves were still pushing their luck at Fifth Harbour, and there’d been another report of strange activity on the Geldstraat. A few times in the last month or so there had been slightly odd or inconsistent instances in the Geldin District late at night that filtered back to the Barrel the long way round, through word of mouth and sometimes foolish-sounding rumours from staff and guards, then their friends and then their friends and then their friends. Kaz wasn’t sure how much stock he was putting in it, but it was worth keeping up on. This, however, had piqued his interest. 

First of all, there had to be something about this girl that made her worth Pekka’s efforts to bring her back in, and that meant she might be worth something to Kaz if he could find a way to use her against him. He flexed his fingers in his gloves. Brick by brick. And then there was the second of all; pulling a runner from any of the pleasure houses on West Stave was a task and a half but from one as big as the Sweet Shoppe? Whose eyes had she managed to pull the wool over long enough for that? - And just two weeks after the Leopard went missing from the Menagerie, and showed up dead? That seemed a pretty strange coincidence, and Kaz didn’t believe in coincidences. 

“Who is she?”

“Well I heard Amethyst ,” Anika shrugged, “I assume that’s not her real name, but-”

“But it’s enough to go on, for now at least. I want Roeder looking into this, see if he can find her contract - any kind of paper trail that can tell us who she is, where she might’ve gone,”

If she had run away, of course, and not been taken.

“How long has she been gone?”

“Far as I know, just this morning,”

Kaz nodded. He would’ve preferred to have Inej look into this, she would be more thorough, more subtle, and probably faster than Roeder, but he didn’t know if she could climb yet and Roeder was good enough at his job. They didn’t have long to act. 

Kaz hadn’t heard anything more about the Wraith since yesterday, when Jesper had come by to tell him Wylan was alive and Inej was unconscious but Nina had done her job.

“I need you to walk me through what happened,”

“I’ve told you everything I know.” said Jesper, “We got cornered by the Black Tips and Inej told me to go ahead to get to Wylan, but I heard gunshots so I ran back,”

“Who was there?” Kaz had pressed impatiently.

Inej wasn’t originally supposed to be working that morning, if Jesper hadn’t twisted Kaz’s arm into this job she would’ve been at the Crow Club or the Slat and no-one would be able to get to her. 

“Liesbeth Stoevelaar,” said Jesper, “Oomen, a few others - I didn’t recognise them all. I took one out but it was retaliation, and we got out of there before any Razorgulls showed up,”

Stoevelaar. Oomen. Kaz nodded.

Now it was morning once again; the sun had risen and was carving its gradual pathway towards the peak of the cloudy sky, but there were still hours to pass until midday. The predicted storms had thus far come to nothing but the clouds were still gathering, the sun peaking eagerly through their edges, waiting for whatever catalyst would finally convince the rain that it was time to fall. Kaz picked up a neat little envelope from his desk, affixed his seal to it, and handed it to Anika.

“Find Elodie Schiff at the White Rose and give her that. Tell Roeder to talk to me about this Amethyst situation when he gets back,”

Anika nodded, slipping the letter into her pocket, then turned to leave. 

“Oh-” she turned back as Kaz spoke, “Send Nina over,”

It wasn’t long afterwards that the Heartrender arrived, knocking lightly on the door and stepping inside with a shake of the Ketterdam mists off the collar of her coat as soon as he’d bid her entry.

“The Wraith?”

“Still asleep,” said Nina, “Or she should be anyway, if she isn’t she’s at least still in bed. I haven’t been in this morning, I want her to rest as long as possible, but she seemed to be improving even just during the day yesterday,”

Kaz nodded, but it didn’t quell the unease in his mind. He told Nina that Jesper and Wylan were on their way and he wanted her there to discuss this new job but his thoughts wandered away from the room even as he spoke, and focused only on how much he missed his usual routine with Inej. He wanted to sit behind his desk at the Slat as he sorted through his papers, watching her where she was sitting on his window sill.. It was discomforting - not only because he wanted to return to normal but because he didn’t know why it bothered him so badly that things were out of regularity. But she’d been at the university for two weeks and they’d barely seen each other, and now she still could not return. He wanted to re-pace, to return to what he knew and could expect. Saying he trusted Inej would be stretching the point, but he could admit that he’d come to rely on her, and her absence was putting him on edge. 

“Are you really sure I should be here?” Nina was saying, “He doesn’t know about the university job, isn’t it going to be a problem if he-”

“Nina?” 

Kaz and Nina both looked up, to see Wylan Van Eck standing in the open office doorway. 

“... recognises me,” she sighed, “Hi, Wylan,”

Wylan stepped into the room, nudged gently by Jesper, who was standing behind him and followed him inside. Nina bit the inside of her lip as she slid to one side, watching Wylan and Jesper step towards the desk. 

“You recognise voices quickly,” Kaz remarked, studying Wylan.

He looked younger than Kaz knew him to be, but his first night in the Barrel had clearly taken its toll. His clothes were ill-fitting and his curls were mostly untamed, Kaz knew that he usually used a cane but he didn’t have one with him now, and despite the unsubtle attempt his scarf was making to hide them Kaz could see dark bruises growing on his throat. Jesper hadn’t known everything that happened to Wylan yesterday morning, but clearly none of it was particularly happy-go-lucky. 

“Eight years of practice,” Wylan shrugged, “And I had to learn pretty quick. I don’t recognise you, though, so am I right to assume you must be Kaz Brekker?”

“I am,” Kaz conceded, “And I believe you and Nina are already acquainted,”

Wylan nodded.

“I didn’t know you worked together,” said Wylan, face turning through the room to find Nina, but in her silence settling on Jesper instead.

“There’s an explanation to be had soon enough,” Kaz interrupted, “But first I want to talk,”

“About what?”

“I’ve been told you know your way around a chemistry set,”

Wylan frowned.

“I suppose,” he ventured, slightly clouded eyes sparking with suspicion, “Why?” 

“We have a job coming up for which we require someone with your particular skill set. I’ll need flash bombs, I don’t know how many but I’m willing to pay by the dozen or whatever your normal bulks are, and a few with a little more kick to them. Something that would disable a small bridge - stone bridge, mind you - and something big enough to-”

“ Bombs ?” Wylan looked aghast, “You want me to build bombs ?” 

Kaz’s gaze flicked, unimpressed, over to Jesper. Jesper shuffled uncomfortably on his chair, avoiding Kaz’s eyes and Wylan’s concerned expression. 

“Why did you think you were here?” asked Kaz, coolly.

“I don’t-”

“I’ve been watching you for some time, and now I have a use for you. Nina and Inej would have been able to confirm this for me if you hadn’t been pulled from university and ended up in this little predicament but-”

“I left university,” said Wylan, suddenly, “No-one pulled me out,”

Kaz sighed. 

“I don’t have time for us to tiptoe around this, Wylan. I know that your father pulled you out of university and fed the world a false tale about a music school in Belendt but the point is-”

“I was supposed to go to Belendt,” Wylan said, almost earnestly enough that Kaz might have thought he truly believed it. Almost, “I - here, I have enrolment papers,”

He pulled an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket, the only clothing item in his ensemble that Kaz was convinced was his own.

“They got a bit wet. But…”

“May I?” Kaz held a gloved hand out over the desk, but of course Wylan just leant forwards until he found the desk itself and placed the envelope on the top.

Kaz picked it up and pulled a small blade from his sleeve to slice it open. It was an oyster shucking knife, really, but it would do. 

Wylan had said the papers had gotten wet, and indeed the envelope was still slightly damp and wearing away enough to leave an unwelcome shedding of paper bits onto Kaz’s gloves, but there was no ink bleeding through from the letter inside. 

“These are blank,” said Kaz, pulling the papers free and dropping them into an unpleasant, mildewy pile on the edge of his desk.

“I -” Wylan swallowed, “I don’t-”

“I don’t know how we can prove it to you, Wy,” said Jesper, softly, “But they’re blank,”

A moment passed. 

“You’ve been watching me?”

“I think you can prove very useful to me, Wylan Van Eck. But first things first you won’t get far using that surname in the Barrel, too recognisable. You should-”

“You sent Nina and Inej to watch me,” Wylan repeated, quietly.

Nina squirmed. 

“Yes,”

“Because… you want me to build bombs?”

“I want you to join my team as a demolitions expert,” said Kaz, “But if that isn’t what you want I’m happy to find a trade agreement instead. What should I call you?”

A short moment rolled by.

“Hendriks. Wylan Hendriks,”

“Good to meet you, Wylan Hendriks. Nina and Inej didn’t have time for you to prove useful in what I wanted from your father, but Jesper has vouched for your proficiency at chemistry and in that case-”

“You…” Wylan turned to face Jesper, squaring his shoulders, “Right. I see,”

“Wylan-” Jesper began, but Wylan was already rounding back towards Kaz.

“I’m sorry but you clearly have the wrong person for both of your interests. I cannot get you any closer to my father than either of us already are, and I don’t want anything to do with this. I don’t know what you’re going to do with explosives but I want no part in it,” he said, and then looking somewhere in between Kaz and Jesper, “I’ll make my own way,”

He marched from the office, ignoring Jesper calling after him. Jesper shot Kaz one furious look, and then ran after him and out into the Crow Club. Nina shook her head.

“What the hell did you just do?”

“I did nothing, Zenik, except tell the truth,”

Nina sighed melodramatically.

“If that’s all, I’m going to go back and check on Inej,”

Kaz nodded.

“Fine. But I want that kid under Dregs’ protection,”

There was a brief pause, as Nina turned slowly back from her pathway to the door.

“Why?”

“Because he’s going to die out here, or he’s going to have to change his mind at some point” Kaz replied, standing up and shifting his weight onto his cane, “And when does I’d rather he doesn’t find someone else to work for,”

There was another reason too, and Kaz’s mind began to whirr through it at top speed as he paced from the office and onto the floor of the Club. There were deals to be made, games to oversee, money to make. But through all of it this remained in the back of his head, a new puzzle that he was yet to solve.

Because Kaz was about ninety five percent certain that Wylan Hendriks could see.

Chapter Text

“Wylan! Wylan, wait!”

Jesper glared briefly at Kaz, even though it wasn’t really his fault and both of them knew it, then ran out of the office. Wylan was moving quickly and it was hard to track him through the loud blurs and cheering of the tables; Jesper was out of breath by the time he managed to catch up with him. They’d spilt out onto the street and woven after each other through the crowds outside the Crow Club, not at their height at this time of the morning but hardly quiet enough to have been considered thin. Wylan vanished and reappeared then vanished again amongst throngs of people as Jesper chased after him, moving South to where the street fell empty. 

“Wylan,” Jesper said again as he finally reached him, grabbing his shoulder.

Wylan flinched slightly but he didn’t move away, shoving Jesper’s hand off him and turning back away from him to keep walking. 

“I don’t want to talk to you,” 

“You can’t - Look, at least let me walk you back and then I’ll stay out of your way until you want to talk-”

“No,” 

“No?”

“That’s what I said,” 

“Wylan, please,”

He stopped and whirled back to face Jesper, his curls following a beat after his head so they swung down in front of his eyes. His scarf had slipped and Jesper could see that the bruises on his throat had darkened since yesterday, blotchy and ominous across his pale skin, emphasising the quivering blue vein running down his neck. 

“Fine,” he sucked his teeth, “You want to talk about it? You want to tell me what that was?”

Jesper’s gaze slipped briefly towards Wylan’s shoes. They hadn’t dried properly overnight and were still discoloured by the heavy load of canal water soaked into the leather. He fidgeted.

“Kaz is a lieutenant for a gang called the Dregs; me, Inej, and Nina all work for them,”

“I’d connected those dots,” Wylan hissed, “That doesn’t really give me any real answers,”

“I’m sorry, okay, look - I’m sorry, I should’ve told you. We found out what your father was going to do, and I told Kaz that if he helped stop it you would do demo work for him. But stuff went wrong on the job - Inej got injured - we were too late, and I’m so sorry, I was running through the Barrel chasing that boat when I found you, I thought you were dead-”

“You…” Wylan swallowed, “Why didn’t you tell me? Why -” he shook his head,I” don’t even know what to say to you. What the hell did you think I was going to say to this? What could possibly possess you to think this was a good idea, I just-”

“I’m sorry,” Jesper tried again, “Really, I know I should’ve told you the truth I just…”

What? Why hadn’t he told Wylan the truth, who he was, what he was doing? Because he was ashamed of it, because Wylan made him want to be something different? Because he couldn’t bear the thought of Wylan looking at him the way that he was now?

“So that’s all that this was?” asked Wylan, his cheeks burning, “Getting yourself reassigned as my partner, joining classes I was in, describing the fucking sunset to me, all of it? To use me for some illegal scheme of Brekker’s?”

“No, Wylan-”

“You, and Nina, and Inej pretending to be my friends? My only friends, Jesper, don’t you get that?”

“Please, Wylan listen to me-”

“No!” he shouted, seemingly taking both of them by surprise, “Why on earth would I want to listen to you? This… This happened to me because of you! I stayed late in the library for you , because I was stupid enough to think you actually liked me and it got me pulled out of school and almost killed. For nothing ,”

Jesper wanted to protest, he wanted to say that it wasn’t nothing that he hadn’t ever meant to lie to Wylan - but if staying with him that evening had really been the final straw, what the fuck was he supposed to say to make it better? There was nothing he could do to console Wylan through anything he’d been through, and hell if someone had been partly at fault for Jesper feeling like Wylan did then he wouldn’t want to hang around them either.

“Wylan, please, I’m only trying to help you-”

“I don’t want your help,” he snapped, “I’m not useless, or pathetic, and I don’t need you to come and rescue me,”

He spun on his heel and began to march away.

“Wylan,”

“Goodbye, Jesper,”

“Wylan, please-”

“I said goodbye ,”

Jesper didn’t know what to do. For a minute he just stood there, watching Wylan leave, feeling that hollow space gnawing at his edges again. When he walked back to the Crow Club, Nina and Kaz had both left. He didn’t know where they were and he didn’t really care. He played a hand of Three Man Bramble, and then another and another. He lost, he bought a drink, won and then lost again. And again. 

He walked back to the Slat he-didn’t-even-know-how-many hours later, passed on some senseless gossip about a girl called Amethyst to Kaz on the off chance that information on the Dime Lions would get him back into his good graces - or at least marginally better ones, anyway; Jesper wasn’t entirely convinced that Kaz actually had good graces - paid vague attention to whatever Kaz had said in return, promptly forgot what Kaz had said, and sat on the floor of his room for a while with his back leant against the closed door. He packed all of Wylan’s half-dried belongings back into his damp satchel and left it by the end of the bed, but he wasn’t entirely sure that the kid was even going to bother coming by to get them. Well, screw him. Jesper had tried to help, what else was he supposed to do? Not cause a thousand problems, not lie to him, not make everything worse than it already was in the space of ten minutes, maybe. He went downstairs and got himself another drink. 

Chapter Text

Nina got just about the fright of her life when she walked into Inej’s bedroom at the Slat.

She’d left Kaz’s office at the Crow Club walking in tandem with him as he crossed out onto the main floor and they found themselves greeted by an onslaught of shouting and flashing colours; the Makker’s wheels clunked loudly as they spun, people were laughing as though they’d been told the sound of it was the only thing they’d be able to leave behind when they died and they wanted to make sure it counted, counters and cards and heavens knew what else clattered and cluttered in every direction. Nina sighed. She was on the second day of her suspension and already not enjoying her sudden and unfortunately necessary proximity to the Crow Club and the Slat. She usually steered clear unless she was needed for a job; Kaz had labelled her a son for it but she didn’t much care what Kaz Brekker thought of her. 

“Where did you stay last night?” he asked, stopping near the bar.

“Anika’s,” 

She’d been on shift all night, so she’d let Nina use her room at the Slat - not that she’d slept particularly well. Anika wasn’t working tonight though, so Nina was going to have to find someone else’s bed to steal. 

“Inej was meant to be working tonight,” said Kaz, “but I assume-”

“Not gonna happen. Give a couple of days,”

“But she’ll be alright?”

Nina narrowed her eyes. What was he planning now?

“For what?”

Kaz’s dark eyes fixed on Nina for a moment, flat and angry, a shark’s glare.

“For her,”

Nina restrained the need to raise an eyebrow.

“She should be,”

And apparently that was the end of the conversation, because Kaz unturned around and walked away. Nina rolled her eyes at his back, then spun on her heel and wound her way through the crowd towards the doors. It was almost impressive that the crowds here managed to be just as colourful as those on West Stave, despite their lack of costumes or capes or masks. They were perhaps even brighter, not confined to the red cape of Mr Crimson or the blue veil of the Lost Bride, the horns of the Grey Imp or the orange mask of the Madman.

Almost as soon as Nina stepped outside she was nearly knocked from her feet by Jesper striding back past her towards the Club, and when she called after him he either didn’t hear her or neglected to reply. Probably the latter. She stood and watched the door that had closed behind him for a moment, biting her lip, wondering if he was alright and where Wylan had gone. Still, the baby merch was under Dregs’ protection - word would spread quickly that Kaz wanted it that way and no-one was going to argue, and no matter what questions they might want to ask about it she doubted anyone would get answers - and Jesper was, well, Jesper. He would play, he would drink, he would either track Wylan down and apologise or pretend the entire thing had never happened, and he would accept help from no-one in no form whatsoever during the process. Part of her wanted to try to offer anyway, but the rest of her was pointing out that they would only argue, she would only leave him feeling more alone. And anyway, she needed to get back to Inej.

The crowds thinned quickly as Nina slipped down the street and across the canal, then followed it briefly South before veering off through the crooked little streets towards the Slat. Ketterdam, or at least this part of the Barrel, looked like it should belong in a picture book or a children’s story; there were always some kind of smog-soaked, grey, unhappy little streets that pretty little children lived in before they found out they were secretly royal or fairies or some other nonsense, and every inch of the road curling in front of Nina could have been a watercolour painting tucked neatly between the pages of any one of them. This could have even been one of the many streets where Sankta Anastasia bled. That option might fit the atmosphere around here better. The entire story was actually shockingly Kerch, Nina had always thought. 

There was still gossip flying around about the Leopard when she stepped over the threshold of the Slat. Nina had heard some girl had vanished from the Sweet Shoppe this morning as well; someone with some sort of gemstone name - sounded very fake. That concerned Nina; it would be quite the coincidence for them both to go missing so close to each other.

“Amethyst ran though,” said a boy whose name Nina couldn’t quite place, though she knew she’d seen him around before, “That’s what they’re saying, anyway,”

Yes, Amethyst, that was her name. Or her pseudonym, at least.

He was sitting cross-legged on one of the tables with three others lounging on chairs around him. Layla, one of the servers from the Crow Club who Nina had seen with this boy on several occasions, was leaning forward from her chair to rest her head against his knee, and he was running his fingers through the hair above her ear. 

“Right,” she said, briefly lifting her chin to look up at him, “‘Cause Rollins would absolutely love the publicity of oopsies, let my girl get kidnapped not two weeks after a kidnapping with the exact same pattern happened down the street ,”

“Not sure he’d really care, Layle,” said one of her friends.

“‘Bout blaming her, ‘stead of him isn’t it?” said the other, “Or just blaming anyone. I’m getting a drink, who wants one?”

They all started talking, and the girl stuck two choice fingers up.

“Get ‘em yourselves then,”

They all laughed, clamouring over one another and pretending to throw something at the friend sauntering away. The other friend bounded to their feet and hurried after her, whilst Layla climbed up onto the table and leant against her boy’s shoulder, proceeding to whisper something that made him pink right up to his ears.

“ Layla ,”

She giggled, leaning backwards, and promptly toppled off the table. The boy gasped and jumped forwards; he managed to catch her hands in midair but too late to stop her thunking into the floorboards. She lay there for a moment, still giggling, her light brown hair splayed around her like a spilled inkpot, and her arms in the air where she was holding his hands. He was almost lying on his stomach for how far he’d leaned across the table, and after she arched her back slightly so she was just close enough to him to say something Nina couldn’t quite hear she gave him a sharp tug so he fell straight off the table and on top of her. Both of them laughed loudly, and she could see him threading his fingers through her hair as they rolled over and he gently invited her closer. Their foreheads touched, their lips met, and Nina suddenly realised that she had dug her own nails so deep into her palm that she had left herself with crescent moon indents where her fingers lay in her fists. She turned away. 

When had she become someone who couldn’t watch others being happy?

The girl she used to be would have smiled.

She had made her choice, there was nobody else to blame for that, and no matter how hard she was trying to undo it she knew that she would make it again. She had saved Matthias’ life. She had ruined both their lives, but at least they were both still living.

Or they were at least surviving, anyway. 

Layla and whatever her boy was called were still laughing as they clambered to their feet and he pressed her firmly into a chair, kissing her on her forehead and telling her to keep both feet planted on the floor.

“I’d quite like it if you’re not deathly injured when I return with our drinks, you know,” he grinned, “It would be a dreadful waste of money if I’d bought two and you weren’t here to drink yours,”

“Don’t be silly,” she swatted his shoulder, “You’d just have to drink both,”

Nina swallowed tightly, and slipped upstairs.

It took several attempts at knocking on Inej’s door to get a response. At first Nina wondered if she was still asleep and if that was the case then if she should just leave her to rest, but then she was pretty sure she heard footsteps of shuffling or something and so she knocked again, a little harder this time. 

“Inej?” she called, when there was still no response.

Nothing. Now she was starting to get concerned. She knocked again.

“Inej, are you alright?”

No response.

“Okay, Inej if you don’t reply I’m gonna come in just to make sure you’re alright, if you don’t want me to then tell me now - or give me some kind of signal, maybe?”

Not a single sound, bar the ever-present choruses throughout the rest of the house. Nina fidgeted, fingers tensing over the door handle.

“Inej?” she waited a moment longer, but still there was no reply, “Okay, I’m coming in,”

Her fingers slipped slightly on the handle but she pushed the door slowly open and it clattered loud enough to make her teeth hurt as it thwacked against the chair Nina had brought into the room the previous day. Nina had kept the chair nearer the window, but Inej must have moved it for something because now its back was tangled in the door knob and both of them were stuck. Nina squeezed herself through the gap she’d managed to create, and very nearly screamed as she stumbled straight into a very limp body. 

Her heart leapt as she nearly tripped over the stranger’s pale, outstretched arm, the skin on her bare forearm tattooed with a hand, the first two fingers cut off at the knuckle. Black Tips. Someone from the Black Tips had broken into Inej’s room? Oh Saints. Oh Saints. Oh Saints. She was probably a few years older than Nina, her face almost peaceful. Her other hand had been neatly laid over the knife wound in her chest as though by covering it up you could pretend it didn’t exist. Her eyes had been closed and by the looks of things the knife she was holding had been laid there for her because it was pressed flat between her torso and the palm that had been moved into place. Nina knew that she was dead but she reached out briefly with her power anyway, just in case, and felt no heartbeat, no breathing, no impulses. The blade in the woman’s hand glittered in the light coming through the open window, and as Nina tried very hard to focus on that and not anything else she realised with a start that it was the knife she’d pulled out of Inej’s leg just yesterday; the rose etched at its base full cleaned of blood and glimmering like new metal. This was Liesbeth Stoevelaar, then? Or it had been, anyway.

Liesbeth Stoevelaar was dead, and the Wraith was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Text

For a while, Inej had just sat there and stared at the body. Ten people. She had now killed ten people. 

“You’ve got to stop keeping count,” Jesper had told her gently, months ago, after the sixth.

A guard on duty during a museum job, the sixth one. Inej had cried, afterwards, when they got back to the Slat and she finally had a chance to be alone. Jesper had found her and they’d sat together on this very floor, his arm over her shoulders, as she wept silently and tried to pray. Some had been worse than this - this was quick, clean, as close as she could hope for to painless - and some had been better. She didn’t cry for all of them, but the ones she did she knew the tears had been building behind a dam for too long and this was just the final shove that sent the wall crumbling and the river flowing free. Her mourning rose up and crawled over the edges of that deep, aching well inside of her, where all the tears she’d been too afraid to spill were waiting in the darkness to drown her, and she wondered if the grief was for the strangers or herself. How terrible of her, to grieve for the girl she’d been instead of the corpses rotting in her arms. 

She didn’t cry this time, but the threat was ever-present. Time seemed to pass strangely and in slow bursts until Inej realised that the sun had set and risen, and that at some point she had dozed where she knelt. Her leg was stiff and the pain was almost unbearable, but she could not sit here like this anymore. Liesbeth’s blood was pooled into the underside of her body with nothing to keep it moving, hanging in ugly purple blotches along the base of her neck, her bare arms, leaving her face ghostly white. When Inej dared to touch her she found that her limbs had long since gone stiff. They would stay like that hours yet, but that was fine. She had settled her moments after she fell, her mother’s knife pressed to her chest, her legs straightened, her puncture wound covered. There was little Inej could do about the blood that had spilled or the fact that Liesbeth’s other arm was refusing to be moved from where it had drooped across the floor, but she arranged the woman’s hair over her shoulders and briefly pressed their foreheads together as she whispered a prayer of safe passage. It was as close to dignity as she could give her. 

“Where is it?” asked Kaz, barely even looking up from his desk. 

It had taken all of the energy Inej could muster and more to get herself to the Crow Club. The pain was unbearable, a silent scream gathering inside her with every step and reach and climb she forced herself to do through gritted teeth, and the beast of a thing very nearly released itself when she tumbled through a Crow Club upstairs window and nearly fell right down the stairs. Luckily for her, Kaz had been on the mezzanine watching the progress of play across the floor below. He beckoned Pim to cover for him, then let Inej follow him to his office. Pim had stared at Inej as though she’d started to scream at the top of her lungs and do a tap dance, but she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by that if he’d seen her coming in. The Wraith did not fall, did not falter, did not stumble. 

As soon as they were inside Kaz’s office and the door was closed behind them, Inej fell so hard against a chair it almost collapsed. She proceeded to groan into it until she’d run out of breath, her forehead pressed against the wooden back even for a minute after she was done so she was pretty sure she was going to leave a temporary indent in her skin, before she finally managed to lift her weight back up on her good leg and move herself to sit properly. Kaz stood, watching her, leaning against his cane in silence. She felt the blood rise in her cheeks, some horrible frightened thing crawling inside her with shame and fear and maybe even fury, and before he could even say anything she managed to spit out:

“It’ll be fine. Give me a week, maximum, and it’ll be fine,”

He’d just raised a slow eyebrow, and then taken his seat across from her. There was silence for a moment, as Kaz began to glance through some of the papers on his desk and did not look up. 

“Are you going to tell me why you’ve dragged yourself across rooftops on an injured leg and tumbled into the middle of my club wearing nightclothes with blood around the cuffs?” he asked, as calmly as if he’d been asking whether she was available to switch a shift, “Or are we waiting for another exciting surprise?”

Inej could have choked. She’d forgotten she was wearing her pyjamas, not even given it the briefest thought. If it was possible for even more blood to rush into her face than what already had, it definitely did. Saints, if the ground opened up beneath my chair right now I’d probably say thank you. 

“I-” Inej almost coughed. Words had left her and her voice was trying very hard not to exist, “I don’t-”

Kaz watched her for a moment, then stood up and crossed the room to one of the cupboards that lined the wall. His cane thudded loudly against the boards. Inej barely had the presence to let her eyes follow him; the pain and the panic and the something else - the thing that had been borne inside her holding Liesbeth Stoevelaar in her arms and sitting with her body for so long - were so blinding, thick and heavy like a fog that would not lift or a hand too strong for her to free herself from its hold. She had to fight not to flinch when Kaz dropped a small stack of clothes onto the desk in front of her, and for a moment she just stared at them as he walked back out of the office. That was what Kaz kept in his cupboards? Clothes ?

Inej tried to get changed quickly, but with every movement her leg was screaming at her. When she was finally dressed and Kaz had returned, she told him that Liesbeth was dead. She didn’t tell him everything. 

She didn’t tell him that she’d thought she was going to die, in that moment when she saw the woman in her room and the pain was too great for her to move. She didn’t tell him that Liesbeth had wept in her arms and she had held her until she took her final breath. She didn’t tell him anything really, except that she had killed her. 

“Saints,” Liesbeth had said, as she stepped into Inej’s eye line, “I thought she’d never leave,”

Inej had really thought that she was going to die. Liesbeth didn’t seem to notice.

“How’s the leg?” she asked, smiling like a wild cat about to pounce. 

Inej said nothing. Her hand crept slowly towards the night stand, praying she would manage to open the drawer and collect her claws in time. Liesbeth pushed the little dining chair that Nina had brought in across the room and in front of the door - “To make sure we have some privacy,” - and then sat down in it. She was less than a metre from Inej’s feet. 

Inej did her best to shuffle slightly farther from Liesbeth, as though that would somehow make a difference, pulling herself up with shaking arms and dragging her leg behind her. Liesbeth crossed her legs and then leant forwards, planting her elbow on her knee and her chin onto her hand. 

“I’m very sorry, Inej,” she said, after a moment, “I want to make sure that you know that,”

“For this?” Inej managed, nodding towards her leg, “Or for what you’re planning to do next,”

“Well, in all fairness that wasn’t quite my fault,” she said lightly, “My blade wielded by another’s hand - on that, I don’t suppose you still have my knife, do you?”

Inej stared at her, then pulled the drawer of her nightstand open and picked up the dagger that Nina had forced out of her leg mere hours ago. Liesbeth smiled. 

“Oh, I’m glad,” she whispered, sounding disturbingly earnest, “Thank you,”

She stood up and tried to take the knife, but Inej leaned back and gripped it tightly in her palm. Liesbeth stood with calm patience as Inej turned the blade over in her hands. It must have been of some significance to the woman, because its heavy black handle deterred it from being an obvious choice and Inej’s blood was encrusted inside the grooves of a blooming rose engraved across the wide base of the metal. 

“Who gave it to you?” she asked softly, lifting her eyes to flick over Liesbeth.

“Doesn’t matter now,” she sounded less convincing this time, “The hopes and dreams of dead men exist in that knife, and I am relieved to have them returned to me,”

The hopes and dreams of dead men. Did she mean the potential of what the lives she’d taken could have become? Were Inej’s dreams to join this blade, forge this dark and heavy metal? Inej didn’t even know what her dreams were anymore. 

“If you tell me who gave it to you,” she said, voice still soft and low, “I’ll give it back,”

Who was she, but a thief of secrets? Even now. 

Liesbeth squared her shoulders, but did not falter when she said:

“My mother,”

Inej nodded.

“Let me draw my knives,” she gestured to the open night stand, “And then we can talk,”

“You can hardly move,”

“Correct. You might stand a chance,”

Liesbeth laughed, and Inej was surprised to realise that it was not at her expense. 

“Oh, Inej, I’m so sorry. Yes, take your knives, and give me mine. I really did like you, you know?”

“I quite liked you, until you tried to kill me,”

Inej wasn’t looking at Liesbeth then, her focus was on the nightstand as she reached slowly to her weapons, so when she glanced back up she was taken considerably aback to realise that the other woman was crying. Silvery tears tracked down her cheeks and droplets glittered like diamonds as they formed in the corners of her eyes. 

“Liesbeth?”

“My knife,” she whispered, and Inej held it out to her, “Thank you,”

Inej nodded slowly as Liesbeth took the blade, not sure what else to do but continue to tighten her grasp on Sankt Petyr in her palm. 

“I’m sorry,” Liesbeth whispered again, “Really, I am. But I have to,”

“You don’t,” 

“I do. I can’t… I can’t let him do that again. I have to fix things or he’ll- I have to fix things,”

“Do what?” Inej managed, trying to back herself far enough away that the wall would somehow magically disappear and let her try to flee, “Who’s-?”

“I can’t do that again,” she shook her head, and Inej could see her fingers shaking, “He’ll make me, unless I put things right. Unless I prove that I’m still worth something more to him than that,”

“Liesbeth-”

“I’m so sorry, Inej,” she lifted her blade with shaking hands, “There are gods, there are mortals, and there are sacrificial lambs,”

Inej could barely piece together what had actually happened in that moment. The blade was moving towards her and, perhaps more on instinct than intention but she wasn’t really sure, her own knife had flown upwards. She must have moved just fast enough, or Liesbeth must have hesitated just enough, or maybe both or maybe neither; maybe this was just as it was supposed to be. Maybe it didn’t really matter how, but Sankt Petyr’s blade was lodged between Liesbeth’s ribs and both of them knew that she was dying. For a moment nothing happened, then Inej pulled her blade back to the safety of her arms. Liesbeth choked quietly, her knife falling from her fingers, and collapsed. 

Inej almost fell from the bed as she hurried to catch Liesbeth, and had to drag herself messily to the ground so she could kneel, bad leg stretched at the only angle she could stand, and hold Liesbeth’s quivering form in her lap. 

“My knife,” Liesbeth managed, through tight and failing breaths, “Please…”

Inej picked it up and pressed it back into Liesbeth’s palm. 

“My mother,” she whispered, tapping the rose engraving, “She didn’t call me Liesbeth. That’s the Kerch version. It changed when she died, when I was suddenly to be Kerch and Kerch alone. But my mother was Ravkan. I am Ravkan, somewhere in here,” 

Inej nodded, trying to smile at her, brushing a piece of hair away from Liesbeth’s eyes.

“She named me after her,” she pointed to the rose again, “That’s my name. My real name. Can you…” her voice caught in her throat, fresh tears springing to her eyes, “Can you say it? Please,”

Inej thought she might start crying too, but the press of tears slipped silently inside of her instead and found its pathway to that well. 

“Lizabeta,” she said, cradling the woman as though she could protect her, as though she weren’t the one who’d hurt her.

“I wish I remembered her story. I… I tried to pray, lots of times, but I don’t remember how to. I was so little when my mother left, and we weren’t supposed to speak of Ravka after that,” her tears continued to fall, “Do you think she’ll still accept me, on the other side? Even though I stopped praying?”

“She will,” Inej nodded, almost frantically, “They all will. You didn’t stop, Lizabeta, I promise you. You found new ways to pray, and she heard every one of them,”

There was a pause. Liesbeth, Lizabeta, probably only had seconds left. But still Inej slipped her fingers between hers and whispered:

“Do you want to hear her story?”

“Yes. Yes, please, that… yes,”

Inej knew that the woman was dead before she finished the tale, but she sat and told it to the final word anyway. Sankta Lizabeta of the Roses; the woman who turned the tide of an army with a swarm of bees, the woman whose blood stained white roses red. And eventually she lay the Sankta’s namesake on the ground, pressed her mother’s blade beneath her palm, and prayed for her. 

“Goodnight, Lizabeta,” she whispered, “Goodnight, Liesbeth,”

Chapter Text

“Where is it?”

Inej didn’t seem to have heard and Kaz asked again, but she didn’t say anything. Just carried on staring at the edge of his desk between them, arms stiff where she was gripping the chair as though she intended to snap it into pieces beneath her.

Kaz had known Inej was behind him before he heard the window clinking in the mezzanine level of the Crow Club, but he was still taken by surprise when he turned to see her - first of all because he’d heard the window clatter. He already knew something was wrong; the Wraith did not make such loud mistakes. And then he turned and Inej was all but collapsed onto the floor; the rain-slick window ledge behind her - the storm had finally broken not long after Wylan and Jesper both left entirely unhelpfully - was marked by a footprint, distorted where she’d slipped, the window itself left wide open in her wake for the rain to continue falling onto her and onto his carpet, and Inej was clutching to the edge of it with one hand, all of weight in one bent leg, her face ashen and her breathing heavy. Her loose hair was wet from the rain and the front pieces were plastered against her forehead, and the ill-fitting nightclothes that clearly should have hung off her angular shoulders like she’d been draped in a blanket were wet and sticking to her skin. Kaz barely registered what she was wearing before he’d registered the blood soaked into her sleeve cuffs.

He stared at her for a moment, a thousand panics and alarm bells ringing in his head, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was: 

“You’re dripping on my carpet,”

“Oh, well I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” Inej just about managed to hiss through gritted teeth.

Kaz might have even smiled if he wasn’t too busy fighting off the need to sigh in relief; she was okay, at least for now. He beckoned Pim to cover for him watching the club floor, and he’d stared at Inej like she’d grown a second head until Kaz tapped the side of his leg with the end of his crows head cane and he turned quickly away to look down over the mezzanine. Kaz set off down the stairs, trusting that Inej would follow and deliberately setting a slow pace, but when he reached the ground floor he glanced back and realised that Inej did not need to be slowed down. She was still halfway up, clinging to the bannister with both hands and leaning almost all of her weight against it. He waited for her to get down, then walked slowly to his office where she all but collapsed over one of his chairs.

“It’ll be fine,” she’d managed, roughly and with her face contorted in pain as she dragged her leg after her to sit down, “Give me a week, maximum, and it’ll be fine,”

Clearly .

Kaz waited but she didn’t say anything more and he thought she might be in some kind of shock; he left some clean clothes on the desk for her and stepped outside. 

“ Inej ,”

She blinked, finally looking away from the desk and up at Kaz.

“The corpse,” he said, again, “Where is it?”

“The Slat. In my room,”

He studied her for a moment; she was shivering, just slightly, fidgeting with her shirt sleeve, looking up with eyes dark and deep enough to swallow him. Drown him. He’d had trousers in his cabinet that would fit her but had to give her one of his own white button downs for lack of other options, and the sleeve cuffs were sitting deep over her palms even after she’d folded them over. Her shoulders were narrower than his and even though she’d done the shirt up to the very top button it hung off her sharp angles ever so slightly off kilter, and exposed the very edge of her collar bone. Kaz squared his shoulders. He nodded.

“I’ll send someone to move it; we need to get ahead of this before the Black Tips get wise,”

They were already a pestering annoyance at Fifth Harbour, and the new shift pattern was thus far proving Kaz’s suspicions about one of his bouncers correct, he didn’t need a gang war over a dead spider on his hands. They could get Liesbeth’s body to neutral territory, or maybe even another gang’s territory if they were careful enough, and let her rediscovery be someone else’s problem. He watched Inej for a moment more; her gaze had slipped back to the edge of the desk and the nightclothes that she had folded into a slightly messy little pile at the foot of her chair. 

“Do you want to wait here?” he asked, after a moment, “Or go back to the Slat? I can send for Nina to-”

“Can I just…” Inej’s voice faded, “I just want to sit a minute. I…”

There was a long pause.

“I’m tired,”

She looked it. Heavy shadows bracketed her eyes and she barely seemed to be in the room, but instead floating somewhere in between it and the places in her mind. 

“Did you sleep at all?”

“At some point,” she whispered, almost dreamily, as if she couldn’t quite remember it herself, “Afterwards,”

Kaz frowned.

“After she died?”

Inej nodded. 

“How long ago?”

Inej gazed into the distance for a moment, her expression briefly confused.

“What time is it?”

“Nearing nine bells,” said Kaz, glancing at his watch.

Inej nodded.

“Fifteen hours? Fourteen?”

So someone might already know that Liesbeth was missing, then. Dammit. Kaz would have to get ahead of this quickly, on the off chance of there being any intention for the Black Tips to move against the Dregs he needed to make sure they didn’t have any ammunition to point to. He stood up.

“I’ll have someone move it,” he said, again, “Stay here as long as you want,”

She nodded slightly as he walked past her. 

The moment that Kaz stepped out onto the floor of the Crow Club just so happened to be almost exactly the same as the moment in which Nina Zenik burst through the doors at full speed. Her stress may as well have been a visible cloud with crackling sparks flying about for the obviousness of it, and she ran across the room towards him with breathless shouts.

“Inej-”

“Is in my office,” said Kaz coolly, “Not to tell you how to do your own job, Nina dearest, but did it not occur to you to check on her at any point in the last fifteen hours?”

“I didn’t-”

“Fifteen full hours she was sat in there with a corpse, Zenik, I don’t think the half hour you just spent with me justifies having missed that,”

Nina’s cheeks glowed, but he was pretty sure it was more with annoyance towards him than anything else. Kaz sent Juran, a boy who’d joined the Dregs early last year, back to the Slat to retrieve Liesbeth’s body and gave him instructions on where to leave it afterwards, though he would probably need another pair of hands for that, and then he and Nina turned back towards his office. Kaz was hoping that Nina would be able to convince Inej to go back to the Slat so she could lie down and hopefully get some sleep; at least get her to rest and take time to recover. 

“Her leg-”

“The pain will take a few days to subside but the worst is the ligament damage,” said Nina, smoothly, like she was rattling off a shopping list, “It’s her knee; the quickest it could be back to normal alone would be three weeks or so, but-”

“The longest?”

“Eight, probably. But that would be without my input, it shouldn’t take that long now. Hopefully, anyway. If it’s bad she should go to a real Healer,”

Kaz nodded, his mind quickly skipping through any Healers that he knew before he opened the door to his office. 

“Wraith-” he cut off, and held a hand up in front of Nina.

Inej was asleep. She slumped over against the desk, her mass of unkempt dark hair folding over her face, her shoulders moving slowly up and down with her breaths. For a second Kaz and Nina just stood there, and then Nina whispered:

“She should be keeping her leg elevated - and straight, if possible,”

Kaz nodded back to the door and they slipped outside, to fly through the conversation of should we wake her so she can go back to the Slat. They landed on the, possibly slightly strange, plan of moving Inej off her chair to lie on the floor of Kaz’s office. He’d been nervous that they’d wake her but she got no further than gently stirring in Nina’s arms and then flopping her head against the Heartrender’s shoulder. She seemed to murmur something, but Kaz was on the other side of the room and Nina said she’d only groaned. She gently coaxed Inej onto the floor and folded her own jacket up to slip beneath her head, then knelt down and very slowly moved Inej’s leg to straighten it as much as she could without worsening the pain and causing Inej to wake up. Of course Nina would be able to knock her out again if necessary, but she said it would be better for Inej’s natural rhythms if she remained undisturbed. Kaz found a couple more spare shirts from his cupboards to elevate Inej’s knee, and then they slipped out of the room in silence.

Kaz usually locked his office when he left, particularly if there was anything sensitive or valuable around, but with that obviously not being an option he shouted up to Pim on the mezzanine:

“Watch the door. Anyone goes in there they’re a dead man,” 

He nodded, and Kaz turned back just in time to see Nina lowering her raised eyebrow. 

“Stay here,” he told her, “Make sure no-one tries to kill her this time,”

“Where are you going?”

“Send to the Slat if you need me, if I’m not there they’ll be someone there who knows where I am,”

“What are y-?”

Kaz sighed. 

“I have a job to do, and I need someone to find some space at the Slat. I’d hate to have to stick your little Elodie in a cupboard,”

Nina blinked.

“You hired her?”

“Feliks wanted rid of her,” said Kaz, calmly, “I needed servers for the Club,”

“Feliks wanted to sell her , Kaz,”

That was true. And he would’ve gotten a far better price from another house on West Stave than Kaz had agreed to for the kid’s contract. But Feliks happened to have a pretty decent chunk of debt to Haskell, and Kaz happened to know a few things about Feliks that he didn’t want to get out. The conversation had gone briefly and smoothly. Mostly. Until the skiv had suggested Kaz might want to take ‘his’ Suli girl instead, presumably so he could still sell little Elodie and make money from both of them.

Kaz leaned back in his chair.  

“Excuse me?”

“I know it was you who had Haskell buy the Wraith from Heleen Van Houden,” Feliks shrugged, as if this were a normal fucking conversation topic, “I thought maybe you had a taste,”

The conversation went even briefer, and a lot less smoothly, after that. Elodie got a job offer and, as of Anika’s return about twenty minutes ago, she had accepted it. 

Kaz looked at Nina and shrugged.

“Stay with Inej,”

And then he turned and left, his cane clacking heavily against the boards. 

Chapter Text

Wylan walked through the streets of the Barrel for the better part of an hour. He had no idea where he was going, more than once he realised he’d doubled back on himself but he apparently had just enough awareness not to let his feet lead him back to the dark walled gambling den with the crimson facade, nor the tipsy greyed building where his things - quite possibly the only things left in the world that he owned - were still sitting in Jesper’s bedroom. His clothes, his favourite jumper. His ruined flute. The only things he was wearing that were actually his own were his shoes and his still slightly damp jacket, and one of the two things that had been left in his pockets was sitting on Brekker’s desk in a blank, wet clump. The papers were completely blank. His father hadn’t even bothered with committing to a convincing ruse. 

The only other thing in his pocket was a few purple kruge notes, not many and not really enough recovered from their bout in the canals to be described as dry, but perfectly good for spending. He needed somewhere to stay, and once he had that he would need a job - a real job - to be able to keep on affording it. Of course, he could have gone back to Jesper’s - when he stopped and focused he thought he could remember the way back at least well enough to find a landmark that would get him there - and collected his things, then at least he wouldn’t need to buy new clothes, but he didn’t feel ready to face him. To face any of it. 

Wylan was an idiot. He had been stupid and foolish and so utterly and completely naïve. Why would someone like Jesper have wanted anything to do with him? This was exactly what his father had meant. He’d called Wylan vulnerable , and it was true. He was so easily taken in by their tricks, too stupid to understand when he was being lied to. Imagine if he’d been allowed involvement in his father’s business, and let himself be tricked like this. Everything would collapse around then and it would be all his fault. Maybe that almost stung more than realising that Jesper had lied to him: finally knowing for definite that his father had always been right. 

“I don’t want to do this, Wylan,” his father had told him, when Wylan was eight, “But you have left me no other choice. Do you understand that?”

Wylan had nodded, not sure if he was supposed to speak or not. It was a day or two after Jan Van Eck had informed his son of the plan to fake his sight loss, so it must have been just over a week after his mother died.

There used to be a miniature portrait of Marya Van Eck sitting on this desk, next to one of Wylan when he was maybe four or five, in a little folding frame that propped them both up side by side, he could picture it well. Most of the time he had ever spent in this office had been devoted to avoiding his father’s gaze and the painting of his mother was in good view from Wylan’s chair, but it had never been a good place to look either. Marya had never been angry with him for his failures, but every time he tried without success, every time another harsh report came from his tutors, every time one of his father’s new plans to help him learn to read proved useless compared to the extent of Wylan’s shortcomings, he saw the same look in her eyes. He thought it was disappointment but it was certainly mingled with fear as well; he supposed she was afraid that he would ruin everything her husband had built for them. For her. Wylan was eight, his eyes daring to rise high enough to search his father’s desk for the missing portrait, when he realised that the tiny release he’d just felt in his chest was relief. He was relieved that his mother would not have to suffer him anymore, and he was relieved that he would never make her frightened again. How evil of him, no matter how tiny or fleeting the thought, to be momentarily relieved that she was gone. But it was a fact, whether she had ever told him so or not, that Wylan had hurt her. He was glad that he would never be able to again. 

“And you understand that we have to make sure it’s realistic, or you will only embarrass us both,”

Wylan nodded. His father had said this yesterday, or the day before or whenever Wylan had last sat in this chair and tried not to look him in the eye. The painting had been there, then, but now it was gone. 

“You don’t want to become even more of an embarrassment, do you? Or do you take pleasure in hurting me like this?”

“No, Father,” he’d whispered, “I’m sorry,”

“Sorry does not fix what you have done, Wylan, and you will not succeed in trying to win any kind of sympathy from me here. You have threatened to drag our name - my name, and the name of my household - through the mud, and I have no pity for someone who would do such a thing,”

Wylan looked at his shoes. 

“We’re going to go on a little trip,” his father continued, his voice level, as though he were discussing one of his business deals, or when he was hosting his next dinner party, Anything normal, “We will leave tomorrow morning to go to the Lake House, but as far as anyone else knows we are leaving the country. Understood?”

Wylan nodded.

“When we return in two week’s time everyone will believe that we cut our trip short after a tragic and violent accident that cost you your sight, when in fact you will have spent those two weeks practising to convince the world that you cannot see. You’ll be getting up bright and early, so best go to your room now and get sorted for sleep,”

Wylan glanced briefly at the window - the sun had not yet set - but of course did nothing except nod and wait to be dismissed. He wanted to go and hide under his duvet, to try and summon the tears he wanted to shed for his mother but had so quickly vanished when he heard the change in his father’s tone as he told him to grow up and stop crying. He wanted to be swallowed by that warm hollow of darkness in his bed, where he could hide, where he could pretend that nothing existed beyond the feeling of the sheets, where he could try to convince himself that everything would be okay. 

“My Corporalnik will travel with us in a Squaller kefta , so if anyone sees us they will simply assume her job is to summon winds for our ship as we cross the True Sea. By the time we return, you must be convincing enough for even myself to think that you are blind, or I will have to find a new solution to this problem. Have you understood everything that I’ve told you, Wylan?”

There was a brief pause, before Wylan dared - an perhaps this was foolhardy of him - to whisper:

“Why do we need a Corporalnik?”

Jan Van Eck shook his head, his sigh long and low. 

“Did you not listen to me at all, Wylan? It has to look realistic ,”

No, Wylan could not go back to collect his belongings from Jesper. At least not today.

The street he’d found himself on now was quieter than the others he had walked through, which must mean he’d gone farther South again. He had heard the tourists were less likely to venture here, and that this was where the bright, falsely jovial fronts the gangs put up in their gambling dens and pubs and other tourist businesses began to slip. It was probably not the best place to stay, but it was also probably going to be the cheapest. 

“Excuse me,” Wylan all but forced himself to say, as he approached a man sitting on the front porch of a dilapidated building, “Do you know where there might be rooms to rent?”

The man surveyed Wylan with distaste as he puffed on his pipe, before hacking loudly into the crook of his elbow. He was chewing a wad of jurda that had stained his teeth and lips orange, and when he coughed streams of the stuff slew from his mouth and stuck onto his shirt sleeve. Wylan had to fidget his fingers in and out of his fists and try to subtly glance away so that it didn’t turn his stomach. 

“Sign right there says vacancy,” the man grumbled, “What are you, blind?”

For a brief, almost surprising moment, Wylan found himself contemplating the possibility of dropping the lie. It would be easy, wouldn’t it? To simply not say anything of it to a stranger; all he would have to do was find some words or other to get him through the end of a short conversation and then just walk away, the first step to dropping this stupid facade that he hated so much, such a simple way of letting it loosen its suffocating hold on him. It should be nothing. But even for the tiny moment that it flickered through his head, Wylan felt sick. 

“Yes,” he said, the shame or annoyance or both that he could feel burning towards himself turning into impatience and impertinence as it translated into his voice. 

The man grunted, leaning forwards and uncomfortably close as he stared at Wylan’s eyes - he smelled very strongly of pipe smoke, and something beneath it that Wylan was pretty sure was alcohol on his breath - and Wylan had to fight not to squirm away. Then he just shrugged and pulled back. 

“How did you know I was here?”

“I could hear you,”

He grunted again. 

“Rooms for rent on your left - there’s a step in front o’ the door,”

Wylan thanked him, and then walked away as calmly as he could stomach. 

He managed to get himself a tiny and barely affordable room, and lay awake all the rest of the day and night on a mattress that reeked of the chemicals they’d used to try and rid the thing of lice. His skin crawled, and he couldn’t tell if the chemicals had failed their task or if he was just putting too much thought into the image of the little bugs scuttling across him. He had no night things - he quite literally had nothing at all - and no food for the evening or the next morning, but he wasn’t sure that he would have eaten it if he had. As soon as he was lying down, with the possibility of lice or none, it took a good chunk of time to convince himself to rise again. What if he just stayed here, lying like this, letting the world move around him forever? When he was little he used to hide in the house’s warren of upper rooms, beneath a servant’s bed or in one of their linen cupboards, praying that everyone would just forget that he was there. But it had never worked, and it would not work now. No-one would forget that he had rent to pay, at the very least. 

At some point, he was sure it was days later, he could smell a food stall below his window and suddenly felt more overwhelmed by hunger than he ever had been before in his life. He bought an entire cone of fried potatoes and sat cross-legged on the sidewalk, scarfing them down so quickly that he burned his tongue. After that he stayed sitting there for a short time, watching the world go by, before he forced himself to his feet and began to walk again. He needed a job, though he had no idea what he might be able to do. He wasn’t strong enough to do any of the labour-intensive jobs, and anything softer would require him to read - or at least to see, and apparently he wasn’t ready to let go of that hang up yet. Maybe he could try to force himself through admitting the truth, but if a job would require him to read anyway then what would be the point of it? 

It took Wylan a week to find a job at a tannery in the warehouse district, stirring chemicals and dyes in massive vats on the factory floor. He gave the name Wylan Hendriks, without even really thinking about it, because he knew that Brekker had been right about that, at least. The foreman made a slight show of being good enough to take Wylan on despite his lack of sight, but nobody mentioned it after that.There was no protective or safety clothing offered to anyone working there and the chemicals made Wylan woozy after only an hour or so; the pittance he was earning probably wasn’t enough to justify his constant exhaustion from the twelve hour shifts or the constant unpleasantness in his head that had grown to cloudiness and seemed to be growing on to be persistent enough that it could be described as illness. He found that he could do little but stumble along his well-learned walk in the dark of every morning and every evening, do his job with the absolute minimum attention it could possibly require each day, and collapse onto his little, possibly lice-ridden bed each night. At least he was too tired for staying awake late into the night to be an option - though unfortunately it would seem that exhaustion did not make him too weak for dreams, and they would often rouse him in cruel bursts; too late to bother going back to sleep, too early to start walking to the warehouse district. 

At some point Wylan looked up into the grimy mirror and saw that the Tailoring over his scars was starting to come undone. There was no chance of him scraping together enough money to see a Corporalnik - after rent was paid he only had just enough to eat twice a day - but he found that he didn’t really care. The misty white layer on his eyes was still there, which he knew anyway because his view of distances hadn’t gotten any better, but it was perhaps a little thinner. Only one of his scars was properly visible - the full extent of the one that ended in a silver line above his cheekbone. 

Just stop the bleeding. No, don't Heal him - let it scar. 

Wylan ran a finger over it, staring at the boy in the mirror. He was thinner than Wylan, with heavy dark circles beneath his eyes, slightly hollowed cheeks that made him look like a ghost in one of the children’s stories Wylan remembered his nanny reading to him as a small child. How long did it take for the Tailoring over his scars to come undone? Wylan didn’t know how long it was supposed to last, but it was the surprise at seeing the scar that made him realise he had no idea how long he’d been there. He sat and counted each week, as best as he could remember through his weariness and burning headache. 

A month. Wylan had been in the Barrel for an entire month. 

Chapter Text

“This is absolutely unnecessary,” complained Inej, arms folded across her chest as she glared up at Jesper like she was hoping her eyes would bore straight through him. 

Jesper glanced down to see her properly, lying on her back atop the duvet and propped up by cushions that Nina had brought over to replace her usual flat, slightly greyed pillow. It had been a week since Inej sustained the messy injuries to her leg and a few days ago, so Jesper was told, she had climbed out the window and dragged herself all the way to the Crow Club leaving the body of Liesbeth Stoevelaar in her wake. Nina had not been best impressed, and Jesper ended up stuck wondering why he was sitting around the Crow Club listening to her ranting whilst Inej got to sleep peacefully in the next room. Since then Inej had been strictly confined to her bedroom, complaints going unlistened to, and Nina made sure someone was with her pretty much all the time. It had taken all of twenty minutes for Inej to get fed up with it. 

“We could just go for a walk, Jesper,” she’d said, yesterday.

As of then Nina was back at work post her one week suspension, which according to her had been getting off lightly, and was immediately back to being fully booked around the clock so Jesper was planning to spend most of the time he wasn’t on shift staying with Inej.

“We could,” he mused, “But Nina might kill us, so you have to weigh up whether ten minutes of fresh air is worth it,”

Inej rolled away unhappily, grumbling something about Nina not having to know and Jesper being infuriating, and immediately winced in pain. 

“That,” Jesper added, “and I’m not sure how many steps you’d actually manage,”

Inej glared at him. 

Now he was leaning over the bed and screwing a set of hooks into the ceiling, so they could rig up a sling to keep Inej’s leg elevated - and, he was slightly suspicious of this as a possible intention, to make it that bit harder for her to try to get out of bed every ten minutes. 

“Sorry, love,” he winked at her, “Nina’s orders,”

“Nina’s not your boss, you know,” she muttered, looking away.

The hook in Jesper’s hand scratched unpleasantly and he realised the little hole in the ceiling might be slightly too thin to get it all the way in. He glanced down at Inej to make sure she was still facing the other direction.

“Yeah, well,” there was a briefly tense moment that he just kept breathing through, one eye on Inej and one eye on the metal between his fingers, “Kaz’s orders too,”

Inej’s gaze snapped back to Jesper and he felt himself pull away from the hook without it really being an active choice.

“Relax,” he told her, trying to move back in smoothly and without giving her time to question his momentary lapse, “He just said Nina was in charge. And Nina said that with a bit of luck - and a bit of rest - you’d be up and climbing all over the walls again by next week,”

Inej sighed melodramatically, flopping her head into her pillows, and Jesper laughed. 

“How’s Wylan?”

“No idea,” said Jesper, lightly, twisting the little hook in tighter than it strictly needed to be, “Haven’t seen him,”

“Roeder has,”

Jesper rolled his eyes. 

“Of course he has,”

A moment passed in silence.

“What did he say?”

Inej smiled, pursing her lips as she looked up at him with teasing laughter sparkling in her eyes, and Jesper contemplated whacking her in the face with a pillow. 

“Well he hasn’t talked to him, of course,” she shrugged as best she could from half propped up against the headboard, “So I don’t know how he’s doing any more specifically than that he got a job at a tannery and a boarding house-” Inej cut off suddenly with a sharp intake of breath.

Jesper looked down to see that she’d been trying to sit up, and offered her an arm to lean on so she could guide herself into a comfortable position. 

“He’s at a boarding house South of here,” Inej breathed through gritted teeth, still leaning on Jesper, “So I’d reckon it’s safe to say that he’s damn lucky he’s under Dregs’ protection,”

“Still not sure why,” Jesper admitted, “I don’t see him agreeing to work with Kaz anytime soon,”

He didn’t see the kid coming close enough to hit him with a lamp post - or any of the other Dregs. But Inej just made a soft ‘hmm’ sound, and said nothing. She released her tight grip on Jesper’s arm and resettled as he returned back to his focus on the ceiling, so he could slip the last hook into place. 

“Okay,” he said, as it eventually moved into place, “I think you’re all set,”

Inej smiled softly. Jesper picked up the creamy white fabric sling that Nina had brought in before she left for work and arranged the thinner strip between the hooks so it drooped and suspended above the bed in a wide loop. After a moment of trying by herself and not-very-subtly screwing her face up in pain, Inej let Jesper ease her leg upwards and balance it in the sling. 

“Comfy?”

She nodded.

“Are you sure? Because I have a shift about to start and if you don’t tell me now I don’t think you’re going to be able to move it yourself,”

There was a brief pause, then Inej murmured that the fabric had bunched at the crook of her knee and was digging into her. 

“Better?” asked Jesper, straightening the creases out of the sling.

She nodded.

“Good. I’d better go, Kaz is done with my tardiness apparently,”

Inej laughed softly before she said:

“Is he going to give you your guns back?” 

Jesper shrugged. He honestly didn’t know - technically he hadn’t come through on his side of the bargain, but it had fallen through soon enough that Kaz hadn’t lost any money. Maybe Kaz thought he’d be putting money into it some time soon though; he’d placed Wylan under Dregs’ protection and apparently, Jesper had just learned, had Roeder tailing him. Jesper really didn’t see Wylan coming back, but maybe Kaz was going to hang on to his insurance until he could be sure. 

Inej let Jesper take her hand and he placed a gentle kiss on her fingers as he stepped away.

“Anika’s going to sit with you for a while, I think, and Nina will be back in a few hours,”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Inej grumbled.

Jesper smiled. 

“I’m pretty sure they’re guards, love. Kaz was - well, to put it lightly he wasn’t impressed with Nina when he found out that Stoevelaar got in here,”

“Of course he wasn’t,” Inej murmured, gaze drifting towards the window, “If I die Haskell will make him take on my debt,”

Jesper wanted to tell her otherwise, but when it came to Kaz who could ever know? And anyway, she was technically correct - it was Kaz who’d used Haskell’s money to pay off Inej's indenture, and if she died or slipped out on her payments then it would be Kaz who’d have to take them on. Jesper didn’t know how much it was beyond a lot . 

He waited until Anika had appeared, which only took a moment, and then slipped downstairs and out the front door of the Slat, neatly side-stepping a smashed bottle near the steps as he checked his watch. Already late. The Crow Club loomed into view, its crimson façade peering down at him in its ever present mix of cruelty and comfort. Jesper felt unhappily comforted to slip inside, and tried to swallow the feeling.

The Club was busy, not particularly surprising for this time of day as the sun began to sink, but Jesoer didn’t have time to pause or linger over any of the tables. He had a private game upstairs, buying Kaz enough time to do whatever it was he’d told Jesper whilst Jesper wasn’t listening, and he was teetering over the edge of fashionably late and into where the hell is he let’s just cancel the game kind of territory. At least he could truthfully tell Kaz that it was because he’d been with the Wraith. 

There was a pretty persistent chatter through the room of the same piece of gossip; a rumour or theory or some other something that had stirred back up the discussion of the ill-fate Leopard from the Menagerie. Jesper didn’t know what had happened but he didn’t have time to find out. He slipped between the tables, smiling at strangers and trying to appear amiable as he hurried to the stairs. 

“You’re late,”

Layla was standing at the front of the landing, arms folded, leaning against the wall with a half-empty bottle of red wine swinging in a concerningly free manner between the loose grip of her fingertips.

“Good spot,” he grabbed the bottle and steadied it, righting it in her grip, “Try not to stain the carpets, hey? Where’s Kaz?”

“Waiting in the room,” Layla swung the wine bottle again, smiling mischievously at Jesper, and adding in a singsong voice: “He doesn’t like waiting very much,”

Jesper whacked her playfully on the arm and she gasped in fake, melodramatic shock, pretending to almost spill the wine all over him. He grabbed the bottle again and pushed it back towards her.

“Easy,” he smiled, “I like this outfit,”

“Really?” she looked up at him, eyes sparkling, “Why?”

He crinkled his nose, stepping back.

“How dare you? I look fabulous,”

“Well you won’t for much longer if you don’t go see Brekker,” Layla huffed, straightening her cuffs and very nearly dropping the win for real.

“Saints,”

“Shut up,”

“Anything for you my sweet,” 

He blew her a kiss as he slipped round the doorway, and she pretended to catch it in the air and toss it carelessly over her shoulder. Jesper laughed, but his grin dropped as he spun into the room and saw the impatient faces on the other side. 

“I lost track of time?” he offered, looking at the mark even though the words for Kaz, “My apologies but you’ll have to excuse me, I was helping a friend,”

Jesper let his eyes flicker briefly to Kaz and saw his jaw tick, but at least he seemed to have gotten the message. 

The game went about as well as they could have hoped for, according to Kaz. Jesper and his pile of losses didn’t agree, but he said nothing because he knew that all it would get him was the emphasis that the job had gone well. It was all always for the almighty job, and Jesper had given up on caring - or foolishly ever hoping for anything otherwise. He wandered out into the hallway, wondering if he should just outright ask Kaz for his revolvers back or if that was what Kaz was waiting for him to do, when he almost tripped straight over the tiny little figure of twelve year old Elodie.

“Of, Saints - sorry,” he backed up a little, “I didn’t see you,”

Elodie stared at him with disturbingly wide eyes, like she was a rabbit in the midst of a dark, empty forest who’d just come face to face with the torchlight of a hunter. She’d moved in from the White Rose earlier this week, and with her sudden jump back into work post-suspension Nina hadn’t had time to undo the kid’s Tailoring yet. Her hair was bleach white, cut just high enough that as she fidgeted with it now her knuckles bushed her shoulder, her eyes were colourless, and her skin was so pale she could have been a folded paper doll. It made her look unnervingly ghostly in the dark halls of the Crow Club. A very small ghost, but a ghost all the same. It even seemed to take a long time for her to blink. 

Jesper had the strange sense that he’d done something wrong, though he hadn’t the faintest idea what, but before he could move away or say anything more came the unmistakable sound of Layla’s footsteps from the cupboard. You could always tell when footsteps belonged to Layla, because they came accompanied by a clattering and a crash and sometimes Layla swearing under her breath. Jesper turned to see her practically hopping into the corridor, brushing what looked concerningly like a little burn off her skirt. She smiled as she turned to see them but her eyes were undeniably darkened, and she faltered slightly as she walked over and her gaze focused on Elodie. 

“You alright, pet?”

Elodie edged a little closer to her, big eyes still focused on Jesper. 

“Jes?” 

He looked up at Layla.

“Have you heard about Amethyst?”

“The girl that went missing from the Sweet Shoppe?” asked Jesper, frowning.

“I’ll take that as a no,”

Layla paused for a brief moment, glancing at the tiny spec of a girl hovering nearby. 

“Elodie, love, can you go get me some wine glasses from downstairs?”

Elodie nodded slowly, like she knew she was intentionally being sent away but she wasn’t up to calling anyone out on it, and then wandered away. Layla watched her to the ended of the hall and waited a beat, presumably so the girl would have time to slip down the stairs, before she turned back to Jesper and said:

“Dead. Like dead , dead,”

“What’s dead dead?”

Layla rolled her eyes. 

“You know what I mean - unpleasant dead. I had a table in the other room, guy said they found her body outside the exchange,” there was a brief pause, in which Layla shuddered and shook her head. She may have possibly added it for dramatic effect, “Split in two,”

“Excuse me?”

“Right down the middle,” Layla ran a finger down her forehead and along the centre of her nose, continuing on to split her lips and gesture the motion vaguely downwards beyond her face, “Who the fuck-?”

“Like her skull was cracked and everything?”

“Guy in there said like a fucking robin’s egg . He’s sweet,”

“Clearly. But what could even do that, to put her straight into two pieces that’s…? And at the Exchange ?”

Layla shrugged. 

“That’s what he said,”

This didn’t make sense on any level, or at least not any that Jesper could fathom anyway. 

“You don’t think… I mean, with the Leopard-?”

“Tara,” her voice was quiet, “Her name was Tara,”

Jesper nodded.

“Tara first, then Amethyst… you think it’s the same person?”

“Well, fuck if I know Fahey,” she snapped, apparently slightly offended or just impatient now, he could never tell with her, “I give the drinks and I take the gossip, alright? Whatever you wanna do with it after that is your business,”

Jesper briefly held his hands up in mock surrender, shaking his head. 

“Well, Kaz should know. He was looking for her, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Laya’s eyes darkened slightly, “Ghezen knows what for. But that’s why I’m telling you, genius, because I’m still on shift and you’re not. So go tell him,”

Jesper nodded. 

“Right, yeah, sure,” he turned to step away but then paused, and turned back, “Can I… How’d you know Tara’s name?”

“Elodie told me. She heard a lot of stuff at that house, it would seem,”

Jesper swallowed. 

“Is she… okay? I think I might’ve scared her,”

Layla half-laughed, half-scoffed. 

“She’s scared of everyone, Fahey, you ‘ain’t special,”

Chapter Text

“Kaz-”

Kaz looked up from his office door, his gloved hand half closed over the handle, to see Jesper working his way across the room towards him. He sighed and shifted his weight against his cane, leaning heavily against it as he waited for Jesper. The weather had begun to clear up after the storm but the air was still damp and clingy, and his leg never liked the wet or the cold. Convenient, for Ketterdam. 

“I just spoke to Layla,” said Jesper, as he reached him, “About that girl from the Sweet Shoppe-”

“Inside,” Kaz nodded to his office door.

Jesper faltered slightly, but followed him in and pushed the door shut as Kaz sat down behind his desk. He stretched his bad leg out in front of him. 

“I’ve seen her,”

“Layla?” asked Jesper, frowning, “I thought she said-”

“Amethyst,” said Kaz, “I saw her,”

It hadn’t been pretty. Jesper grimaced, leaning back ever so slightly in the chair he’d taken up.

“You mean…” he gestured vaguely up and down his own face, as though miming the place Amethyst had been cut through.

Kaz nodded. 

He’d been to the Exchange just before their job this evening was supposed to start, only there to remind someone what he knew so that they’d agree to update him on which guards would be working over the coming nights. It wasn’t for a while that he’d be needing the information, but they might get ideas of lying to him and if they did then he needed to make sure they knew what would happen to them. He also couldn't afford for the night they chose to be the night he needed to know, so the work would have to begin in advance. Finding Amethyst spilling her innards down the steps had been unexpected - and unwelcome. Kaz hadn’t been prepared. 

“Perfectly,” he added, watching the grim look on Jesper’s face deepen, “Straight in half,”

“Some Grisha can do that, can’t they? They say the Darkling could,”

Kaz shook his head. 

“A weapon specific to very powerful Etherealki, I believe. No frightened runaway in the middle of Ketterdam could have done that, or at least not anyone who’s been flying under the radar for long - and anyway, I don’t think the Cut’s precise enough for two equal halves. I’ve heard some stories,”

Nina had an unnerving habit of dropping such things, things she’d witnessed as a child during the Ravkan Civil War, into casual conversation and being surprised when people were taken aback, but Kaz had heard of it from a couple of others as well. As far as he could tell, the Cut would have been even messier than what he’d seen today. 

“So then, what?”

“I have no idea,”

There was a brief pause, before Jesper ventured. 

“Do you think it’s the same person? Tara - she’s the girl from the Menagerie - Tara and Amethyst, do you think-?”

“I don’t think,” Kaz sighed, “I’m certain. The patterns are far too similar, the murders far too close together, the mode of operation is exactly the same - except the death itself,”

And what was there to that? Everyone, Kaz included, had thought that the Leopard, Tara, had been strangled; the bruises around her neck were heavy, inkblots on her too pale skin, and her body was otherwise unmaimed but for scars and the remnants of old injuries. But bruises could have been placed there, couldn’t they, by a Corporalnik? Though Kaz couldn’t imagine any possible motivation for that. None of this seemed to quite make sense. 

“The question is whether they have real motive or if this is just mindless killing - and the answer is that mindless killing, even in the Barrel, is much rarer than people think. In any case it doesn’t get this much attention. Mindless killing is messy, its random - mindless killing is corpses with no connection to each other, usually lower effort, sometimes a more fleeting motivation fulfilled and the victim killed in the aftermath. Mindless killing isn’t premeditated, it doesn’t involve such long-term kidnappings - remember both had been missing for at least a week, Tara for two, but those bodies were fresh. When Tara was first found, maybe we could have struck that up to mindless. The seeming randomness of it, the returning her to the Menagerie, even the method; all of it could have just been Tara’s very bad luck. But looking at it all together…” Kaz shook his head, “You know a girl from West Stave died in a similar pattern last month? From a smaller house, didn’t get much notice; I didn’t start to connect the dots until Tara, but when Amethyst went missing I knew. Something’s happening here, and if something’s happening then someone’s making it happen with intention and with motive. These are setups, and there’s somebody pulling the strings behind them,”

Jesper fidgeted a little, and Kaz saw his hands drift towards his gun belt. He’d swapped his prize revolvers, still sitting in Kaz’s safe, for two sad little lumps of pistols and apparently they weren’t giving him the comfort that his own guns usually did. He always laid hands on them when he was antsy, like a child seeking the comfort of a favoured doll, and now his fingers were dancing over the replacements like they couldn’t quite decide where to land. 

Kaz flexed his gloved fingers and gripped his cane tighter. He could have given Jesper his revolvers back, the safe was right behind him, but he didn’t move. Jesper hadn’t asked for them, he knew the deal was incomplete, and Kaz could admit to himself that part of him wanted to punish Jesper a little. He owed the sharpshooter nothing, and if Jesper hadn’t left her behind then maybe the Wraith wouldn’t have been injured. Kaz may not have lost money on the proposed deal with Wylan, but Jesper’s proposition had cost Inej something more. And it was costing Kaz the loss of her skills these past few weeks, leaving him in the dark on details she could have gathered for him. He was well within his rights to keep the guns, by the deal they’d made at least, but he knew that if Jesper asked for them he would hand them over. But Jesper hadn’t asked, so they continued to gather dust in Kaz’s locked office. 

“Who died last month?” asked Jesper, a little quieter than before.

Kaz shrugged.

“I don’t have a name, but the point is that whatever’s happening here is building up. The first didn’t get attention, the second wasn’t atypical of West Stave it was just showier. But Amethyst? This is new,”

Kaz suppressed a shudder at the thought - he’d never seen a body like that before. Amethyst had been splayed over the steps outside the Exchange, stripped bare, leaking blood onto the stones. Her entire body had been sliced in two, from head to foot, and the open flap of her chest cavity spilled structures Kaz probably couldn’t even name free from the cage of her ribs and flesh and skin. His eyes skirted quickly to her face. It was impressive they’d managed to identify her, he thought, and then a minute later realised that they hadn’t needed to. Her face was smashed and blood-soaked and split into two equal halves, but the dismemberment had left her arms untouched. The Sweet Shoppe tattoo, dancing on her skin in time with the mist. 

Kaz swallowed tightly, stiffening his hand on his cane and readjusting his bad leg. There were more stadwatch on their way, in fact it was surprising the entire place wasn’t crawling with them yet, and Kaz didn’t fancy being the only person around the corpse when they arrived. He didn’t want to look at it any longer, everything in him was screaming to turn and run, but Kaz’s feet would not move. Amethyst’s bulging eyes stared up at him from their unnatural distance apart, and even standing there he could feel the cold skin, taut over bloating flesh, wet beneath his palms. 

“Kaz?”

Kaz snapped back to the present, gaze fixing on Jesper and forcibly anchoring him in the room. He felt an unfair rage fizzing straight through him, crackling down his arms and all the way into his fingertips. 

“This is new,” Jesper prompted, “What…?”

“I don’t know what kind of weapon could do that to a person,” Kaz shook his head, “And I don’t know why someone wanted to kill Amethyst, or the others. But I know they had a reason,”

It probably wasn’t anything to do with the girls themselves. At the end of the day they were easy targets, weren’t they? Heleen and Pekka may even have had some money slipped to them under the table, Kaz wasn’t sure he’d be surprised. Though maybe not, or they might have done a better job of keeping the original disappearances under wraps. It didn’t matter. Kaz didn’t think that Tara and Amethyst, or the other girl, had been chosen individually for who they were. They’d been chosen because they would get no more attention than Barrel gossip, and because no-one was going to expect the stadwatch to solve the murder of an indenture from West Stave. Kaz doubted the first victim had even been reported to them. Who would have said anything? He just didn’t understand what they’d been chosen for. If they’d all been killed like Amethyst was, he’d assume someone was testing some kind of new weapon. But something didn’t add up here, and it was putting Kaz on edge. 

“They’ll do it again,”

It wasn’t a question but Kaz nodded anyway, and Jesper leaned back as he drummed his fingers against his knees. Again Kaz thought he might ask to have his revolvers back, but he said nothing. 

“They’re getting braver,” Kaz mused, “Who says this only started last month?”

And what comes next? 

There was a long silence.

“You were late,”

“I was setting up a sling for Inej,” said Jesper, readjusting on his seat, “And I had to wait for Anika so there was someone to stay with her,”

“How is she?”

“Restless. In pain. Improving,” Jesper shrugged, “You might know better for yourself if you spoke to her,”

Kaz didn’t bother to dignify that with a response. He hadn’t spoken to Inej since she woke up in his office a few days ago. Her sudden panic at waking up in a room she only had hazy memories of dragging herself to through the clouds of pain that were clinging to her, lying on the floor, wearing someone else’s clothes, had been palpable in the air even before she’d scrambled away from him across the boards. As soon as she moved her face contorted in pain and she shuddered to a halt, pulling her arms into herself and pressing into the cupboards behind her as she shook herself properly awake and her dark eyes found Kaz’s. 

“Don’t try to walk until you’re ready,” he told her, “Nina’s outside, she’ll take you back to the Slat,”

Inej watched him for a moment, shaky breaths filling the air between them. Kaz stood slowly and began to walk towards the door, wary of Inej’s eyes on him. 

“The body’s been moved,” he said, feeling something soften in his voice whether he wanted it to or not, “If you’d rather swap to a different room maybe I can-”

“It’s okay,” she whispered, and he couldn’t help but turn to see her, “Thank you,”

Kaz’s heart was in his throat and Inej’s eyes were wide and dark enough to drown in. 

“I’ll get Nina,”

It was all he could bring himself to say. 

Chapter Text

Neither Anika nor Inej said very much for the first two hours that they spent waiting for Nina to finish work and return to the Slat. Anika sat cross-legged on the spindly little chair that had just about squeezed into the space between Inej’s bed and wall, drumming her fingers on her knees, looking out the window, playing with her dagger. Inej lay on her back and stared at the ceiling, trying so hard to forcibly dampen the pain in her leg that she didn’t realise how deep her nails had dug into her own palm until she released her fist and discovered four little purple crescent moon bruises on her skin. She felt like she was losing her mind. 

“What time is it?”

Anika made a soft ‘mm’ sound for a moment as she hunted through her various pockets to find her time piece, and then said:

“Eight bells,”

Inej sighed softly, flopping back into the crook of the pillows Nina had brought her. She could admit she wasn’t adverse to having more comfortable cushions, but she was still fed up of lying on them. She didn’t know how much longer she could cope with this - but she’d thought that yesterday, and the day before, and still every time she tried to stand or step or even just stretch, her leg failed her. At least the sling that Jesper had put up for her was more comfortable than propping her knee up on various little cushions or folded up clothes, but it was an infuriatingly visible concession to the possibility that she was going to be stuck like this for some time yet. 

There was a small sound to her left and Inej rolled her head against the cushions to see Anika, but another minute passed before the girl ran a hand through her crop of yellow hair and said:

“You wanna play cards?”

Inej sat up about as far as she could, which basically meant propping herself up on her elbows, and eyed Anika up across the tiny room. She’d pulled a little pack of cards from one of the inside pockets of her oversized dusty green jacket and spun it between her fingers as she held it out like an offering. 

“Not for money,”

Anika shrugged.

“I ain’t got any money,”

Inej watched her for a brief moment longer, and then nodded. 

When Nina knocked on the bedroom door a few hours later, it was to find Inej having dragged herself across the bed and rotated her sling so she could sit leaning against the back wall and Anika having shifted the little chair in the tiny space it had left so that she could lean over the cards lying in patterns, some face up some face down, between them on the mattress. 

“What happened to resting?” asked Nina, raising an eyebrow as she leant against the doorframe and folded her arms across her chest. 

She shook her head, eyes roaming quickly over Inej, but she was smiling. 

“We tried, Zenik,” said Anika, winking, “Promise. It just turns out resting is really fucking boring,”

Inej laughed.

“Sorry Nina, but I’m hiring Anika as my new medik. She clearly understands me better,”

Anika beamed at Nina.

“She also threatens to knock me unconscious considerably less,”

“Well now you’ve taken away my only argument in this conversation,” Nina huffed through her laughter. 

Anika snorted, and Inej felt something release in her chest as she laughed again. She let Nina help her move back to lay properly at the head of the bed, cushions arranged to prop her up enough that she could still see the room instead of just the ugly, roughly hewn ceiling, and briefly bid Anika goodnight as she gathered up her cards and slid along the wall past Nina in the tiny space so she could reach the door. 

“How are you feeling?”

Inej shrugged. She was starting to feel tired, which was ridiculous and infuriating because she’d been lying here doing nothing all day and all night, but her leg felt much the same as it had before. 

“Cooped up?” she offered, and when Nina just continued to look at her expectantly followed it up with, “I don’t know, a little better, maybe,”

Nina nodded slowly, taking up the little chair Anika had just vacated and unsubtly studying Inej. 

“Did you try walking again?”

“A little, with Jesper earlier. Just a few paces,” it cost her something, stupidly, to admit, “It was all I could manage,”

Nina nodded again, eyes still drifting over Inej. They spoke for a while, about Liesbeth’s death and the news of what had happened to Amethyst. It hit Inej like a gut punch; someone was targeting girls on West Stave, girls who had no-one to protect them or avenge them. No-one to mourn them. No-one to pray for them, except for Inej closing her eyes and asking her Saints to watch over the souls of children she could only give false names. 

“What could have done that to her?”

“I don’t know,” Nina murmured, “There have been rumours amongst Grisha in the city recently but… they don’t make sense, it has to be something else. I just don’t know what,”

Inej had no response to that. A long moment passed before Nina said softly:

“I assume there must be an ice store somewhere in the city?”

“In the Warehouse District,” Inej told her, through a hissed breath as she tried to readjust herself, “A few - four or five, I think,”

The ice was harvested from lakes outside of Ketterdam’s walls; even in the snow and storms Inej had never seen it cold enough here for any ice to form over the canals and even if it did it would probably be too thin to be of any use, but the lakes and reservoirs in the countryside could freeze over with ice layers as thick as books or thicker. They were harvested and shipped into the capital city during winter or any cold gasp strong enough to make the effort worth it, and kept in tightly sealed storage containers that, as Inej understood, were meant to be well-insulated enough to keep the ice solid year round anyway. Even so, Grisha Squallers could get good work maintaining temperatures in the facilities, and Inej was pretty sure that Tidemakers could also do something to delay the melting but she didn’t really understand it.

She had scouted the ice houses only once, other than in her own time exploring the city, when Kaz was running a job on one of the merchants who owned one of the storage units. They’d staged a little accident and thrown the market out of whack - it had been a small market for ice in autumn, Inej couldn’t fathom why they were this invested in it, but apparently it was enough to get Kaz what he wanted. They were strange structures, she found them quite imposing, and even when it was out of sight everything she ever did in the Warehouse District felt under the view of the painted advertisement for Rare Spices, its Suli girls in scant silks smiling over the street with eyes that still haunted Inej’s dreams. 

“Why?” she asked Nina, now.

“It might depend on how much it costs,” she said, “But ice could be good for your knee. Can I feel it?”

Inej nodded and gripped the duvet either side of her as Nina gently lifted her leg out of the sling and perched on the edge of the bed so she could rest Inej’s knee against her own. Inej winced slightly as Nina raised the leg of her trousers.

“Okay?”

“Your hands are cold,”

Nina smiled.

“Well, cheaper than ice, at least,”

But her cheery tone didn’t last much longer as she ran a hand over Inej’s knee. Inej dropped back into her cushions and stared straight up, not wanting to endure Nina’s increasingly concerned expressions but finding herself stuck hearing her increasingly nervous ‘mm’ noises anyway. After a minute had passed, Inej lifted her head up again and said:

“Nina, if it's bad can you just tell me how bad? Please?”

“It’s not bad,” she said, though her tone was delicate, “I’m just concerned the swelling hasn’t gone down - I think you do need some ice, but I’m doing to get you a damp cloth for now. I just… I’m not a Healer, Inej, I don’t know if I’m right to tell you to leave it completely but I just don’t think you can put any pressure on this - and yet I’m scared that I’m wrong to tell you not to use it, what if you lose movement because you aren’t exercising it or-”

“Nina,”

“I can’t reduce the swelling myself, not any way that I understand how, it won’t make a difference, and the ligament doesn't feel as smooth as usual - but does that mean-”

“ Nina ,”

Nina stopped and turned to Inej, her cheeks reddened and her teeth locking onto her lower lip.

“Slow down,” Inej reached out and hook her hand through Nina’s, “Take a breath. You are doing an excellent job, and if I don’t get perfectly back to normal as quickly as I want to then that is definitely not on you. Tell me,”

“Inej…”

“Say it,”

Nina smiled, just slightly, squeezing Inej’s fingers.

“It wouldn’t be my fault,” she said quietly.

After a minute, Nina left to get a damp cloth to wrap over Inej’s leg and Inej took a long, slow breath as she lay back and flexed her fingers against the quilt beneath her. It would not be Nina’s fault if Inej didn’t get back to herself, but that didn’t mean that the thought terrified her any less. And so, as if he knew what she was thinking, it was of course that moment that Kaz chose to knock on her bedroom door. 

“Wraith,” he nodded, after she’d bid him entry, “Where’s Nina? She’s supposed to be with you,”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Kaz,” said Inej, repeating what she’d said to Jesper, “What do you want?”

Kaz’s jaw twitched briefly. 

“I’m planning a job,”

“You’re always planning a job,”

He closed his eyes for a moment, like he was trying to restrain something, and then focused on her again. Inej’s leg was still laid in front of her beneath the sling, her trouser leg rolled up, waiting for Nina’s cold compress, and now she realised that Kaz was actively avoiding looking at it. She swallowed. 

“I just need to know how long you think you’ll need,” he said, “So I know if you’ll be up for this,”

“You know I won’t say no, Kaz,”

You know I can’t. 

“But will you be ready?”

“Nina’s worried,” she admitted, “But I’m hoping to be back to normal within a week,” she glanced at her leg, “maybe two,”

Kaz nodded. He turned briefly away and she thought he might be about to leave, but then he was facing her again with a small bundle of fabric sitting in his gloved hand. The other clutched his cane tightly, tighter than usual she thought, as he dropped the little pile onto the end of Inej’s bed. She stared at him. 

“What is this?”

“Night clothes,”

The first night Inej came to the Slat, she had followed Kaz from the Menagerie and walked all the way down West Stave, then East, heading steadily South until they reached the tipsy little building leaning on its neighbours still wearing her ugly purple silks. She was barefoot, earning cuts and dirt and scratches of the soles of her feet as she traipsed over the cobblestones, and somehow felt more ridiculous dressed like this walking down the street even than she had inside the walls of the Menagerie. She briefly entertained the thought of running, but she was weak and small - in fact, when had she even last eaten? In searching for when she had last eaten well , at least, she found she could not remember. And even a year later the memories of her foolish escape attempt, a fourteen year old child who managed to run three blocks before she was dragged back across the stave, was too strong. And besides, though she did not think she trusted Kaz Brekker, she thought she was the closest she had been to safe in a long time. She did not run. 

Kaz had led her inside the building without a word and she could feel the eyes of the Dregs burning into her as she followed him across the floor and up the stairs. It was the only time she’d ever known the Slat to be silent. 

“Here,” he’d said, as they reached a door upstairs. 

“Here?”

“Your room,” said Kaz, nodding again at the door. 

She realised he was waiting for her to open it herself, and after a brief moment had passed she did so. The room was tiny, barely big enough to hold the bed pressed against two of its walls, but Inej barely noticed as she stared straight ahead to the window. It was almost as wide as the wall it sat in, with a perfect view of the street below and the rooftops ahead of her. Inej could have choked. All of the windows at the Menagerie were barred. 

When she’d finally ripped herself away, she saw Kaz dropping a pile of fabric onto the end of the neatly made bed that she already knew she would not be able to sleep in tonight. 

“What is this?”

“Clothes,” he’d looked her up and down, “Real clothes. Get dressed, then I want you to see the Crow Club,”

Inej nodded as if she understood, as if she had heard a single word after she’d heard real clothes . Her clothes, that was what he was telling her. Kaz left and Inej spent a full two minutes enjoying the thrill of closing her curtain, fingers shivering, before she got dressed. She shoved her silks beneath the bed, resolving to figure out what to do with them another day, and savoured every brush of the trousers and shirt and jumper as she pulled them over herself. She had socks, and trousers, and real underwear. She had a curtain, and a window, and a door that locked from the inside. When Kaz returned, it was with her boots. 

“Why are you bringing me night clothes?” she asked, now, watching him standing at the end of her bed. 

She felt almost as though her skin were trying to crawl off her looking up at Kaz like this, even just knowing he was in her room felt strange but to be stuck like this… she didn’t know how to identify the feeling, and she couldn’t even tell if she cared for it. 

“You left yours at the Crow Club,”

Inej sat up slowly and picked up the night clothes; thick cotton, soft colours, her own size. 

“These are new,”

Kaz shrugged.

“Stoevelaar’s blood was on yours,” he said, and after a moment, “And they didn’t fit you,”

So he’d bought her new ones? Inej didn’t know how to navigate this - she didn’t even know what she was navigating. She stared at him, and then realised that she hadn’t said anything for about forty seconds. 

“Thank you,”

Kaz nodded. 

“Two weeks?”

“Maximum,”

He nodded again, and then he was gone. 

Chapter Text

Nina walked up the stairs of the Slat balancing a small basin of cold water between her arms, knowing it would not be enough. The swelling in Inej’s knee was not decreasing on its own and a simple damp cloth was going to do little, but Nina had no idea how to reduce it herself - only that ice and compression would help the process. Once Inej was back on her feet, Nina would demand she let her wrap her leg in tight, elasticated bandages, but for now a cool compress was going to have to do. She wasn’t expecting to walk almost straight into Kaz at the top of the stairs, and stumbled slightly so the water in the basin swished back and forth on the verge of spilling.

“Don’t bother helping me,” she grunted, glaring at him, as she struggled to readjust herself without dropping the bowl and throwing water all over them both.

Kaz just watched her, and as soon as she’d moved enough out of the way began to make his way down the first few steps. 

“Oh - Kaz,”

He turned back, looking at her expectantly. 

“Do they sell ice year round here, or just store it?” 

He shrugged. 

“Not a big market in the colder months, but it’s available. Not enough Grisha around for sellers  to store it on site though; you can only buy it in the Warehouse District,”

“I want to ice Inej’s knee,”

“I didn’t ask. Don’t waste your own money; there’s a couple of kruge in the safe at the Crow Club earmarked for medical, you can  pick it up before you go back if you have time, if not I’ll reimburse you afterwards,”

She nodded, though somehow she felt suspicious. 

“What do you want?”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“What do any of us want?”

And then he was gone, and Nina was staring exasperatedly at the empty space where he’d just been standing. She sighed. 

If Nina was to be entirely honest, she might not have minded delaying herself from seeing Inej for a second longer. She was still shaken by their conversation earlier, about the death of Liesbeth Stoevelaar. 

When Inej had fallen asleep in Kaz’s office at the Crow Club and Nina lifted her onto the floor to lay down properly, she’d been exhausted and in pain and almost definitely in shock. She’d killed someone, spent fifteen hours alone with a dead body whilst Nina thought she was sleeping, and dragged herself across rooftops and over the canal on a leg she could now, without the wild and screaming adrenaline coursing through her, barely take her own standing weight on. And then, half-asleep with her weight in Nina’s arms and her bare toes dragging across the floor like she was trying to dance through a hazy dream, she had mumbled so quietly that Nina had barely even heard her: 

“I’m gonna kill him,”

Nina was taken aback. Quite considerably, actually. She had never heard Inej express the actual intent to kill anyone before - and Nina also didn’t know who she was talking about. 

“Did she say something?” Kaz had asked, frowning, from where he stood on the other side of the room.

“No,” said Nina, soft and light, still gently lowering Inej towards the floorboards, “She just groaned,”

About two hours ago Nina had finally gathered herself together enough to ask Inej if she remembered saying it, and what she’d meant. Now she was shaken, and she knew Inej was too. 

“I don’t remember saying it,” she’d admitted, on a slow breath, letting Nina fluff her pillow and encourage her to lie back even though she didn’t look very happy about it. She yawned, “But I stand by it,”

Nina restrained the eyebrows she wanted to raise as she stepped back and returned to the little chair she’d pulled up to Inej’s room last week. She didn’t know what to say and for a long time it seemed like Inej didn’t either, but then she whispered:

“Riesen; The Black Tips’ boss. I don’t… No, I stand by it. I’m going to kill him,”

The conversation spiralled in a more emotional direction after that. Nina gripped Inej’s hand in hers, rubbing her thumb in a little circular pattern near the top of her knuckles. The rough skin of Inej’s fingers brushed against the back of Nina’s hand, like tiny, soft little scratches. 

“Do it,” she said, what felt like hours later, her free hand fumbling through her pockets because she was sure there was a handkerchief in there somewhere but apparently it was avoiding her, “Cut his heart out,”

Inej smiled softly through her tears, gratefully accepting the handkerchief once Nina had pulled it triumphantly from the inside of her sleeve. Her free hand stretched slowly to where her knives were lying neatly arranged on top of the tiny nightstand, and softly tapped the long dagger with engraved roses growing up the metal.

“With Sankta Lizabeta’s blade,” she promised. 

As Nina knocked on the door now - though knocked may be a generous word, she kicked it lightly for not being able to actually knock without setting the basin down - it was a moment before a reply came and she briefly wondered if Inej had fallen asleep. But then the soft response floated through the door, asking her not to come in yet. Nina waited. After a few minutes had passed, she ventured: 

“Inej? Are you alright?”

Inej had no longer been crying by the time Nina left her, and they’d left most of the conversation behind them, but it was clearly still holding her in a tight, unrelenting grasp. If Inej was struggling she probably wouldn’t want anyone in the room with her, but Nina could try to talk to her through the door. 

“One minute,” she managed, “I’m okay,”

Nina still felt a touch nervous when she was eventually bid entry, but once she was done wrestling the door open through the water basin she stepped inside to find that Inej was sitting up on the bed, steadying herself with a palm planted flat against the wall, and had changed into a set of soft nightclothes. They fitted her well and even though she was clearly not her usual self, Nina could tell how much more comfortable Inej was in these pyjamas than her previous set immediately. She did look small though, Nina thought, even without the oversized nightclothes shrinking her; she actually looked fifteen, if that, in this pale pink cotton, with her dark hair loose and spilling down her shoulders to outline her against the light leaking through the window. She actually looked like a child. 

“I can’t get my leg back in the sling,” she said a little sheepishly, eyeline dipping towards the duvet. 

“I’m impressed you managed to get changed,” Nina admitted, encouraging Inej to lie back as she lifted her ankle and slowly guided her back into the sling.

Inej winced a little as she bent her knee under the direction of Nina’s hands, so she could manoeuvre herself into position. 

“It wasn’t easy,”

“And your pretty new pyjamas?” asked Nina, as if she didn’t know the answer. 

“Kaz,”

Nina did her best to conceal her little smile behind her shoulder as she straightened out the fabric of the sling, quickly smoothing out her features as she righted herself again. 

“Well then we should all be concerned about the impending apocalypse,” she teased, “The machines are learning ,” 

It was the early hours of the morning when Nina left the Slat; Inej had finally drifted to sleep and Jesper, though Nina knew full well his shift had finished hours ago, had finally appeared to sit with her for the night. Nina slipped out and hurried back up the Staves towards the White Rose; she had a client at 3 bells, the Barrel knew no traditional working hours, but then she was free right up til early evening. She was going to take the nap to end all naps. 

The streets of West Stave were busy, of course, and Nina had to wind her way through the crowds to draw herself a path. The Suli girl was outside the Willow Switch again, her hair spiralled so tightly that it was tugging at the corners of her forehead. The front pieces had been run through with some sort of gel to stick them in swirls against her skin, creating a pattern distinctly similar to the swirls of the tattoo on her forearm. She stood on the side of the canal in her alarmingly thin scraps of silk, waving prettily to the odd member of the crowd as the same magician Nina had seen make her appear from thin air a few weeks prior shouted to the tourists and beckoned for their attention. The Shu girl she’d performed with last time was notably absent. 

Nina paused for the briefest moment, glancing at her watch - two bells. She could afford to spare a minute. Because even from here she could see the tiny smidge of discolouration marring the acrobat’s cheek, and she knew. She’d been Tailored, and she’d been Tailored quickly. Nina took a slow breath, straightened her cuffs, and - even as her own thoughts shouted at her to just keep walking, turned sharply to her right and stepped through the gilded double doors of the Willow Switch. 

The girl behind the desk was about the same age as Nina but a little shorter, Shu but not the girl she’d seen before, with loose, dark hair and glitter painted on her eyelids. She looked up at Nina through thick black lashes, a coy smile dancing on her lips.

“May I help you?” she asked in honeyed, accented tones.

“The girl out there,” said Nina, “the acrobat-”

“She’ll be available later on, but I’m afraid the show can’t be interrupted,” she tilted her shoulder, drawing attention to the slip of her dramatic neckline, “But if there’s anything in the meantime…”

Nina swallowed. The mask slipped easily into place. 

“I saw her before, with a Shu girl,” she leant forwards and sat her elbow on the desk, so she could plant her chin in her palm, “Is she here?”

Behind the crook of her elbow, Nina’s free hand moved in a slow, secret circle. The girl’s smile stayed in place, despite a brief tick in her jaw.

“Not tonight, Miss, I’m afraid. She’s not working for a couple of weeks,”

She was telling the truth. 

“Can I ask you why?”

The girl stiffened briefly and Nina felt her heartbeat rise. 

“She’s not here right now,” she said, “but if I can help you-?”

Nina placed her free hand flat on the table. 

“What’s your name?”

“Kheja,” she murmured, eyes briefly flicking around the room as though someone might be watching her, “Or anything you want it to be,”

“Kheja,” said Nina, “I’m going to tell the truth now and I want you to hear me out,”

Kheja leaned back a little, the first time her own mask had truly fallen, eyes once again flitting about them both before she glanced quickly over her shoulder. She was framed by a curtain of weeping willow branches, floor to ceiling, trailing on the fake hardwood floors. Nina had assumed there was a wall behind it, but as she looked properly she could see light and shadow filtering beyond the leaves. 

“Are you allowed to speak in Shu?”

“If you want me to,”

Nina switched languages like she was slipping into a new pair of shoes; she hadn’t practised Shu in a long time and was maybe going to suffer blisters for it, but she would be able to walk just fine and last for the most part with reasonable comfort. 

“I’m a Heartrender. I know that girl’s been Tailored,” she said in Shu, nodding vaguely towards the open doors and the street behind, “What happened to her? Where’s the other girl?”

“I don’t…”

“I’ll know if you’re lying to me, Kheja,” Nina lifted her hand up from the desk a little, and the girl swallowed tightly, “What happened?”

“I can’t tell you,”

“Kheja-”

“I told you,” she said smoothly, switching back to Kerch and letting her voice drift back to full volume, “Jeluna is not here. But if you are interested in Shu girls…” she smiled, her hand closing over Nina’s on the desk, “I’m sure we can find something else to entertain you,”

Kheja’s fingers began to chase up Nina’s arm, dancing across her skin. Her fingertips were smooth, her nails perfectly rounded and shimmering with gloss. Nina’s eyes drifted slowly upwards, for a moment studying the lines of kohl that had been reapplied below Kheja’s eyes; the vaguest remnants of a dark smudge left beneath them. She pulled her hand sharply away. 

“I really had my interests set elsewhere,” she said, also in Kerch, quickly sliding the tiny piece of paper Kheja had slipped her up inside her sleeve. 

“Then I suggest you take your interests elsewhere, Miss,” Kheja replied, and Nina noticed that her accent slipped slightly when she let her tone take on a sharper edge, “There’s nothing here for you tonight,”

She nodded quickly at Nina, her eyes betraying something that her face or mouth could not. Nina gave her as close to a nod as she dared to, then turned and rushed the last of her journey. She didn’t unfold the little piece of paper until she was upstairs in her room at the White Rose, with half an hour to get ready for her next job and a cup of tea sitting in front of her on the vanity. The paper was slightly crumpled and when Nina looked at it properly she realised the folds weren’t only from shoving it in her sleeve but at least some were older wounds the card had already borne when Kheja gave it to her. It was a Kerch business card, painstakingly copied printing that probably cost a fortune at one of the presses in town, for some legal firm in the Zelvar District. Someone must have dropped it or left it behind at the Willow Switch, but Nina paid it little heed as she turned the card over and let her gaze slip over the Shu characters inked on the back. Just three words, when she translated it. 

When had Kheja had time to write anything? The note must have already been written before she gave it to Nina; a pre-prepared cry for help, maybe, or a last desperate vouch to try to save Jeluna? Nina swallowed. 

The door swung open, there was no lock and knocking was a foreign concept to Feliks, and Nina was taken by surprise. She jumped, trying to shove the note out of sight and managing to knock her mug of tea straight on top of it. 

“Try not to ruin my furniture, Nina,”

She looked up to see Feliks’ impatient frown, hurriedly righting her cup and yanking the sodden paper up her sleeve as she apologised, before ringing the little bell for a servant.

“Did you want something?” she asked, glancing back to where Feliks was still just standing there, watching her. 

“What was your job on the Geldstraat the other week?”

Nina frowned. 

“Mister Van Eck asked me to keep it private,”

“You don’t work for him, Nina, you work for me. What was the job?”

“I work for Per Haskell,” said Nina, smooth as butter, “and for Kaz Brekker. If you want to know anything about my job then you are more than welcome to take it up with them, but my clients’ business stays with me,”

For a minute she thought he was going to protest, but then he just shrugged. 

“Fine. But whatever it was, he wants you back there tomorrow night. Good money,”

Nina tried to hide her surprise - and her panic. What did Van Eck want with her now Wylan wasn’t home? Did he somehow know the Dregs tried to stop his attempt on his son’s life? She felt her jaw tighten. 

“Will I see any of it?”

“Five percent commission on Tailoring,” said Feliks, “Everything else is salary,”

Five percent commission on Tailoring was absolute shit. But it was as much as she could get, and barely back from suspension for attacking a goddamn client in the middle of the lobby Nina knew she shouldn’t push her luck. She did anyway. 

“It’s a private job,” she said, “And to your own bad luck I can read Kerch, Feliks, I actually know what my contract says unlike half the-”

“Easy,” he growled, his eyes flitting darker. 

“Fifty percent of all private jobs is mine,” she pushed, “And you still owe it back to me for the last time I went,”

“You also missed the second time he wanted you to go,”

“Because you suspended me,” she snapped, “Whilst I was supposed to be there I was stuck in your office with Brekker swinging my feet off the edge of my chair like a schoolchild who got detention. That’s my money, and you’ll pay up,”

A very long moment hung in the air. 

“You go back to the Geldstraat tomorrow night,” he said, eventually, “And if you come back willing to tell me what the job was, you’ll get your money for both times then,”

Nina took a slow breath. It would be a good sized lump sum, half of it would be enough to keep her running for a month and the rest could go a long way in the savings for Matthias’ legal fees, if she ever managed to argue her way that far. She’d rather get what she was owed now and know that if she managed to find a way to skip out on returning to Geldstraat she’d still made some cash, but she knew really that she’d only end up with no choice but to do the job. She wouldn’t be able to have Inej tail her this time, but maybe she could have Jesper or someone walk with her to and from at least. 

“The deal is the deal,” she said, eventually. 

Feliks nodded. 

“The deal is the deal. Now get your damn kefta on, you’ve barely got twenty minutes before your next appointment,”

And before Nina was even finished biting back her argumentative response, he was gone. Adrian appeared not a moment after and Nina helped him clear up the spilled tea before she shoved herself into her uncomfortable fake kefta . The little business card fell out from the sleeve of her blouse, now sodden and tea stained beyond recognition. She threw the remnants away; there was no need for them now, and she doubted anyone would be able to make out the message even if they tried. She remembered it, and she remembered Kheja and Jeluna’s names. Hopefully that would be enough. She kicked her wastepaper basket back beneath the vanity and out of sight before she slipped downstairs to meet her client, as though if it had been visible the words would have bore right into her, burned across the room, screamed out loud. 

They took her. 

They took her.

They took her. 

Chapter Text

“Jeluna,” Inej repeated, frowning, “It doesn’t ring a bell,”

Nina was standing in front of the closed door to Inej’s room, her hair - usually always worn loose so it fell just over her shoulders - tightly plaited and her favoured outfit of dark, deep pocketed trousers and some brightly coloured jumper or other replaced by a neatly pressed, creamy white blouse and a skirt that fell past her knees over long white stockings, as well as a pair of shiny black boots instead of her beaten up brown leather ones. It was distracting Jesper - it wasn’t that it didn’t look nice, Nina seemed to have the ability to pull off just about anything she wore, but it just made her look not quite like herself. She wasn’t comfortable, he didn’t think, in the tight cuffs of the button down or the almost schoolchild-esque pleats of the skirt. She looked like one of the women in the University or Zelvar Districts, working front desks or accounts or correspondence. And when Jesper had thought that, he realised what it was that he actually thought, why he felt like something wasn’t quite right. Nina looked disturbingly Kerch . 

“Does she have a stage name?” he asked, “Maybe it would be easier to hear word of her that way,”

“Not that I’ve heard of,” Nina shrugged, “But she’s not been reported missing. I’ve not heard a word about it, even at the White Rose,”

“She won’t be,” said Inej, shuffling between her pillows to readjust herself, “Not until it’s already too late,”

“Tara and Amethyst-”

“The Leopard has been the most popular attraction at the Menagerie for months,” Inej shook her head, “And Amethyst was at the Sweet Shoppe for longer than anyone. I’ve heard rumours that Rollins took a liking to her; she was absent once before, a few years back, so I heard. Popularly believed he took her out of the city,”

Jesper frowned - he couldn’t bring an image of the girl to mind himself, but the missing descriptions had described her as in her early twenties. Twenty three, Kaz had said. 

“People noticed they were gone,” continued Inej, “Will anyone notice Jeluna?”

You know a girl from West Stave died in a similar pattern last month? From a smaller house, didn’t get much notice. 

“How old is she?”

Nina shrugged. 

“I only saw her once or twice; our age, a touch younger? Not old,”

Inej murmured something in Suli, and Jesper saw Nina glance away. He didn’t ask what she’d said. Even though it was probably just a prayer, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. A minute passed. 

“One other thing,” Nina was looking at him now, not Inej, “They want me back at the Van Eck house tonight,”

Jesper felt his shoulders stiffen involuntarily. He hadn’t seen Wylan in almost two weeks, the last he’d heard of the kid being the information Roeder gave Inej and she, in turn, passed on to Jesper the other day. Wylan was at a boarding house a short way South of here, he’d got a job at a tannery in the Warehouse District, and no-one ever saw him anywhere else. Jesper drummed his fingers against his knee, finding dissatisfaction at the attempt to lay against his guns and finding the sad little pistols sitting in his belt. He didn’t want to ask Kaz for his revolvers back, but he knew he’d crack before Kaz did and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Maybe he should just stop bothering. He needed a drink. 

“What does he want?”

Nina shrugged, playing with the end of one of her plaits. 

“I don’t know. Are you on shift tonight?”

Nope. 

“I’m at the Crow Club, but I might be able to slip out for a while - what time?”

“Ten bells. I don’t know how long it’ll be though, I could talk to Kaz…”

Jesper tightened his hand briefly in and out of a fist. 

“No, it’s fine. I can go with you,”

He felt Inej’s eyes on him and rolled his shoulders, trying not to meet her gaze. 

“Do you think he knows Wylan’s alive?” she asked into the growing silence.

Growing silence amongst the three of them, anyway; the rowdy shouts and cheers and arguments of the Slat were of course still leaking through the walls and floor. Jesper was pretty sure he’d just heard Pim’s voice next door, not long after Anika’s words had drifted through the air. 

“He must do,” said Nina, “Or at least suspect, surely it was reported back to him that he jumped into the canal and they couldn’t find him?”

“It’s a miracle he made it back out again,” Inej shook her head, “Those waters are dangerous enough for people who can see where they’re going; I don’t think it would be unreasonable for Van Eck to assume he drowned out there,”

She had a point. Jesper still wasn’t sure how Wylan had managed it; how far he’d had to swim, how long he had been stuck out there, how he’d made his way back to dry land. He hadn’t shared the full story in the short time they had together before Jesper went and fucked everything up, but the bruises on his neck had been telling enough. 

“You Tailored Wylan last time, right?”

Nina nodded. 

“It’s probably just Tailoring again; new young wives don’t stay young and pretty forever,”

“She’s about twenty,” said Nina. 

“So two years too old,” Inej murmured, “I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s all it is, you know. But stay wary, be sensible. You don’t know what he’s capable of,”

“I think we know exactly what he’s capable of, Inej,” Nina shook her head, “That might be half the problem,”

A moment dipped back into quiet as it rolled by, before Jesper ventured:

“Should we tell Kaz? About Jeluna?”

“I don’t know,” Nina hesitated, “Maybe. What are the chances he can do anything?”

“What are the chances he can do something but won’t bother?”

No-one answered Inej’s quiet question. 

Jesper watched Nina fidget with her sleeve for a minute before anyone said anything else. She glanced at her watch. 

“I’d better go,” she said, “I’m on my way to the courthouse, I just wanted to update you first - and check in on your leg, Inej,”

So that was why she was dressed like this. Jesper searched briefly through the few things he knew about Nina’s battle with the slow-but-surely-violent killer that was the Kerch legal system; he couldn’t remember her boy’s name, a Fjerdan, a year older than Nina - an ex-Drüskelle in on what she claimed were false charges. He couldn’t help but question what possible charges a Drüskelle couldn’t be considered guilty for, but he bit his tongue. For the sake of avoiding a pointless argument, for the sake of letting Nina just live her life, and for the sake of not being an idiot who gave himself away. 

“Good luck,” Inej smiled softly. 

“I’ll need it,” Nina half laughed, “If it’s the same judge I met last time you’d best pray for my restraint not to burst his heart in two,”

“ Nina ,”

“I’m joking,” she promised her, then with a wink at Jesper: “Violence only if absolutely necessary,”

*

It was definitely a strange feeling, loitering around the Geldstraat late at night, waiting for Nina to re-emerge. Jesper kept himself in the shadows near a side street, hoping it was late enough and he was out of view enough that none of the fine citizens of the area would pick up on his very clearly out of place appearance. Nina was actually quite a lot quicker than he’d expected her to be, but it still felt like a long time standing around; alone, somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, with nothing to do. He fidgeted with his sad little pistols. He was itching for a hand of cards. He checked his watch. Nina had been gone for about twenty minutes. Jesper needed to pull himself together. 

He studied the front of the Van Eck mansion opposite him in the dark. Flowers grew up the trellises either side of the front door, but the night was too thick to be able to make out what type of plant they were from this distance, and two potted trees stood sentinel, guarding either side of the gate. There were no candles burning in any of the front windows except the one farthest to the right - surely not the master bedroom from this position, Jesper expected that would look over the gardens, but perhaps someone’s guest room? Wylan had no siblings - yet - so other than a guest Jesper wasn’t sure who could be in there at this hour, not unless the servants’ cleaning rotas went on well into the night. Maybe they did. 

He wondered which window was supposed to be Wylan’s - or if that would be round the side or back of the house. That might make more sense, to have a nicer view of the fancy gardens, the private dock, the picturesque canal. It was just about the only canal in the city you could describe as picturesque , but once you were here looking at it that didn’t seem to bother you anymore. Even if you knew what the rest of the city looked like, even if you’d spent your time here wading through its slums, you could stand here and look at the canal, and you could think that it was pretty. It was pretty enough that, even for a very brief moment, you didn’t care about the rest of it anymore. That was how it got you. 

Yes , he thought, Wylan’s window was probably round the side of the house . Then: Why the fuck do you care? 

Too many answers came unbidden, and Jesper tried to stamp them out. He checked his watch again. Not even five more minutes had passed. 

When Nina did return, only about ten minutes after that, it was with a furious march in her step and fire burning in her cheeks. Her hair was still in its tight plaits, though a few strands had come loose, and the sour mood she’d been in after the courthouse had clearly only worsened. She yanked off her fake kefta as soon as she reached Jesper, shoving it over her arm to carry and shaking out the neckline of the blouse she was wearing beneath as though she’d overheated. He opened his mouth but she barely seemed to notice she was there, and kept walking without a word so he was forced to hurry after her.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” she snapped, and just kept striding on. 

Jesper followed. The Geldstraat shrank behind him, continuing to shimmer in the distance, and as they made their way back to the Barrel and parted ways to West and East Stave, Jesper felt strangely discomforted by the knowledge that it was still behind them, shimmering prettily on in the dark. Picturesque. 

Chapter Text

“Well?” 

Feliks was waiting for Nina as soon as she stepped back through the door of the White Rose, standing in the corridor outside of the kitchen. Nina was in no mood for this. 

After her client in the early hours of this morning she had intended to let herself sleep for the next few hours she had free before she had to prepare for court. The appointment for her second petition review had been at midday and her session with Van Hoitz, a lawyer who’d been coming to see her once a week for the past three months since the loss of his young son, ended at five bells that morning, so Nina had planned to give herself just over an hour to get ready and a good amount of time to catnap before then. She finished the session, got changed, ate some breakfast, laid out an outfit for court, and flopped against her little chaise with her fingers curled around a steaming cup of tea. But sleep evaded her. 

It was six bells by the time she was lying down, eight by the time she started reading to try and lull herself, eight bells half chime by the time she gave up. Sleep had proven difficult before court before, her mind haunted by everything she’d done to Matthias and everything she’d failed to do for him since, and she could feel some of that same anxiety tugging at her now - but there was something different, too. Sleep had proven impossible today, with the damp remnants of a cry for help sitting across the room in her wastepaper basket. 

If Nina could do anything for Jeluna, she couldn’t do it right now. But she couldn’t just go to sleep either, couldn’t just let the world keep turning like she didn’t exist.

No, Nina couldn’t sleep. But she also couldn’t do anything to help right now so she was left in a sort of middle, floating state. She could have gone back to Inej and Jesper, she could have walked to buy ice for Inej, she could have tried to schedule a last minute Tailoring job to strap a little more cash together, she could have gone to the Crow Club and finally gotten around to undoing Elodie’s Tailoring. But instead Nina kept the selfish hours to herself, sitting alone upstairs and waging a silent war inside her head. She drank about three more cups of tea, paced the room for a while, and got ready hours before she needed to. 

It had already put her on edge, to be so sleep deprived when she arrived at court. In fact, when had she last slept? She’d been with Inej all day and most of the night, leaving not long before two bells, and had worked the night before. When she got back from the courthouse, another fruitless attempt that made her want to punch something, it had not been a conscious decision to collapse straight into her chaise and start snoring. At least she was free until the evening though. 

“ Well ?” Feliks repeated, impatiently, as Nina restrained herself from slamming the door behind her. 

The kitchen should have been one large, L-shaped room and probably had been thus at construction, but since then a diagonal half wall had been constructed to split it into two. Nina stepped into the front space, knowing that Feliks would follow her, and yanked the fair ties out of her plaits before she dropped her ugly fake kefta onto an empty section of countertop. There was no-one else in here; the front of the kitchen was more like an intermediate space than it really was a kitchen. The island in the centre was laden with trays of food and drink, to be carried to and from the lobby or upstairs rooms, and the surrounding countertops were decorated with food for anyone to help themselves to as they passed through, or whenever they might be free. 

“Well what?” she asked, as if she didn’t damn well know, whilst she ran her fingers through her hair and along her scalp. 

Relief washed through her at the feeling of such release, though her scalp felt strange and raw as she brushed through it. She sighed contentedly, reviewing the waves her hair had shaken out into and enjoying the furious and impatient glare on Feliks’ face. Nina didn’t know why he wanted to know what her job at the Van Eck house had been and she didn’t much care, but she was in a rotten mood and if anyone deserved to have her take it out on them it was Feliks, so Feliks it would be. 

“The job ,” he snarled, “Or do you not want to see your money?”

Nina rolled her eyes and picked up an apple from the bowl, then called over her shoulder.

“Adrian, hon, you here?” 

“One second!”

“Don’t rush,” she shouted cheerily, “But can you make me a cup of tea, please?”

“Of course,”

“Thanks love,”

Nina took a large bite of her apple and began to chew through it slowly, enjoying the show as Feliks’ cheeks turned red, then purple. She swallowed. 

“I Tailored his wife,”

Lie. But Inej and Jesper had been right, it was a believable excuse. 

“Both times?”

“This time,”

Feliks’ jaw twitched. 

“And last time?”

“His son,” Nina bit her apple again, “Kid’s at some posh school outside of the city now though, so for cashflow’s sake let’s hope that dear Mrs Van Eck laments over every tiny imperfection her skin ever sees. Oh - and Van Eck told me how much he paid you, by the way, so don’t try to stiff me. I know exactly what I’m owed,”

That was also a lie. Nina had been intending to ask Van Eck that very question for this very purpose but she hadn’t gotten a chance, so she was just going to have to rely on Feliks being convinced enough to give her everything he owed her. He frowned, but nodded. Somewhere within the soft din of people moving through the other side of the kitchen, Nina heard a kettle whistle on the hob. 

Soft footsteps sounded by the door and Nina turned to see Siobhan, her Kaelish red hair about the brightest thing in the room as it shone in contrast to the white walls and the fake rose petals cascading down her dress, standing in the doorway. Siobhan had been at the White Rose for at least all the time that Nina had, and in that time had been wrapped up in one of the very few instances where someone had needed Healing. As she glanced at her now there were no visible remnants of the bruises down Siobhan’s pale, bare arms, but Nina still felt like she could see them; deep and dark and discoloured enough to make her skin prickle. 

“Oh,” she glanced between Nina and Feliks, “I’m sorry, I’ll come back later, I didn’t- I’ll… yes, sorry,”

She nodded and turned on her slippered heel back towards the door, the longest edge of her asymmetrical skirt brushing around her ankles, but Feliks stopped her. 

“I’m on my way out,” he said, before glancing coolly at Nina, “And Nina’s on her way upstairs,”

Nina bit her apple again. 

“Am I?”

For a moment Feliks just glared at her, then he turned to leave. 

“My money?” she called after him. 

“I’ll bring it up to you,” 

He waved Siobhan roughly out of his way and she all but leapt from his path before he marched off I to the corridor. Nina grimaced at his back, mumbling less than complimentary names before taking another bite of her apple. It took her a moment to realise Siobhan was still standing in the doorway, staring at her. 

“Why do you do that?” she asked quietly. 

Nina frowned. 

“Do what?”

“You antagonise him,” Siobhan’s cheeks had flooded with scarlet, “Can’t you just… leave it be?”

Nina chucked her apple core into the wastebin by the door.

“Why should I?” she shrugged, “If he gets to talk to people however he wants to then that’s how I’m going to talk to him. You want a drink?”

“I don’t drink. But Nina-” 

“It doesn’t have to be alcohol. And I’ve seen you drink,” 

Nina hadn’t thought it was possible for Siobhan to turn any redder than she already was, but she somehow managed it. 

“I don’t drink by choice ,” she said in a slightly strangled voice, before snatching up a pear from the fruit bowl without even looking at what she was grabbing. 

Nina put actual thought into her words for two measly seconds and realised that the only times she’d seen Siobhan drink were when drinks were given to her; champagne in the lobby, mostly. Once someone had brought her a bottle of some kind of very fancy, very expensive wine and Nina had almost intervened when he kept trying to force her to take a sip. She’d thought it might be drugged for all his insistence, but maybe it was just because Siobhan had tried to refuse the alcohol. In the end Nina had watched Siobhan down her glass without a change in her demeanour, and so had done nothing at all. She took a breath. She was clouded by her annoyance at the world and at Feliks and at Jan Van Eck and at this stupid, Saintsforsaken city, and she wasn’t thinking. 

“Sorry. But do you want something else to drink?”

At almost that exact moment, Adrian appeared to press a cup of tea into Nina’s hands and then vanish again just as quickly to make Siobhan a coffee. Siobhan looked at her pear for a moment. 

“I don’t even like these,” she mumbled, before sinking her teeth straight into it. 

Nina bit her lip. 

“Do you… have you ever heard of a girl called Jeluna, at the Willow Switch?”

SIobhan paused for a moment, then shook her head. 

“Don’t think so. Why?”

“No reason,”

Siobhan watched her for a moment, then shrugged and took another bite of her unwanted pear. Nina walked away. 

*

“So what did-? oh ,”

Inej groaned, her weight suddenly tilting heavier into Nina as she struggled to stay standing. They were balancing between her bed and the wall, pacing back and forth a few steps to try and get Inej moving and able to take weight on her knee. It was a slow process, but Inej was refusing to accept it as such. 

“Sit down,” said Nina, turning to lead her towards the bed. 

“I’m fine,” said Inej, gritting her teeth and finding the bedpost with her free hand so she could lean against it, “What did Van Eck want?”

“Nothing,”

“Jesper said-”

“It was fine,”

Nina took Inej’s arm again and led her back to sit on the edge of the mattress, ignoring her very obvious annoyance over the matter. Or both matters, probably. She accepted a glass of water from Nina and let her feel her knee again, properly with her power. Nina thought it maybe felt better, but it was difficult to say. 

“Nina, what happened?” 

“Nothing,” she took the empty glass from Inej’s hands and coaxed her back into the pillows, “It’s fine. I’m fine, I promise,”

Inej looked thoroughly unconvinced. 

A week passed in a very similar fashion, and then another. No word of Jeluna surfaced; not even a rumour. Nina told Kaz, but he didn’t say much. No other bodies showed up on West Stave, no-one else seemed to have disappeared, and even in the wake of the mystery surrounding poor Amethyst’s death, it seemed the Barrel was moving on. Time kept passing by. Nina managed to find the time to get Elodie’s Tailoring undone, had a decently sized additional stack of kruge to add to the stash she was gathering for Matthias, and spent her time between the White Rose and the Slat. Inej was improving faster now, she was pretty sure that the ice Jepser had bought - with the Dregs’ money - had been helpful, and by the end of two weeks she was walking with ease and starting to climb again. Nina’s continuous warnings of tentative and careful were being drowned out by Inej’s lament of been-stuck-here-like-this-for-an-entire-month , and honestly by this point it had been so long that Nina couldn’t even blame her. She knew Inej could not stand to feel like she wasn't being productive, so she’d started bringing her Kerch books to read or writing exercises she could do from her bed, but realistically that was never going to be an appeasing substitute to climbing and running and whatever other nonsense she got up to. But it was when Nina heard that Inej had a job, a job starting tomorrow , that she knew it was definitely too much. 

“Where’s Kaz?” she snapped as she marched into the Crow Club, not that she’d really needed to ask. 

She kept walking straight past Pim even as he tried to answer, forging her pathway to Kaz’s office. 

“He’s busy,” said Pim, “He’s discussing a job, you can talk to him when he’s done,”

Nina scowled, but she knew she wasn’t getting through that door - or at least she wasn’t getting anywhere helpful, anyway. She flopped down at the bar and ordered a drink. Saints knew she needed one. 

“Hey gorgeous,”

Jesper. 

She gave him half a smile as he slipped into the seat next to her and ordered a drink of his own, drumming his fingers against the bar as he began to chatter. She noticed he was still carrying a set of pistols that didn’t fit quite right in his gun belt instead of his prize revolvers. They must still be in Kaz’s safe. 

“He can’t put her on a job,” said Nina, downing a mouthful, “She won’t cope - I won’t cope, for Saints’ sakes I’ll have a heart attack,”

Jesper laughed. 

“Good luck convincing him otherwi-”

Nina looked up, wondering what had caught Jesper’s attention enough to kill his sentence, and almost dropped her glass. Wylan Van Eck was standing in the doorway to the Crow Club. 

“What the…?”

Nina had only met Wylan a few times, and even she knew he’d looked better. He was thinner than he’d been when they last met, his skin was pale, his eyes were rimmed with dark circles - he actually looked liable to pass out at a moment’s notice. 

“His eye,” Jesper breathed, barely audible. 

Nina frowned, studying them for a moment, before she realised what Jesper meant - the scars. Wylan’s second largest scar, the one whose lowest edge had been left visible above his cheekbone when Nina finished Tailoring him, was now entirely visible once again and drawing a jagged line over his eye and part of his forehead. She’d forgotten that Jesper hadn’t seen the extent of the boy’s scars, hadn’t had a chance to wonder what kind of accident left marks like that. 

“The Tailoring’s coming undone,” she murmured, “That’s barely anything yet,”

She wasn’t even sure that Jesper had heard her. 

“Wylan? Wylan ,”

If Wylan recognised Jesper’s voice, which surely he had done, he didn’t show it. He didn’t even look up at the sound of his name. He paced the floor of the Crow Club relatively slowly, one hand occasionally reaching to find the pillars and make sure they weren’t in his path, before he reached the door to Kaz’s office. Nina and Jesper stared at each other for a moment, then stumbled to their feet and hurried after him. 

“Hey-” Pim moved in front of the door, “No-one is to-”

He stopped, glancing at Wylan and then back at Jesper and Nina hurrying behind him. Wylan took the moment of hesitation to his advantage and pushed forwards, finding the door handle and pushing inside. Pim just stared at the three other them as Jesper and Nina followed after him, all filing messily into Kaz’s office to see Inej, Anika, and Rotty all seated inside. They stared up at the sudden appearance with questions in their eyes, whilst Kaz remained somewhere skillfully balanced in between annoyed at the interruption and just as unreadable as ever. 

“Wylan Hendriks,”

“Kaz Brekker?”

“Yes,”

There was a very brief pause. 

“Which bridge?”

Kaz raised a slow eyebrow, his gloved fingers stretching slowly over the top of his crow’s head cane. 

“Excuse me?”

“You said you needed to disable a small stone bridge,” said Wylan, pausing as though he were giving Kaz time to reply. Kaz only nodded, and Wylan started a beat later - Nina supposed when he’d decided Kaz wasn’t going to say anything, “If I’m going to be of any help to you at all, I’ll need more detail than that - the style, the type of stone, maybe even the year it was built. Definitely how much damage you want to do. So, which bridge?”

Kaz looked briefly at Inej with an expression that was almost gloating, like he was saying I told you so , and then his gaze roved slowly back to Wylan. He leaned back in his chair and smiled. 

Chapter Text

“So, which bridge?”

For a moment, silence fell over the office. Even if Wylan hadn’t been able to see, he would have been able to feel every pair of eyes in the room fixing on him. Jesper and Nina were standing behind him, Inej was sitting just a few feet ahead, as well as two others that he didn’t know. Brekker sat behind the desk, the only person whose gaze didn’t fully fixate on Wylan straight away. Wylan didn’t dare to let himself track Kaz’s gaze, wasn’t stupid enough to let something quite that foolish give him away. A moment passed. 

“Everybody out,”

A rustle ran through the room with only the slightest hesitation as the group made to leave, and Wylan began to turn slowly before he saw Brekker lift a hand into the air.

“Wait,” 

The room froze in place. Wylan turned back towards the desk, finding his focus on the wall just past Kaz’s head. He could feel the ground moving beneath his aching feet, threatening to spin too hard and knock him shivering to the floor. He was no longer certain if it was exhaustion or illness from the chemicals at the tannery or something else entirely that had caused his occasional fainting episodes this past week, but he knew he could not afford to find himself falling now. 

“Wylan, how many people are in this room?”

Eight. But he had seen eight, not heard them. A moment seemed to pass in slow motion. Wylan had the strange, discomforting sense that he was being tested, but he didn’t know why.

“At least six,” he said, slowly, “Probably seven,”

Inej glanced over at Kaz, one eyebrow raised. Kaz’s expression betrayed nothing. 

“Enlighten me,”

“Well the two of us,” Wylan hesitated, “Obviously. Two people followed me inside, I recognised Jesper’s voice but if the other person spoke I didn’t hear them. Four. I was stopped at the door and that’s presumably because you were in a private discussion so that means there had to be at least one person in here with you; I heard movement from two places when I walked inside, so let’s assume you’re meeting two others. Six. Two sets of footsteps followed me through the club but three walked through that door, presumably the guard but I don’t know their voice or gait. Seven,”

Kaz glanced at Inej and something Wylan didn’t know how to understand passed between them, like a secret language they could see in each other’s eyes. 

“Impressive,” said Kaz, watching him.

“Did I miss anyone?”

“No. Everyone but Wylan, get out,”

“Kaz…” Jesper’s voice came from somewhere behind Wylan; Wylan didn’t turn to look. 

Kaz ignored him, but Wylan knew he was the last to leave the room from the tracking of everyone’s footsteps. Well, not quite the last. Inej did not leave at all. He could see her from the corner of his eye, slipping off her chair and melting towards the wall without a sound, but of course he did not let himself search the room for her. Kaz gestured to the chairs in front of him, but of course Wylan did not move. If Kaz really was testing him then it was going to take a lot more than this; Wylan had the last eight years to practise his lie, and he wasn’t going to let them shatter it now. Not when it might be the last piece of sanity he could cling to. Not when giving it up would mean having to explain, to admit. If Wylan let himself see again, he would have to let himself be seen as well. After a second, Kaz said: 

“Have a seat,” 

Wylan reached out in front of him until he found the back of the closest chair and let his hands guide him along its shape so he could sit down. Why was Brekker testing him? Was he even testing him, or did Wylan just always feel like he was being tested? Quite possibly both, if that even made sense.

Inej reappeared in Wylan’s eyeline as she skirted the edges of the room and came to a still behind the desk. She was still completely silent - unless he strained his ears he couldn’t even hear her breathing. Was Kaz waiting for Wylan to acknowledge her, wanting proof that his blindness was false? Or did he believe Wylan, know that if he couldn’t see he had no hope of knowing that Inej was there, for some reason want her to listen to this conversation without Wylan knowing? Or maybe he believed Wylan couldn’t see but was testing him still, for his ability to take stock of his surroundings even without his sight.

Or maybe Wylan was reading into things too much. He probably wasn’t supposed to know that Inej was there - Kaz had no reason to doubt him, did he? He did not acknowledge her. He did, however, notice that her gait was off and that she was leaning against the wall. Kaz glanced back at her briefly and she shook her head, eyes flicking briefly over Wylan. 

The sense that he was making a terrible decision was only growing. Wylan did not want to be here. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to be anywhere, but he definitely did not want to be here. But he wasn’t sure that he had any other options left. 

“You’re supposed to be dead,”

“How sweet,” Wylan bit back, before he could think better of it, “I thought you were behind Jesper’s misbegotten rescue attempt? Isn’t that the point of all this?”

“What I mean,” said Kaz, the edge of an impatient sigh sneaking through his voice, “is that your father almost definitely believes you drowned almost five weeks ago, and the rest of the city thinks you’re at boarding school. That’s an advantage, and we’re going to play it for as long as possible,”

That would have made sense, if Wylan’s father thought that he was dead. But he didn’t. 

The Barrel was supposed to be Wylan’s chance to disappear, and for an entire month it had seemed to feel that way. But two days ago the rocky edge that he was clinging to had shaken, and since then he’d been tumbling down it in the midst of a landslide. 

Wylan’s head had been aching more terribly than he could ever remember it having done before as he walked slowly down his well-memorised path back into the Barrel that night, under the cloak of darkness, his steps made more by muscle memory than intent. He was almost back at the boarding house when they found him; he’d wandered far enough into the winding warren of the Barrel that the canal had been left behind him and here the streets were poorly lit, much quieter than the tourist spots farther North, and far more dangerous. Wylan heard them coming a second too late, and then there was an arm around his neck and a knife glinting near his side. 

His first thought was of Prior and Miggson, his second that his father had sent someone knew to finish the job. But these weren’t hired killers, he realised only afterwards, just thugs looking to shake as many coins as they could out of his pockets and leave a body in their wake only if they needed to. Wylan choked beneath the stranger’s grasp, trying to struggle even as he felt the panic setting in and his limbs all but stopped obeying him. Thoughts clamoured in his head, clambering over each other and clawing at him in their desperate pleas for attention; terror rose up from the very end of his toes and through every inch of his being as he grabbed uselessly at the arm that was tightening on his neck. It was pointless, it was pathetic, it was not going to get him anywhere. It was desperate, it was crazed, it was useless. He was going to die here. He was - 

Wylan gasped for air as he was flung suddenly forwards, landing with a harsh crack onto his knees. The sound of several heavy thuds came from behind him and he flinched, hands scrambling across the cobbles as he tried to stumble to his feet. He could run, maybe, at least try. The shadows were blinding and Wylan could feel the faintness coming again, spots clouded into his vision and someone’s hand was one his shoulder… he felt himself sway where he stood and lurched forwards, finding purchase on a wall ahead of him and pressing tight against it as he turned to see a boy a year or two older than him standing over three dead bodies. Or probably dead bodies. Dying bodies, maybe. 

“It’s alright,” he said, as if that was going to convince Wylan to be calm, “I… I was going to show you my tattoo, but that’s not going to work, I don’t…”

He wasn’t making any sense. 

“What do you want?”

“I work for the Dregs,” he said, “For Kaz Brekker. You’re under the gang’s protection, and apparently these idiots didn’t know that,”

What the actual fuck was going on? Wylan just stared at him. 

“You should know, Brekker’s offer still stands. He thinks you could prove useful,”

“I don’t care what he thinks,” Wylan managed, “And I don’t need your protection,”

The boy looked at the bodies at his feet, then back at Wylan. 

“Sure you don’t. You know your way back from here?”

“I-”

“Two rights then a left,”

“I know that,” Wylan felt his cheeks burn, “You shouldn’t,”

He turned away, denying himself the moment longer he probably needed to keep his steps steady, and started to walk with one hand running along the wall. His heart was still in his throat, beating so fast and so loudly he thought it might be on the verge of implosion. The boy said something else but Wylan didn’t listen; he just kept walking. 

Even with the exhaustion and the persistent feeling of illness seeping in, sleep evaded him that night. And the next. Every sound, every shadow, every tiny breath of wind moving through the draughty old boarding house was like a scream in Wylan’s head, setting his sense to alarm and his heart into panic. And then the letter came. The tiny piece of the world that Wylan had left crashed to the ground like a ship running up onto rocks, cursing him to sink and drown, to leave him lost in the dark forever. 

“That makes sense,” he said, slowly, “But I don’t think it has much to do with bridges,”

Kaz almost seemed to smile. 

“I want a trial before we commit to anything. What do you usually charge for flash bombs?”

“What do you usually pay for them?”

“Let’s call it fifteen kruge each, until you prove yourself worth more,"

Fifteen kruge each? Wylan might actually be able to eat every day next week.

"You can share workshop space with Raske to build the flash bombs, and if we move forwards with the deal I’ll find you somewhere to put together your own operation. Can you build yourself, or do you need to direct someone else in the process?”

Wylan paused. He knew, theoretically, how to build all kinds of things. He’d just never built them. Directing someone else to do so would be harder than just taking the things in his hands, and it would leave more opportunity for error - and for it to be noticed that he was making it up as he went along. But was building them himself an obvious mistake? 

“I can build them,” he said, “At least for the most part. But I need someone to help set up a well organised system, I need tactile labels, and I need you to trust that whoever puts those two things together isn’t going to screw it up or it could end pretty messily for all of us. I might need someone who knows what they’re doing with me whilst I work, so that if anything is in the wrong place they can tell me before I blow your workshop up,”

Kaz nodded.

“Easy enough. Do you have a labelling system you’re already used to?”

“It can be anything, as long as I have time to memorise it. Even just different shaped buttons, or drawer handles,”

“Alright then,”

Kaz looked up at Inej, still leaning against the wall and surveying the conversation in passive silence, her expression unreadable. Wylan was trying very hard not to look at her as well, especially as he felt his skin prickling beneath her gaze. 

“Six flash bombs for two days time,” said Kaz, “And if things work out, we’ll talk about the bridge,”

Chapter Text

“You should sit down,”

Kaz was still looking at the closed door of the office that Wylan had just left through, not back to where Inej stood leaning against the wall. He listened for a moment as she let her breathing heighten, tightening his grip on the crow’s head of his cane. 

“I’m fine,” she said, a second too late and a touch out of pitch. 

Kaz let her be. If she needed to sit then she would, it wasn’t his job to cradle her. 

“We’ll put a temporary pause on the job,” he said, after a moment had passed, “Tell Anika and Rotty. I want to oversee Wylan’s setup myself,”

Inej paced slowly towards the centre of the room and Kaz watched her hands drift to trace the handles of her knives. He was struck by the image of the last time she’d been in this office; shrunken by her fear and the oversized shirt he’d given her, hair wild and unruly down her back, blood on her hands, fear in her eyes. Now she was standing almost as tall as usual, though her gait was still off from the pain in her leg, her hair was brushed and tightly braided, her dark eyes catching the light in shimmers and flickers of stars as though she’d swallowed the night sky and gotten drunk on it. He felt his throat tighten, and squared his shoulders. 

“Why did you want me here for that?” she asked, “We haven’t learned anything new,”

“I wanted to see if he’d know that you were there,”

Inej looked affronted.

“You were testing me,” she said, almost softly, almost quivering with fury or with something else, “You think one injury will ruin me? People who can see can’t see me, Kaz, do you think-?”

“I was testing him ,” Kaz stood up, leaning heavily on his cane as his leg voiced its complaints. 

But had he known Inej was still in the room with them? Kaz was pretty sure he had, but it was undeniable that he hid it well. Inej frowned. 

“Testing him?”

By the time Kaz and Inej had finished speaking and left the office together, Wylan and Jesper were both long gone. Nina sat waiting but Kaz had a shift to get to; he nodded to Inej as she left, told Nina the job was being halted anyway and she could swallow her complaints, then paced across the floor of the Crow Club towards the stairs and the mezzanine. He watched Nina leave from above and found his mind drifting slowly to what she’d told him two weeks ago, about a girl from the Willow Switch going missing. Jeluna, she’d called her, but that was all she could give him. Kaz had looked into it as much as he could; her full name was Jeluna Kir-Mai, brought to Kerch on indenture several years ago, her contract changing hands more than once before she landed at the Willow Switch and never left again. But that was all that the papers could tell him, and not even a meeting on West Stave with Kaatje De Waal, owner and proprietor of this particular prison, had got him any further. No-one had reported Jeluna missing, no-one even seemed to notice she was gone. Kaz could find no leads to follow, no threads to pull. The child had simply vanished, as though she’d never even existed in the first place. 

The clock hit twelve bells and the shift change began. Kaz would oversee it before he moved on himself, but there was no rest to be had for him yet. He’d sent Wylan back to his little boarding house for the night with the upfront payment for six flash bombs to be ready by the end of the week, but there was work to be done on Kaz’s end before the boy could actually set up shop. He sat in his office combing through a few documents as he waited for Raske, and when he proved considerably late began to check on the Crow Club’s ledgers as well. He needed to keep his mind busy, could not afford the thoughts that would come unbidden if he let things fall quiet. 

Raske was generally not someone who could be relied upon for good timekeeping, but still when the knock on Kaz’s office door came it was Raske he was expecting. Not Nina Zenik. Not a rather distressed looking, panicked Nina Zenik.

“Kaz? We may have a problem,”

A Shu girl with soft, young features seemed to have found herself with Nina’s hand gripped tightly around her wrist. Kaz frowned, allowing himself a brief moment to flicker his gaze over the girl, to take in the thin red slip that hung off her shoulders with lace straps and fell just about to her knees, the dance slippers on her feet, the tight choker around her neck, the edge of a tattoo just visible where she’d folded her arm close to her torso. The front pieces of her hair framed her face in tight, slender braids, and the rest was pulled into a thick tail that began halfway up the back of her head. Even in its updo her hair reached her waist, a dark waterfall of oil running slick down her back, but it was noticeably out of place; the plaits were frayed, their ends turned messy, hairs had come loose at the front of her face and at the top of the updo, and some ran frazzled and wild instead of in sleek, firm lines. She was at least a head shorter than Nina, still trying in vain to free herself from the Heartrender’s grip, and muttering to herself in frantic Kerch too quietly and too quickly for Kaz to tell what she had said. But surely not…

“Jeluna Kir-Mai?” he asked, trying not to stare at her. 

She shrank at the sound of her name, looking up as though she’d only just noticed that Kaz was there. 

“I just found her wandering down the canal between East Stave and the Financial District,” said Nina, shaking her head, “All I can get out of her is that she’s lost,”

Kaz didn’t even have time to wonder what Nina had been doing out in between East Stave and the Financial District, because Jeluna looked straight at him and whispered:

“I don’t know the way back,”

She looked like she was about to cry.

“I don’t know the way back, I have to get back, please-”

“Back where?” asked Nina, with the air of someone who knew the answer to her question but was trying to get someone else to say it out loud.

Jeluna only shook her head, her voice failing before it collapsed into a restrained sob. She turned back to Nina and once more tried to pull her hand free; Nina watched her for a moment, trying to adjust her hold without letting the girl make a break for it. 

“What the hell is going on?” hissed Kaz, getting to his feet and pacing round the desk as Jeluna collapsed onto her knees and started crying, still trying to pull her hand away from Nina’s. 

Nina barely even seemed to have to try to keep her there; she was stuck in a single hand hold and by no means strong enough to get free. 

“Let go of her,”

“She’ll run,”

“So let her,” said Kaz, impatiently, “Let her leave the city - what are you bringing her here for? They think she’s missing, let her take the chance,”

“Kaz…” Nina looked down at Jeluna again, still crying and muttering to herself, “She’s trying to run back to the Willow Switch,”

Jeluna looked up suddenly, dark eyes shining and cheeks wet.

“I have to go back,” she whispered, nodding at him, her lower jaw shaking slightly, “She’ll be so upset… I don’t know the way back. Please let me go back,”

There was a long pause as Kaz stared at her, then looked up at Nina. Jeluna turned to crying silently, kneeling at Nina’s feet with her hand still held in the air above her. 

“Take her upstairs,”

“No, please, please,” Jeluna yanked her arm hard, almost toppling Nina down with her before she righted herself, “Let me go back, please, take me back-”

“Most of the private game rooms should be empty,” said Kaz, talking over Jeluna’s continued messy pleas, “Tell Layla she’s in there and to bring her some food and water, who knows when she last ate. The doors don’t lock but I can leave someone outside to keep an eye on her, we’ll try to talk to her in the morning,”

Jeluna sobbed, continuing to beg them to let her go back. Where she knelt, Kaz could see the faded remnants of scars on her back, left visible by the flighty little dress. Nightdress, really. He wasn’t going to take her back. 

Nina looked down at her for a moment, then back at Kaz, sorrow and pity and panic in her eyes. She knelt down and tried to encourage the girl to look at her.

“Jeluna? Jeluna, do you remember my name?”

“Let me go back,” she whispered, “Please, I have to go back. She’ll be so cross with me, please…”

“Jeluna we met earlier, remember? I’m Nina, I want to help you,”

“Then take me back,” the child almost wailed, throwing herself to the ground away from Nina. 

Kaz grimaced, watching her bury her face in her arm as she wept. They all but dragged her up the stairs, or rather Nina did, and the entire time she just continued to beg them.

The game rooms were hardly an appropriate place to keep her; she had no comforts, no place to sleep. But Kaz didn’t want to get anyone else involved in this mess, there wasn’t room for her at the Slat - at least not room to keep her under wraps, anyway - and he didn’t fancy dragging her around the Barrel all night to find a different place for her to stay. No, they’d leave her here tonight, and after that he would find an appropriate Dregs safehouse for her to stay temporarily. 

As soon as all three of them were inside, Kaz closed the door behind them and Nina released Jeluna. The girl immediately tried to run onwards the door, and Kaz let Nina stop her whilst he crossed to check that all the windows were locked. He pocketed the keys that had been waiting on the ledges, and when he turned back he saw Jeluna shivering and shaking in one of the chairs, Nina’s hand laid gently on her shoulder. 

“You don’t understand,” she sobbed, “Please, she’ll be so cross with me, you have to let me go back,”

“Jeluna,” Nina murmured, moving to bend down in front of her chair, “I need you to take a deep breath for me, and I need you to slowly tell me why you have to go back. That’s right, deep breath,”

Kaz watched her raise her hand ever so slightly, fingers dancing in carefully practised choreography. 

“I have to go back,” Jeluna whispered, her words slowing, her face impassive, “She’s waiting for me. She won’t be happy,”

“Who’s waiting for you?”

“Tante Kaatje. She’ll be cross with me. I’m late. There’ll be consequences. If there aren’t consequences then I won’t learn, will I? If I don’t learn I can’t stay. There are far worse places a pretty girl like me can end up. I don’t want to leave, I promise I’ll learn. I want the consequences. I want to learn. I want to stay. Please let me stay,” 

Nina nodded a little shakily, releasing Jeluna from whatever calming trance she’d put her in as she stepped away. The girl almost immediately began to cry again, closing into herself and pulling her knees up onto the chair with her to hold tight against her chest. 

“Knock her out,” said Kaz. 

“I- what ?”

“She’s going to make herself ill, and we’re not getting any information out of her like this. Knock her out,”

Nina looked a little ill herself.

“Kaz it’s not - look at her, this isn’t normal . I don’t- what happened to her? Is she drugged?”

“Worse,” he shook his head, “She’s conditioned,”

“That’s worse?” 

“There isn’t a high we can ride out here, Nina, and there isn’t anything that a medik or a Corporalnik can do for her. What the fuck Kaatje did to her I don’t know but this is the result; whoever Jeluna Kir-Mai once was is gone, and that is who she is now,” he felt the fury burning in his voice, vaguely register the way Jeluna flinched when he pointed at her, “She’s been there for too long, and now she doesn’t know how to exist anywhere else,”

Nina looked like she’d been slapped. There was a pause where they both just stared at each other, waiting for someone to say something. And then Nina turned away and knelt down in front of Jeluna, whispering something in gentle Shu as she brushed one of the girl’s braids from where it had fallen across her face. Jeluna shook her head, tears still falling.

“Don’t…” she said in Kerch, leaning up from the hiding place behind her knees, “Please… I’m not supposed to. I have to get back, please take me back,”

“Are you tired, Jeluna?”

Nina’s voice was softer than silk. 

“Yes,”

“You can sleep now. Close your eyes, take a deep breath. You can sleep now,”

“No…” her words were fading, “I have to…”

“You’re okay,” Nina murmured, lifting her hand in a slow circle, “You’re safe. Just close your eyes now. You’re so tired. Just close your eyes for me, and you can have pretty dreams. You’re safe. I promise you, Jeluna Kir-Mai, you are safe,”

Jeluna swayed slightly where she sat and then she drooped, her eyes closed, and Nina caught her as she fell sideways and began to slip towards the floorboards. They left her lying on the ground, a coat laid awkwardly over her as the closest thing to a blanket they could offer, and stepped into the hallway with matching, dark expressions. What the hell were they supposed to do now? 

Kaz sighed. He’d wanted distraction, hadn’t he? Something to keep him busy? If there were any gods out there, they must be laughing at him.

Chapter Text

Kaz was late. Apparently not a single member of this strange group cared about time-keeping, and Wylan could already feel himself tiring of it. He stood near the door of the gambling den, the Crow Club, Kaz had called it, trying to watch the floor ahead of him without looking like he was watching it. The den was rowdy considering it was seven bells and the sun was on the rise, brightly coloured wheels spun at several of the tables, patrons cheering and exchanging chips and purple kruge notes as they landed, cards were laid out across the tables, the occasional argument seemed to begin and then die just as quickly. Wylan shuffled unhappily in the far corner of it all, fidgeting with his shirt sleeve. From here it was almost all a colourful blur to him, the outlines of people the clearest but still hazy, the shades of the wheels and the tables and the cards all blending together into one overwhelming swirl. He thought of sitting at the back of a chemistry lecture, watching the chalk moving across the blackboard, trying to make out the shapes of the molecules. The skeletal diagrams were his favourite, branching out like trees, telling a story with every stroke. But even if he’d sat on the front row the smallest details would have been lost to his blurry vision, so what, when he had a facade to maintain anyway, was the point in bothering to sit closer at all? The gambling den cried and whirled, a sickening rainbow throwing light and sound and colour at him like a full frontal assault. 

At least Jesper wasn’t here this time. As Wylan had left in yesterday’s early evening, Jesper had followed him out into the street, calling after him. Wylan ignored him until he caught hold of his arm, whereupon he spun on his heel to face him. 

“ What ?”

“You’re asking me that?” Jesper shook his head, “What are you doing here?”

He looked almost offended. Almost upset. Wylan couldn’t believe him. 

“You’re the one that brought me here in the first place, Jesper. Just leave me alone,”

“I brought you here because I didn’t think you had another choice,” he blurted, as Wylan tried to turn away again, “But, Wy, you don’t belong here, if you can do something else-”

“And you do belong here? Is that what this is? Ghezen, Jes, every time I think-” 

“No, that’s not what I meant, I just-”

“You were right, Jesper,” Wylan shook his arm free, “I don’t have another choice. Believe me , I wouldn’t be hanging around anywhere near you if I did.” 

He walked away, something that might have been shame burning in his heart, wishing he hadn’t he hadn’t been able to see the stung look left on Jesper’s face. Not even the feeling of an entire ninety kruge sitting in his pocket could comfort him from that, but he’d be a fool not to try. Ninety kruge . It would take him days to scrounge that together at the tannery; building six flash bombs would probably take an hour each. Six hours. Ninety kruge . Minimum. 

That was what Kaz had meant, wasn’t it? Fifteen kruge each, until Wylan proved himself worth more. If he was careful with his money, didn’t let the sudden influx of cash overwhelm him and fall into foolish spending patterns, he might save enough to leave the city in six months or so. He could catch a ferry going… anywhere. Anywhere at all. 

And then what? What possible hope did he have to exist any better elsewhere than he did here? Still, it was nice to dream. 

The sound of a cane against the stairs was the first sign that Kaz had finally arrived, and Wylan looked up to see him and a girl he didn’t recognise walking together. The room was loud but as Wylan slowly approached he could just about hear the edge of their conversation.

“ - refused to eat anything,” the girl was saying, “She wouldn’t take any water, either,”

Kaz grimaced. 

“Keep leaving it for her. She’ll eat when she gets hungry enough,”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“What else can we do, Layla?” he asked, coolly, his dark eyes flicking over her, “I’m not going to force feed her. Just keep things together, keep it under wraps, and try to keep her alive until I get back,”

“Kaz… what are we doing?”

“I’m leaving,” he said, his voice the rough grate of stone against stone, “You’re doing your damn job, and keeping half an eye on that girl until I get back,”

Layla bristled a little but eventually she nodded, before hurrying back up the stairs. Kaz descended the last few steps alone before he bothered with acknowledging Wylan. 

“I didn’t get a chance to speak to Raske last night,” he told him as they began to walk towards the front entrance, “But he’ll meet us now to discuss your labelling system; if we can find a way to align it with his that would a good start,”

Wylan only nodded; all he knew about Raske was that he was currently the only person making demolitions for Kaz, and that Kaz wanted to bring Wylan in to have more hands on the project. And that would have been fine, if Wylan knew what he was doing. Working with Raske sounded precarious. It sounded like a good way to get caught out - one way or another. 

Kaz stopped, looking Wylan up and down, and Wylan deliberately waited until Kaz would have taken his next step to pause and turn back to him, so it looked like he’d only known to do so when he didn’t hear Kaz move forwards. 

“I was told you use a cane,”

“I lost it,” Wylan said, not untruthfully, “when- in the canal,”

“Should I look into procuring you another?”

Wylan hesitated for a moment. He took in Kaz’s own cane, sleek and dark with an ornate metal crow’s head forming the handle, without letting himself study it properly. He had not, of course, forgotten the way Kaz had tried to test him yesterday. Requesting such an aid from Kaz, whether or not for such an entirely different purpose, felt… well, insulting. 

“I can make do without just fine,” he said, waiting for Kaz to start moving again before he followed. 

Kaz said nothing. 

“Your cane strikes the ground with some force,” Wylan noted, as they stepped out into the street, “It sounds like iron, but surely it’s not iron all the way through - wouldn’t that be too heavy?”

He felt Kaz’s eyes drift towards him, but did not let himself look or turn. 

“It’s iron-tipped,” he said, “But lead-lined. It balances the weight well,”

“And it's a weapon, then?”

Kaz seemed to hesitate, only for a moment so brief that Wylan may have imagined it, before he said: 

“Amongst other things,”

Wylan almost smiled. He already understood Kaz Brekker a tiny bit better. 

*

Meeting Raske had gone better than Wylan might have expected; though he was a slightly disconcerting character he had nothing to say about Wylan’s construction ability and most of the time seemed to be paying little attention to him anyway. That first day they just sat together working, and every time Wylan needed something Raske would find it in the organised chaos of his workshop. 

“We’ll set up your labels as soon as possible,” Kaz had said, when they’d agreed upon a system and he was making his way to the door, “But I’m not investing time in it before you’ve proved your worth. Six flash bombs, by the end of the week,”

Wylan finished four of them today. Well, five if you count the one he tested to make sure that they would work, but he couldn’t exactly give that one to Kaz. Still, there were three days left of the week and only two more flash bombs to build. This was easy. But Wylan knew that flash bombs were the tamest of the projects Kaz wanted him to work on, and he knew that - even if not in the building of the things themselves - this was only going to be easy to a point. 

It was on the second day that Jesper showed up outside the door, holding Wylan’s abandoned satchel. Wylan tried to walk straight past him. He couldn’t do this. 

“Wylan - Wylan, I know you know I’m here,”

He kept walking.

“You don’t have to talk to me, I just want to give you your stuff back,”

Wylan paused for a moment, then turned slowly and held out his hand. He let Jesper guide his hand to the strap of the bag and took hold of it, feeling the weight of his clothes shift between them. 

“Thank you,”

Jesper grinned, like by making Wylan talk he had come away victorious. 

For every day that week, he was standing outside when Wylan arrived. For every day that week he tried to get Wylan to talk to him, and Wylan could barely fathom why. 

“What are you trying to get me to do?” he asked, eventually, snapping even though he wasn’t sure that he’d meant to, “Why are you still here? I don’t know what else you could want from me, Jesper,”

Jesper looked briefly affronted, but schooled his features quickly. 

“I just want to apologise,” he said, “I could try to make it up to you,”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Coffee?”

Wylan raised an eyebrow. 

“I’ve never seen coffee fix anything”

“You’ve never been for coffee with me.”

Wylan restrained a smile. 

“Coffee,” he nodded, “I suppose that’s alright. If you pay,”

“See you tomorrow, then?”

Wylan shrugged. 

“I suppose you will,”

But Wylan had not been prepared for what coffee plans with Jesper Fahey meant. 

He saw him out the window before he actually went downstairs, but of course Jepser didn’t know that. It was relatively early in the morning, but nothing like the pre-sunset hours Wylan had been dragging himself through the streets of Ketterdam during to get to the Warehouse District each morning. Sleeping until six bells had become a luxury, and today he hadn’t even climbed his way out of bed until eight. It took him slightly by surprise when he opened the curtains and saw Jesper was already on the street outside, crossing towards the boarding house. Wylan slipped quickly and almost nervously downstairs, to be greeted by Jesper the second he opened the door. He was holding flowers. 

“Okay I didn’t really think it through when I bought them,” Jesper was saying, though Wylan was barely paying attention. His throat felt horribly constricted, “But I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it that they’re pretty. There - can I take your hand?”

Wylan let him, though he wasn’t sure he had the capacity to actually say anything either way. Jesper led him gently to one of the flowers so he could feel just the tips of the soft, round little petals. 

“These ones are blue, and then these,” he directed Wylan to the edge of a tiered little flower, “are purple. Sorry, it’s not a great gift for you really. But they do smell nice,”

Wylan nodded vaguely as Jesper pressed the bouquet into his hands. He just stood there, staring straight ahead, holding them until he felt the stems snap between his fingers. He could barely breathe. 

“Wylan…” Jesper leaned slightly closer, concern and what might have been a note of panic sneaking their way into his voice, “Are you okay?”

Wylan was not proud of what he did next. He turned and ran back up the stairs, slammed and locked his door, then leant against it and slipped slowly to the floor, the broken flowers still clutched between his fingers. 

Chapter Text

Shit. 

Shit shit shit shit shit. 

Jesper stood on the front porch of the boarding house, staring at the closed door, not quite sure what to do. He was a fucking idiot. Wylan had told him to back off, told him to leave him alone, and Jesper had ignored him. And now look what he’d gone and done. Dammit Jesper. 

Wylan had told him to leave him alone. He had told him. Jesper had pushed too far, again, and now look what he’d fucking done. He’d managed to make Wylan feel like shit. Again. Great, he was running two for two. 

He waited on the front doorstep of the little boarding house for a while, half an eye on the window above him that he knew was Wylan’s room because he’d seen him standing by the curtains as he arrived this morning. A few minutes passed and Jesper’s fingers began to itch. Halfway down the street he turned back, and saw that Wylan’s curtains had been pulled shut. The walk to the Crow Club had never felt longer. 

But Jesper was apparently not destined to let a drink and a hand of cards or two clear his head; Kaz was waiting for him as soon as he stepped over the threshold. 

“Nina’s gone back to the White Rose,” he said, “But she’s ready for you,”

Jesper bit the inside of his lip. 

Three days ago he’d been hoping to go to Raske’s workshop and speak to Wylan, but had instead been quite succinctly thrown off course. 

“Jesper,” 

Kaz had beckoned him across the room and he followed quickly to see that Nina was also waiting at the base of the stairs, tucked around the corner and playing unhappily with her hair. 

“What’s going on?”

All Kaz said was:

“Upstairs,”

The three of them had walked up to one of the private game rooms in silence, and when they passed Layla on the landing she looked like she was about to say something before thinking better of it. Jesper frowned, but if either of the others had noticed then they didn’t mention it. Kaz stopped outside the door and knocked once; Jesper looked questioningly at Nina and she mouthed something he couldn’t entirely make out. No reply came from inside the game room, and after a moment Kaz opened the door and stepped inside. 

A girl, maybe fourteen or even thirteen, definitely younger than the three of them, was huddled on the floor at the foot of the table, her knees pulled up to her chest and her head buried somewhere behind them. As she heard them enter she looked up slowly, golden eyes shimmering with fear. Nina closed the door. 

“Jeluna,” 

She turned to Kaz as he spoke but seemed to recoil slightly at the sound of her name, clambering slowly to her feet. Her red, silken nightdress fell just beneath her knees, and only then really because of its lace edging, her feet were clad in little dance slippers, and she wore only one black lace stocking, the ripped remnants of the other clinging to one of her ankles. Her bare knee was badly grazed, he could see dried blood clinging to her skin, and as she flicked her quivering gaze between them she moved her arm, giving Jesper a perfect, if brief, view of her swirling black tattoo. He blinked. 

“Not Jeluna, Jeluna? Missing Jeluna?”

“Jeluna Kir-Mai,” Kaz nodded, glancing back at him.

Jesper looked at her properly. The girl had been missing for two weeks but clearly she was still wearing her costume from the Willow Switch, and when he paid better attention he could see that her fancily arranged hair was sporting several heavy mats. He swallowed tightly, studying the blood on her knee and the tear tracks on her cheeks, and the terrified gaze that kept on hovering between them. 

For a long moment no-one said anything, before the girl parted her lips only just wide enough to release a pained whisper:

“I want to go home,” 

Her lower jaw was quivering; her voice shook. 

“Oh Saints, Kaz,” Jesper breathed, “What the hell did you do?”

Kaz looked at him like he’d offended his mother and cursed his bloodline. 

“I didn’t fucking kidnap her,” he snapped, eyes flashing. 

“Well, technically…” 

Kaz’s glare fell on Nina, and she shut her mouth. 

“Nina found her, just wandering around town,” he said, and then turning back to Jeluna, “We want to talk to you about what happened the last couple of weeks,”

“I want to go home,” she repeated, balling her tiny fists and tilting her chin up towards Kaz. 

“Saints, Kaz, let the kid go home,” Jesper shook his head, “Where do you live, Jeluna? Are you from Ketterdam or do you need-?”

“She doesn’t mean home,” said Nina, quietly, “She means the Willow Switch,”

Jeluna began to nod almost desperately, her voice abruptly spoken over by Kaz as he turned back to Jesper: 

“She won’t eat anything; won’t let anyone treat her cuts. I don’t-” Kaz curled his lip, grimacing, “I don’t know what to do with her, but we aren’t getting anything out of her like this,”

Jesper hesitated. Behind Kaz, Jeluna had apparently given in on her pleading and curled back up on the floor to lean against one of the table legs. What the hell had they done to her at that place? He felt slightly sick. 

“Well, what did Inej say?”

There was a very long silence. 

“You didn’t tell Inej,”

“The Wraith isn’t-”

“You didn’t tell Inej ?”

“The Wraith is not relevant to this job,” Kaz snapped almost violently, striking his cane hard against the floorboards. 

Jeluna flinched at the sound, and Jesper felt his heart wrench. He brushed past Kaz and picked up an untouched plate of food from the card table, then sat down cross-legged in front of her and placed the plate in between them. Jeluna stared at him. 

“Hi, Jeluna” he ventured, a little nervously, “I’m Jesper, this is Nina and Kaz. Where are you from?”

“I live with Tante Kaatje,” she said softly, “She’s going to be very upset that I’m late. She worries,”

“But where are you from , Jeluna?” he asked, frowning, “I’m from Novyi Zem, near the frontier. Kaz is from here, from Ketterdam, and Nina’s from Os Alta, in Ravka. Where are you from? Did you grow up in Shu Han?”

“I live with Tante Kaatje,” she repeated, as though it was ridiculous of him to ask, “And if you want to sell me then you’ll need my contract, and she won’t give it to you. I’ve been good. I’m good . She’ll keep me safe. She’ll keep me,”

She said it so obstinately that Jesper was quite entirely taken aback. He felt a little like he’d been smacked in the face. 

“No-one… no-one wants to sell you, Jeluna. We want to help you,”

She might have almost laughed as she turned away, shaking her head. Kaz’s cane tapped lightly against Jesper’s shoulder and he stood up, moving out of the way. 

“I’m not indulging this any longer,”

“Kaz-”

“Jeluna,” he waved his gloved hand a little above her head, “Jeluna, look at me,”

She let her gaze rise very slowly; Kaz’s patience had run out before their eyes actually met. 

“Do you know who I am?”

She shook her head. 

“I work with Kaatje De Waal,” he outright lied - or at least, to Jesper’s knowledge that was an outright lie, “And as much as I was hoping you’d be co-operative that clearly isn’t going to happen so we’ll try a different tact. Stand up,”

“You… she knows where I am?”

“Yes,”

“Is she waiting for me?”

“She knows that you’re going back when I say you’re going back, now stand up,”

She stood instantly. Her entire demeanour had changed as soon as she heard Kaatje’s name, and now she remained standing in front of Kaz, eyes tilted to the floor, hands folded behind her back.

“Am I in trouble?” she asked, her voice almost entirely inaudible. 

Kaz squared his shoulders slightly, doing a bad job of masking his distaste as he said:

“No. Put these on,”

He picked up a small pile of clothes from the far side of the table that Jesper hadn’t even noticed were sitting there until now, and dropped them back down again next to her. The edge of the fabric began to slip and Jeluna moved quickly to grab them before they hit the floor, then seemed to suddenly panic; she flung them back onto the table before darting back to where she’d stood before, her breaths shaking loud enough they may as well have cause rippled in the air. Kaz frowned.

“Get changed. Eat everything on that plate, and finish that glass of water. When I’m back, we’re going to talk. Clear?”

“Yes sir,” she murmured, not looking up. 

Kaz grimaced again, but said nothing as he beckoned Jesper and Nina back into the hallway. 

“What the hell was that?” hissed Nina, as the door swung shut behind them. 

“Apparently the only way we’re going to get anything from her at all,” Kaz eyed the door, his expression infuriatingly unreadable, “And possibly the only way we’re going to keep her alive. She’ll let you Heal her-”

“She won't let me Heal her, Kaz,” Nina shook her head, voice shook, “She’s not making a choice here,”

“Nina, dear, she’s not making a choice anywhere. You’re Healing her, you’re not-” his breath caught tightly, and then he sighed, “I need information, and if you want to help that girl thenthis is the closest to it she’s going to let you get. Take it or leave it,” 

Nina’s cheeks had turned a vivid pink, but she only held her glare at Kaz for a brief second longer before relenting. The three of them waited in tense silence before knocking on the door and slipping back inside, to see that Jeluna had changed into the tunic and trousers Kaz had left for her. He must have given them to her before and she refused to put them on - that was something, Jesper supposed. She’d folded up her little red slip and laid it neatly on the table, her little slippers and ruined stockings sat on top of them, and she’d already drained the glass of water. Kaz sent Nina to fetch her another one whilst Jeluna sat down and began to nibble, slightly half heartedly, at the bread roll on her plate. 

“You can take your hair down,” he told her, not demanding but Jeluna dropped the bread and began to undo the fastenings in her hair anyway, “and you can take that off,” 

Kaz nodded towards her, one gloved finger tapping his neck. Jeluna’s hair fell in a massive, near-crazed wave as her hands dropping away from it to find the golden choker at her throat, now completely free but for the slender braids that framed her face. With her hair untied the knots and matting were more obvious, and Jesper felt something inside him tighten. Wherever she had been for the past two weeks he didn’t know, but he was becoming more and more certain that whoever had been keeping her deserved a punch in the nose. Probably several. 

The choker around Jeluna’s neck was so tight against her skin it actually looked like it was constricting her, and it wasn’t until Jesper studied it more closely that he realised the intricate, almost woven design was constructed of curling willow branches rendered in fake gold. The girl’s eyes flashed briefly with panic as she ran her fingers over the metal, her gaze fixed on Kaz. 

“I can’t,” she whispered, her shoulders clearly tensing - as though to prepare herself for something. 

Kaz nodded at Jesper to help her and he had stepped forwards a little awkwardly, asking if he could move her hair out of the way to see it. He was expecting to find a clasp, either an awkward shape or just out of Jeluna’s reach, but what he saw instead turned his stomach. The choker had clearly been attacked by a Fabrikator or a Corporalnik - or maybe both - and all along the back of Jeluna’s neck the metal was buried beneath her very flesh. Small ridges, like those that should have shown her spine but running horizontally and far more clearly pronounced, bulged beneath her skin. Where the collar met her neck and slipped beneath, her flesh was red and raw. 

“Saints,” he breathed, “ Oh, Saints, Jeluna - doesn’t that hurt ?”

“Tante Kaatje lets me have medicines for it, if it gets infected,” came the soft reply, “She’s very kind to me,”

“Kaatje did this to you,” Jesper bit, feeling the anger shaking in his voice, “She-”

“ Jesper ,”

Kaz shot him a warning glance, but Jesper could only shake his head. 

“Look at this,” 

Kaz’s expression was grim as he peered over the back of Jeluna’s neck, but after a long pause all he said was:

“Can you remove it?”

“I don’t- you mean…?”

Kaz nodded. Something clenched deep inside Jesper’s stomach. Kaz was the only person in Ketterdam who knew that Jesper was Grisha, and for as long as was humanly possible he intended to keep it that way. But not at this girl’s expense; if he could do anything he should. He gritted his teeth, surveying her with caution. 

“Not without hurting her,” he said, eventually, “Maybe Nina can,”

It was a short minute later that Nina returned with another glass of water. Jeluna sat drinking it, eating slowly, with her thick sheath of hair brushed over one shoulder whilst Nina stood behind and stared aghast at the mess of her neck. 

“Well?” asked Kaz, watching her. 

“It might take me a while,” she said, hesitantly, “it might be painful. I think I can get it out, but it looks like it’s still in a full circle - if that’s the case she’ll need a Fabrikator to actually take it off,”

“Fine,” Kaz nodded, “Get started. Heal her knee as well - Jeluna, do you have any other injuries?”

She’d only shaken her head. 

For the past few days, Nina had been working on removing the collar from Jeluna’s neck in any few minutes she could spare between clients - it hadn’t been a quick job, and it hadn’t been a painless one either. And a tiny part of Jesper had still, awfully, been hoping it would take a little longer. But Nina had finished her job, and now it was his turn. 

He crept to the door and knocked gently, waiting for a long moment in silence. 

“She won’t tell you to come in,” said Kaz, following behind him. 

And it would seem that he was right, but Jesper paused for a moment longer anyway before he opened the door for both of them to enter. Jeluna was sitting on the floor again, her legs stretched out in front of her so the bare soles of her feet were facing them. They were covered in scars. 

“You remember Jesper,” said Kaz, pushing the door shut behind them. 

She nodded.

 “Is it alright if he removes your necklace?”

There was a very brief pause before she nodded again, then stood up and crossed to a wooden chair that someone had left sitting towards the centre of the room. She’d taken the braids out of her hair and brushed out most of the bad knots, but as she sat down and pulled it all over her shoulder Jespr could still see a heavy mat underneath that was probably going to need cutting out. 

The back of the choker was rendered in the same fake gold as the rest, the key difference being it was still stained with Jeluna’s blood, but Jesper could see where the pieces met and had been fused together. Theoretically he should just be able to break it, but realistically he didn’t have a good enough idea of what he was doing. A better Fabrikator could probably have done it with a distracted wave of the hand, but they were stuck with Jesper so he would just have to do his best. He placed a tentative hand onto the edge of the metal, closing his eyes as he reached for the feeling of the particles inside it. It took him a few minutes, but eventually the metal warped and pulled until it was thin enough to snap in two and make his work much quicker. The golden willow branches broke in his hands as he pulled them away and discarded them on the card table, pretending he wasn’t studying the skin that Nina had Healed for Jeluna in intense detail. 

“We have a game in here tonight,” said Kaz, quietly, as Jesper stepped back towards him, “Van Reik again; he always requests this room because of the windows, the skiv,”

This was the only game room at the Crow Club that had windows lining the far wall, ruining the aim of letting the players lose track of time. It had long annoyed Kaz, but short of hammering boards across them all there wasn’t really much he could do about it. 

“We need to move her,” 

“Where?”

There was a long pause before Kaz relented: 

“I’m going to speak to Inej,”

Jesper nodded, his eyes drifting back to Jeluna. She was running her hand over her neck over and over again, staring at the broken pieces of the choker on the table, swinging her feet off the edge of the chair so her toes just dragged along the floor.

“Will…” Jeluna looked away, her voice dying on her lips. 

“Go on,” said Kaz, nodding at her. 

“Is she going to be upset with me? For taking it off?”

“No,”

“Will I have to wear a new one?”

“No,”

She watched him for a long moment, then ran a hand over her neck again and looked away. Jesper wondered what she was thinking. 

“Did she tell you what happened?”

“She doesn't remember,” Kaz sighed, “Nina confirmed she wasn’t lying. Whoever took her, they messed with her head. She didn’t even know she’d been missing; she had no memory between her last night at the Willow Switch and Nina finding her in the city,” 

“But you’re… you’re still keeping her here?”

Kaz’s eyes darkened. 

“We just dug a piece of metal out of that girl’s neck, Jes. What the hell else am I going to do with her, drag her back to West Stave and deposit her on Kaatje’s doorstep?” 

Jesper swallowed. 

“I didn’t mean- I don’t know, I just… she’s not okay, is she?” 

“Of course she’s not. Fuck knows if she ever will be,”

*

When Kaz appeared back at his side Jesper supposed the evening must have begun, but by that point he’d lost all sense of time. He’d also lost a good deal of money, and it didn’t help that every time he lost he bought himself another drink. How many hours had it been? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. This , he thought vaguely, and quite randomly, is why the windows upstairs piss Kaz off so much . Though at this point he wasn’t sure that seeing the sun go down as he played would make a difference to him anyway. 

He followed Kaz and Inej upstairs and between them they encouraged Jeluna out of the room. Kaz and Inej would take her to one of the Dregs’ safehouses whilst Jesper helped Layla clear out the room and set everything up for the game tonight, and then he would follow after them with Elodie. That had been Nina’s idea. No-one was entirely convinced that Jeluna would be able to take care of herself alone, and leaving her in a flat that was rented by the fictional Eline Vakkert was a whole new game than leaving her upstairs at the Crow Club, when at least one of them would always be nearby. But the hope was that they’d get her set up and comfortable, that slowly she would start to feel safe, and eventually they’d be able to get her home. Jesper had a feeling it was going to be a very slow process, but Kaz had only shrugged. 

“We aren’t using that apartment for anything else,”

Jesper was really there just to show Elodie the way from the Crow Club to the little apartment building up nearer to Fifth Harbour, and as soon as she was in there with the others he slipped out again. He didn’t need to be there, and the place was already crowded - and Jeluna already looked stressed in the brief second that he saw her. He walked back to the Crow Club, downed another drink, played another hand, and continued the night in a very similar fashion. He thought of the metal choker snapping beneath his fingers, of the flower stems breaking in Wylan’s hand. He bought another drink. He thought of Jeluna sitting upstairs, of Wylan standing outside the library at the university. 

She’s going to be very upset that I’m late. She worries.

I have to get home pretty quickly after class. My father worries.

He thought about putting his fist through something. Repeatedly. But he settled for another hand of cards, and for another drink. 

The next few days rolled by vaguely before Jesper’s eyes, and he barely even felt them passing. He avoided Wylan, he could give him that at least, but other than his usual shifts he had little else to do. For the tiniest moment he thought of university; he hadn’t been in over a month. Not since Wylan. That decision had been made for him, now, and he told himself that he didn’t care. 

It took him by some surprise when, almost a week later, he stepped out of the Slat one morning - late morning, but still - to find Wylan standing right in front of him. Jesper mumbled something so quiet and vague that even he wasn’t sure what he’d said, trying to apologetically push straight past Wylan, but Wylan caught his arm to stop him before stepping away. 

“Jesper, I…” 

There was a pause. Wylan fidgeted with the strap of his satchel.

“I haven’t seen you recently,”

Jesper was an idiot, but he also couldn’t help himself. He pursed his lips for a brief moment before saying:

“Just recently?”

And then something magical happened. Wylan laughed. 

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry, Jes, I shouldn’t have- well, I could have handled the situation better,”

Jesper wasn’t sure what to say. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, a thousand apologise he was supposed to be making. But Wylan was apologising to him, and apparently that was enough to make Jesper’s brain malfunction. He tried to find his voice, but it would seem it had abandoned him. 

“Anyway,” Wylan opened his bag and reached through it slowly, his eyes, eyes that should have been such a piercing blue, still fixed on Jesper. Jesper caught himself staring at Wylan’s scar, at the edge of the next one becoming visible, and forced his gaze away, “I wanted to give you these, I hope that they’re okay. I just chose the ones that smelled the nicest, but the woman at the shop said they were orange and I thought you’d like that,”

Jesper blinked, looking back at Wylan to realise that he was holding out a small posy of pretty, ever so slightly crumpled little flowers. 

“For me?”

“No,” said Wylan, drily, “For the guy standing behind you,”

One day, looking back on all of this, Jesper would still be able to identify that as the exact moment that his heart melted. 

Chapter Text

For Jeluna’s first night at the flat, Inej swallowed her discomfort like an unpleasant tasting medicine and stayed sleeping on the little sofa in the living room. Well, pretending to sleep at least. The flat was just two rooms, there was no indoor privy, with the living space and little kitchen forming one and the bedroom taking up the other. It was mostly sparse of furniture, just a bed and cabinet in one room, sofa sitting opposite the kitchen in the other, but the sofa was designed for the back to be thrown off and the seat adjusted so one could make it closer resemble a mattress whenever necessary. Inej bothered with no such changes, and still lay awake staring at the ceiling. She wondered if Jeluna was asleep. 

Kaz had come to Inej yesterday and, somewhat reluctantly, told her that the girl was currently alone in one of the private game rooms at the Crow Club, with Anika sitting vigil outside the door - not that she knew what she was guarding. Inej already knew that, because Nina had told her, and she was very glad of it; if Kaz had actually been telling her this for the first time, after days of the poor thing being stuck up there, she honestly wasn’t sure what she would have said. She’d been waiting all week for him to tell her, and started thinking that if he didn’t say anything soon perhaps she should just go through the window to see Jeluna herself.

Upon actually meeting her, she was glad she hadn’t done that. She probably would’ve scared the life right out of her. Nina had told Inej that Jeluna wasn’t doing well, and that she was desperately convinced she had to go back to Willow Switch, and for all Inej didn’t want to believe that she had to admit that it wasn’t entirely surprising. She’d banished Kaz into the corridor when she first went in to meet her, grateful that he actually bothered to follow her instruction, and attempted to make a peaceful introduction as she approached. Jeluna struggled to look up at her, her eyes remaining fervently on the floor, but anything Kaz had told her and Inej refused to command her, or demand of her anything. After minutes had passed without progress she drew one of the chairs from the card table and sat down, and after another minute had passed in silence said:

“You can sit down, if you want to,”

Jeluna looked up, and Inej felt like she’d taken a blow to the chest at the sight of how just young she was. How long had she been there for them to do this to her? She was probably thirteen -she couldn’t have been more than fourteen, of that Inej was certain, and even at only fifteen herself she felt the sudden need to nurture and protect her like a small child. For a long moment she just stared at Inej, golden eyes sparking like they were about to set aflame, before she whispered:

“If I want to?”

Inej nodded.

“Do you want me to?”

“I don’t want you to do anything at all,” she told her, softly, “except what you want to do,”

She wasn’t sure at first if Jeluna was going to make any further response at all, but then she slowly dragged a chair across the floor. It screeched so horrendously across the boards that it made Inej’s teeth hurt, and Jeluna quite abruptly dropped her hold on the back of the chair and stepped away as though it had jumped up to attack her. The air in the room was heavy and warm, as though it had halted in place and begun to sink and settle over them like a thick, hot soup. Jeluna seemed to freeze in place for a moment before she crept around and took her seat. She folded her hands in her lap and looked at Inej expectantly, then a second later lowered her gaze to the floor. 

“Can I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer it, if you don’t want to. You can wait until you’ve heard it to decide,”

Jeluna nodded. 

“How long-” she caught herself, trying to tread lightly through everything that Nina and Kaz had told her, “How long have you lived with Kaatje?”

There was another pause as Jeluna lifted her eyes back to focus on Inej, a small crinkle forming in her brow. 

“Did she tell you to ask me that? Is she testing me?”

“No, Jeluna-” 

“I promise I’ve done nothing,” panic began to spike in her voice, “I don’t know what happened, I swear it, I didn’t do anything wrong-”

“I know that,” said Inej, trying to keep her voice as low and level as possible to contrast the rising tones of Jeluna’s, whose stress was only becoming more and more obvious, “You haven’t done anything wrong, Jeluna. Not ever,”

“I have done things wrong before; so many times I was so cruel, I caused Tante Kaatje so many problems. But I promise you I’ve learned, and I try, and I haven’t done anything,”

“Jeluna,”

She began to shake her head fervently, her voice high and frightened as she repeated: 

“I haven’t, I promise, I haven’t, I haven’t,”

Her hands had found either side of her head, fingers curling against her scalp and scrunching her hair into mad frizzes as she continued to mutter the same refrain. She screwed her eyes tightly shut and continued to shake her head, her words growing slowly quieter as the pitch increased but still with no recognition of Inej’s attempts to speak until she was forced to grab Jeluna’s wrists to hold her still. The girl gasped before she fell silent, lowering her gaze to the ground and she stilled. 

“Jeluna, look at me. You have done nothing wrong, no-one is going to hurt you. You have not done anything wrong,”

Inej released her and took slow steps backwards, keeping her hands flat in front of her. Jeluna stared at her like she’d gone mad, then schooled her features to a blank almost-smile so quickly that you practically forgot what she’d looked like just a moment ago. 

“Please,” she whispered, after a long silence had settled into the air, “I don’t understand what’s happening. I’m sorry, I don’t… I don’t understand. Where am I? Why can’t I go home? If… if she’s not upset with me, why doesn’t she want me back?” 

Inej’s heart broke. 

It had been easier than she’d expected to encourage Jeluna to follow them to the Dregs’ safehouse, but she still had none of the right words to explain to Jeluna what was going on. Kaz had told Inej that she didn’t remember anything of the last two weeks before Nina brought her to the Crow Club, and it seemed she had no recollection of how she’d ended up on the edge of the Financial District either. 

“How can they do that, whoever it was?” Inej had asked, disbelieving. 

“I asked Nina if a Corporalnik could do anything like that, but she said the brain is too complicated an organ to manipulate so precisely. Drugs, probably, but if that’s the case they must have worn off by the time Nina found her. But in the meantime we have bigger problems; Kaatje knows,”

Inej frowned. Kaatje de Waal must have known that Jeluna was missing for the past two weeks, if anything based on the note Kheja gave to Nina she may have even known someone took her from the building, but she had said nothing at all. Why act now? 

“She reported her missing?”

Kaz shook his head, then reached into his pocket and handed Inej a folded piece of paper. 

“She’s claiming someone paid for two weeks of Jeluna’s time,” he said, as Inej opened the paper and let her eyes slide through the Kerch lettering, by now almost all of which she could read with ease, “but that she broke free of them and made a run for it. She’s claiming-”

“Breach of contract,” Inej breathed, staring at the nearly inked words across the page, “They’ve put a warrant out for Jeluna’s arrest,”

Kaz’s face was grim. 

“People will believe it,”

“Why didn’t you tell me she was here, Kaz?”

His eyes were darker than a moonless sky at midnight, bitter coffee on a cold morning before the sun began to rise. He looked away. 

“What difference does it make?”

And Inej could say nothing, because there was nothing she could do to translate the aching of her chest into any language at all. Kaz began to walk away, and she followed him in silence. 

Now she sat up on the sofa and pulled her legs up into herself, fidgeting with the knives she had not taken off when she laid down hours ago. The pain in her knee was duller now but not gone, and it was starting to make her wish that she could scream into a blank abyss just to feel some brief release. Tomorrow Elodie would return but Inej wasn’t confident enough that they could leave Jeluna for the night alone, and she was never convinced of safety in the dark hours, or any others really, of Ketterdam. She had a candles somewhere but could not find it in the impenetrable dark and did not fancy trying to strike matches not knowing what she may be holding them near to, but there was a little bonelight still tucked into her jacket and she pulled it out and shook it until the room was pooled in ghostly green light. 

Jeluna had clearly not been settled when they moved her into the flat, but she’d stayed quiet and docile and that was possibly the best they could hope for; her best impression of calm. Elodie sat opposite her, talking quietly to introduce herself, and Kaz and Inej stood watching from nearer to the door. 

“How long can she stay?” asked Inej, quietly. 

They both knew what she was really asking. Jeluna was in pieces, her memories were fragmented, she was legally a fugitive, and if she knew who the Dregs really were she would surely try to run back to West Stave - and then Saints’ knew what would happen to her. Keeping her here was unsustainable for everyone involved, but what other choices did they have - and how long until Kaz made one? She didn’t want to look at him, but from the corner of her eye she saw him shift his weight against his cane. 

“We might have to move her again,” he said, after a moment, “I’m going to speak to Kaatje again; it will depend on how that goes,”

“Why-?”

“If I tell her I found Jeluna when she ran away, I might be able to wrangle a deal to pay of off her contract,”

“That’s good of you,” she murmured, letting her gaze slowly lift to Kaz’s. 

His eyes were hard. 

“I’m not running a charity, Wraith,” he growled, “If Nina wants to take on a stranger’s debt that’s her business,”

“I- what?”

“Nina said she’d add Jeluna’s contract to hers, if the Dregs pay it off,” 

Inej felt something sinking in her stomach like a stone. 

“How much?”

“Slightly shy of yours; not by much,”

“Nina can’t afford that,” Inej sputtered in disbelief.

“No-one can afford that,” he snapped, “That’s quite the point, is it not? It was Nina’s idea,”

“Split it between us,” said Inej, the words falling out of her mouth before she even knew she’d thought them. 

Kaz studied her for a moment with dark eyes, his expression as unreadable as ever. 

“It’s Nina’s business,” he repeated, “You want to split it, you can talk to her about it, but I’m not getting involved until I’m writing the papers or giving the old man the cash. And anyway, I wouldn’t trust Kaatje far enough to assume this isn’t a question for fiction authors,”

Inej said nothing. Kaz nodded towards Elodie and Jeluna. 

“Keep an eye on them. I need Elodie at the Crow Club for a game tonight, do you think-?”

“I’ll stay,” Inej had murmured, not looking at him, “I’ll see you tomorrow,”

Kaz might have nodded, she didn’t look. She just felt his absence as he turned away, and stood listening to the steady thud of his cane disappearing into the hallway and down the stairs. 

The kitchen had running cold water and Inej held her bonelight up to the cupboard until she could locate a glass before she turned on the tap, and it was only when she turned it off again that she thought she could hear shuffling in the other room. She hesitated, then gently knocked on the door - thinking she was loud enough to hear, but quiet enough not to wake Jeluna if she was asleep after all. For a moment nothing happened and Inej wondered if she had just imagined the noises inside the room, but then soft footsteps crossed the floor and the door creaked slowly open. Jeluna leant against the doorframe, the edge of her thin, borrowed dressing gown slipping to reveal her bare collar bone, tilting her eyes up at Inej through thick black lashes. 

“Yes?” she asked, false honey in her voice. 

Inej swallowed drily, not actually sure she could form words at all until she managed to whisper: 

“I was just checking if you’d fallen asleep,”

Jeluna’s confusion was obvious, and for a moment she just stared at Inej. 

“You don’t really work with Tante Kaatje, do you?” she murmured slowly, and Inej could almost see the cogs and gears shifting behind her golden eyes. 

There was real fear growing in them now, shimmering starlight trapped inside a birdcage. Inej hesitated, but she couldn’t lie to her. And she couldn’t say that. 

“No,”

It was like someone had flipped a switch in Jeluna, or thrown a pile of sand into her mechanism. A choking gasp escaped her as she stumbled away from Inej, shaking her head. 

“What have you done?” she whispered, breaths coming faster and shallower, “What have you - What have I done?” 

“Jeluna- No, Jeluna look at me-”

“What do you want?” she asked, tears springing to her eyes, “I don’t have anything, I can’t- I can’t-” 

Her words began to break as she struggled to breathe, still moving backwards with her eyes fixed on Inej. She tripped over the corner of the bed and cried out as she fell towards the floorboards; Inej lunged to catch her and Jeluna screamed, scrambling away from her across the carpet. 

“She won’t do it,” she told her, crying properly now, “Whatever you want, she won’t give it to you, she won’t,”

“Jeluna-”

“It won’t work, she won’t give you anything. It’s not worth it. She’ll just replace me, and then… and then…”

She dissolved into sobs where she was crouching on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, the moonlight streaming over her from beneath the closed curtains. She looked like she belonged in a painting. 

“Jeluna we aren’t holding you here, we aren’t trying to get anything from Kaatje in exchange. We only want to help you,”

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, “I don’t… I don’t even know how I got here,”

Inej sat down cross-legged in front of Jeluna, resting her hands on her knees. 

“What do you remember?” she said, softly, “Before you met Nina, and the rest of us?”

Jeluna’s eyes were slightly distant, like she was floating somewhere new. 

“I made a mistake in our performance,” she murmured, “I ruined it, and Viri tried to fix it but… I ruined it. She was angry and I tried to tell her that it wasn’t Viri’s fault but she was so upset and then- and then I don’t know. I don’t know… Why don’t I know?”

Tears spilt over her cheeks again. Her hand rose to her neck and ran over it repeatedly, almost clawing at it, like she was trying to chase something she had lost. 

“I have to get back,” she wept, “Please, you don’t understand… I’m already so late, it will only be worse - and look what I’ve done… look what I let you do…”

“Jeluna-”

“I took it off,” she sobbed, fingers still dancing across her neck, “I ruined my clothes. She’s going to be so upset with me, look at what I’ve done - I’ve taken advantage of everything she gave me, I’ve ruined her things, I’ve- I’ve- I’ve-” 

And then her breathing got tight again, her words broken like shattered glass across the floor between them. Inej wished that Nina was there. 

It took a long time to calm Jeluna, or to bring her to as close a semblance of calm as either of them could manage, and eventually she seemed to doze on the floor of the bedroom with her head propped up against her arm. Inej just sat there, watching her, trying not to let herself cry. 

Chapter Text

The arrest warrant for Jeluna Kir-Mai went out only a few days after Nina had found her wandering down the canal, and was more than generous in their offer of reward for turning her in - either to the stadwatch , or to Kaatje De Waal. Nina had only discovered it when she heard the rumours flying through the White Rose; the printed information of a client paying to take Jeluna from the Willow Switch for two weeks and her breaking free to run had quickly become tales of her as a madwoman, as a fool, as a violent killer, and sometimes as a hero. 

“It’s how it always goes,” said Petra, after relaying one such story to Nina with obvious scepticism when she came to clear her tea tray, “Going on my seventh year here and I’ll tell you the rumours are always the same. Still, never had this many disappearing, or whatever it is, so close as these lot. Not one to trust rumours, but there’s something suspicious in that if you ask me,”

“You think they’re linked?” asked Nina, trying to keep her tone as light and casual as she could as she gratefully took one of the cakes that Petra had brought up for her. 

“Well first off I thought the Leopard had maybe tried to run or something, but now… I’d be more shocked if they weren’t connected, to be honest,” Petra shrugged, “But what do I know?”

It was only a day later, or a little over as the world around them sunk into night, as Nina walked down West Stave to cross into East and head towards the Slat, and already the Barrel was enjoying some new token of gossip. It felt like a great creature that chewed constantly on little pieces and edges of snacks but neve truly ate its full and so on it went in this same way; forever eating, forever hungry. Jeluna’s name still whistled on the wind and slipped from breath to breath in crooked whispers, but so did another - one Nina didn’t know by name itself but only title. The Zemeni Trade Ambassador had been murdered this morning. 

Nina hadn’t heard the details and she didn’t much have time to listen out for them now; Kaz had sent for her to discuss Jeluna’s contract and her own, and she wanted to speak to Inej about how Jeluna had fared overnight. She also wanted to keep half an eye on Inej, because she knew this was going to be a difficult week. 

“I turn sixteen next month,” Inej had murmured, lying on her bed at the Slat with her leg suspended in the sling that Jesper had rigged up for her. 

Nina stared at her. 

“Pardon?”

“My birthday,” she said softly, “It’s next month. I’ll be sixteen,”

Nina supposed she must have known that, theoretically, since she herself was recently seventeen and Inej had willingly referred to them as a year apart from each other. But as far as she knew that was not another soul in Ketterdam who knew the actual date of Inej’s birthday, and Nina had by no means been intending to ask. She didn’t know why Inej had chosen to tell her, nor why it had come from her so freely or so suddenly and then vanished again as though it had floated away in the wind, but she would keep it to herself and say nothing that Inej didn’t want her to. She would keep as much attention as she could spare focused on her though, unsure of whether Inej would want to be in company, or if she would rather be alone, or if she intended to let the day pass her by as any other without a mention. 

The Slat came into view ahead and Nina slipped inside to see Jesper, and finding herself slightly surprised that Wylan was there sitting next to him. As far as she knew, Wylan had been avoiding the Slat and the Crow Club as much as she herself did - not that it felt like she’d been doing a good job of that recently. Even just within the week another one of his scars had begun to peek through the Tailoring she’d done for him what felt like so many more weeks ago than she supposed it really was; the one that ran down the side of his nose, thin and jagged as the rest. She had wondered many times what kind of accident had left him with such wounds, and had considered too many unsatisfactory theories. He was leaning forwards on the table with his chin resting on his hand, face turned towards Jesper’s as they spoke together. Neither of them seemed to have noticed her arrival, and she slipped straight past them to find Kaz and Inej. but as she began to walk Jesper looked up and said:

“Oh, Nina’ll know - Nina!” he beckoned her to their table and she turned. 

“Don’t-” Wylan began, but Jesper either didn’t notice or completely ignored him. 

“Wylan’s fainted a few times recently,” he said, “Do you think-?”

“I told you, it’s nothing,” hissed Wylan, his cheeks heating. 

Jesper glanced at him for a moment and then laid off, but let his gaze linger on Nina for a moment with a question in his eyes. Nina shrugged, then nodded to the door to suggest they might discuss the matter alone later if necessary. A moment lingered in the air, Jesper drumming his fingers on the table the only sound, and Nina found her eyes wandering again to Wylan’s scars. After a moment, she dared to venture: 

“Would you - I mean, I could Tailor your scars again for you, if you’d like,”

Wylan’s cheeks glowed again. 

“They’re visible?”

“Just a couple. Obviously if you don’t want me to I won’t but if you do-”

“Can you undo it?” he asked, suddenly, like he’d ripped the words straight out of himself.

Nina frowned. 

“You mean…”

“No, sorry,” his already reddened cheeks flushed further, “I know you can’t do that. I just meant the Tailoring. Can you undo it? So they’re… they’re all there, again?”

Nina had to admit she was a little surprised, but she nodded all the same. 

“Of course. I need to speak to Kaz and Inej now but-”

“About what?”

Nina just about jumped right out of her skin as Inej appeared at her shoulder, a slight smile curving her lips.

“ Saints ,” Nina breathed, shaking her head and sticking her tongue out at Jesper for laughing, “Was that really necessary?”

“Always,” Inej nodded wisely, “Kaz is upstairs,”

She looked almost completely herself, though Nina could tell that she was still in pain, with her braid coiled at the nape of her neck and her knives stowed in their habitual homes. Her fingers danced across the handle of one on her belt. 

“I wanted to ask you-” Nina glanced back at Wylan, “-how things went last night,”

“With some difficulty,” Inej admitted, “But she seems calm today; Elodie’s with her, she’ll stay a while I think. I only…”

But apparently no-one around here was destined to finish their sentences today, because Inej’s words died on her lips as the rhythmic thud of Kaz’s cane began to echo its way through the room as he came down the stairs and crossed the floor towards them, her gaze drifting straight to him through the crowd. Kaz looked as he ever did; unreadable, distant, immaculately dressed in a perfectly pressed dark suit, all sharp lines and neatly tailored edges. But there was a glimmering edge to his dark eyes that put a touch of unease into Nina’s previous comfort. What was he planning?

He acknowledged them all with a nod as he approached, murmured something to Inej, then placed a stack of kruge on the table in front of Wylan. A moment passed as Wylan reached out and ran his fingers over the edge of the notes, before he split the pile into two and held the larger one out to Kaz. 

“You overpaid,”

“That’s your increase,” Kaz’s voice was crisp but rough, like someone had clipped the edges of its fabric with blunt shears, “If you agree to the deal, for keeping trade exclusive to us. It’ll be more if you join the Dregs,”

Wylan now skipped blushing altogether and if anything seemed to blanch slightly, but he nodded as he tucked the notes into the inside pocket of his jacket. 

“We’ll talk later; come to the Crow Club for around ten bells,”

He turned as if to leave, and so before he could Nina added: 

“Oh - Kaz. I found a Fabrikator,”

He looked back at her for a moment, raising a quizzical eyebrow before Nina lightly tapped her neck to get across the point of Jeluna’s golden choker. 

“It’s already dealt with,” he said, “But we do need to discuss the financials. I’ll have some work to do after Wylan’s left, come for twelve bells if you can,”

“I have a client until 2,”

“Two bells half chime then,” Kaz sighed, “Or whenever you arrive. Are there any other questions to entertain the four of you or can I be on my way?”

Nina was about to shake her head as the others were, but she found herself continuing on to say:

“Who did you use?”

Kaz frowned. 

“Why is that of any concern?”

“Well, most of the Grisha in Ketterdam know of each other,” said Nina, vaguely aware that as she said it Wylan looked quickly up, “But it took me days to find a Durast who’d be able to come,”

Kaz watched her for a moment and Nina had the strangest sense that she was being interrogated, when it had been her who asked the question. 

“They requested to remain anonymous,” he said, adjusting his cane that he could straighten out his shirt cuffs, “Now if you would be good enough to excuse me, I’ll be on my way,”

And so indeed he went, leaving Nina feeling that she had made a rather pointless journey. 

Chapter Text

“You sure about this?” asked Jesper, quietly, as they walked up the stairs of the White Rose together. 

No. But he was going to do it anyway. 

He was glad he’d asked Jesper to come, walking through West Stave had been quite the disturbing enough experience in his company and Wylan didn’t fancy trying it alone, but he had also asked him to wait outside whilst Nina undid the Tailoring over Wylan’s scars. It felt like too much to even have Nina there with him, but that was rather necessary and he was pretty sure they weren’t going to find a way around that. 

“Little late to change my mind now, isn’t it?”

“Of course not,” Jesper’s voice was soft, “We turn back whenever you want to,”

Wylan wasn’t entirely sure why he’d asked Nina to undo his Tailoring, he hadn’t been planning on it and wasn’t even sure what he was going to say when he’d opened his mouth, but he knew that he needed to do this. 

“Do you…?” Wylan wavered, “Do you think I shouldn’t?”

“I think you should do whatever you need to,”

Jesper’s voice was soft. His hand found Wylan’s and, though at first contract he had to fight not to flinch away, Wylan let their fingers intertwine. Who could have known that all it took to change the world was a little bunch of flowers? 

Wylan had been given flowers twice in his entire life. Once just a few days ago, from Jesper, and once when he was eight years old. He’d been sitting on a bench in the top garden near the house, kicking his feet back and forth through the air where his legs were not yet long enough to reach the ground and staring obstinately at the paving stones far beneath the soles of his shoes as he shrank away from his nanny’s lecture. He couldn’t remember what she’d been telling him by now, but it didn’t really matter. It had been almost a week since his mother died, and yet the world felt far too normal for that to possibly be true. The house went on just the same, and Wylan spent everyday waiting for the door to open, to hear his mother’s voice, to feel her arms around him. He had not seen her for two weeks before she died; she had travelled to the country for fresh air, in hopes of easing the pain and illness in her lungs, and simply never came back.

Wylan’s father had been factual, straight forward, and concise in informing him of her death, and Wylan supposed he could not bring himself to say anything more. So many times he had reprimanded Wylan about the ease with which his emotions spilled from him, and he was better than his son: he would keep his grief to himself, and Wylan would do his best to echo. It wasn’t easy. 

It was the day before they were to travel to the Lakehouse that Wylan sat in that garden kicking his little feet off the edge of the bench, the last day he would be allowed to look upon it with his own eyes. The nanny didn’t know that; within the week she would be dismissed, knowing Wylan’s habits too well to run the risk of her noticing the lie about his sight, and someone new would be hired to replace her - the official reason would be that Jan Van Eck felt her services no longer necessary for a child of Wylan’s age, but that when he returned with his son injured and set to live the rest of his life blind he would reassess that decision. But that day in the garden, the sunshine bright and the flowers blooming, whatever it was that Wylan had done had earned him a lecture long enough that he would walk away with sunburn on the back of his neck, perhaps the price to pay for staring at his shoes instead of sitting with proper posture. 

“I know that this is all difficult for you, Wylan,” she’d said, when she was finished, “And I understand you have a lot to think about right now,”

He did. And she didn’t even know most of it. 

“But you need to keep your chin up, and you need to be staying sensible,”

Wylan clenched his jaw to keep his lower lip from wobbling and refused to meet her eye. 

“Here,” 

He looked up slowly to see that she was holding out a tiny bunch of flowers, clearly ones that she’d collected from the garden - probably when they were on their walk. It was a motley little bundle, really, some with browning petals or wilting leaves, not matched to each other or at all arranged. 

“Let’s have a smile, hey? We can put these in a vase in your bedroom, brighten it up a little. Would you like that?”

He nodded, trying to please her, and forced his mouth to make the smile she sought. She seemed quite pleased with herself at that. 

“Good boy. You run on into the house now, then, and pop those on your dresser for me, and I’ll find a little vase whilst you get ready for your lessons this afternoon. Your tutor will be here in twenty minutes or so,”

Wylan’s stomach dropped again, but all the same he held the wobbly smile in place as he took the flowers in his little hands and hurried back inside. When he came back to his bedroom that evening, his lessons having gone as predictably terrible as always, the flowers were gone. Whoever had taken them had made sure to leave a single, curled and browning petal behind on the dresser, just so he knew. 

Jesper knocked on the door, and Wylan felt the panic creeping slowly in again. This place felt suffocating - actually, quite literally. The entire place stank of cloying perfume, and though at first he’d thought it was the ridiculously extensive displays of roses at the root he was now sure that they alone couldn’t possibly be to blame for the strength of it. It felt like he was under attack; like the scent was a living thing that had crawled inside of him and grabbed hold of his insides. But at least once they’d stepped inside Nina’s room there was a slight reprieve as the smell dipped slightly; there were no flower displays in here except the vase on the table, so perhaps it had been that all along. 

Wylan was vaguely aware of Nina greeting them both and of Jesper exchanging words with her, but he didn’t tune back into the world until he realised Jesper was saying his name.

“Wylan? You okay?” 

“Oh- yes, sorry. Yes,”

Jesper didn’t look entirely convinced but he kept his voice light before he stepped back out of the room, promising Wylan again that he would be there when they were done. Wylan only nodded, and found himself not quite aware of anything more until he was sitting at the little table with the roses on it, Nina opposite him. She was wearing a red Heartrender kefta and he could see that some of the black embroidery near her shoulder had pulled, threatening to unravel, and her hair was pulled back in a bun with just the front few pieces falling free to frame her face. He realised he was staring at her kefta , and tried to subtly adjust his gaze without attracting attention to his eyes. 

He’d insisted on paying Nina despite her offers to waive the fee, and though he was quite sure she’d undercharged him Wylan put up no more fight once cash had changed hands. She talked quietly as she worked, the task was slow and he supposed she was trying to distract him from the acute itching that flared beneath her gentle touches, but Wylan could only really offer answers occasionally. She asked him about his work with Kaz and the Dregs, told him something about Ravka that he had forgotten to listen to. Wylan just sat very still, feeling the flex of her fingers over his skin.

Anya had not been the only Grisha indentured to Wylan’s father, but for most of his memory she had been the only Corporalnik. Before her there had been another woman, older than Wylan or Anya but not as old as Jan Van Eck, of whom Wylan only had one clear memory. The lakehouse.

Stop the bleeding. No - don’t Heal him. Let it scar. 

Wylan had sat on a spindly little wooden chair like this one, no longer daring to swing his feet off the edge, looking straight ahead at the wall on the other side of the room. There was nowhere else he could look, with a hand holding his forehead in place. Tears tracked down his cheeks and mingled with his blood, and for the crime of crying he was denied a handkerchief to clear either. Hours later he would see himself in the mirror and almost flinch at the sight of his pale and scarred countenance looking thoroughly like he had cried thick red streams of blood. 

“I explained to you why this was necessary, Wylan,” his father had snapped, his fragile patience frayed already, “And you told me that you understood. Are you so much of a simpleton that I need to teach you what the word "understand " means?”

Wylan hung his head. He could not explain that no matter how well he understood the necessity of the action that it still caused him pain, that he was not choosing to sit here and cry like a weakling but maybe that really was all he could amount to. 

“No father,” he whispered, “I’m sorry,”

He’d earned himself an admonishment for insolence, for speaking out of turn, and held his tongue the rest of the time he spent sitting in that little chair. The cuts they made on his face were planned but not necessarily precise; there had to be at least one that didn’t run straight through the eyes, so it didn’t look too perfect, and of that same vein some that ran deeper down his face and some that finished far quicker. It wasn’t until later, when enough of his father’s peers had seen him sporting the new accessory, that Wylan was permitted to have them Tailored - and even then the spiny edge of one that finished just over his cheekbone was always left visible, like a little warning and reminder to himself. Like he could fucking forget. 

The Corporalnik who’d accompanied them to the lake house vanished upon their return, and it was a few years afterwards that Anya appeared. Wylan couldn’t picture the woman’s face, now, could bring no image of her at all to mind. He could only feel her cold fingers on her face, the itch and the sting and the blood and tears dripping horribly over him until he truly had gone blind beneath their watery film. The press of the knife was back beneath his eye, that sting, the sudden pain and then the open coldness of the wound; the feeling of someone’s hands against his skin, the itch of a Healing, the tiny, accidental catch of a nail along the edge of a fresh cut. He gasped, breath catching in his throat. 

“Wylan?” 

He was shaken back to the present, hurtling through the air without moving a single inch from the spindly little wooden chair. Nina’s voice was soft, nervous, watching him as though he were a delicate vase that might tumble and crack as she drew her hands away.

“Keep going,” he whispered, gripping the seat of the chair until his knuckles turned white. 

“Are you-?”

“Keep going,”

She continued, but the concerned look in her eyes didn’t fade. 

A silence settled over them for a short time, before Wylan dared to ask the question that had been bubbling inside him ever since Nina had agreed to do this for him. 

“You said…” he hesitated, “The other day, at the Slat, you said that most of the Grisha in Ketterdam know each other,”

Nina nodded, then seemed to catch herself and said aloud:

“For the most part - we know of each other, at least, I don’t know many in person,”

“Do you think - I mean, I’m kind of… looking for someone,” he swallowed, “Do you think you might be able to help me find her?”

“I can try,” said Nina, smiling as she leant back and stretched for a moment, “Not much more to do now. So,” she moved back in and her fingers found purchase in whichever of Wylan’s scars had not yet been uncovered, “who are we looking for?”

“Her name’s Anya, Anya-,” said Wylan, suddenly sure he was glowing with embarrassment at the horrifying realisation that, if he had ever even known it all, he had forgotten Anya’s surname. He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, “She’s a Healer, on indenture in the city but I don’t know where. She was at my father’s house until a few months before I… it was six months ago, I think. Something like that. I don’t know what happened,”

“I don’t recognise her name,” Nina told him, “But there’s a good chance that I’ll know somebody who does. I can try,”

“Thank you,” Wylan felt some tiny relief breaking inside him, because at least if he knew where she was then he knew if she was safe, could maybe even try to devise some way of helping her, “How much…?”

“Nothing,” 

“But-”

“Nothing,” Nina repeated, firmly. 

“Please, I already feel like I’m underpaying you for this at least let me-”

“Don’t be silly Wylan,” she said, not unkindly, “I don’t charge my friends. Look left for me?”

Wylan tilted his face slowly, trying to pretend she had not just changed the world again with a single sentence. With a single word. 

“Sorry, I mean your left,” said Nina gently, placing two fingers on his face to turn him in the other direction. 

Horror flooded through Wylan and he felt his cheeks burning, but Nina said nothing more of the matter and it was only a few minutes later that she leant back and said: 

“There, all done,”

Wylan smiled.

Chapter Text

Kaatje de Waal’s office smelled of perfume and cigarette smoke, but beneath it Kaz could smell blood. It wasn’t a particularly large room but the decor was clearly structured to make it feel bigger than it was; most of the walls were painted a soft, creamy white but the one behind Kaz was papered with shimmering leaves and flowers growing up it and the large mirror on the opposite side of the room caught it well, Kaatje’s desk was just as ostentatious as Kaz might have expected but it wasn’t unnecessarily oversized, and if anything the entire space felt far more restrained than typical Barrel flash - excess, yes, but not what you might describe as gaudy . 

Kaatje herself was to some extent matching the same intention, but subtle didn’t sell in the Barrel and the dip of the neckline on her soft white dress would never be described as such - nor would the extensive jewellery that clattered lightly as she moved; at least three piercings in each ear and all sporting large silver pieces some of which hung almost low enough to trace her shoulders, multiple heavy necklaces that drew focus to the bare skin in between them, bangles and bracelets clinking up and down her wrists. She sat at her desk, leaning back in her chair with one arm laid casually over the back and her long cigarette holder drooping from between her fingers, surveying him with flat, dark eyes. The rest of her features had a wolfish air to them but the eyes made her look like a shark; apathetic and unrelenting. 

“Mister Brekker,” she smiled, unnaturally white teeth gleaming beneath her painted lips, “Back again so soon?” 

Kaatje was perhaps thirty or a little older, but it was difficult to judge with the amount of Tailoring she put herself through. Even as she smiled any creases that should have appeared by her eyes were barely visible, and the smile itself seemed practised, stiff. The roots of her hair were a shade darker than the rest, though it was difficult to notice that at first because of the elaboration of her updo, and Kaz felt reason to suspect that the plumpness of her lips and the delicate arch of her eyebrows that, if you focused for long enough, didn’t quite match her bone structure were the work of a Corporalnik as well. 

“Please, sit,” she said, sitting forwards as she wafted her cigarette-bearing hand towards the chair in front of the desk, a thin wave of smoke following her movement. 

Kaz took the seat, resisting the need to stretch out his bad leg in front of him as he did so. The scent of her perfume wafted over him as she adjusted herself and it mingled with the smoke in the air as she took another drag, her flat eyes still working over him in their slow study. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” she asked, disguising nothing in her tone, “You know very well that I have trade deals elsewhere, and I’m not looking to cross Riesen tonight,”

“I’m not asking you to,” Kaz replied, his rough voice sounding only coarser still next to the chiming notes of Kaatje’s, “I have questions for you. The same as before,”

Kaatje’s expression soured slightly. 

“Mister Brekker, you came here asking me strange questions about a girl in my employ, a girl who is now missing, and you expect me to take no issue? If you have yourself wrapped up in some scheme with the councilman then leave my girl out of it and bring her back,” she hissed, ash spilling lightly over the table as she leant across it, “Jeluna is vulnerable, unpredictable even. She should be kept close, and kept safe,”

Kaz kept his surprise at the word councilman to himself, instead schooling his features into mild intrigue as he asked:

“Unpredictable how?”

And now missing? Jeluna had vanished two weeks ago, according to Nina, and the insistent line upon Kaz’s previous visit to the Willow Switch was that she wasn’t in the building. But maybe there was some vague truth in the story that Kaatje had spun for the stadwatch , of Jeluna being scheduled to spend time out with a client and simply never returning. But the closest he got to a response was just a sigh, whilst Kaatje tapped her cigarette holder over an ashtray that looked like it might have actually been real crystal. 

“You’ve put a warrant out for Jeluna’s arrest,” said Kaz, eventually, when the silence had gone on for some time, “Why wait until now? If you don’t really believe she ran then why not report her missing?”

“I have a feeling you intend to make this a long conversation,” she said, “So I think I’m going to need a drink,”

She rang a small bell sitting on the desk, a little golden thing with detailed paintings of some story or other of Ghezen’s shimmering up the curved sides, and the door to Kaz’s right took only a moment to click open. He was expecting a maid but the girl who slipped quietly into the room wore black silks, her flat stomach bare, her skin adorned with purple glitter. She was Suli, her long dark hair pulled tightly back into a bun with the front pieces gelled in swirling patterns on her forehead and a few farther down her face, a golden collar matching the one Nina and Jesper had removed from Jeluna’s flesh glittering tight around her neck. She had a translucent purple gown laid over her otherwise bare shoulders, the sleeves drooping wide around her wrists and the back long enough to dance just over the floorboards. 

“Viri my darling, would you be good enough to fetch me a coffee?” asked Kaatje, baring her teeth as she smiled, “And anything that Mister Brekker might want,”

“Of course, Tante ,” she replied, her voice honeyed, her smile as practised as Kaatje’s but not nearly as stiff. 

Kaz abstained from a drink and Viri vanished as quickly as she’d appeared. 

“You said a councilman took Jeluna,” said Kaz, watching Kaatje closely, “I assume he paid for her time?”

“I thought you said you’d read the arrest warrant?” she asked, smiling her unnerving smile again, “I was quite clear, I think. She was scheduled to leave us for two weeks, but never returned. He told me that she ran but I felt suspicious, it’s so unlike her you see, and now here you are again, to ask about a girl no-one but me cared about until a few weeks ago. It’s strange, and you surely cannot expect me to trust you,”

“Alright then,” Kaz gripped the crow’s head of his cane, “So we don’t trust each other. I don’t trust most people, but I hope that won’t taint the relevance of my distrusting you,”

She laughed. 

“I think you know as well as I do that Jeluna would not run. The fact is-”

The door opened again and Kaatje broke off, something flashing in her eyes as she snapped: 

“Learn to knock , Viri,”

Viri dipped her gaze to the floor past the little tray balanced in her hands, halting where she stood as she mumbled her apology and only continuing to cross the room once Kaatje had told her to. Kaz flexed his fingers in his gloves. 

“Thank you my darling,” Kaatje crooned as the girl laid her cup out on the desk for her, looking back to Kaz as she went on: “Viri is my little angel, aren’t you?”

Viri’s cheeks blushed but she said nothing as she let Kaatje run her hand up her arm and settle for a moment on her shoulder. 

“She’s looking after me whilst I’m unwell, staying back here just with me all month long,”

Kaz was unaware people put time limits on their illnesses. 

“You don’t seem to be suffering,” he remarked, watching Viri roll her shoulders beneath Kaatje’s grasp. 

“You’re too kind. Viri, why don’t you sit with us, hm?”

It was very obviously not a question. The girl drew up a little white stool sitting by the desk and perched next to Kaatje, her posture perfect but her eyeline dipped towards the desk so she wasn’t looking at either of them. 

“We’re talking about Jeluna,” Kaatje told her, as though she were speaking to a small child, “Do you have anything to say, Viri?”

“Only that I am worried about her , and I want her to come home,” came the soft reply. 

Kaz restrained his grimace, but probably not very well. 

“I can admit it was a mistake to let her go for so long,” Kaatje continued, as though there had been no interruption and she had never requested Viri to speak, “But I do not think that Jeluna would run, she is too good for that. Too sensible,”

“Then why the arrest warrant?”

“I want her back,” said Kaatje, simply, “An arrest is a far quicker route to bring her home than reporting her missing is, so that’s what I did. Look at what missing reports did for Rollins and Heleen,”

This didn't make sense. What did the Merchant Council - or even just one councillor - have to do with the deaths of Tara and Amethyst, or the abduction of Jeluna? Kaz knew he shouldn’t have got involved in this; he had no stake in it. Look where his obsession with unsolvable puzzles had gotten him now. 

“Do you think the councilman is still holding her?” he asked, “Or that someone else got themself involved?”

“Why would Hoede keep her captive when he can afford to pay? If he wanted her that badly I’m sure there’s a number we could find for her to remain his. No, this is someone else I’m sure, or why would he bother with all this?”

Councilman Hoede. Kaz tucked the name away in his mind for safekeeping.

“I do hope that Jeluna is safe, mister Brekker,” she said, clearly hoping to draw an indirect confession from his mouth, “She struggles, you know, and I’ve been looking after her for so long now that I think it will quite frighten her to be alone,”

“How long?”

“Oh, at least six years now I think…” Kaatje thought for a moment, “Yes, six years,”

Kaz frowned. 

“She’s barely fourteen,” he pressed, “Surely-”

“Fourteen,” Kaatje nodded, “Always fourteen. Viri helps with that, don’t you my love? Very talented little girl, aren’t you?”

“She’s a Corporalnik,” said Kaz, understanding suddenly dawning on him, “You mean-?”

“That’s right. You can tell him, Viri, go on,”

Viri raised her gaze to his slowly, the heavy purple glitter on her eyelids shimmering. 

“My parents were not good people, sir,” she murmured, “But I was very lucky, Tante Kaatje found me and she takes care of me. She took me because I’m special, and she keeps me safe from people who would hurt me for it. And I can pass on that kindness, look after the others - like Jeluna,”

She looked quite earnest. When she turned, Kaz could see a cigarette burn above her ear. If she was a Healer she could have gotten rid of that easily, but he understood now that she never would. Not unless she was told to. 

And he understood now that Jeluna Kir-Mai was not fourteen. The papers he’d seen had said that she was first shipped to Kerch and sold at auction when she was nine, and that she’d ended up at the Willow Switch when she was thirteen. He hadn’t seen dates and so he hadn’t understood, it hadn't made sense to him how the conditioning had fastened such a tight hold on her in such a short time. But now it made sense. Jeluna Kir-Mair was a nineteen year old girl who’d been enslaved for over half her life; had spent every day of the past six years being tortured, being Tailored to keep her looking like a child, and being so horrendously manipulated that she knew nothing more than to still act like one. She might even genuinely believe it; he almost wouldn’t be surprised anymore. 

Kaz was suddenly unsure if he could finish the conversation. He couldn’t sit here looking at Viri any longer. He wondered how old she was, how long she’d been trapped on this monster’s leash. He knew that he should keep pressing for more information, and he knew that if he didn’t try to negotiate Jeluna’s contract now that he would only have to come back again. 

But Kaz stood up, adjusted his weight against his cane, and said: 

“If I find out you told Riesen I was here, or the Black Tips start kicking up any kind of fuss about this, then the one thing about me you can trust is that I’ll make you regret it. Are we clear?”

Kaatje’s smile was slow and wide, her whitened teeth and her painted lips mismatched with those predator’s eyes. 

“Crystal,”

Chapter Text

Inej kept her knocks on the door of the safehouse distilled to a light tap, but even so as Elodie leaned nervously into the corridor she pressed a finger to her lips. The fright in the girl’s eyes seemed to calm a touch when she saw it was only Inej waiting on the other side, though they had not had much opportunity before now to gain any closeness they had seen each other multiple times at the Crow Club and Inej suspected that Nina had promised Elodie that she was safe to trust her, but it did not entirely subside. As far as Inej could tell, it never did. 

“She’s sleeping,” the girl whispered, glancing back into the flat.

It was the middle of the day and the high sun was attempting to peek through the thick layer of typical, grey Ketterdam clouds, but Inej could see that the flat was mostly darkened behind Elodie; the curtains pulled closed and the candles flickering. The bedroom door was hovering neatly ajar, not quite open, not quite closed, and beyond it Inej could see the vague edge of a shape that was someone lying still on top of the quilt and blankets. 

“I rather don’t want to wake her,” Elodie murmured, “she sleeps very little. Can we…?”

She hesitated and Inej let the few pieces of information that Nina had been able to give her about the girl wash over her. She did not like to ask for things, to ask questions at all. 

“I don’t know much,” Nina had admitted, her hands wrapped around a mug of steaming tea as she perched next to Inej during one of those endless days as Inej lay unhappily still with her leg raised in the sling Jesper had set up for her, “I think the White Rose was the first place to hold her contract, but - well…”

“Go on,” Inej had prompted gently, when the story lost its thread. 

Nina pursed her lips. 

“I think her parents - I mean…,”

Inej felt the grim expression spreading over her face even before Nina had finished speaking, realising correctly what she was about to say. 

“I think they sold her,”

Nina’s gaze had drifted to the window, like she could not quite bring herself to make eye contact with Inej. It was then that it occurred to her that Nina - for how could she when Inej never spoke of it? - did not know the circumstances of Inej’s being brought to Ketterdam. There had been other children on the slaver ship who had been sold by design, one girl, Inej remembered, by her brother so that he could clear his gambling debts. She wondered if the girl was still alive; she wondered if her brother had cleared his debts only to acquire new ones; she wondered if he had any other siblings to keep selling. 

“That’s harder, I think,” she’d whispered, watching Nina’s eyes rove over the curtains with falsified fascination, “Knowing that they chose to do it. I’ve always known that someone out there loves me, cared about me then and still cares about me now. I think… I think it would be worse otherwise. Knowing that they let you go, that they… I think that’s a different kind of loneliness,”

For a moment there had been silence, as Nina looked slowly back to Inej. 

“Maybe,” she said, quietly. 

And what of Nina? The thought struck Inej quite suddenly. She must have had parents, at some point, mustn’t she? Was there anyone in Ravka, with the memory of a little girl carried away by the Grisha testers, left to wonder what had become of her afterwards? Inej drew a picture of them in her head, this make-believe family. A mother and a father, maybe siblings, maybe aunts and uncles and cousins. But maybe not. Because who were these people, this close knit family she’d devised, that let their little daughter be ripped away from them and never even - what? What possible choice could they have had in it? Nina was Grisha; she belonged to the Second Army, and not to anyone else. Not her parents, not herself. 

“How old were you?” she dared to venture into the silence that had sunk between them, like a rock dropped into a slender pool too gently to ripple too wide or fall too quickly, “When they took you to Os Alta?”

Nina looked a little surprised as she replied with a gentle shrug and a smile that seemed to quiver only the tiniest bit, only for the briefest second: 

“I don’t remember before. Not really,” 

Inej wasn’t sure what to say, and after that the conversation had dwindled once more but she couldn’t shake the thought of it, of wondering if there was somebody somewhere in Ravka to think about a little girl with brown hair and green eyes, who was whisked away one morning with no questions to be asked and no prayers to be answered. Was there someone waiting in the hope that one day they would hear her name in some announcement or other of Second Army soldiers? Did they have vague hopes that the girl she had become would recognise them if they saw each other again, even though they knew in the heart that she would not? Did they fear that one day they would happen to be lucky enough to glimpse her, and not know that the woman they saw had once been their daughter? 

Inej looked at Elodie, now, driving her thumb deep into the fabric of her sleeve as she fidgeted. Since having her Tailoring undone she looked healthier, though she was still thin and undeniably pale there was better colour in her cheeks and she looked less gaunt, but no less afraid of everything and everyone that crossed her path. 

“We can talk out here,” Inej nodded, stepping back to give Elodie the space to move into the corridor. 

Elodie didn’t lock the door behind her but she did pick up the key from the side table and slip it into the tight hollow of her fist, like she needed to know that it was there and if the door had somehow locked itself she would still be able to open it again. 

“Kaz wants to know if you can be at the Crow Club tonight,” said Inej, citing the official reason that she was here, “And… well, I was hoping to speak to Jeluna but I can come back another time. The main thing is whether you can get to the Club tonight,”

There was a private game that they needed extra hands waiting tables for, and Layla, unusually for her, had sent word that she had fallen ill and was not up for the task. Kaz was considerably annoyed about it, but considering that they’d once watched her try to come to work with what had later turned out to be firepox - Layla had to be quarantined for three weeks and she was reportedly furious, but of course no-one except Pietro had seen that first hand - Inej had managed to pointedly convince him that it was clearly serious enough to not be worth coming into work. And besides, if she had some kind of fever or anything else similar then they probably shouldn’t have her all over the clients, or their food and drinks. 

“It was you who realised she had firepox,” Inej had emphasised, pulling her leg up onto the window ledge behind her. 

She was refusing to admit to the pain that still contorted in her knee after the thrust of Oomen’s knife - or rather Liesbeth’s knife in his hand - but she could make small concessions like this one; idle, casual, hooking her hand beneath her leg to lift it up with her because that tiny touch of support beneath it was better than nothing at all. Had Kaz noticed? If he had, he hadn’t said anything. 

“It was lucky that I did,” he grimaced, “it was early enough on to still be safe,”

If Kaz hadn’t seen her until even a week later, Layla may very well have died of the fever she’d been insisting was just fine. Inej didn’t know how he had realised what it was, the most telltale sign of firepox was the characteristic blisters and pustules, infamous in their shape and colour, but they didn’t appear until later. When it got you, so she’d heard it said, it started with aches, chills, the cough and then the fever. By the time the pustules had appeared, the disease had probably been passed on to twenty others - but Layla’s quarantine and undoubtedly expensive medicine cleared it up in good timing, and although the panic amongst the staff had slowed things down at the Crow Club no-one else in the Dregs ended up presenting symptoms. 

“I…” Elodie hesitated, and as Inej had already noticed in her it was clear that she struggled to say no, “I can, but someone else should be here. Jeluna shouldn’t be alone,”

Inej heard Kaz coming down the hallway before he spoke, and it seemed that Elodie did as well. She flinched at the first audible strike of his cane against the boards, then stepped back slightly as she clutched the key tighter in her palm. 

“Stay,” he said, his words directed towards Elodie, “I’ll find someone to cover for you. Jeluna will only distress if we keep changing things, and then we won’t be able to get anything from her at all,”

Inej resisted the urge to sigh - of course it couldn't just be about trying to achieve some sense of stability for the girl, Kaz had to have yet another motive. What did he want from her now? There seemed no hope of devising what had happened whilst she had been missing, if she could remember nothing at all. But Kaz always had another reason for everything he did, most often multitudes of them. Everything was precise and decided, purposeful, laden with intent - Inej could just never be sure if the intent was good.

Why had he felt the need to follow after her, when he had sent her here to speak to Elodie? The growing suspicion that he was checking on her was grating at her edges. When she’d stood behind him in his office, Wylan opposite them with no knowledge of her presence, Kaz had said that he wanted to know if Wylan would realise she was there. 

“You were testing me,” Inej had not been able to stop the words from falling clumsily free, quivering anger becoming harder to hold onto as it gathered its energy into vibrating faster and faster and faster, so it leapt right out of her grip, “You think one injury will ruin me? People who can see can’t see me, Kaz, do you think-?”

“I was testing him ,”

Inej frowned. 

“Testing him?”

Kaz had been stood up by then but he gestured for her to sit and then returned to his chair, nodding slowly. 

“The kid intrigues me,” he admitted, watching Inej with dark eyes as though he was trying to determine her reaction. She let her features remain neutral, though she was sure he knew that she was studying him in return, “I think - I don’t know what I think. I think there’s an answer in him, but I don’t even know what the question is yet,”

There was nothing Kaz hated more than a puzzle he couldn’t solve. Inej just hoped for Wylan’s sake that he would find a satisfying answer. 

“Something doesn't add up here,” he’d said, after a long silence, keeping his voice level and entirely matter of fact as he continued: “I think that he can see,” 

If there had been words in Inej’s mouth they didn’t make it any further. She scoffed, shaking her head. It was ridiculous - what possible reason would Wylan have to lie? And he had shown no acknowledgement of her presence, everything about his surroundings that he was admittedly good at keeping track of he seemed to do by sound, he walked with caution and tracked his pathway with his hand - and Roeder’s reports suggested no difference even when he believed he was alone. 

And yet… Well, when was Kaz wrong about people? He read people faster than he did words on a page, understood them and consumed their contents faster than one could any book, any letter. 

“What are you doing out here?”

Elodie’s cheeks flooded crimson, her eyes flickering between Kaz’s shoes and her own. 

“Jeluna’s asleep,” she managed, “I didn’t want to disturb her - she doesn’t sleep often. And only in the day, never a night,”

Kaz frowned, but nodded. Still he went to the door, paused for a brief moment, looked back at Elodie and Inej. 

“She’s awake,” he said, simply, before pushing his way inside. 

A brief, frightened skittering of footsteps followed from within the flat as the little group filed in to find Jeluna having rushed quickly backwards from the door. She folded her hands behind her back, dropping her eyes to the ground, waiting. 

Kaz directed her to sit down as Inej quietly killed the flickering candlelight and Elodie pulled the curtains open. 

“You were listening to us,” said Kaz.

It wasn’t a question and he didn’t pose it as one. Inej stepped behind him, something nervous fizzing in her stomach, as Jeluna shuffled briefly and then fell still. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I thought - I’m sorry,” 

“If you're going to eavesdrop, get better at it,” Kaz nodded to the other chair at the table, “May I?”

She stared at him for a moment, almost leaning back in her seat, before giving a very shaky nod. Kaz sat down and stretched his bad leg in front of him, leaning his cane against his knee and slowly curling his fingers over the handle as though to savour the movement for as long as he possibly could. 

“Jeluna, I’m going to ask you some questions and I want you to answer them as truthfully as you can, do you think you can do that?”

For a moment there was fraught almost silence, the only sound the kitchen tap running behind them. 

“Will you let me go home, if I do?” 

Kaz sighed. Inej bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, unaware she’d done so until her mouth tasted of metal. 

“You don’t have to go back, do you?” said Elodie, with the air of someone very patient with having had this conversation many times, pressing a glass of water into Jeluna’s hands so she had no choice but to take it, “You can stay here, now,”

Jeluna’s lower lip quivered. 

“You don’t understand,” she shook her head, “the longer I’m gone the worse it will be when I go back, I have to go back as quickly as I can or it will be worse, it will be worse, it-”

“You don’t have to go back at all,” emphasised Kaz, with less patience in his tone than Elodie, “It doesn’t matter how late you return if you don’t return,”

“But I will,” Jeluna whispered, like the words had been ripped from her, “You’ll get bored. Everyone gets rid of me eventually. But not Tante Kaatje. She’ll let me stay, so long as I am grateful. And I’m not being grateful-” a croak that threatened tears began to gather “- I’m being so dreadful, I’ll be so late, I- I- I will have to…” 

Elodie glared at Kaz, the closest she had seemingly come to ever standing up to anyone, and then gently shushed Jeluna through the thick tears that had begun to pile over her cheeks and guided the hand holding the water glass up towards her mouth. 

“You drink this now,” she told her softly, “You just take a deep breath,”

Inej wanted to be able to say something, anything, but she found that her voice had entirely abandoned her. She just stood there, hovering behind Kaz’s chair, like she had begun to silently choke on absolutely nothing at all. Kaz appeared unmoved. 

“You are staying here,” he repeated, “Now do you think that you can answer my questions, or should I return tomorrow?”

Jeluna shuddered slightly, clutching her glass closer to her chest. 

“I can,” she murmured, “I’m sorry,”

Kaz waved off her apology somewhat distractedly. 

“Does the name Hoede mean anything to you?”

Hoede. Inej had heard that name recently - yes, she had meant to tell Kaz when she saw him tonight, the house was being shut up and boarded off. She’d seen it when she went to look into these strange reports of late night goings on along the Geldstraat, and found the entire place crawling with stadwatch . The rumour was a plague outbreak. 

Jeluna shook her head. 

“He’s a member of the Merchant Council,” Kaz pressed, “You met him a few weeks ago,”

Jeluna frowned for a moment, then seemed to catch herself and sculpted her features back to passivity as she continued to think. 

“Not everyone gives their name,” she said, “But if you want information I may be able to-”

“He gave his name,” said Kaz, “You left the Willow Switch with him - or with someone who works for him, more likely. They took you somewhere, his house or a different location, and that was where you met him,”

For a brief moment Jeluna’s eyes were slightly distant, then she shook her head. 

“I don’t leave,” she said, “Tante Kaatje is very cautious of it, she says I am unwell. Viri has to help me, very often. She’s a Healer,”

Inej frowned - as did Elodie, opposite her, and she could hear from Kaz’s tone that he was as well even though she couldn’t see his face. 

“Unwell?”

“Of weak disposition,” Jeluna murmured, “I need to be kept close, kept safe,”

A long moment passed. 

“Jeluna, how old are you?”

“Fourteen,”

Her voice was light, but the tension in her shoulders was unmissable. Kaz shook his head.

“How long have you been at the Willow Switch?”

“I don’t… are you testing me?” 

It was exactly what she’d said when Inej asked her the same question. 

“Jeluna, you aren’t fourteen,”

“Kaz-” Inej finally found her voice, only to be immediately cut off as Kaz pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and said: 

“Can you read Kerch?”

Jeluna shook her head. 

“Okay, here - see the numbers?” he pointed, “That’s the year that you came to Kerch - to the auction? How old were you?”

“Nine,”

“Right. And this is the year that Kaatje bought your contract; four years later,”

Inej frowned, trying to figure out where he was going with this. 

“Yes,” whispered Jeluna, undaunted. 

Elodie glanced down at the paper and almost gasped, looking back up at Jeluna with an unreadable expression in her eyes - some mixture of shock and pain and pity. Kaz continued as though he hadn’t noticed. 

“Jeluna, do you know what year it is now?” 

She opened her mouth, closed it again. 

“Jeluna,”

She shook her head, confused or frightened or maybe both, leaning away from Kaz. 

“Jeluna, you have been at the Willow Switch for six years,”

“No…” her voice was quiet at first, and then became a strangled cry, “No, no that’s not - that can’t be-”

Inej didn’t have time to process what he was saying; she shoved furiously past Kaz and knelt down in front of Jeluna, holding her hands flat between them for the girl to take only if she wanted to. 

“Look at me,” she whispered, “Look at me. You are safe here, no-one is going to hurt you,”

“No- no, you’re lying,” Jeluna moaned, scrambling backwards as though she could climb over the back of her chair and vanish. Inej wasn't sure if she meant she was lying about not hurting her or if Kaz was lying about the date, “No, no, no,”

“Jeluna-” 

“You aren’t unwell, Jeluna,”

“Kaz be quiet,”

“She was forcing Viri to Tailor you,”

“Kaz-” Inej tried again, but he ignored her.

“Jeluna, you are nineteen years old,”

Jeluna shook her head, her distress only growing. She’d begun to claw helplessly at the sleeves of her blouse, still pushing herself backwards in her chair even though both Inej and Elodie had stepped away to give her space. 

“Kaz, please-”

But he didn’t stop, was apparently somehow blind to Jeluna’s tears and desperate, quiet little sobs as over and over again she whispered that it was not true, could not be true. 

“It is a lie ,” he repeated, “You have been there for six years, you are nineteen years old and you are not unwell, all of it is her doing. Do you understand me? She made it up. She-”

“Kaz, get out!” Inej whirled and took a pace towards him, barely aware she was doing it until she’d done it. 

She’d shouted like the words had been ripped straight out of her chest, like she had thrust her hand inside herself and pulled out her bloody, beating heart to show it to him. She’d shouted at Kaz.

She had never seen such shock on his features as she saw now. They stared at each other as silence fell like a heavy blanket, no sound but Inej’s furious breaths burning loudly through her. He stared at her, and she stared at him, and for the tiniest, briefest, most fleeting moment she could imagine, Inej might have been afraid. Kaz marched from the room, his cane thwacking the boards so hard it might have dented them. The door slammed shut in his wake, and she could hear the thunk of his cane all the way down the corridor and vanishing off over the stairs. There was no time to just stand there, waiting for her breathing to slow and settle. There was never any time for calm. 

Chapter Text

Jesper had been hopping anxiously from foot to foot outside Nina’s room at the White Rose for, at the very least, the better part of an hour, fidgeting with his gun belt and spinning his rings around on his fingers, by the time the door opened once again. Nina smiled, but she looked nervous as she slipped through a tiny crack in the door and then pushed it shut again behind her. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Nina, lightly, “I mean - the Tailoring and all, absolutely fine, Wylan’s just… I think you should talk to him alone,”

Jesper frowned, but before he could press any further Nina had mumbled something about coffee and quickly slipped down the stairway out of sight. 

“Wylan?” Jesper knocked lightly on the door, “Are you alright?”

There was soft shuffling sound from the other side of the panels as Wylan, almost yelping, called through: 

“Oh - yes, sorry, I… yes, I’m okay,”

It wasn’t a particularly convincing sentiment. 

“Can I come in?”

There was a brief pause and Jesper was about to say that he shouldn’t feel like he had to let him in when the door creaked open. Wylan crept back away from it before Jesper stepped inside, one hand out to find his chair before he took a seat. 

Jesper couldn’t help but stare, just for a moment. Wylan’s eyes were just so… bright . The blue that Jesper had studied so intently, leaning over him in the sunset outside the library, faded beneath that hypnotising cloud, was now piercing straight into him from across the room. Had the Tailoring really been what dimmed them like that? They’d been beautiful anyway, like the ocean beneath the mists off the harbours, but it was the way they seemed to cut straight through the room now that Jesper couldn’t even quite believe. It bowled him over. 

“That bad that they’ve rendered you speechless?” Wylan whispered, looking like he was trying to smile as a subconscious hand lifted to trace one of his scars, almost managing to laugh as he said, “That has to be quite a feat,”

“Oh - no, I’m sorry I was just…”

Jesper’s words shuddered to a halt as he continued to study the boy in front of him. His scars were extensive; two running over his left eye and one over his right, as well as a jagged cut down the side of his nose, shiny white in the bright glow through the window to his right. Jesper couldn’t imagine what kind of accident had sliced his skin apart like that but he knew that this might not be the full extent of the wounds that had once crossed his face, only those that had been bad enough to cling on for so long. For a moment he was clutched by nothing but the memory of a fairytale he knew as a small child, where a prince was blinded when he was pushed into a bush of massive thorns, but the thought died when he noticed the red rims along the underside of Wylan’s eyes, briefly lowered his gaze to take in the patch of water hastily wiped along his sleeve cuff. 

“Wylan are you crying?”

“No- I, no I’m-” but apparently Jesper acknowledging it had been too much, and new tears sprung into Wylan eyes as his cheeks flushed pink, “I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“Don’t apologise,” said Jesper, pulling up another chair and sitting down opposite Wylan. 

He leant forwards, propping one of his legs up over the other and resting his arms against it. 

“Can I ask you what’s wrong?”

There was a pause as Wylan fidgeted with his sleeve, rubbing the fabric continually between his thumb and forefinger. He swallowed. 

“I thought… I thought - I don't know, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t-” Jesper began, then caught himself and corrected: “Don’t feel like you have to apologise. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,”

There was silence for a time, other than Wylan occasionally sniffing as he wiped his eyes. He sat back in his chair and pulled his feet up to cross his legs on the seat, pressing his palms against his knees and blinking rapidly, as though he could force the tears away. Jesper wasn’t entirely sure what he should do, but he’d noticed that Wylan found it difficult to assert decisions, especially if the question was too open ended, so after a minute he ventured:

“I’m gonna give you four options, alright? And you can choose which one we do,”

Wylan looked a little nervous, but he nodded. 

“Okay, option one: I go outside, I tell Nina not to come back upstairs yet, and we let you stay here on your own until you’re ready to come out. Option two is that I stay and we talk about it, option three is that I stay and we talk about something else - anything at all. Or, option four, I stay here but we don’t talk right now, we just sit together so you don’t have to be on your own, if you don’t want to be,”

Wylan opened his mouth, closed it again. 

“I…”

“You can take your time deciding,” said Jesper, “And you aren’t setting anything in stone, okay, you can change your mind no matter what, you’re just choosing where we start,”

He nodded, a little shakily, and after a brief moment of hesitation murmured: 

“Can- can you stay? Please?”

“Of course,"

For a while there was quiet and Jesper sat back in his chair, watching Wylan, turning one of his rings around and around on his finger until he pressed too hard on its edges and thought he might have felt the green glass gemstone shift in its setting. He rested his hand against the table and pulled on his shirt cuff with the other, finding the button and rubbing it between his fingers in hopes of deterring himself from drumming his fingers on the table - he didn’t want to put Wylan on edge, or make him feel like he was impatient. He needed him to know that he didn’t mind sitting here for as long as he needed to, but he also might lose his mind if he tried to sit perfectly still. 

Jesper didn’t know exactly when it happened, when Wylan’s hand ended up on top of his, when he lifted his palm up from the tabletop so he could let their fingers intertwine. Neither of them said anything, at first, they just continued to sit, hand gripped in hand. And then:

“Jesper…”

He looked up, his eyes meeting the knife edge blue of Wylan’s. Wylan swallowed, and Jesper felt his throat tighten as the boy’s fingers moved slowly across his own, touching each of his rings in turn like he wanted to memorise their shape. 

“That day, at the library,”

Jesper felt himself stiffen, his hand flattening between Wylan’s and the table. 

“I made you late,” he said, “Wylan-”

“No, no - that’s not…” Wylan gently pried Jesper’s fingers back up off the table, clutching them between his own, “I only meant, when you were telling me about the sunset. I could see it,”

“You could…”

“The jurda fields,” Wylan murmured, “the air in summer. The fireplace in winter, that makes you feel safe. I could see it,” there was a pause, as Jesper tried to find the right words, before Wylan said: “You made me see it,”

His fingers dropped from Jesper’s. 

“You found just the right words,” Wylan said, and although his tone was unchanged Jesper couldn’t help but feel as though something had broken between them, that without the feeling of Wylan’s warm skin against his he couldn’t be sure of his sincerity, like something made of glass has shattered in the small space between them, “You showed it to me, and it was… it was really like I could see it,”

Jesper didn’t know what to say. He could feel his breaths deepening even as they caught in his throat, and all he wanted to do was grab hold of Wylan’s hand again and never let go - but Wylan was leaning back, moving to stand up. 

“We should probably get out of Nina’s way,” he said, softly, “We’ve been here for a while,”

Jesper nodded and moved to follow. But no sooner had Wylan risen than he was toppling back down again, his skin pale, those bright, beautiful eyes rolling back into his skull. 

Chapter Text

When Wylan woke up, it took him a minute to realise where he was. The vague colours above him took a moment to turn into blurry shapes, and when they did he couldn’t immediately recognise them. A distant, sloped ceiling with eaves white enough to almost glow, painted in an almost indistinct pattern that Wylan’s eyes could not make out, only recognise to be an ever so slightly warmer shade, with pale wooden beams and creamy walls. Over one of the beams hung a slender piece of fabric that appeared to be a makeshift curtain, clearly put up by whomever occupied this room, but other than that he could see little.

Whatever he was lying on was uncomfortable. It took him a moment to realise it must be the floor, hard boards beneath his back and neck. No wonder his limbs ached so much. There was something else beneath his feet though, something soft. A cushion? He didn’t understand. 

There was a soft rustling in the air as someone moved towards him and for a moment he closed his eyes again, his misted mind half convinced this was some strange dream from which he could ease himself back to waking. 

“Wylan?” 

Yes. Yes, he was dreaming but there was someone looking for him now. Someone was going to pull him out of all this strangeness and he was going to wake up in his bed, in his home, resting on his pillow. 

“I think he’s awake - Wylan? Wylan, can you hear me?”

Someone’s hand closed over his wrist and Wylan felt his eyes flying open involuntarily, fighting the need to pull away and scramble backwards. He rolled his head to one side, far enough that his cheek pressed against the cold wooden boards, and found the shape of someone kneeling next to him - someone wearing a pair of bright, striped trousers more than recognisable enough that Wylan did not need to look up before he whispered: 

“Jesper?” 

Jesper’s sigh was loud and laced with relief as his fingers wrapped tighter around Wylan’s wrist. For a brief moment Wylan let him keep his hold, as the world bled back to him in a slow stream. They were in Nina’s room, they were on West Stave, he had been talking to Jesper, and then… and then nothing. The horror and embarrassment of a realisation flooded through Wylan so quickly and so hot that he could feel it burning in his cheeks as he acknowledged that he must have collapsed again, pulling away from Jesper and trying to sit up in some hastened, desperate attempt to regain any dignity. But as soon as he moved the world in front of him tilted again, pain burst through his head, and the dizziness swam over his limbs. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Jesper said, shuffling backwards to give him space whilst simultaneously keeping his hands held out between them, like he was afraid Wylan would crumple once more and whack his head against the floorboards. 

Wylan groped for anything to hold onto to steady himself through the fizzling black spots that were crowding into his vision, and only when she began to gently guide him down again did he realise that what he’d found was Nina’s outstretched arm. 

“Lie down,” she murmured, “It’s alright. You just need a minute to let it settle,”

Wylan barely heard her. 

“How- how long…?”

“Just a minute or two,” she said, still trying to coax him back towards the floorboards, “I wanted to let you come around of your own accord if you could, it’s-”

“I’m so sorry,” Wylan managed, trying to stumble to his feet as he felt his cheeks reddening again, “I- I didn’t- I’m sorry, I can-”

His breath was leaving him; a memory was twisting around his throat and slowly pulling tighter, constricting him and forcing the air straight out of his lungs like a snake strangling its prey. 

The cuts on Wylan’s eyes had become infected multiple times before - another of the many reasons it was more sensible for him to be kept to the house and not do things like follow his father to business meetings or, say, attend classes at university - but in the grand scheme of things he didn’t think it had been too bad. Most of the infections, he would say at a guess that there had been a total of maybe six or seven over the years, had come when the cuts were fresh - three in as many months, he remembered, and another not too long afterwards. It didn’t help that they had no Corporalnik in the house at the time, this was before Anya, or that Jan Van Eck had not permitted the cuts to be Healed. They’d barely been treated by a Medik, for the concern that the man would exclaim he saw no reason for these injuries to have caused Wylan’s loss of sight. Wylan had been allowed a terrible smelling salve to lacquer over the wounds, which stung terribly in his cuts and the scent of which clung to his fingers and face for hours afterwards and made him feel ill. He avoided using the stuff as much as he possibly could, until the new nanny started putting it on for him every morning and every evening - she thought that he was just forgetting, or that he found it difficult because he couldn’t see himself in the mirror. She had lots of experience with blind children, she would tell him - she, of course, wasn’t to know that this wasn’t a comfort to Wylan but in fact a constant cause of terror for being found out as a liar - and it wasn’t a bad thing to tell her when he needed help. And Wylan would nod, stay very still beneath her touch, and try to contain any angry, frightened, tearful response that might have been building in his head. 

Whether it was because he hadn’t used the salve enough, because it had been useless, or, and sometimes Wylan wondered if this were possible, because the salve was some made up device of his father’s simply designed to bother him at best, punish him at worst, Wylan’s cuts had flared with infection. His eyes became puffy and red, it was at some points difficult to even open them, his vision blurred, and the pain was constant. Bright lights would make matters worse, to the point that Wylan would sometimes refuse to leave his room or step outside into the sun for days, and even though he was not in control of the way his eyes leaked trickles of pus into their corners and flooded tears over his cheeks he chastised himself for being stupid enough, small enough, pathetic enough to cry. Not all of them made him faint, but one of those earliest ones did. 

It was still before he’d been allowed to have his scars hidden by Tailoring, he had not long since turned nine, when Wylan collapsed for the first time - and not just collapsed, but collapsed in a messy, undignified heap at some fancy dinner at the home of another member of the Merchant Council. Apparently there had been foreign dignitaries present, very important trade deals were being discussed, and Wylan had fainted whilst standing next to his father, who was in the midst of a very critical conversation, and fallen straight down the stairs, his cane clattering down after him.

He’d woken up in a gasping pile, limbs twisted beneath him, the pain in his eyes and down his cuts and fizzing in his arms and legs and head springing new tears that he tried desperately to swallow as the world came into something that vaguely resembled focus through the fuzziness and haze of headache and infection. There were voices overlapping everywhere but through the din he could only pick out the occasional individual word. Someone waved a few fingers in front of his face, saying something in a tone that sounded like a question whilst the background murmured and muttered like a relentless field of shouts and screams. 

“He can’t see, you imbecile,” said a new voice, batting the stranger’s hand away, “Come now, give him space. You -” the speaker snapped his fingers,  “- run and fetch a Medik,” 

Wylan felt the drum of footsteps against the same floor his head was pressed against more than he heard them, and then someone’s hands were on his arms and he was being hoisted up onto his feet. He was dizzy and felt himself swaying as the stranger’s hands retracted, black spots crowding into his vision and something buzzing dully in his ears. He felt like a thousand eyes were watching him. 

“There you are, lad,” said the same man who’d spoken before, though it was not him helping Wylan up - it was a Zemeni boy of maybe fourteen, though being as small as he was meant everyone looked like a grown adult to Wylan, wearing servants’ livery. 

“Are you alright?” the boy asked, and before Wylan had a chance to answer: “Where’s your father? Someone should fetch him,”

Wylan frowned and fought the need to look about him and search the little crowd for his father's face; he had been right next to him, at the top of the stairs. Where had he gone? Hadn’t he seen him fall - hadn’t he heard?

“He… he was…”

“Did you trip?”

“I- no, I don’t… I…”

“Take him to another room to sit down, Ori,” snapped the man who’d spoken before, “Get out of everyone’s way, won’t you? 

The boy, Ori, lay a hand on Wylan’s elbow and directed him gently towards the door. 

“Where’s his cane?” added the man, impatience sparking in his voice as if Ori should obviously have known that Wylan used a cane and would need to have it returned to him. 

It was on the floor, Wylan knew, lying somewhere not too far from his feet, but of course he took no action to look for it. There was a mumble of acknowledgement as someone spotted it and the man, whom when Wylan turned towards the sound he vaguely recognised to be one of his father’s colleagues on the Merchant Council but whose name he could not place, clicked his fingers again. 

A girl barely older than Wylan hurried forwards and knelt to collect the slender cane from the floor. For a moment she hesitated, looking between Wylan and her master, before the Councillor gave a sharp, impatient nod and she hurriedly pressed the thing into Wylan’s hands. There was a little blue ribbon pinned to her breast pocket, and for a moment Wylan was distracted trying to remember which family’s symbol that must link to. He was searching his mind for this man’s name, terribly concerned of being ruder than he already had been, but nothing was coming up. 

“Thank you,” he managed to stammer, taking his cane out of the girl’s hands. 

She smiled at him for a moment, something that might have been pity in her soft blue eyes, and then she was gone and Wylan was letting Ori lead him out of the room as he pretended he could not hear the mutterings and whispers that they left in their wake. 

Ori had taken Wylan to a sitting room where there were no guests that they could get in the way of. Wylan knew the layout of the house well, all the houses on the Geldstraat were arranged in pretty much the same way and this place was a mirror image of his home. In the Van Eck house this was the music room, but perhaps no-one here was so inclined because other than the piano pressed against the far wall and tucked almost completely away there was no sign that any instruments were played between these walls. Wylan sat shivering on one of the sofas, clutching his cane like a child seeking comfort from a favoured doll, trying to breathe and hold himself prepared for what would surely happen next. Ori brought him some water and had just suggested he lie down when the footsteps began to approach them, echoing louder and louder down the hallway - a sound to which the two boys in the sitting room had very different reactions. 

“Ah, good,” said Ori, smiling, “that must be the Medik,”

It was not the Medik. Wylan knew that before the door opened. He recognised his father’s footsteps when he heard them, and he had long since learned to gauge his mood by their pattern, their strength, their regularity, their patience or lack thereof. Wylan knew what was about to happen before the door flew open and crashed so angrily against the wall that it made his teeth chatter. Wylan knew what was about to happen before Ori was sent scampering from the room and the snarling lecture started. Wylan knew what was about to happen before his father’s hand closed over his wrist, before he stumbled after him as his little legs struggled to keep up. Wylan knew all of this and more of what was to come, sitting on the sofa and listening to his father’s footsteps. They were getting closer, closer, closer, telling him one thing with perfect, terrifying clarity: 

Jan Van Eck was furious. 

“Wylan?”

Nina. It was Nina. It was Nina. It was Nina. 

It was okay. It was just Nina. 

But how much longer would it feel like she was just Nina? This could be the final push, her patience had to wear away at some point - and what reason had Wylan given her to keep on being kind? He had pushed her, even if he hadn’t meant to. 

“I’m - I’m sorry,” he stuttered, still dizzy, still stumbling, still falling somewhere between memory and reality, “I didn’t- I’m sorry- I-”

He almost choked. 

“Wylan,” 

Jesper. 

“Wylan, breathe,” his voice was soft, his hands settling on Wylan’s shoulders, “You’re alright, just breathe. I’ve got you,”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, shaking his head. 

Jesper’s face was still slightly blurred as he moved in front of him, leaning forward slightly so their noses were almost level as he pushed a stray piece of hair off Wylan’s face. Wylan’s heart stuttered. He’d thought that when Nina undid the Tailoring over his scars, when the misty layer over his eyes had vanished, his sight would return to what he remembered it being as a child. But the farthest corners of the room had still been blurry, the furniture behind Nina had hazy edges, and it hit Wylan like he was being repeatedly whacked over the head with a sack of bricks - he could not see properly, Tailoring or none. 

The singular positive of his fainting experience so many years ago, if you really wanted to squint until you saw it, was that afterwards Wylan had been allowed to have his scars Tailored. He was never certain if it was in hopes of reducing infections in the future or just because Van Eck wanted that cloudiness to grow over his eyes, but in all honesty Wylan hadn’t been all that sure he cared. But all this time he’d struck up the blurriness he’d had ever since then to the Tailoring - and incorrectly so. Only now was he realising that it had been the infection - and whether it was because it was the worst one, because there’d been a string of them, or because it had not gone properly treated he didn’t know, but he knew now that it had been the infection that cost him something of his sight, and it was something that he would never be able to fix. It was crashing over him like a wave, like he was drowning, like he’d fallen into the canal and he could not come up for air. 

And now - oh Ghezen, now he’d collapsed in Nina’s rooms and his head was aching and his limbs were heavy, his eyes were full of spots and his mind was full of memories and all of it was too much. He couldn’t breathe. 

“Wylan - Wylan, you’re okay. I promise you, you’re okay. I’ve got you,”

Wylan lifted his shaking hand to where Jesper’s was against his shoulder, found his fingers and clutched at them. His voice was a tether, keeping him in this room, almost enough to convince him that nothing was about to happen. 

“Nina can we-?” 

“I’ll be downstairs,” she told Jesper. Her voice was calm, gentle even, her features placid, if slightly concerned. She didn’t look angry. She was leaving? “But I have a client in about an hour, I’ll need a little time to get ready,”

Jesper nodded as he said something else to her that Wylan forgot to listen to, and then the door was closed and it was just the two of them; just Jesper’s hand on Wylan’s shoulder, just Wylan’s fingers wrapped around Jesper’s. He’d clutched Jesper’s free hand in both of his like he was clinging onto him for dear life, like he was trapped underwater but Jesper was pulling him ashore. 

“Come here,” Jesper whispered, pulling him gently closer to his chest, “Breathe for me. I’ve got you,”

“Jesper…” words died on Wylan’s lips; he didn’t even know what they were going to be. 

Jesper was swaying ever so slightly, moving Wylan into a slow rhythm; side to side, side to side. 

“You should sit down,” he said, after a moment, “Nina got you some water, and she said you should try to eat something too,”

“Wh-?” Wylan shuddered as he let Jesper lead him to the little settee, “What happened?” 

“You fainted when we got up to leave,” Jesper told him, bringing over a glass of water from the table and guiding it into Wylan’s hands, “Here, drink this. You remember it at all?”

“I… sort of. I don’t- I mean I didn’t- I-” Wylan cut himself off, closing his eyes for a moment, then managed: “I’m sorry, I’m just causing problems, do you- do you think Nina was angry? I can-”

“Wylan, you didn’t do anything wrong,” said Jesper, his tone more convincingly concerned than what Wylan was guessing was an attempt at reassuring, “Nina is definitely not angry with you, I promise. You don’t have to be sorry unless you do something wrong, alright?”

Wylan gave him a shivering nod, more because he thought that was what he wanted than because he agreed. It seemed like nothing that would have been his fault at home was his fault here; how was he supposed to tell when they wanted him to apologise and when they would tell him not to? It was safer to always do it, he thought - but what if Jesper got annoyed with him for apologising all the time? Breath began to catch in Wylan’s throat again and he felt Jesper easing the glass out from between his palms and his hand through his as though from a great distance, as though he was watching these things happen to someone else. Jesper’s hands were gentle, his words were kind, his voice was soft. But how long could that last? What was Wylan supposed to do to make sure it wouldn’t go away?

“I don’t…” Jesper hesitated and Wylan looked up, as always making sure to turn his head towards the noise instead of just lifting his eyes, “I don’t want to pressure you,” Jesper continued after a moment, “but I feel like you need to talk, at least just a little, to get some of this out. And it doesn’t have to be now, and it doesn’t have to be with me if you don’t want to, but I just… I feel like it’s not going to get easier if you never say it out loud,”

Wylan blinked. He didn’t know what to say. But Jesper wanted him to be able to get rid of this feeling, he wanted it to be easier - and it wasn’t for curiosity, was it? It wasn’t because he wanted to know Wylan’s secrets, or to figure him out, or… no, because he’d said Wylan didn’t have to say it to him, just that he should say it to someone. Jesper did not want to hurt him. He didn’t. He didn’t. He didn’t. 

“Can I…” Jesper paused again, “I grabbed your shoulders before, and I should have asked, I’m sorry. I was worried and I wanted to help you calm down, but I know I might have made it worse,”

“You didn’t,” Wylan whispered, winding his fingers over Jesper’s to finally respond to him holding his hand.

Jesper nodded, and when spoke again it was with more confidence - but there was still no pressure in his words. When he asked Wylan if he could put an arm around his shoulders it was a genuine question, not an expectation, and when Wylan said yes he meant it, he was not just saying what he thought he was supposed to say. It was some minutes later that Wylan actually realised he had curled against Jesper’s side, that he was resting his head against Jesper’s chest and that Jesper’s arm was still wrapped around him like a shield. And it was then that he managed to whisper:

“I fainted once when I was a kid, I’m not sure exactly when but maybe six months after…” he gestured vaguely towards his scars, and Jesper made a soft sound of understanding, “the cuts were all infected, or my eyes were, or both - I don’t even know, I wasn’t allo- I mean, the Medik wasn’t sure. But it was bad, and I collapsed at this… I don’t even remember, it was some kind of event on the Geldstraat. He was… he was so angry, and I just…”

He couldn’t say anything else but he knew he didn’t need to, knew that Jesper would never demand anything of him more than he could give. 

“I’m sorry,” Jesper whispered, pulling him a little closer. 

His hand had made its way into Wylan’s hair, his fingers brushing distractedly through his curls.

“Don’t say sorry,” Wylan murmured into his chest, “You didn’t do anything wrong,”

Jesper laughed very softly, more like an exhale really. He leant his cheek against the top of Wylan’s head, fingers still twisting gently in his hair, as he muttered almost to himself:

“I wanna string your father up and feed him to vultures,”

Wylan burrowed a little closer as he shook his head against Jesper’s chest, but he did not dare so much as to mumble any kind of nonsense into the folds of his shirt. What could he possibly say to make Jesper understand that it was Wylan’s fault, without giving himself away as such a dreadful, monstrous liar? He was sure, now, that the whole, horrible truth of it was the only thing that would make this kindness go away - so he would lock it up inside of himself forever, and he would do everything he could to make sure that Jesper never, ever , found out.

Chapter Text

Kaz marched back to East Stave with fire in his throat, his cane crashing against the cobbles like he was trying to break them in half. The sun was still trying to make an appearance between the clouds but the air was damp and Kaz’s leg was screaming its complaints; the rain would start soon, he was sure. 

The Slat came into view ahead of him, a welcome sight even if he wasn’t staying long - he had too much work to do for that, Layla had made sure of it. It wasn’t just about finding someone to cover the tables, it was that no-one could work the tables like Layla did; really Elodie would have been a terrible second option, she was too quiet, too mousy, but Kaz had thought she must have at least some sort of mask to put on if she’d been waiting on customers at the White Rose. Still, he knew really she wouldn’t have been able to draw anything out of these high rollers the way that Layla always did. 

“They make it easy,” she’s said once, years ago now, after more than enough glasses of whatever cheap as shit wine Haskell had wrangled that week, “It’s like once they see me all other thoughts - oh, whoops - all other thoughts go pshhhh, ”

She mimicked, waving a hand from her head up towards the ceiling, and almost threw her glass across the room. Kaz took it off her, unamused. 

“Right outta their heads. Just bam ,” she clapped her hands together, “And s’all gone,”

Layla was quite possibly mad, but she was damn good at her job and for as long as it stayed that way Kaz wasn’t going to complain. Except for today, he conceded, because she wasn’t going to show up. Inej had been frustratingly correct; if Layla wasn’t coming to work, it had to be serious enough that they didn’t want her there. Though Kaz also couldn’t rule out the possibility that she’d spent the years he’d known her cultivating a very specific reputation, just so that when she did finally bunk off - or double cross him - no-one saw it coming, no matter how unlikely that was. After all, nobody had seen her today. She hadn’t sent someone in on her behalf to tell Kaz that she was ill, just a rough little note. 

He was overthinking this. Besides, no-one was committed enough to a cover that they intentionally came to work with firepox, were they? 

Kaz decided to send someone to cover her door at the Slat once he got inside, just to be safe.

It wasn’t until Kaz had almost reached the front door that Jesper and Wylan appeared around the corner, seemingly on the way back from West Stave. Kaz’s first thought was that Nina hadn’t been exaggerating about Wylan’s scars; they couldn’t exactly have been described as subtle - but did that dissuade him from the belief that Wylan could see more than he was letting on? The cloudiness over his irises had vanished. It was hard to argue that the scars didn’t look realistic, certainly, but Kaz didn’t feel immediately convinced. He was rarely immediately convinced of anything. 

His second thought was that Wylan did not look well. Despite not having used a cane since coming to Barrel he seemed to get around reasonably well, often using tactile aids around him or the company of someone sighted, but now he was unsteady on his feet and the arm he’d hooked round Jesper’s elbow was clearly taking more weight than he wanted to admit to either of them. He was paler than usual, noticeably so even as they approached each other, his pupils were dilated, and the dark shadows under his eyes were emphasised. 

“You passed out again,” said Kaz, by way of greeting. 

“I- how-?”

“Well, hello to you too, Kaz,” Jesper gave him a cheery wave, and Kaz ignored him. 

“Roeder said this has happened before,” he continued, adjusting his weight against his cane as halted, “How often?”

Wylan’s cheeks heated in indignation; he more than knew by now, of course, that Kaz had sent someone to watch him and Kaz knew that Roeder had fought off more than one idiot who either didn’t know Wylan was under Dregs’ protection or had been stupid enough to take a try anyway, but every time it happened to come up in conversation Wylan responded the same way. 

“Not often,” he just about managed, after a moment of hesitation, “This was- this was the first time in a while,”

Kaz didn’t protest, but he wasn’t entirely convinced - and he needed to know if this was a growing issue. He couldn’t afford for Wylan to collapse with a bomb in his hand, and definitely not if it happened at the workshop. There was far too much money wrapped up in there. He said nothing, turning to the front door of the Slat and paying little attention to the pair once they were out of his eyeline, but still made a mental note to speak to Nina - she might be able to find the cause and monitor things, at least, if there was no way of stopping them. 

“Anika,”

Kaz moved his hand in a short, deliberate beckon and Anika stood to follow him towards the stairs. 

“Layla can’t work tonight, I need you to-”

“I can wait on tables, Kaz,” Anika shook her head, apparently missing Kaz’s bristle at being cut off, “But I can’t control an audience like she can, and I definitely won’t be-”

No, Kaz thought, and we definitely need that tonight. One in particular, he noted, had connections to Councilman Hoede and, no matter how tenuous they might be, Kaz was sure as hell going to make use of them. No, Anika could not do what Layla did. But I’m sure I know somebody who can.

“You don’t need to,” he said tightly, “As I was saying , I need you upstairs to watch her door - and keep someone on Pietro as well, Bieren maybe. Someone else is going to cover the game,”

“Why do you-?” Anika looked up through her yellow lashes to lock eyes with Kaz, and swallowed her original question to replace it with: “Who’s covering?”

“Guess,”

Anika smiled. 

“I’ll send a message,” she said, “If that’s all?”

“Tell her to get here an hour early. She’ll need time to learn information on the marks. I want you to stay on Layla all day and night - don’t hide that you’re there, but don’t let her know that I sent you. You’re the closest thing we have to half-competent-”

“You flatter me,”

“-so it shouldn’t be suspicious if you decided to check in. She does anything suspicious then let me know, other than that… well, as I said, you’re the closest she’s getting to a half-competent Medik around here,”

“There are so many problems with this plan that I don’t know where to start,”

“Bite your tongue, Anika, and just do your damn job,”

Anika gave him a mock salute before she sauntered off, her thumb hooked through the belt loop of her trousers as she shouted for Bieren across the room. Kaz paced upstairs, his mind whirring through everything that needed to be done for tonight - and everything they might be able to garner from it. He was only becoming more certain that Jeluna was somehow linked to the reports of unusual activity across the Geldstraat these past few months - but did that mean that Tara and Amethyst were somehow related to it all as well? It seemed unlikely that Councilman Hoede was the one who’d murdered them. Well, it wouldn’t have been unreasonable to suspect him after Tara’s death, but after what had been done to Amethyst… no, there was something different there. And anyway, it seemed that it was only Jeluna whose time had been paid for - but was that because Hoede was getting smarter? He could have had Tara and Amethyst abducted, thinking that no-one would notice their absence the same way no-one noticed the girl he took the previous month and been caught off-guard when they were reported missing. So instead of abducting Jeluna he made a deal with Kaatje de Waal to keep her for two weeks; maybe Jeluna really had managed an escape but if she had - 

No, that didn’t make sense. If Jeluna knew that he’d paid Kaatje for her to stay there, it would take a hell of a lot to make her run. And the lack of memory; Kaz assumed it was from some kind of drugs, and if that was the case - for what else could it be? - then running would only be farther from the realm of possibility. Then what? Kaz tried to think through the facts, to summarise them in his head. 

A girl was abducted from a pleasure house on West Stave and showed up dead over a week later. A month after that, Tara went missing from the Menagerie and returned in much the same manner. At a much sooner interval Amethyst was taken from the Sweet Shoppe, and rediscovered in a far more gruesome death. There were efforts to make them all look like crimes of passion; the first two girls were choked, the last stripped of her silks, all of them missing for some time before their unpleasant reappearance. Tara’s body had been returned to the Menagerie; Amethyst was found on the steps outside the Exchange; Kaz didn’t know much about the first girl’s discovery, barring the reported cause of death. There had been a pause - maybe the violence of Amethyst’s death had gotten out of hand? They weren’t expecting it, and had to lie low for a while? - before Nina spoke to a girl at the Willow Switch and learned that Jeluna Kir-Mai was missing. And that was strange as well, wasn’t it? Whatever her name was - Kheja? - had insistently told Nina that Jeluna was unavailable and then proceeded to slip her a note that said they took her . But it wasn’t until two weeks later that Jeluna was considered missing. 

Kaz was missing something. He had to be. 

Was it at all possible that Tara’s death had been more than it seemed? After all, bruising wasn’t difficult for a Corporalnik to invent, was it? Maybe whatever the cause was had actually been more similar to Amethyst’s than he had realised, just more subtle. And if so, could Jeluna’s memory loss be linked back to the same trigger? 

Some Grisha can do that, can’t they? Jesper had asked, when Kaz told him about Amethyst’s body, They say the Darkling could.

Kaz had dismissed it - what he understood of the Cut meant it would be cleaner than what he’d seen at the Exchange, a different kind of precision to its power. This had been messy, frenzied even. Passionate - but what if there was more behind the theory than he’d considered? His first thought had been that Amethyst had been the victim of some kind of weapons testing, and he’d disregarded it because Tara didn’t seem to fit the image. But what if both things were true? If there was really more to Tara’s death than it had seemed, if something unnatural had been done to all of them… was there some way of harnessing Grisha power to create a weapon? Kaz had no idea. Nothing of the sort had ever been done before, nothing of the sort could even have been considered possible before - and even if that was the case, it hardly solved this mystery. 

Kaz could not keep track of the threads that were weaving around each other now, too many to count and too closely wound to find and undo their knots. But he thought that solving the question of Councilman Hoede may very well be a good start. 

The rain began whilst Kaz sat at his desk, working on a ledger for the Crow Club, and quickly thickened to heavy tears streaking down the window panes and hammering on the roof. By the time Inej climbed through the window it was probably wet enough to call a storm, and Inej was dripping. Kaz looked up at her, studying the loose pieces of hair that had become plastered to her forehead. For one small, inane moment he almost offered her a towel, and had to resist physically shaking himself free of the thought. 

“You’re late,” he said, looking back to his books. 

He could picture Inej’s face without turning his gaze to her, could practically hear her bristling from across the room.

“It took a long time to settle Jeluna,” she said.

Kaz nodded, still not looking up, and tapped his pen against the page. 

“Well?”

He’d expected - maybe even hoped - that Inej would return to her usual perch on the windowsill as she gave him her report. He had found himself craving the normalcy, the comfort of their routine. Maybe it was better that she just stood there, eyes cold, and spoke to him like she was reading off a script. Maybe he could shatter whatever illusion he’d been constructing between them, and let them both get on with their jobs. 

Inej rattled through her usual report, the Black Tips and the Dime Lions mostly, and then:

“Oh, and Councilman Hoede’s house has been shut off,”

Kaz looked up. 

“The whole place was crawling with stadwatch , but they’re saying it’s going under quarantine for a firepos outbreak. I couldn’t get close enough to find out if it was family or staff, the barriers…”

She kept talking, but Kaz had stopped hearing anything she said. His first, very brief thought, was that if there were no abductions for the next month or so it would go a long way in confirming whether it was Hoede himself behind them. His next, much longer and much more in the foreground thought was that of ten thousand screaming alarm bells ringing in his head. 

There could be a firepox outbreak. The last time Layla hadn’t come into work she’d had firepox - it was more than possible to contract it twice, and Kaz didn’t know of anyone who’d survived long enough after that to get it a third. If Layla had firepox there was a high chance Pietro did as well - and he had Anika and Bieren with them both. Fuck. 

He could do this. He could think his way out of this. It was the one thing he was always only halfway committed to being prepared for; trapped somewhere in between the need to know they had systems in place and the inability to let a single thought pass through his head when it came to plague. He had to think. 

They could close off a floor of the Slat - or even just the back rooms, so no-one would even have to share a staircase with anyone who might be infected - and quarantine people in there. He could get Nina to run through any possible treatments or preventative measures, he could limit staff at the Crow Club, he could open up one of their safehouses as a temporary replacement for home instead of the Slat if he needed to. It would be fine; he could work this out. He would just have to think his way out of it, like he did everything else. 

“Kaz?”

Kaz turned his head sharply back to Inej, his fists tightening, his fingers pressing against each other to find the reassuring feel of leather between his palms. 

“Did you pick up any chatter?”

Inej frowned and he cursed internally as he realised she must have already told him this, but she said nothing except:

“I couldn’t get close; they’re putting barriers up around the house, and the Geldstraat in broad daylight is an easy place to get caught. I’ll go back tonight, see if I can’t find anything out from the staff at any of the other houses,”

Kaz nodded. 

“Good. But steer clear as you can from the Hoede house itself,” there was a pause and Kaz scrambled for a plausible reason that wouldn’t raise her suspicions anymore than he surely already had, “There’ll probably still be stadwatch there,”

A long quiet settled over them, nothing but the hammering rain and the tense stare of Inej’s dark, endless eyes. Usually Kaz wouldn’t have minded, but there was something unnerving about the way that Inej could make you feel her quiet - and about the impatient gaze that he could feel over him even as he turned back to his ledger. He listened to the rain for a moment, felt the scent of it and the damp, fresh earth that had drifted through the open window on a quiet, cool breeze. His door was closed. Maybe if Kaz stood and slammed the window shut Inej would leave. He didn’t. 

“Spit it out, Wraith,”

“Why did you push her like that?” she whispered, “Why would you do that to her?”

Kaz turned the page of his notebook. 

“I’m not here to protect her,” he said, like they were talking about any regular business venture, “I need her to understand what has actually happened to her, because for as long as she doesn’t she’s going to keep defending Kaatje, and she’s going to keep protecting Kaatje from anything we might be able to find out about her. We won’t get anywhere if she won’t talk to us, and in that case,” he looked up with cold eyes, blatantly aware of how cruel his words were about to be and telling himself that he did not care, “she doesn’t have much use to me, so why would I keep her around?”

Inej’s jaw twitched. 

“You shouldn’t have done it,” she said, and then - after a long pause and in a quieter voice: “She did open up a little,”

Kaz resisted the urge to smile. 

“Go on,”

“She talked to us about arriving at the Willow Switch; said she supposed she knew that it was a long time ago really, but she didn’t understand how she hadn’t known any of it for this long. She was never allowed to talk about how long she’d been there and she says she can’t remember seeing that many seasons - but with how much you said about Kaatje keeping her indoors…” Inej trailed away for a moment, then added: “I went to the Willow Switch before I came here,”

Kaz raised an eyebrow, but he kept quiet. 

“It’s not easy to get in; most of the rooms don’t have windows. And…” she swallowed, “A similar set up to the Menagerie, below,”

A basement. Rare for most Kerch buildings, but not particularly unusual for the pleasure houses. 

“Anything worth reporting on?”

“Jeluna isn’t the only one,” Inej said, after a beat, “But she was the first,”

Kaz stood up and began to slowly make his way towards the basin that lay just past the divider that separated his sleeping quarters from his office; the attic space at the Slat was essentially one large room but Kaz didn’t need everyone who came to his office being able to see his bed beyond. 

“She was an experiment,” he said, and from the corner of his eye he saw Inej nod. 

He leant his cane against the wall and stripped his gloves off slowly, flexing his fingers in and out of fists before plunging them into the cold water. In the peripherals of his vision, Inej moved silently to seat herself beneath the open window. Her clothes were still damp from the rain, the loose wet hairs at the front of her face tracing patterns over her skin and the end of her braid, though no longer dripping, curled and was in place by the water. She studied the grey sky, fingertips dancing over the lowest edge of the glass. Kaz had not missed the way she’d hooked a hand beneath her injured leg to pull it up to herself the last time she sat here, something she never used to do before, but she didn’t seem to have done so now. He hoped that meant it was improving, and not that she was lying to him. 

He waited for the easy silence to slip over them as he dried his hands, slipped his gloves back on, collected his cane. The rain had become a light patter now, but the sky was still dark and the threat of thunder did not seem to have dissipated. 

“So,” he said, as he stepped forwards, “What do you think of this situation with the Zemeni trade ambassador?”

When Inej looked up, she might have almost smiled. 

Chapter Text

Nina was sitting alone in her room, sipping a steaming cup of tea and listening to the rain that had not long since begun to pour as though the entire sky was weeping, when her window was opened from the outside. Too quiet came her intruder for Nina to immediately realise they were there; it was only when someone whispered her name that she whirled onto her feet to face the window, heart racing, hands raised - 

She almost laughed as the relief poured through her; she felt like a decanter soaked in wine. 

“Inej,” she pressed a hand briefly over her chest, fidgeting with the collar of her dressing gown, “Saints, you scared the life out of me, I… Inej, are you okay?”

Inej was just standing there, shaking. She was wet from the storm but Nina didn’t think it was just the cold causing these shivers; Inej’s eyes were rimmed with red, her breaths loud and shuddering. 

“I’ve just been to the Willow Switch,” she whispered and, like she’d cast an incantation, it was then that the dams burst open. 

Inej’s knees buckled and she sank to the floor in such a fluid moment she may as well have been water tipped from a jug. Nina hurried down after her far less gracefully, wrapping her arms over her shoulders and clutching her close against her chest as she began to sob. 

“You’re okay,” Nina murmured, lifting a hand to cradle the back of Inej’s head as she settled on her knees, the hand on Inej’s back moving up and down in slow rhythm, “Just breathe. I’ve got you,”

Inej sniffled, shaking her head against Nina’s shoulder. 

“Do you want to take your jacket off?” Nina asked gently, “You’re soaked through; I can lend you something-”

“No, thank you, I…” she gasped a little as she tried to level her breaths, wriggling a little away from Nina. 

Nina released her from the embrace and let her settle, studying the thick tear tracks down the Suli girl’s cheeks. 

“I need to get back to the Slat, I’m already late to see Kaz. I just… I couldn’t…”

Nina nodded, slowly, slipping her fingers around Inej’s hand; a loose enough hold that she could pull away at any moment if she needed to. She clutched at Nina’s hand so tightly that her fingers might have turned white. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I couldn’t… I didn’t know where else to go,”

“You can always come here,” Nina promised her, “You can burst through the window and tell my clients to piss off if you want to. You come find me, okay? Always,”

A deep sob burst from Inej’s throat and she collapsed back into Nina’s shoulder. 

What day of the week was it? Nina added it up quickly in her head, trying to remember what dates Inej had given her last month.

“You need a warm drink,” said Nina, gently encouraging Inej off her as she stood and offered the girl her hands to rise, “And probably some cake,”

Inej smiled through her tears, shaking her head again as she took hold of Nina. She placed more of her weight into Nina to lever herself onto her feet than Nina had expected, and she found herself drifting focus to her knee. 

“I have to go,” she said, “Kaz is waiting-”

“He can wait a little longer, sit down,” she led Inej to the settee and began to root through her wardrobe for the blanket she’d shoved in there when she woke up that morning, “I got a message from Anika earlier, apparently he needs me at the Crow Club for something tonight,”

She had a busy night ahead; a client had not long since left and was due to be followed by a two hour appointment with a merchant whose wife had recently passed away - he should be arriving in about half an hour but Nina didn’t want to tell Inej that and make her feel like an inconvenience - after that an hour with a lawyer from the Zelvar District, and later into the night at least three more appointments. She had also been invited - or rather requested, she supposed - to return to the Van Eck house. She would not be attending. 

Nina still had not shared with anyone the entire nature of her most recent meeting with the wretched man, and it had been so long since that she’d begun to think he’d given up on trying to pull her back. Or hoped, maybe. She’d been planning on instead dedicating that time to her search for Wylan’s missing friend. Anya . The name felt distantly familiar the more she thought about it, but Nina wasn’t sure if that was for any real reason or just because the idea of her had been populating her thoughts all afternoon. Anya would have to wait another night though, it seemed, because Kaz wanted Nina to be at the Crow Club for eleven bells. Personally she deemed it completely stupid to start important card games at midnight, but what did she know? 

She encouraged Inej to at least temporarily shed her sopping hood and jacket, giving her the blanket to pull around her shoulders, and rang for a maid as she made a harried job of clearing her own recently discarded plate back onto a little tray. When Petra appeared at the door Nina slipped outside to meet her, asking for another cup of tea and a plate of cakes and hoping that Petra would not notice the very wet, very frightened girl curled up on her chaise. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked quietly, when she was back in the room and sitting down next to Inej. 

Inej rested her head on Nina’s shoulder. 

“No,”

“Do you want to talk about something else?”

There was a long silence, before Inej whispered: 

“I’m running out of something elses ,”

They spent a good while curled together on the settee in the closest thing that they could find to resemble easy quiet, hot mugs of tea cupped between their palms, the blanket pulled over both their laps. 

“How’s your leg?”

“Not bad,”

“You do know I can tell if you’re lying or not, right?”

“Nina, please…” 

“Hush,” Nina stood up, lifting the blanket and tossing it over the back of the sofa and taking Inej’s empty mug from her so she could deposit both onto the table before tapping the seat with her palm, “Up,”

Inej begrudgingly stretched her leg out across the cushions and let Nina kneel in front of her. She raised her hands over Inej’s knee, choosing slow, deliberate movements to find the place where her ligament had severed. It was far better than it had been when she’d finally relinquished her attempts to keep Inej on bedrest, and the progression made it far easier to see, in the places she guessed were still causing Inej’s pain, what needed to be done to fix them. 

“When did you last sleep?” she asked, keeping her voice calm and casual as she laced her fingers over Inej’s leg. 

“Why is that relevant?”

Nina raised an eyebrow. 

“If you avoid the question, Inej, it’s definitely relevant. Come on, you’re exhausted. Are you working tonight?”

“Not for long. I was going to-”

“Sleep,” Nina finished, ignoring Inej’s second attempt at finishing the sentence, “You are going to go to sleep, or I’m going to lower your heart rate and keep you unconscious until such time as I think you’ll have enough energy to function,”

Inej muttered something in Suli that was mostly too quiet for Nina to catch, but she did hear the edge of shevrati in the comment and couldn’t help but almost laugh. 

“Gracious, what on earth would we call you then?” she asked in Suli, smiling, “Because I definitely know more than you do,”

Inej glared at her playfully, then after a moment - and keeping the language the same - ventured: 

“Why don’t we ever speak Suli?”

Nina considered. For the most part they conversed in Ravkan, at least when alone, and had been doing so today, but it was true that there was no real reason they couldn’t speak in Suli instead. Nina could admit she’d had little experience in using the language with a native speaker and did not trust her knowledge of it as much as she did Kaelish and Kerch, but she also knew that if she never practised that she would lose what she did know of it quickly. There was a block in her head that she had not passed, something that had prevented her from daring to step over an invisible line - one that she had constructed herself. She was realising now, hit by the real confrontation of it, that on the few occasions she and Inej had spoken in Suli it was Inej who initiated it, not her. She swallowed. 

“You thought it would be hard for me,” Inej whispered, nodding slowly, “I noticed,”

Nina opened her mouth, closed it again. When she first came to Ketterdam she’d been offered a contract to join the Dime Lions and set up her business at the Sweet Shoppe by Pekka Rollins, a deal that, as a frightened stranger to the city with no other options before her, she’d very nearly accepted - and would have done, if it weren’t for Inej crawling through her window that night. She still didn’t know, nor did she ever hope to understand, how Inej had managed to scale the Emerald Palace and slip in through the barred upstairs window, but she was endlessly glad of it. And upon that first meeting, when the perfect candidate to convince her - she was practically sure Kaz had found some kind of personnel file on her and specifically selected Inej based on the details - that she should take a deal with the Dregs, she had spoken to Inej in Suli. She hadn’t really thought about it. Inej had told her, without detail and yet somehow without sparing it either, that there was a pretty important difference between the contract she’d been considering signing and the one Kaz would have drawn up for her. And after that, whether it had been a conscious decision or not, Nina had avoided speaking to her in Suli. 

“I don’t…”

“I understand,” Inej said, her voice gentle, “But you don’t have to do that. I - well, I don’t know anyone else I can speak it to, here. It’s… it can be, when…” she paused, clearly trying to choose the right words, “I can’t always, but… maybe I could tell you when it’s a day not to do it, instead of when it is?” 

“Of course,” Nina managed, nodding, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. But if it’s something we can talk about… is that okay?”

“Always,” Nina closed her hand over Inej’s, “Anything, okay? You can talk to me about anything, and you can tell me anything - though, maybe later?” her eyes had fallen on the clock, hanging on the wall behind Inej’s head, “I don’t want to kick you out, but I have about ten minutes until my next client gets here,”

Inej leant forwards and pressed her forehead against Nina’s for a moment, squeezing her fingers as she pulled away. 

“You’ve done more for me today than you ever needed to, Nina Zenik. Can I…” she hesitated, “Can I tell you something, quickly?”

Nina nodded. 

“I’m sixteen,” Inej whispered, and as she spoke she laid her hand against one of her knives, “As of this morning. It doesn’t feel very different,”

“No,” Nina murmured, thoughts drifting to turning seventeen in Ketterdam. She would turn eighteen here, almost definitely, and maybe nineteen too. But what after that? Would she be able to go home again, even after her debt to Per Haskell was paid? Would she be able to find the strength within herself to do so? Would she tell them the truth of it all if she did? “No, it doesn’t,”

She drew a picture of Inej’s parents in her head, on their daughter’s sixteenth birthday, and almost immediately wished she could erase it again. She wondered if Zoya had thought about her, when she turned seventeen. 

“May you have a blessed year,” she whispered in Suli, doing her best to recall the traditional phrase, “May each be better than the last,”

Chapter Text

“I need you to gather as much intel on them beforehand as possible,” Kaz lifted his gaze to glance over at Inej, “We have a week. Riesen is sending Geels, I know, but I need you to find out who his seconds will be - by tomorrow, if possible. We’re at a considerable advantage without Stoevelaar in the fray; they might not know who our seconds are until the meeting, but keep your eyes open. I assume there’s been no further word about his interest in you?”

“Nothing since Liesbeth died,” Inej’s tone was light but there was a hidden weight to her voice that Kaz had learned how to read; in the slight movement of her shoulders, in the almost imperceptible glance away from him as she spoke, in the ever so slightly of kilter inflection over the word died . 

Kaz didn’t have time for her moral quandaries tonight. She had killed Liesbeth, she had killed others, and there was nothing she needed to hide here so why did she insist on this discomfort? He did his best to ignore it - he had other things to focus on now. There was the game, of course, to prepare for - Nina was due to arrive at the Crow Club in just over an hour, Kaz would make a move there soon - but there was also the added complication of planning this parley with the Black Tips. Haskell had told Kaz to arrange some weeks ago now, if things didn’t change, but Riesen had beaten them to it about two hours ago. 

“Relax, boy,” Haskell had said, leaning back in his chair and swishing the glass of brandy sitting in his palm, “This is what we wanted,”

It was decidedly not what Kaz had wanted. 

“We’ll get things all squared away quick and easy,” the old man drawled on, “and re-establish our claim on the harbour. Easy,”

Easy . Kaz wanted to snort his derision, but he restrained himself to a curt nod and bit his tongue. He’d marched from the office and across the ground floor of the Slat with something jagged twisting inside his chest. Easy . Nothing but a trap was ever easy. 

He sent for Inej before he’d even reached the stairs - her shift had ended after she reported back to him a little over an hour ago, but he expected she’d still be in the house somewhere. And it would seem he was correct; Inej had knocked on his door barely two minutes after he’d walked in himself. She looked tired. 

“They’ll expect me to make you my second,” Kaz continued now, eyes tracing over the shape of Inej’s bent legs on his windowsill. “So-”

“So I won’t be,” she finished, “Obviously,”

Kaz nodded, though he wasn’t sure that she was actually looking at him, and forced his eyeline back towards his desk and the ledger lying open in front of him as though he needed to create some pretence of working. They both knew he wasn’t working on a ledger whilst he planned this parley; he needed his focus. So stop studying her. If Inej said her leg was painless enough to climb then he could trust her word and stop scanning her for a slip in the façade. 

Even if they hadn’t been expecting her, would Kaz want to bring Inej in as his second for this? Did he want to put her back in the Black Tips line of fire? 

This was her job. It didn't matter. It shouldn’t matter. And it didn’t. It didn’t. 

“I’ll take Jesper,” he said, turning a page for absolutely no reason, “And Big Bolliger,”

He saw the sharp movement of Inej’s head as she snapped up to attention at that last word, pictured the little furrow between her brows and the downturned edges of her mouth before he looked up to see them. She was, indeed, frowning when their eyes met; her hand drifted to count her knives and he was sure that she was thinking of their names in turn. 

“Why name it?” he’d asked her, when she told him the first blade he’d given her was Petyr . 

“For Sankt Petyr,” she said, almost confused, blinking at him. 

“I didn’t ask why that name; I asked why you’d bother naming it in the first place,”

For a moment he’d thought that she was going to reply, as he watched her it seemed like a retort was forming and he’d been intrigued to hear it, but then the colour rose in her cheeks and she turned away from him. Kaz stood watching her back for a moment before he spoke again, and once he did they seemed to carry on as though the moment had never happened in the first place. He hadn’t brought it up again, though of course it didn’t stop him from broaching the subject of philosophy every time he heard her name another blade. 

“Why Bolliger?” she asked, now, her little frown refusing to relent, “He’s not bad muscle but-”

“Jesper and Bolliger,” Kaz repeated, not bothering to temper any impatience in his tone, “Let them know, and let me know who Geels is bringing. I want you there as well, out of sight,”

She nodded - perhaps a little stiffly, but if that were true then Kaz was ignoring it - and stood up from the window ledge. As far as he could tell there was no wince, no buckle in her knee when she moved her weight onto it, no sign at all that she was in pain. Good. It wouldn’t do for the job if she was still injured.

“Is that everything?” 

“Anything else you can get me,”

Inej gave him another short, sharp nod, and then in the space of a blink she had vanished through the open window and disappeared somewhere between the raindrops. It seemed as though she knew how to enter some kind of hidden world, one that really did just exist in that liminal space in between two droplets of rain falling too rapidly to track. Chasing each other to the ground, splashing against the cobbles and seeming to cease their existence - only to fall from the sky again, in their inescapable little circle. 

After another half hour of working Kaz began to make his way to the Crow Club, pausing on the way to check in with Anika. It would seem that Layla had not been doing anything untoward. 

“When you told me to watch her I didn’t think that meant holding her hair back whilst she hurled,” Anika complained, leaning back against the doorframe. 

“Where’s Pietro?”

“Fuck if I know, I’ve been with her ain’t I?” she jutted her chin towards the closed door, “If I catch something I’m blaming you,”

Kaz didn’t bother with the retorts that offered themselves up to him, and instead just asked her to confirm that someone was following Pietro - they were - before he turned away. 

“Oh - did Nina respond?”

He paused and nodded over his shoulder. 

“She coming?”

“Of course. Why?”

Anika shrugged.

“Heard she was gonna be busy tonight. She said some toff wants her to go to the Geldstraat,”

Nina had neglected to mention that to Kaz. Van Eck again? Didn't she think that was relevant? He scowled as he began to walk away, nodding at the door as he said: 

“Enjoy your handful,”

Anika sighed melodramatically.

“I’m not being paid enough for this,” she muttered, distractedly twisting a lock of yellow hair from the non-shaven half of her head tightly around one finger, then undoing and redoing the same little action, as she spoke. 

“None of us are,”

Kaz walked on, down to the ground floor of the Slat, and was taken by slight surprise to see Wylan Hendriks cautiously weaving his way through the crowd. Since he had stopped using a cane upon arrival to the Barrel Kaz had rarely seen the boy without a sighted guide, and now he paused to watch him traverse the room with intrigue. Wylan moved slowly and in places with hesitation, but not without confidence for the majority of his steps, and after a beat Kaz realised that he had memorised how many steps it would take him to get from one obstacle to the next in the setup of the room. The rest, that being non-stationary obstacles, he seemed to track by sound - someone shouted something near his right and he side-stepped neatly to the left, though they wouldn’t have been directly in his path if he’d continued, and Kaz frowned. He was good. He was very good. But Kaz still wasn’t sure he felt convinced - he just couldn’t place his finger on why. 

There was also now, of course, the matter of Wylan’s scars. Kaz could hardly claim that they didn’t look believable. 

Raske, who’d been lounging on a chair with some little project or other - Kaz hoped, for all their sakes, nothing explosive - twisting quickly beneath his fingers, metal slotting in and out of place, looked up and noticed Wylan crossing the room with a small frown. It was unusual to see Wylan around the Slat, that much was true, and Raske stood up to speak to him as Kaz stood watching from the other side of the room.

What time was it? Getting late. Nina would soon arrive at the Crow Club and Kaz wanted to be there to oversee the setup of the game, and as much as he was sure the Heartrender could cover Layla’s task once the cards were laid she didn’t know her organisation system. Layla usually directed the other servers and kept as much control over the game as she could without dealing the cards herself; it was to be an honest game tonight anyway, but Kaz still needed things to go swiftly and smoothly. 

He could have crossed the room and found out what Wylan was doing there, but ultimately decided that there was no real need. Wylan’s role in tonight's job was already done, and Kaz had other things to concern himself with. For one moment longer he looked on, then turned away and left the building in silence.

Chapter Text

Inej was so tired that she barely trusted herself to make the climb across the rooftops and up the Stave as she left her perch staking out the Black Tips. This was what she’d wanted though, wasn’t it? She didn’t want enough time for her mind to wander, to try to carry her cruelly home and torture her with the oceans that parted them - not just the True Sea, but the waters that flowed inside her mind as well. 

Her legs felt heavy, her entire body did, but the pain in her knee had been dulled massively by Nina’s work earlier today. Inej wasn’t sure if it would last long or if it was just a temporary effect, like the way she dulled emotions for her clients and created a haze of joy that lasted only a few hours, but either way she was grateful for it. Even if it only got her through tonight, it had got her through this job and she could figure something else out for the next one. 

She was probably being overdramatic, anyway. The pain had been lessening in its own time over the past few weeks, and it wasn’t inhibiting her anymore. Maybe she should have given it a week longer before she started working again, but Inej didn’t have the time to waste. As day had given way to evening and then night, all of it looked the same beneath this thick layer of cloud that was refusing to lift even now the rain had faded to a thin, persistent mist, she had spent her brief free moments trying and failing to relax. As soon as she’d spoken to Kaz she’d travelled straight up to the Black Tip’s favoured haunt and craned her neck to catch brief glimpses of Riesen at his desk, at the motley crew he shared snippets of time with throughout the evening. 

“We easily have the edge on them now,” he’d told Geels, his first lieutenant, “but without Liesbeth in the field we’ll have to find a more creative method to find out Brekker’s plan,”

“Haskell-”

“Won’t lift a single finger,” Riesen finished, shaking his head, “Brekker’s the problem. Get rid of him - what’s that look for? Don’t tell me you can’t manage it, he’s barely even grown,”

“No-one can get a-”

“Everyone round here ends up with a bullet in their gut eventually, Geels. Just give his sandtimer a little shake, speed things up a touch,” he smiled, and Inej could see his rotten teeth, “You couldn’t bring a fifteen year old girl to my doorstep, don’t tell me you can’t kill a seventeen year old either or we might not continue to get along so well,”

Inej pressed her back against the wall as her blood ran cold, breathing hard. Of course they’d be expecting her. They wanted to get hold of her, to make her turn on Kaz and the Dregs. And surely Riesen knew that it was she who’d killed his prized spider? She thought of Liesbeth’s blood on her hands, beneath her fingernails, her body laid across her lap, the apologies before she tried to bring her knife down into Inej’s chest. For a tiny moment she wanted to say to hell with Kaz’s plans, to hell with all of it, all she wanted as to kick this window in and slice Riesen’s throat open. To cut the heart right out his chest. To make him suffer. 

They were ugly thoughts, ripped from something dark and ragged deep inside her, and she closed her eyes and laid her hands against her knives as she whispered apologies to her Saints for thinking them. But she had thought them. And she wasn’t not still thinking them. She listened to Riesen talk to Geels for a while longer, and then waited as he turned to his papers or others walked in and out to speak with him to see if the topic would return to the parley, but after a while had passed and it seemed nothing was going to chance Inej stood to take her leave. 

“- you think she stuck Liesbeth?”

Inej paused, halfway off her perch, and clawed herself back in slow motion to listen. 

“Who the hell else would it have been? She’s crossed a line with that one, they all have, and I won’t fucking forget it,” 

“He’ll bring her to the parley, won’t he? You can-”

“I ain’t offering that bitch terms anymore,” Riesen snarled, “Anyone finds her they bring her straight to me. Clear?”

“Clear,”

Inej’s heart was in her throat — no, higher than that, it was inside her mouth and pounding so hard she might begin to spit up blood, as she dove from the side of the building and slipped away into the shadows. 

She could have gone straight back to the Slat, could have delayed her report for Kaz until the morning and instead let herself collapse against her pillow, eyes closed, and waited for sleep - or at least rest, if not sleep - to overtake her. But there was one more thing that Inej had to do tonight. 

When she left the flat earlier Jeluna had fallen quiet, curled on her little dining chair with her feet tucked under her, unable to speak a further word that what had already spilt so frantically, so frightenedly, from her mouth, but as she crept to the darkened window ledge now it was not the same scene that greeted her. Jeluna was still sitting in the little chair, she seemed to almost always be occupying it and would never touch either of the others at the table, but now her bare feet were planted on the wooden floor and her hands were laid against the table next to a mostly full plate of food. Opposite her sat Elodie, so much younger than Jeluna than any of them had realised, her chin perched in her hand where her elbow rested on the table. She looked unusually at rest; her fingers did not stay to pull on her sleeve or to count themselves in and out of her palm in the little ritual that Inej supposed was designed to calm herself, but she smiled gently, perhaps sympathetically, at Jeluna as she watched her from across the table, nodding slowly in response to the older girl’s softly moving lips. 

Inej was invisible from her bird-like choice of perch, watching through the window to the darkened scene, but she could not hear the conversation. Just as she considered moving to change her vantage point, Elodie stood and Inej was forced to back away and press her back against the wall as the girl approached the window. For a moment she touched her pale fingers to the glass and though Inej could see nothing more of her than those fingertips against the pane , pinked by the pressure and the colour that had returned to her since Nina undid her Tailoring, she felt certain that Elodie was peering into the impenetrable Ketterdam night like she thought that someone unseen really was clinging to the edge of the Juliet balcony. Inej felt strangely seen, even though she hadn’t been, and her breath caught in her throat - but then the moment was over, and only as the curtains were being drawn closed was Inej struck by how brief the entire thing had actually been. Elodie had not seen her, no-one had. She was just tired, and shaken by the stress of her day. 

Yes, that was it. She was just tired. That didn’t stop her from slipping inside and finding a crawl space and a vent. 

Inej managed to position herself quite perfectly above the two girls, now both returned to their seats at the little table, with a slim grate providing her with both a reasonable view and the perfect opportunity to listen. Maybe it was unnecessary to do this, she could admit to herself that she felt at least a little bad for spying in this way, but she was sure that Jeluna would act quite differently alone than she would in company, or indeed with Elodie instead of Inej or any of the others, and she thought that maybe, just maybe, something more helpful in Inej’s quest to help her would reveal itself more easily this way. That was what she told herself, and her Saints, as she lay on her belly like a snake and listened unseen to the girls below. 

“Albert is the eldest,” Elodie was saying, her bony elbow returning to the table and, in turn, her chin to the slight arc of her hand, “He is eighteen, now. And then Josef, Henrik, Daan, Sebastian,”

“So many,” Jeluna whispered, counting them on her fingers as Elodie spoke.

“I’m not done yet,” the girl laughed very softly, then suddenly registered some alarm in her companion’s face and added hurriedly: “You aren’t interrupting, I don’t mind. I only mean that that’s already lots, and there are even more,”

Jeluna regarded her for a moment, her nose raised and her eyes drifting down it to study her, then nodded slowly. 

“There are more?”

“Well, I am next so that’s six,” Elodie nodded, watching the older girl lift her second hand to raise another finger, “And then Carlotta, then baby Beatrice, and - and there was also Eliza, before that, but…” her voice faded, then picked up again with a slight rise in tone as she added with a very obvious effort to sound like she didn’t care: “Mama was pregnant when I left; I don’t know that one’s name,”

Jeluna stared at the raised fingers on both of her hands, then back up at Elodie. After a long moment she managed to whisper: 

“Your mother did it ten times?”

“Eleven,” Elodie shivered, “There was a boy… after Carlotta. They didn’t name him, or if they did they didn’t tell me what it was. I don’t… well, there wasn’t really time to name him,”

“Eleven,” Jeluna stared at her fingers for a moment, as though in awe of a number so large that she could not count it on her hands, “That is…” 

There was a pause and Inej could see the colour rising in Jeluna’s cheeks. Elodie reached out a hand and lay one finger flat next to Jeluna’s. 

“Eleven,”

“Eleven,” Jeluna smiled, then dropped it again as she and Elodie both drew away from each other, “Sorry, I don’t… I could do all the way up to 50, maybe higher, in… before. But I was,” she paused, looking down at her hands for a moment before she raised five fingers on one, four on the other, “I was nine, when I came here. No-one taught me numbers in Kerch,”

“I could teach you,” came the immediate, kind reply.

Jeluna looked momentarily wary, leaning back from the table just a touch, but then she gave a slow nod. 

“Eleven,” she repeated, tasting each syllable in turn, “Then…?”

“Twelve,” Elodie motioned for Jeluna to hold her hands up again, then added two of her own fingers to the collection, “Then thirteen, then-”

“Fourteen,” 

Elodie nodded. 

“Eleven children? Eleven… births? For your mother?”

“That’s right,”

“All that… the pain… eleven times? She is so strong,”

“Yes,” if Elodies voice had been tight before then now it barely existed, “Yes, she is,”

From her hiding place Inej could only see the girls in profile, sometimes rendering their expressions a harder riddle to solve, but she was quite sure that if she’d been facing Elodie head on she would see that strange mist overtaking her the way she’d seen it in so many others, and she was saw they had seen in her, as she sank into a memory like a blanket being wrapped around her shoulders. She hoped that it wasn’t too tight; that it would not suffocate her. 

“How old are they?” asked Jeluna, after a pause and as though she had gathered strength to say it. 

Elodie turned, briefly, and Inej got a full view of the little smile that grew between her cheeks as her thoughts turned from her mother onto her siblings. 

“Albert is eighteen,” she said, “it was his birthday last week; they will have had a beautiful celebration, I think. I hope. He will be upset that I wasn’t there though, he used to tell me that when he was eighteen, when he was a real adult, that’s when he would - I mean - no, sorry. Forget that.

“Albert is eighteen, and Josef is sixteen - he won’t be seventeen until next year - then Henrik is fifteen, and Daan and Sebastian are twins - they are thirteen. I’m twelve, recently enough, but then after me there’s a gap - I supposed because of Eliza… She was nine, when I was ten, and-” she cutoff abruptly, pulling a sleeve up to her face, before continuing matter-of-factly, “Carlotta is six, but Mama likes to say she has an old soul and you can see that in her, definitely, and Beatrice is not yet one but already an absolute little personality,”

Inej had never seen Elodie so willing to talk, so open. She’d been hoping for the other way around, but this was probably a good thing for the younger girl as well. When she’d headed on her way from the flat this afternoon, to head to the Willow Switch before, as had been her intention, to report back to Kaz and demand from him an explanation for his dreadful affront on poor Jeluna, she had gently pulled Elodie to one side. 

“I want to make sure you’re okay,” she’d said, eyes skimming over her blonde curls, her pale blue irises, the freckles that had begun to spread over her nose even though it wasn’t sunny, “this was a lot to throw at you very suddenly, and if it feels stressful, or like it might be too much, you can always-”

“I don’t mind,” Elodie had smiled softly, her cracked lips tugging at the skin around her mouth, “It’s not unlike looking after my sisters,”

Inej had been caught off guard, just slightly, by that. Maybe it was naïve of her, or just a foolish assumption, but when Nina had said that Elodie’s parents willingly sold her Inej had assumed the girl must be their only child. 

“You have sisters?” 

“Three, I- Two,” Elodie’s cheeks had somehow managed to blanche and flush in near unison, her gaze dropping to Inej’s shoes as she smoothed the front of her skirt with shivering hands, “Two younger sisters. My mother wasn’t…” she gave a very light, very stiff little cough “It was always me who looked after them,”

Inej had frowned, but she hadn’t had chance nor time for follow up. As she watched them now she saw Jeluna fidget in her chair, saw Elodie reach across the table and take a bread roll off the plate, saw Jeluna staring at her as she ripped an edge off of it to eat. A silent promise to her companion that it was safe, Inej acknowledged, already wondering whether Elodie had eaten well earlier or if this was all she was giving herself through her distraction of caring for Jeluna. Inej would make sure she got her something proper if she could, if she needed it, as soon as she got the chance. 

“You are twelve?” Jeluna murmured, gaze drifting back to her fingers, still splayed flat across the table. 

Elodie nodded. 

“All of those,” she said, before placing her own two fingers next to Jeluna’s, cautious to keep some distance between their skin, “plus these two,”

There was a long pause, perhaps too long, before Jeluna spoke again. 

“Nineteen?” she whispered, “I was… I was fourteen,”

Elodie shook her head, perhaps having missed the first barely audible word, and laid out nine fingers to place across from Jeluna’s. 

“Nineteen,” 

“That’s… that’s one more than your brother. Albert,”

Even from here Inej could see the smile, the real smile, that cracked across Elodie’s face. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Do you know how many more it is than me?”

Jeluna held up nine fingers, then folded two of them down before she said hesitantly: 

“Seven?”

Elodie nodded eagerly. As Inej adjusted, forced to briefly shuffle because the weight on her elbows was starting to make them ache, the girls moved briefly out and back into view between the slats of the vent. She saw Elodie stand and pace to the kitchen, and a beat later felt victory spark in her chest as Jeluna reached out and ripped a crust off one of the remaining bread rolls on her plate. She ate it distractedly, her eyes roving to study Elodie in the kitchen, her free hand moving slowly through her hair until she found the heavy mat all along the underside. Her hair was so thick that it was practically invisible beneath the upper layers, but she could not stand for anyone else to be close enough to brush it out and had only taken a comb to the top tresses when Kaz demanded it of her, along with washing her face and hands and the blood off her knee, and for her to drink full glasses of water and swallow something to fill her stomach. Inej still wasn’t sure he should have done that, but she supposed if it had helped Jeluna, in a roundabout way, that it was close enough to… something. Care? Kindness? It certainly hadn’t looked like either of them when she’d helped him move Jeluna from the Crow Club to this little flat. 

“Do you…?” Elodie hesitated, setting her glass back down on the table as she watched Jeluna’s fingers twisting around the enormous matting in her hair, “Do you want me to try and brush it out? You don’t have to, I don’t have to, but if you think-”

“I’m not going back, am I?” Jeluna’s voice was soft, quiet. 

“No,”

“That’s real, isn’t it? This is real. Not…” she tapped the side of her head, and Inej frowned, “This is real,”

“This is real,” Elodie stepped a little closer, “You never have to go back, not once. No-one here wants to make you go back,”

The air in the flat seemed to shift sideways quite unexpectedly as Jeluna leaned forwards and grabbed Elodie’s wrist tightly, taking both Inej and the younger girl by surprise. Inej could see her entire face now; her eyes were wild and burning, fear and something else written across her face like the signature in the corner of a finished portrait. 

“You promise me, Elodie,” she snarled, twisting her hand and pulling Elodie closer to her, “You promise,”

“I do!” Elodie cried out in shock, tugging at her arm once before falling still beneath Jeluna’s grasp, “I do - Jeluna, I swear-”

Jeluna dropped her arm, tears suddenly pouring down her cheeks as she pulled away and shook her head. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t… I don’t…” she had to stop, quivering hand perched across her chest, and wait for her breathing to settle, “I’m sorry, I just… I don’t know how to believe you. I don’t know how to trust you. I can’t… it was… it’s so dark in here and I don’t…” her voice was shaking, sobs threatening to throw her tone up towards the skyline so it would rise and shatter into pieces upon its ragged return to the ground, “I trusted her. She made me… she made me think things, that I- I-”

She could not finish the thought but it seemed that Elodie, like Inej, had not been expecting her to. Elodie had backed away a pace once Jeluna had let go of her, and now she was playing her sleeve as she watched Jeluna with hesitant close study. 

“I haven’t…” she paused and swallowed lightly, as though her mouth had begun speaking before her mind was ready to catch up and she needed a second more to gather her thoughts, “I have not been through the things you have,” she said, “and I can’t say that I know how you feel, because can barely imagine it and it would not be fair. But I can tell you that I can understand, some of it, a little,” 

And then she lifted her sleeve, slowly at first and then just shoving it up above her elbow. From here Inej could not see the tattoo, the two roses overlapping across the skin of Elodie’s forearm, but she knew that it was there. She had seen Nina’s enough times to picture it perfectly. The skin on her arm prickled, where the Menagerie tattoo had once been. 

Jeluna stared at it. She stared at Elodie. 

“I was eleven,” the younger girl said, slowly, deliberately, holding her voice even and emotionless, “at the auction,”

“You…”

“I’m never going back there. So you can trust that you don’t ever have to go back either,”

A moment passed before Jeluna nodded, very slowly. 

“I have a friend who’s going to get rid of it for me, when she gets a chance. She’s busy at the moment, but when she has time she’s going to look at it for me. I’m sure she could get rid of yours too, if you want,”

Jeluna’s blouse, one Inej had found and borrowed from a cupboard in the Slat on her behalf, had long enough sleeves to cover the Willow Switch tattoo on her arm but she looked down at it anyway, as though she could stare straight through the fabric to the ink and skin and flesh beneath. 

“What does she want?”

Elodie frowned, confused, then ventured:

“She doesn’t want anything, she’s my friend - oh, you met her! Do you remember? Nina? She took you to the Crow Club, remember, to see Mister Brekker?” 

Jeluna’s eyes remained fixed on her sleeve, the slither of her expression visible to Inej made of fear and thunder, as she gave an unhappy nod. 

“You could watch when she gets rid of mine, maybe,” Elodie continued, either oblivious to Jeluna’s disagreement or just choosing to brush through it, “And see how you feel,”

Inej wasn’t sure that Jeluna was actually still listening; she was looking away, her hands had found their way back up into her hair. A moment passed and Elodie took her seat again, eyes focused on her companion, before Jeluna looked up. 

“I never have to go back,”

Elodie shook her head. 

“And- and she’ll never know? She’ll never… she won’t know,”

“Never,”

Jeluna clutched at her hair, leaning forwards across the table, her voice almost hoarse as she dared to whisper:

“Cut it off. Cut all of it off,”

Chapter Text

It was a rare thing for Jesper’s mind to wander this far during a game of cards. Usually they possessed his focus the same way a fight did; in the same way the world could narrow just you, a gun, and a target, so could it to a hand of cards, an opponent, and a table to serve as battleground. He had learned to study the other players, to recognise the underlying bristle in the air, the slight changes of demeanour, the sense of anticipation that gathered when a player came alert to the fact that they might have a winning hand. He was good at noticing it, or at least he liked to think he was. He was less good, and of this he was painfully aware, at hiding his own tells. It required close concentration on both sides to keep everything in control, and every detail - from the glimmer of a button on someone else’s waistcoat down to the feeling of the paraffin wax that was coating his forearms so he wouldn’t get caught out if a Grisha amplifier might be present at the game - demanded attention. It was rare for Jesper’s mind to wander far, then, when it was so in tune and so close and so cautious, every tiny quiver in the air something to consider. But not tonight. 

Jesper was losing, but that was nothing new. So what was new? Why was his mind so sullenly refusing to focus on the game, and instead continually drawing him back to the feeling of Wylan’s palm pressed against his? His head on his shoulder? The feeling of his cheek beneath Jesper’s thumb as he wiped a tear away? Jesper felt like he needed to stick his head in a bucket of cold water to wake himself up. He felt like he was dreaming. 

He gave a sidelong glance to Rojakke, whose hands were moving so deftly through the pack of cards he shuffled, readying to deal the next hand, that it seemed they moved as a force entirely independent from the rest of his body, wondering if Kaz had told him to control the deck. Kaz had told Jesper that it was to be an honest game, but Kaz was a damn liar and Jesper wanted justification for this loss. Or rather, he wanted justification that wasn’t the wandering of his mind. The sound of Wylan’s voice, the piercing shimmer of his eyes. 

He was brought swiftly back to the room by the sound of Nina laughing, and looked up from his distracted stupor to see her pouring champagne into the waiting glass of Ido De Baal. 

“Are you trying to get me drunk, lapushka?” he asked, looking up at her from his chair. 

Judging from the rugged flush across his cheeks he was already well on his way there. He’d used the Ravkan word for darling, Jesper noted, though as far as he knew the man was Kerch through and through. He was also, Jesper had definitely noted, winning. If Jesper was losing worse than anyone else at the table then De Baal was winning better than them, and he had been for the entire game. Was Rojakke controlling the deck, then? Had Kaz told him to? 

“I’m just doing my job,” came Nina’s reply, low and soft but also lilting, a joyous and teasing tone with undertones that she was clearly letting De Baal determine for himself, “Lapushka,”

He laughed and Nina smiled at him, her teeth clinging ever so slightly onto the top of her lower lip. Jesper had expected Layla’s loss to be more noticeable than this, and maybe Nina wasn’t quite as swift - he couldn’t be the way his focus kept slipping - as she would’ve been, but she’d been working these fools all night long and she’d been doing it well, like she was slowly soaking coffee through hard tack and had finally deemed it ready to take a bite. 

“Do you speak Ravkan?” she asked, sweetly, with what, on the surface, seemed like genuine interest, “Or do you just know how to flatter a girl in every language?”

De Baal gave a casual shrug, though his smile did not fade. 

“It is the most important aspect of travel, is it not? To give every girl the attention she desires in her own tongue?”

Nina gave a very soft mock gasp, a hand pressed over her chest in fake, non-committal melodrama. 

“You insult me sir,” she teased, “I didn’t take you for a player,”

He tapped the cards he’d just been dealt, a point enough for the joke all on their own but he said it out loud anyway and Nina laughed harder than was strictly necessary. 

“I learned some Ravkan for a business deal,” he drawled, collecting his refreshed champagne, “and I find that some of it still comes in handy at home,”

“Ah,” she nodded, “I should have known you were a businessman. I knew it would be something that desired strength, fortitude of mind,”

Jesper thought that was perhaps the closest she’d come to being obvious, that it was a see-through course of terrible flattery, but De Baal preened. They talked casually, or with the illusion of being casual, for a moment longer about De Baal’s business in Ravka and Jesper had to marvel at how easily she was pulling all this out of him, how simple it was to lower his defences. The corner of Nina’s mouth twitched, before she leant close and murmured something in Ravkan. Jesper wasn’t close enough to hear but that hardly made a difference. Whatever Nina had just said would have been lost on him, and apparently it was lost on De Baal as well. He turned to her somewhere between questioning and expectant, Nina’s tone had hardly suggested an insult after all, and she gave him a coy smile. 

“It seems your grasp on my language has disappointing gaps,” her voice was breathy. She glanced at the door for the briefest second before her eyes fell upon him again, and right before she turned to leave she purred: “Maybe if you find me later, I can provide you with a translation,”

He was not subtle as he watched her leave. 

Jesper picked up his new hand of cards and moved to survey them. Would Wylan be struggling tonight? It had been a long day anyway, and his part in the job - Dammit, Jesper. He looked at his cards - actually looked at them this time - and made a cautious bid. Not, decent cards or none, that he could do much except be cautious with his meagre pile of remaining chips. He tapped two of them against each other distractedly, watched De Baal across the table for a moment. To his left sat Van Reik, a lawyer or something else just as boring that Jesper had forgotten from the Zelvar District and the biggest threat to this job going wrong. Van Reik came to the Crow Club pretty often for a someone of his standing, considering that he used his own name and didn’t hide his face - his lot usually took themselves to the Lid if they fancied a go at something they could pretend was dangerous, and even if they touched the Barrel itself they definitely didn’t venture this far South - and he always, much to Kaz’s absolute fury, requested this specific game room because the back wall was lined with windows. Most of the clubs had none at all, as did most of the rooms at the Crow Club, because the bosses wanted their patrons to lose track of time, to forget how long they’d been there, to think they could surely afford to place one more hand, after all it wouldn’t take that long would it? The windows in this room drove Kaz mad - though Jesper supposed they had come in useful when they brought Jeluna in; he would have hated to leave her even more in a dark, windowless box. Kaz probably wouldn’t have cared. 

The windows were unlikely to pose too much of an issue tonight, starting the game at twelve bells and playing through the dark hours was less noticeable than playing through sunset, but they needed the session to last and if Van Reik cared about the windows he probably had his own methods of timekeeping as well. They needed to keep all of them, but particularly De Baal, here until… well, Jesper wasn’t actually sure exactly what because Kaz, of course, hadn’t deigned to tell him the entire plan. Until the aftermath, he’d said, but gave no specificity to the aftermath of what, or when it would begin. Jesper knew that they were taking out a bridge, because that was what Wylan had been working on, but that was the extent of it. 

Did Nina know more? He doubted it. Inej surely did though, and she wasn’t even here. Jesper felt a brief, strange pang of jealousy at that - he didn’t even know if she knew. She probably did though. Inej knew almost everything. He wondered again if her and Kaz’s agreement of secrets went both ways, if she knew the things Kaz had locked up on Jesper’s behalf. His skin prickled beneath the paraffin wax. Kaz wouldn’t have told anyone, not even Inej. Wouldn’t he? 

Jesper’s turn rolled around and he laid his cards onto the table. He won a hand, bid, lost, bid, won, bid and lost and lost again. The night ticked by. The signal from Pim came, telling Jesper and Nina there was no longer a need to drag things out but just to let them take their course. Another round passed. Jesper lost again. The game ended. Nina left to give Kaz a report of the information that she’d gleaned from the players, apparently a lot of it, and then - in her own words - go back to the White Rose and sleep more soundly than the dead.

Jesper considered going downstairs and playing another hand. He considered getting some sleep. He considered going to see Wylan, but it was almost dawn and he was probably - definitely - asleep. So a slow meander down the staircase his journey became, as the table behind him was cleared and tidied, unsure of whether he would linger or walk back to the Slat. It would depend, he decided even though he could feel an impatient exhaustion tugging on his bones, on whether anything caught his eye and his attention as he crossed the Crow Club floor. It was a foolish bargain to make with himself, a plainly obvious attempt at justifying the pull to stay because of course he knew that something, somehow was sure to grab his attention. 

He just wasn’t expecting the thing that stopped him to be Kaz Brekker. 

“Here,”

He held something out at arms’ length between them and it took Jesper a moment to acknowledge, beneath the black fabric they were wrapped in, what looked suspiciously like the shape of his revolvers. A second passed where he just stared at Kaz, before he tentatively reached out to take the package from him. 

“Kaz-”

“I’m holding you accountable if he screws up,” said Kaz, brushing one gloved hand down the front of his coat - the one that he’d held the guns out with, the other was gripping the head of his cane, “but it would appear you made good on your end of the bargain,”

Jesper smiled in spite of himself, parting the fabric package and running his fingers eagerly over the guns. They were cool to touch, comfortable in his hands; they slipped so easily and happily into his gun belt as he shoved the stupid, sad little pistol away across the table. He could finally return that useless little lump to Anika. 

“Thanks, Kaz,”

“It’s not a favour, Jes,” his voice was cold, “I keep to my word,” 

There was perhaps something implicit in the phrase, the way he briefly lingered on I, that Jesper pointedly chose to ignore. Not even Kaz’s ever-present sourness could ruin the rise in his mood that came with the return of his prized revolvers. He walked out of the Crow Club feeling like he was floating, and leapt right up out of his skin when the Wraith appeared at his side. 

“Saints - Inej! Every time,”

She smiled as Jesper laughed softly, shaking his head, but he thought her expression looked a little strained. Her eyes were sad; her face was drained. She looked even more tired than Jesper felt. 

“Kaz is organising a parley with the Black Tips,” she told him, as they began to walk towards the Slat, “A week’s time. He wants you as a second,”

“Unbelievable,” he sighed, “I just spoke to him, he didn’t say a word of it,”

“Of course he didn’t,”

Jesper barked a short, shallow laugh and Inej gave him another, ever so slightly forced smile. 

“How was the job?”

“Nina killed it, if that’s what you mean,” he shrugged, “Other than that I only know what Kaz told me, which was nothing. We kept De Baal at the table long enough, and I guess the bridge came down without a hitch because Kaz gave me my revolvers back,”

“Wylan must have himself worth Kaz’s time,”

And worth Kaz’s cash. 

“What does he want with a councilman anyway?”

Inej faltered, looking up at him. 

“Councilman?”

“Yeah,” Jesper fidgeted with his revolver, having missed Inej’s confused misstep, “some guy that De Baal works for. You think he’s kinda pushing it a bit? Going after Wylan for his father, and now this guy?”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t-” 

“Was it Councilman Hoede?” 

“Er- yeah, yeah that sounds right. Why?”

Jesper glanced back at her to discover that Inej’s eyes had darkened and her fingers were dancing over the handles of her knives. 

“I need to talk to Kaz,” was all she murmured by way of reply, “I’ll speak to you tomorrow,”

Jesper shrugged. He wasn’t going to get involved. 

“You should get some sleep, love,” he said, as she quickened her footsteps and began to overtake him. 

“Then when would I get any work done? Oh - you should know,”

Jesper looked up. 

“The Black Tips aren’t done with me,” she said - and if there was a slight tension in her shoulders? A nervous catch in her voice? The unsubtle drift of her hand back towards her blades? Jesper didn’t get the chance to question it, “We might need to remain alert. Riesen knows,”

“Knows-?”

Inej’s eyes flashed very briefly as she shook her head. 

“He knows, Jes. And he’s not happy,”

Ah. Liesbeth Stoevelaar. Jesper nodded once, opened his mouth to try and reassure her, suggest she got some rest, maybe even offer to hang around if she was nervous - Stoevelaar had broken straight into her bedroom, after all - and then closed it again upon the realisation that Inej had melted in the shadows and he had been left alone. 

Chapter Text

It was almost four bells half chime when Wylan woke, gasping for air, trying to cough non-existent water out of his lungs and grapple away from the shadow of hands that weren’t actually wrapped around his throat. He fumbled in the dark, almost falling off the little bed, and eventually found himself curled on the warped wooden boards with his head pressed against the mattress behind him and his knees drawn tight up to his chest. Breathe, Wylan. He was trying. 

The nightmares were hardly new, but that didn’t make them any easier. He remained on the floor for some time, counting to five over and over again as he tapped his fingers against the floorboards. Thumb first, the others in quick succession, lift them again - palm still flat against the wood - then start over. One two three four five. One two three four five. 

His other hand rose to his face, he wasn’t sure if he’d really meant for it to or not, and began to trace slowly over his scars. He could feel the press of the knife against his skin, the wet blood dripping down his face as it mingled and mixed with his tears. Breathe, Wylan. One two three four five. 

Ghezen, he was pathetic. You’d think after spending most of his day crying on Nina’s settee that he’d gotten over himself by now, but apparently not. Wylan hated that he could not control this feeling, could not stop it, could not hold a pillow over its non-existent head until it stopped thrashing and then bury what remained of it somewhere deep and hidden in the woods. 

It took several minutes, or maybe longer, he wasn’t sure, for Wylan to pull himself up off the floor and stand, shivering, in the centre of the room, uncertain of what to do next. He hadn’t wasted the precious little money he had on nightclothes so slept in a vest and undershorts, which were quickly proving useless against the cold of Ketterdam - especially after the storms that had ravaged Kerch these past few days and were expected to continue. It wasn’t raining now, or at least not heavily enough for him to hear it on the window sill behind his closed curtains, but the air was cold and damp from it all and Wylan’s room at the boarding house was nothing if not draughty. He didn’t own a watch or timepiece of any kind - why would he when he couldn’t look at it? - but peering round the edge of his curtain determined that dawn would arrive within an hour or so. Not fancying a return to sleep, and having been a naturally early riser anyway - though not usually quite this early - Wylan did not feel any allure back to his flat little pillow. Well, except perhaps for the warmth that even his thin duvet would provide better than just standing here. He lit a candle with shaking fingers, dressed in the half-darkness, wandered to the bathroom down the hall to wash his face. There was no running hot water, of course, but there was at least a slightly pathetic cold tap that he could make do with. 

What to do, then, with these extra hours of his day? His first thought, painfully, was of his flute. At home he could have slipped quietly into the music room and stolen the time away for himself; lost himself in the flow and rhythm of the notes and let the world melt away around him.

“It is excellent that he can play, still,” he’d overheard his new nanny telling his music tutor, in and amongst the first few lessons after the accident, “He needs to feel that he has not lost who he was before,”

“It will limit him that he cannot see the sheet music though,” the tutor had replied, “He could have been a great musician, I think, but now? It will be much harder to develop his skill any further. Still, he is a child, and he needs a hobby,”

“You underestimate his memory,” the nanny said, “Play him the song first, name the notes out loud for him if necessary. Trust me, he’ll find the tune,”

The music tutor had not sounded convinced, but he put her theory to the test all the same. And she was right; Wylan, once he knew what the outcome was supposed to be, could feel the shape of the music and translate it into the movement of his fingers without ever being presented with a page of sheet music. It had opened a new avenue, a new release, a kind of safety in the music that Wylan didn’t have the right words to express the importance of, or how much he needed it. 

But now his flute was ruined, full of water, warped out of shape and still sitting lonely at the bottom of his bag. Even though he’d emptied everything else out of it since Jesper returned his things to him, he could not bring himself to lay hands on the carcass of his beloved flute. 

What else would he have done, on mornings like this at home? Sat at his bedroom window and watched the sunrise, not having to worry that anyone knew he was doing so, but judging by the grey sky it was going to be too cloudy to see much of that - and it wouldn’t start for some time yet anyway; worked on one of the sketches he kept hidden at the bottom of his wardrobe, beneath the floorboard he’d managed to prise up with a stolen - borrowed - hammer when there was work being done on the house, but he had no papers or drawing materials here because he hadn’t risked putting them into the luggage his father would surely search; crept downstairs and round to the back of the house to see Anya, before Anya was gone. The few friends he had here, if it was safe to think of them as such, would either still be sleeping or soon going to sleep though, wouldn’t they? The Barrel may have been an almost nocturnal place but this was the inbetween, the liminal part of the day’s cycle, where some were almost ready to wake and others almost ready to sleep. 

It was that thought, of the Barrel and of the people that he was maybe allowed to call friends, that hit him with the memory, the acknowledgment, of what he had done last night. Or rather, what he had done two days ago, and what the Dregs had done last night thanks to his handiwork. He suddenly felt very cold again. 

That had apparently settled it, though Wylan didn’t remember consciously making the decision, and he pulled on his scuffed shoes to walk straight to the Slat. He didn’t dare go anywhere near the bridge itself - there were sure to be stadwatch officers, crowds, angry citizens of the Zelvar District, maybe even Council Members all gathered around it. People who might recognise him. And anyway, Wylan wasn’t sure that he could look at it. The remains of it. What if someone had been crossing it, or even just nearby, when someone lit the fuse that Wylan had built? The canal water was pressing at his chest. He briefly thought he might throw up. 

He wanted, he realised both unsurprisingly and yet somewhat unexpectedly as he made his way through the narrow streets along the journey that he had easily memorised, to talk to Jesper. He didn’t know if he wanted to tell him that the bridge was on his mind, that he couldn’t stop thinking about it, but he probably didn’t. He was embarrassed, he was ashamed to realise, that he felt remorse. This was the newest on a long list of places that he didn’t fit in, another world where he could never belong, and he didn’t want any of them to know that he didn’t know how to exist here, to be like them. But he did want to talk to Jesper. To listen to him talk. To be near him. Maybe he would describe the sunrise to him, the way he had the sunset on the steps of the University Library. Maybe Wylan needed a cold dose of reality. 

But there was still the feeling of Jesper’s hand against his, his arm around Wylan’s shoulders, Wylan’s head against Jesper’s shoulder. Jesper’s fingers moving so lightly through Wylan’s hair. 

It didn’t matter. It didn’t. It couldn’t. Because Wylan could never tell the Jesper the truth, and lying to him was slowly burning him from the inside out. Not even Wylan was stupid enough to push anything here; he knew it only ended with the flames engulfing them both. 

If Jesper was at the Slat by now, he would surely be sleeping. Wylan knew that. He’d gone in search of him last night and only found Raske, who told him that Jesper was working all night and into the morning at the Crow Club. Jesper seemed to spend a lot of time at the Crow Club. Wylan had wandered back to his boarding house alone, not entirely sure why he’d gone seeking Jesper out in the first place. 

As he approached the Slat now it wasn’t exactly louder than he’d expected, it seemed the house was loud at all hours, but definitely busier. Maybe these people just didn’t sleep at all, maybe their existence was maintained entirely by other forces. But if you studied them for long enough, Wylan thought, you could hear something cracked beneath their joyous voices, see a weight inside their eyes, something slick and black and heavy wrapped over them like a permanent funeral shroud to trap each of them in their own individual, endless night. These were only imitations, he realised, of the emotions that had first seemed to exude from every crack and corner of this place. These were people who had given in to the fear that Wylan felt tugging at him; the want to never sleep again, to fill his mind with something, anything else. They were half-burned phoenixes, yet to find their way out of the ashes. 

Was it easier that way? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it just came with its own, fresh kind of pain. 

“Hey! Hey, Hendriks!”

It took Wylan a moment to realise that these shouts were directed at him. He’d been weaving his way through the crowds slowly, cautiously, not really sure what he was doing, where he was going, if he even had an aim, but now he turned towards the source of the sound, pretty sure he recognised the voice before the shape of a boy came running into view. Roeder. The boy that Kaz had sent to follow him for Saints only knew how long.

He marvelled, privately, at the transformation that had taken place in Roeder between the boy he’d met and the boy standing in front of him now. The first had worn shadows like a cloak, wrestled thugs off Wylan’s throat like it was no sweat off his back, carried weapons that glittered in his hands like stolen jewels dipped in blood. This boy felt younger; his cheeks were flushed, his hair tousled, his smile eager but maybe had the tiniest hint of nervousness. His voice crackled in the air like it had a physical presence. Wylan was pretty sure he’d been drinking. 

“Where’ve you been?” he asked, like he was greeting an old friend. His words were ever so slightly breathy, as though he’d been exercising; Wylan had seen this boy fight, if briefly, he knew the run across the Slat shouldn’t have winded him like that, “Fahey’s not here,” he added, “if you were look for him,”

Wylan shook his head, not quite sure what to say, and Roeder’s smile might have widened ever so slightly, just faintly, like something was softly tugging on the corners of his mouth. 

“You can join us if you want,” he pointed to a group Wylan mostly didn’t recognise, draped over a small sofa and set of spindly looking chairs across the room, then seemed to catch himself before saying: “We’re in the back corner, to the right. I can introduce you,”

“Oh, I, erm-” Wylan wasn’t really sure where that sentence was going. 

“Ah, come on,” Roeder’s hand landed on Wylan’s shoulder, not an unfriendly gesture but Wylan flinched all the same.

Roeder didn’t seem to notice. 

“One drink,” he continued, still not moving his hand away, “That’s all I ask,”

Wylan tried to say something but the words refused to take shape, dissolved in his tongue like granules of sugar. He stepped back slightly, and, thank Ghezen, Roeder let go of him.

“C’mon,” Roeder said again, beckoning him, “we can-”

“Roeder,” 

Wylan and Roeder both jumped at the sight of Inej, appearing as if from nowhere, melting out of the shadows and rising into being as though she were actually part of them herself, now manifested into a physical form. He hadn’t had cause to see the Wraith often, but he’d been ceaselessly impressed by her ability to erase and reconstruct herself each time he had. He was also nervous, after knowing she’d stayed silently in Kaz’s office whilst they spoke, that she also suspected he wasn’t being entirely truthful about his sight. It made him wary of her; he hoped to avoid her where he could, but it seemed it wasn’t ever up to you whether you found each other or not. And then, of course, there was still that this was Inej; this was the girl who’d sat down next to him in a Chemistry class and talked to him like no-one at university ever did, the girl who’d asked him for help with Kerch translations and to explain nucleophilic substitution, the girl he’d walked with between classes and thought he might be able to call a friend. The girl who’d lied to him. But then, once again, who was Wylan to demand the truth from anyone? 

“Kaz wants to talk to you,” she said, eyes still so fixed on Roeder that it was as though she’d barely noticed Wylan was there.

“What does he want?”

Inej only shrugged and Roeder sighed, glanced back at his friends for a moment, then Wylan a strange, short goodbye and wandered off, straightening the lapel of his ugly jacket as he went. Only when he’d vanished up the stairs did Inej say:

“Everything went off without a hitch. The money will take a while to come in, and it will have to be laundered through one of the Dregs’ businesses first, to be safe, but it shouldn’t take too long,”

Wylan swallowed tightly, nodding. 

“Whose-? I mean-”

Inej watched him for a moment, with dark eyes that seemed to cut straight through his skin and see deep within him. 

“The bridge is only three years old, and the collapse doesn’t look intentional. The architect’s other work is suddenly going to be called into question, including the biggest ice storage in the Warehouse District. They’ll send inspectors to the ice house and find several unforgivable violations; the ice house will close, the price of ice will suddenly rise. The Dregs have stock in one of the smaller ice storages in town - and, as of two days ago, a deal with a very successful fishmonger who will unexpectedly have to raise his prices when it suddenly costs him so much more to keep his produce cool,” 

Wylan stared at her. They were tampering with the markets. Embarrassingly, his first thought was that’s illegal. But then he was struck by something else: this was the way his father thought; the way the entire Merchant Council protected their fortunes. 

“But that’s…” 

He swallowed his words as he realised he was about to say clever. He had not appreciated how much thought, how much preparation, how much detail, there was; how much this was business. He could’ve been sitting in that stupid Economics of Business and Markets class zoning out the lecture and pretending he didn’t know that Jesper, not that he’d known his name back then, was staring at him from across the room. 

Still, this didn’t explain all of it, did it? Jesper had said they had to keep someone distracted all night; what role did the card tables play in any of this? 

It was becoming very clear to Wylan that information was a currency in the Barrel, just as much as strength and cash and blood, and between Kaz and Inej he was pretty sure he knew two of the richest people in Ketterdam. He just had to make sure they didn’t manage to steal anything from him. 

Chapter Text

It was almost dawn by the time Nina reached the White Rose, and all she really wanted was a long bath to scrub this entire night off her. It seemed she was going to have to settle for sleeping first, however, and bathing later because the only bathroom in the place with an actual tub was occupied when she returned. There were two indoor bathrooms at the White Rose; the other had a shower that Nina wasn’t a fan of anyway, far less so because the building had no running hot water. She wouldn’t complain about sleeping, though, not a chance of that; as soon as she’d made contact with her settee she was drifting straight into slumber - and straight into unwelcome dreams. 

She was back on the ship, all those endless, terrible nights travelling from the Wandering Isle to Fjerda. Nina wasn’t even supposed to be there, not really, she was too young for such missions. But the Ravkan Second Army had been almost decimated by the Civil War; they needed soldiers, and, oh, how Nina had begged to be one of them. She’d travelled to the Wandering Isle with a small group, the only one she knew beyond in passing being Zoya Nazyelensky, in hopes of rescuing and recruiting more Grisha to join their cause. Nina had been alone when she stumbled headfirst into that Drüskelle camp, and out of any identifying uniform. She did not scream, she pleaded with them in Kaelish instead of Ravkan, not once did she cry out for help. She was terrified, yes, but she was more scared still to expose her team and their mission, of putting Zoya and all the rest of them in danger. She was bound captive on a boat headed to Fjerda, to the impenetrable fortress of the Ice Court where she knew she would be put on trial and then quickly afterwards put to death. Simply for existing. The boat had been horrendous, cages full of terrified men and women, beaten and bloodied beyond recognition, going days at a time without food or water, no way of washing and nowhere to relieve themselves, hands bound so tightly that Nina was left with horrible wounds on her wrists that she’d had to use her Grisha power to repair, and yet there was a strange, small part of her across the entire journey that had not wanted it to end. Because she knew that whatever lay on the other side of these weeks was going to be infinitely worse. 

They’d almost reached Fjerda when the storm hit, and Matthias accidentally saved Nina’s life. 

The dreamworld’s version of the ship was warped and changed before her eyes, but she knew instinctively to be in the same place. She was on the floor, her hands bound, the tall bars of an iron cage extending high above her head - impossibly high; elongated by the dream. There were no other captives here, so different from the cramped reality, but Nina was not alone. She was staring at a pair of boots, and before she’d even lifted her head she knew that it was Matthias who stood over her. He looked the same. He looked impossibly changed. 

“Nina Zenik,” his voice was cold. 

What did he intend to do? Apologise, demand apologies from her? Offer forgiveness, or pass sentence and carry it out? Did he intend to be her judge, jury, and executioner? She would never know. He moved as though to kneel before her and the scene melted in time with his step, changed its course to something new; the bars stood between them now, Nina was on her feet and even though he was left invisible by shadows she knew that Matthias was somewhere ahead of her. Was he the prisoner now, or her again? It was impossible to tell; each of them were surrounded by nothing but grey walls of stone, the bars stark and cold before their faces. 

She tried to tentatively call his name, but when she parted her lips a spider, almost as big as her own nose, crawled off her tongue and began to climb its way out of her mouth and up her face. Nina screamed, trying to brush the thing away as its thin, spindly legs found purchase in her flesh, and it was thrown by her hand straight through the bars in front of her. Breaths careened through her chest like runaway horses unmatched too soon from their carts as she stumbled backwards and tried to rebalance her footing. 

A hand stretched from the darkness and landed heavily on one of the bars, gripping it so tightly the metal might have warped beneath the fingers, and after a moment longer Matthias pulled himself forwards and into view. Nina gasped, rushing forward to him; their hands met between the iron, their fingers intertwined, their foreheads could almost touch. 

“Matthias…” she whispered, too many emotions to list imbued upon her tongue. 

“Nina,” he murmured, his thumb brushing across the skin of her hand almost rhythmically, soft and comforting, “ Röedfetler ,”

Little red bird .

“I’m here,” she nodded, pressing her thumb into his palm, “We’re… I’m here,”

She closed her eyes, tears that she both could and could not explain pouring onto her cheeks, an impossible weight collapsing into air inside her chest as though it had never existed in the first place. But then his grip was tightening, panic seized Nina as her eyes flew open and she saw the spider upon the bare skin of Matthias’ neck. It had bitten him; his flesh swelled in an instant, red and pulsating with hot anger. His grip had moved to her wrists now, tighter than she could stand, pinning her in place. She could imagine the bones snapping beneath his fingers with relative ease. 

“Matthias-”

The redness of the bite was spreading; his entire form was overcome by the furious fire. 

“What have you done?” he snarled, speaking Fjerdan, “What did you do to me?”

The swelling in his neck flared and his hold on her dropped away as he greyed into the hazy edges of the dream, keeling over and vanishing into nothingness. She screamed his name, scrabbled against the ground before the bars, tried to reach through them to find where surely he must be lying in the darkness, he had to be, he had to be, he had to be. Water began to rise from the floor, the room rocked and swayed. It was getting higher by the second, thrown this way and that by the rocking of what had transformed around her from a prison cell to the lower decks of a boat, threatening to rise above Nina’s neck. But she could not stop, could not move, could not stand; she continued to reach madly through the emptiness in front of her, where the bars had been was now empty but for the flood but still she could not find him. The pressure grew against her chest. The boat jolted; Nina was thrown across the space to careen into a wall and now the water was almost at her nose - when had it gotten so high? As she slipped beneath the surface, thrashing madly to try to move, try to swim, try to find a place that she could breathe, bonds began to weave themselves slowly around her wrists. No, no, no. Nina kicked her feet as best she could but now there was something tightening around her ankles as well. The boat jolted once more, the water sloshed, and Nina felt any distant dream of air, of Matthias, of breathing, to be a very childish fantasy. 

Matthias was gone. And Nina was drowning. 

Shipwreck.

She was thrown from the dream with a harsh crack, almost falling off her settee, a pounding in her head so loud it felt the walls were shaking. Wait, no… no, there was something banging here, in the world as well as inside Nina’s mind. She steadied herself, trying to shake her brain back into attention, and realised that someone was knocking on the door. 

“Nina?”

“I- yeah, come in!”

The door creaked slightly as Siobhan pushed it open, a long dressing gown draped over her and tied tightly at her waist, her red hair wet and straggling over one shoulder. She looked at Nina for a moment, a small furrow forming between her brows. 

“Are you okay?”

Nina tried to smile, pulling the scattered pieces of herself back into a shivering, temperamental whole that was sure to shatter in the next firm breeze that shook it as she stood to properly greet Siobhan. 

“I’m fine,” she managed, though by the look on the other girl’s face not very convincingly, “Thank you,” 

Siobhan nodded slowly, a little uncertain, a hand drifting up towards the damp locks of her hair. There was a small towel thrown over shoulder to keep the wet off her white, flighty gown and she began to fidget distractedly with its embroidered edge. Both the towel and the dressing gown were lightly imbued with a swirling pattern of roses along their edges. 

“Right,” she nodded, clearly not entirely believing her, “Well, I just came to let you know I was finished in the bathroom. You can go straight in, Petra brought in plenty of water; she said she’d start heating some more,”

Nina managed to smile and murmur her thanks, turning to the little wardrobe to find her own towels. She was only slightly surprised when she turned to see that Siobhan was still standing there; she was expecting her to be there in that she hadn’t heard he leave, but she wasn’t sure what she was waiting for. 

“Did you-?” she broke off, then tired again with: “I mean… that girl that they’re looking for, the one who broke her contract with the Willow Switch…”

Nina felt herself tense involuntarily, and hoped it hadn’t been noticeable. 

“It was her, wasn’t it, that you asked me about?”

“Asked you about?” Nina frowned. 

“A little before the arrest warrant came out,” Siobhan had now moved on to fidgeting with her sleeve, her neatly manicured fingers almost digging straight through the weave of the fabric, “you asked me if I knew of a girl at the Willow Switch and I’ve been thinking about it  and I’m sure… I’m sure you said Jeluna Kir-Mai,”

Nina opened her mouth, closed it again. Shit. What was she supposed to say now?

“You did, didn’t you?” Siobhan’s eyes scanned over her, studying her intently for every non-verbal response Nina was trying so hard to restrain, “I didn’t misremember? It was her?”

“Siobhan-”

Nina tried to step forwards and Siobhan took a frightened pace away from her. 

“Is she like the others?” she whispered, backing gradually towards the half-open door, “Like the Leopard? Amethyst?”

“No - well, no Siobhan, look - I can explain-”

“Oh Saints,” she’d found the door handle behind her, was trying to slowly manoeuvre her way into the hallway without taking her eyes off Nina, “Oh, Saints, Nina, it’s not true? Please say it’s not true. You didn’t… you didn’t…”

“No, Siobhan, I swear I didn’t do anything, I-”

“You knew ,” she shook her head, still trying to find her way out of Nina’s room without turning, “You knew that she would… She didn’t run, did she? Did you tell them something? She… They… What did you do?”

Nina stepped forwards, arm raised in hopes of closing the door before Siobhan’s voice got any louder, and the girl released a strained yelp as she stumbled away from her. 

“Siobhan - I’m sorry - please, just listen-”

She turned and ran. 

In retrospect, chasing Siobhan through the White Rose into her own room and slamming the door shut behind her was probably not the best call, but in the moment Nina couldn’t think of anything else to do short of knocking her unconscious. 

Siobhan backed away into the farthest corner of the room, bumping up against her vanity, staring at Nina like a lost rabbit facing down the barrel of a hunter’s gun. She looked like she was very much regretting asking the question. 

“Nina, please-”

“You tell no-one this,” she hissed, which again in retrospect may not have been the most sensible thing to say, “You hear me? Not a single word,”

Siobhan nodded, over and over, so quickly it looked like her head was going to drop right off her shoulders. Nina watched her, walking slowly farther into the room as she ran her hand along the wall that ran alongside the corridor. She was looking for the peepholes. She knew there must be at least one; she needed to stopper it.

“Someone took her, okay? I had nothing to do with her first going missing, and I had nothing to do with Tara or Amethyst, alright? I promise you that. I don't know who it was, I don’t know what they did, but someone kidnapped Jeluna before that arrest warrant went out and they messed with her head. She doesn’t even remember anything. I found her in the Barrel a few days before the warrant went out, and I tried to keep her safe. I swear to you, I am just trying to keep her safe,”

“How… how did you know that she was gone? Before the warrant?”

Nina took a very slow breath. At least she was talking to her, at least she wasn’t running to find Feliks. She stood up a little straighter, no longer half collapsed against her little vanity, but her eyes were still wary. 

“You know I work for Brekker?”

Siobhan nodded. 

“After what happened to Tara - the Leopard - and Amethyst, I was worried. I asked him to keep tabs on things, and he told me that something was going on at the Willow Switch so I went to try and find out what was going on,” a slight stretch of the truth, but just barely, and a believable one, “One of the girls there, Kheja, told me that Jeluna was in danger,”

Nina had since been back to the Willow Switch twice, very briefly, with a note up her sleeve in search of Kheja, but she was yet to find her. Yet to pass on the very simple message, written on a curled up scrap of paper in mostly neat Shu characters: 

“I found her”

She needed Kheja to know that Jeluna was alive, that she was about as safe as Nina could get her, but after two unsuccessful visits had begun to feel concern sparking inside her for Kheja as well. She was just busy. She must have been. She’ll be back in the foyer eventually. 

But right now she had a more immediate problem at hand. Siobhan still looked nervous, and not entirely convinced. Would she go to Feliks, if she suspected Nina was involved with or maybe working for whoever orchestrated these kidnappings? Would she try to send word to the stadwatch ? And in that case, had Nina royally fucked up by bringing Kaz and the Dregs into things? 

“And Dirtyhands just did you a favour?” she asked, incredulous, “Am I supposed to believe he’s keeping her safe somewhere as well?”

“I paid him,”

There was a brief pause. 

“I don’t not believe you…” Siobhan managed, her voice trailing and rising and drifting away like it was on a hike through a rocky mountain range, “You know you shouldn’t have gone to him, though? You shouldn’t get people like him messed up with girls like her. He won’t keep her unless he finds a use for her,”

Nina had nothing to say in response. Had those not been her exact concerns? Was that not the very reason she’d offered to add Jeluna’s debt onto her own? Kaz still hadn’t spoken to her about arranging that. 

“Do you think it was the same person? Who took Tara and Amethyst as well?”

“Yes,”

There were no two ways about that. Siobhan deserved the truth, anyway, or at least the closest approximation of it that Nina was able to give. 

“Is that why they’ve stopped? Because she ran?”

Nina hesitated. 

“I don’t know if they’ve stopped completely,” she said slowly, “and I don’t know how Jeluna got away. But it’s possible that they’re waiting until they hear about Jeluna, to find out if she’s told anyone what happened to her. I don’t… I don’t think that the threat’s over,”

Siobhan snorted a laugh, taking Nina by surprise, and flopped down onto her mattress as she said: 

“The threat’s never over , Nina. It just takes different forms,”

A moment passed as Nina tried to figure out what to say. Siobhan kicked off her slippers and pulled her feet up onto the bed, tucking them beneath her and picking up a throw pillow to clutch over her lap. 

“You’re not lying to me are you?”

Nina shook her head. 

“You swear it?”

“On my life. I have only tried to keep Jeluna safe,”

“Has… has Brekker told you about anything going on anywhere else?”

Nina swallowed. She stepped forwards and gestured questioningly towards the space next to Siobhan on the side of the mattress, who gave a casual wave of permission for Nina to sit down.

The room looked much like Nina’s, a square space with the same white walls, the same eaves, the same flowers on the table, but where the table was at the centre in Nina’s room Siobhan’s was pushed towards the near wall, displaying a tea tray surely to gaudy to actually be useable and only one slender white stool instead of proper chairs. At the centre of the room was the bed, its headboard pressed against the back wall, its white sheets arranged pristinely, usually with a rose-shaped throw cushion lying neatly in between the pillows but that was now sitting on Siobhan’s lap. The smell of the rose perfume was stronger here than in Nina’s room, and she noted the flowers studding the vanity and wardrobe. She also knew that, when in costume, Siobhan often wore the white roses in her hair. 

“There was a girl who went missing before Tara did,” she said, trying to keep her voice gentle, “who he told me about when I brought this up to him. I don’t know if it’s connected, but it might be. She vanished from one of the smaller houses, farther South, and was found dead not long after,” 

Siobhan nodded very slowly, not looking up to meet Nina’s eye. 

“I haven’t heard of anyone going missing since Jeluna,” she said, “When I asked you about her I only suspected something had happened, and was wondering if you might recognise her name. I was also having a shit day and I didn’t put a lot of thought into it, but-”

“Van Eck,” said Siobhan, as though she’d found sudden understanding. 

Nina frowned. That was exactly it. She’d had an awful time in court and then had Jesper walk her to and from the Geldstraat in wonderful timing for her to see just how much of a skiv Jan Van Eck was first hand. 

“I - sorry?”

“It was when you went to see Councilman Van Eck,” she said, “It put you in an awful mood; you had a go at Feliks,”

Nina nodded. 

“You know that put him in an awful mood?” Siobhan watched her for a moment, like she was trying to read something written in between Nina’s eyes in a tiny script, before she said, “I heard Van Eck asked you to go back,”

“Yeah, tonight…” Nina frowned, “I didn’t go,”

Siobhan started to say something that might have been “good” but then caught herself, and instead: 

“There’s rumours, you know? About the Councilmen,”

“Van Eck?”

Siobhan nodded. 

“And a few others; I heard the name Hoede, from someone who works for him,”

“What…?” Nina swallowed, “What are the rumours?”

“Well, maybe they’re just nonsense but…” Siobhan shrugged, “they’re saying there’s this drug,”

Chapter Text

“Riesen knows,”

They were the first words Inej said when she dropped in through Kaz’s window. The damp Ketterdam mist was clinging to her hair and clothes, adding shimmer to her skin when she turned and her face caught in the moonlight. The rain would begin again soon, Kaz thought, watching her. That was all he thought of this mist, these fine droplets of water clinging to Inej’s edges. All that he allowed himself to. 

He didn’t say anything; he watched as Inej crossed the room, shaking out the cuffs of her dark shirt even though it was tight enough over her slim figure and around her wrists that Kaz doubted she could be particularly rained on beneath it, and - to his surprise, he had to admit - closed the window behind her before taking a seat at the front of his desk. Inej didn’t like to have the windows closed, not if the door was shut as well - and the door to Kaz’s rooms at the Slat was almost always shut. He waited. 

“Geels is bringing Elzinger,” she said, after a moment had passed, “and Oomen,”

As Kaz had predicted. Elzinger and Geels had risen through the ranks of the Black Tips together, there was enough history there to turn into trust, and Oomen? Well, they knew enough about Oomen, didn’t they? 

“Good,” Kaz scratched himself a small note into the edge of the ledger on his desk; he would probably remember the transaction, but just to be cautious, “Get me everything you can on them, we ought to be prepared,”

From the corner of his eye he took in Inej’s stiff nod. He turned the page. 

“And Riesen, then?” 

“He knows. About Stoevelaar,”

Kaz finally looked up. He’d been quite sure that this was what Inej was about to tell him, but he needed her to say it. He nodded. 

When Inej had shown up at the Crow Club that day, blood-stained, soaked to the bone, wearing ill-fitting pyjamas, and dragging herself across the city’s rooftops on a leg that she could hardly move, he’d quickly sent for Liesbeth’s body to be moved out of her room and away from Dregs territory as soon as possible - and just as subtly. They’d staged a messy murder scene on a border between territories belonging to the Liddies and the Razorgulls, with nothing identifying to anyone and no weapons left behind but the ones Liesbeth had still had on her person. By the time the corpse was found the Dregs had been long gone, but it had always been possible that someone saw them. Besides, if it weren’t for Inej being in the field one would have considered Stoevelaar damn good at her job; who else would have managed to finish her so suddenly? Kaz had suspected that Riesen either knew or predicted that the Wraith was behind it for some time, but no-one had said a word and it seemed that he was willing to let sleeping dogs lie. Apparently not for any longer. 

“What does he intend to do about it?”

Inej’s jaw set tightly. Someone else might have thought that it was grit or determination in her that glued her like this, so stoic and stiff, but Kaz knew better. Inej was afraid. 

“He wants to finish me himself,”

“Then we’ll have to make sure he doesn’t get the chance,” Kaz looked back to his ledger, “The bridge?”

“No hiccups,” she replied, her tone making it more than evident that she was not happy to have their first topic of conversation moved on from so quickly, “How long will it be until they go to the ice storage?”

“We should assume at least a week,” Kaz had chosen the bridge quite specifically, an important enough location for concern to spike and hopefully speed up the process of inspections, but the Council and the stadwatch couldn’t be relied upon to do anything quickly, “A while after that until the cash will come in,”

“And Councilman Hoede?”

Kaz raised an eyebrow. Inej had kept her tone reasonably light but they both knew that it was a wasted performance. He would not deny her it, though; if she’d wanted to make this an open discussion she would’ve done. 

“A happy coincidence,” Kaz turned his gaze back to the ledger and the grain of the desk beneath it, ignoring the water droplet still holding on to one of Inej’s eyelashes and reflecting in her dark iris like a chunk fool’s gold, “that whilst we needed to keep Kirst and Van Reik away from the bridge we could also keep Ido De Baal at the tables and garner some potentially useful information,”

There was silence for a moment, that Kaz knew neither of them was planning on breaking. He wasn’t going to elaborate unless she asked, and he knew she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. It almost made him want to smile. Almost. 

Nina had given Kaz some considerably interesting information, but it had not yet helped him come much closer to unravelling the mystery that someone was spinning across the streets of West Stave. There had come a point, perhaps longer ago than he cared to admit to himself, when too many of the loose threads became tangled and knotted and now even garnering new secrets only seemed to make it harder to inweave the tapestry.

He did not think, despite the Leopard’s previous renown on the Barrel and Rollins’ apparent soft spot for Amethyst, that either girl had been purposefully chosen from amongst the others at each house. It seemed far more likely that the abductor was told which house to target each night, and they took whomever they got hold of. Neither Tara nor Amethyst’s time away from the Menagerie and the Sweet Shoppe had been paid for or pre-arranged, they were reported missing swiftly and with shockwaves - shockwaves that the kidnapper could not afford. So they tried to get smarter; they paid to take Jeluna out of the Barrel, for a similar amount of time to how long the others had been missing for, Kaz had noticed, and this time he did think the selection had been at least slightly more specific. They needed to be more subtle; Amethyst was close to Rollins and Leopard was not a rare name to hear around here during the months before her murder, but no-one seemed to have really heard of Jeluna Kir-Mai until a few weeks ago.

This told Kaz two things. 

First, the choice to still hunt Jeluna even though it would have been far more sensible to drop out of notice for at least some time after the messy discovery of Amethyst’s body, or what remained of it, was paramount to his understanding of the motive.

After what happened to Amethyst, and the discovery of what remained of her body, they definitely needed to go unnoticed for a while, but they had still attacked Jeluna. That was paramount to understanding the motive. There was something there, a drive that Kaz couldn’t place yet, that had meant they couldn’t stop. What they’d done to Jeluna… some kind of experimentation? A deadline maybe, or just a - he hesitated to call it scientific , but for lack of a more appropriate word that was going to have to do - scientific drive? Some kind of addiction? Someone impatient pulling the strings - maybe refusing to pay up unless they kept going? Maybe. All of them might make sense - but they weren’t real motives, were they? Just something that might be related to it. Kaz was pretty confident, because it simply always was the way, that the motive had to come back to money somehow; he must be missing a piece of the puzzle, because thus far he had no idea how this was supposed to start bringing in cash unless they were looking for a girl that bled kruge . 

The second thing this told Kaz was that they were getting smarter, more careful. It probably meant that they’d always had the capacity to do this as a more subtle, cautious job, but had bitten off more than they could chew when they assumed it would be easy. That , he thought, may very well be a double edged sword.

“I spoke to Jesper,” Inej said, breaking the silence but clearly refusing to give in and ask him about De Baal, “About the parley. I haven’t seen Big Bolliger yet, but are you sure-”

“He’s on shift at the Crow Club,” 

They watched each other for a moment. Inej stood up. 

“I’ll speak to him tomorrow,”

The war inside Kaz let her get as far as a hand reaching the door before he found himself saying: 

“Send someone to the safehouse, to keep guard outside Elodie and Jeluna’s door,”

Inej turned, very slowly. The yellow moon leaking through the top of Kaz’s window had gotten caught in her hair like autumn leaves. 

“Why?”

“If Riesen knows,” Kaz said, flexing his fingers inside his gloves, beneath the desk and out of Inej’s view, at the thought of him trying to track down the Wraith, “He might be trying to watch the Dregs. He has trade deals in palace with Kaatje De Waal; if he finds out-”

“I’ll tell Anika to go. Have you… have you spoken to Nina yet? About…?”

Kaz shook his head. 

“I couldn’t get hold of Jeluna’s contract - not yet, at least, anyway,” not that he was feeling keen to return to the Willow Switch any time soon, but he’d been using this job as a delay and if he was going to get away with draining the Dregs’ money to keep Jeluna alive and fed for much longer then he’d need some kind of paperwork to point to so he could pacify the old man, “I expect to find it full of nonsense charges to raise the price though - Tailoring probably one of them. It might be more expensive than I first thought,”

Kaz had seen, from the documents he’d managed to gather from the bank, the original price that moved thirteen-year-old Jeluna from Saints knew where to the gilded parlour of the Willow Switch. He’d made the assumption of a rise, bullshit Kaatje would have charged her for just the same as Heleen did Inej, yes, but he’d thought he was working with the maximum of a one year time frame, maybe a two at a push. He had not expected to have six years of it to contend with. 

 “What happens then?”

Kaz shrugged. 

“I find the cheapest boat I can going back to Shu Han and stick her on it,”

“That would be as good as killing her,”

Inej kept her voice relatively even but she’d squared her shoulders, and she was definitely bristling. Kaz looked up very slowly, taking in every piece of her individually and memorising the feeling of her anger. He needed it. He needed her to be angry with him, he needed this to be what he could draw on when he was being stupid enough to try mining fool’s gold from her eyes and imagining orange leaves falling into her hair – free from its braid and pouring over her shoulders, down her back, as though it had been released from dam and the entire world was flooding with it. Those things were not what he needed. 

“What else would you expect of me, Wraith?”

His voice was cold. It was painful. It was comforting. 

It was all he knew. 

Chapter Text

Kaz had not, of course, deigned to inform Inej, when she said that she’d send Anika to the safehouse, that Anika was already occupied. She walked tightly out of his office, her mind trying to click through other ways of getting Jeluna safely out of Ketterdam if her contract could not be sourced. Maybe Kaz would do her the courtesy of a paid ticket and a fake name instead of forcing her to stow away, but even so Inej wasn’t convinced that Jeluna would make it through the journey alone, never mind whatever might be waiting for her on the other side of the True Sea. A country she hadn’t touched in 10 years, a homeland she was too afraid to breathe a word of language from - a harbour that connected to Ketterdam, that would be patrolled by slavers just like every other. But what else was she supposed to do for her? 

Anika proved briefly difficult to track down; Inej eventually found her outside Layla’s door and clearly not in a particularly upbeat mood. 

“Does he not want me to keep watching her?” she asked, jutting her chin towards the closed door behind her, “She’s still not asleep, Kaz said to stay with her all night,”

Inej grimaced. No wonder Anika looked so fed up. 

“I’ll send someone else,” she sighed, trying to flick through potential options in the Dregs that wouldn’t scare the damn life out of Elodie and Jeluna if it proved necessary to go into the flat. She was coming up short, “Is Jade around?”

“Downstairs, I think. What’s going on at the safehouse? I thought it was empty,”

Inej raised an eyebrow. 

“And that will remain the official standing. I’ll see you tomorrow,”

She walked away before Anika could get a chance to follow up, cringing slightly at the sound of Layla retching on the other side of the door. Why was Kaz having Anika watch her? Because he doesn’t trust anyone, ever, and he’s never going to. 

Did he trust Inej? 

He wants to finish me himself.

Then we’ll have to make sure he doesn’t get the chance.

No. Maybe. He might give the Wraith the closest thing to trust that he could - he believed her, he never once doubted that she would ignore whatever the Black Tips might offer her in exchange for crossing him - but he didn’t care, did he? He just didn’t want to lose a valuable asset. He probably wouldn’t even say valuable . 

Then again, what had she been hoping for? She’d told him, he’d listened, she’d left. He was hardly going to offer her homespun comforts, was he? 

I ain't offering that bitch terms anymore.

Inej shuddered at the memory, at the sound of Riesen’s voice crackling in the air, or the ferocity with which he spat that word, like he wanted to drive it straight into her bones. She knew the word, of course, had heard it more than enough times spoken in Kerch, and a few in Ravkan. It always came with danger. It always made her pause. Yes, she’d heard that word plenty more than her fill. And yet she wasn’t even sure she knew a translation for it in Suli. 

The first time she’d heard it she was a tiny little thing, too small to keep its recollection vivid in her head by now. It slipped like oil from the tongue of a Ravkan man as he argued with her mother at the edge of a Suli camp barely hours after they’d arrived; Inej was clinging to the leg of one her elder cousins, scared of this stranger and the anger with which he snarled the words of her second tongue, just barely daring to lean around from this safe, comforting leg to watch him in time to spot the sudden flush rising in her mother’s cheeks, the way the anger of her father and her uncles resounded as they stepped forwards to place their bodies between Mama and this interloper. Inej felt her cousin tense beneath her grip at that word but she had never heard it before then, did not recognise its shape, did not acknowledge that it was this word that had caused the change in her family’s demeanour. She just heard the shouting getting louder, saw her father pace towards this man as her mother reached out to catch his elbow from behind, and clenched her little toddler fist as tightly as she could manage around the edge of her cousin’s trousers. Barely a second of this fear had passed before he’d swooped down to cradle her in his arms, picking him up so she almost banged her chin against his shoulder. 

“You’re flying, Inej,” he whispered in her ear, speaking Suli, playing their game of swaying her this way and that, clutched safe against his chest. 

Inej could still see the argument over his shoulder, but she liked this game. She liked flying. She clapped her hands together behind his head, giggling as they swayed. 

“Like swings!” she babbled, still clapping. 

“That’s right,” he told her, as they reached the step to the door of her parent’s caravan, “You’re flying like we do on the swings,” 

“Swing tonight?” she’d asked him, most probably through a stream of childish noises that were otherwise indiscernible as words. 

“Hopefully,” they stepped inside and he whisked her up into the air to spin her about before pulling her back into his chest as she laughed, “As long as we can stay here,”

Inej had frowned as he set her down upon the bed. 

“Stay here,” she said decisively, nodding her tiny head in confirmation, as though the question was of preference and not of safety.

“Fingers crossed,” he said, sitting down next to her and showing her his index and middle finger crossing over each other, “Can you cross your fingers, ‘Nej? Can you show me?”

Inej had giggled, twisting her tiny fingers messily over and around each other whilst she lifted her arms and flapped them about to show him. He beamed. 

“Swing tonight!” she cried, crossing her fingers. 

It felt like a promise to her; she was crossing her fingers as she said it, so it had to be something that would come true. 

“Will you come watch us?” he asked, “If we swing tonight?”

Inej always watched them. She was the littlest, back then, since this was before her younger cousins came along, and would spend the shows held safely in the lap of whichever family member was not on stage at each given moment. She loved watching the shows, had already learned when to applaud and when it was more polite to keep quiet, had already learned and understood the pride of seeing Mama and Papa, her uncles and her aunts, her cousins, in their performance. 

“Watch swings!” she’d cried excitedly, clapping her hands again as she thought of flying, “Watch the wire!”

“Which one’s your favourite?” her cousin asked, and the decisive reply came: 

“Wire.” she tapped her chest, “Walk on wire,”

“You want to walk the wire?”

“I will,” she tapped her chest again, “I will walk on wire,”

He grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and rocking them both gently from side to side. 

“You’re going to be a great wire walker, Inej. The best,”

Inej clapped happily, rocking from side to side, picturing herself on the highwire and the world a very great distance beneath her. She had almost forgotten the argument outside. 

There were a couple of instances of hearing it at home, in Ravkan, where Inej had been old enough that she could still recall them now, but not many. She’d long ago lost count of how many times she had heard it said in Kerch. 

She heard it first from Tante Heleen, barely the second day after her arrival at the Menagerie. Inej had been left alone on the floor to tend to her wounds from Heleen’s fury at her having cried the night before - once she’d woken up, anyway; once she was done with the switch and the cane Heleen had choked Inej until she passed out. She’d awoken at the foot of the bed in the room that she could not call hers , a golden chain between her ankle and the wooden bedframe. Heleen wouldn’t unlock her until this evening, when she needed to prepare herself for the night, but that wouldn’t be for hours yet. The chain wasn’t long enough for Inej to even climb onto the mattress, not that she’d wanted to, so she had no choice but to stay curled up where she’d woken, her knees tucked beneath her chin and her arms wrapped around her shins, her eyes drifting to the barred window that seemed so very far above her head. She wanted to make herself as small as possible. She wanted to disappear. 

The door opened earlier than she was expecting - the sun was still high in the slither of sky visible to Inej - and she felt panic rising in her bones. It happened quickly, in the space that it took for someone to open the door and step into Inej’s field of vision, the process of trying desperately to barter with emotions that would not listen to her, arguing her limbs into stillness and her face into passivity, for fear of only making everything worse. The door was closed far faster than it had opened, and a girl, maybe a year older than Inej, slammed her back against it. In spite of herself, Inej crawled the single step around the bedpost that she could manage, peering at the stranger with the finger pressed tightly against her pursed lips. 

She wore a cloak over shoulders that her silks would have otherwise left bare, but the hood was turned down so Inej could not determine the shape of the animal ears sewn over it. Her own cloak - the cloak she wore , not hers - was somewhere in here, she knew, but she hadn’t been able to move and find it. She would have to be quick about gathering it to go downstairs when Heleen came to unlock her cuff. The girl’s skirt, which fell above her knees in the front but cascaded to her ankles behind, was dark orange, and the tight silk top that left very little to the imagination was mostly white, edged in the same colour as the skirt. The Fox, Inej realised, taking in the reddish orange of the cloak and the black lace stockings that swirled up the girl’s bare calves. Ravkan. 

“ Chto -?” Inej began, her voice soft and nervous, but the girl shook her head almost violently. 

Inej leaned back, heart leaping into her throat, staring at her. What was she doing here? She shouldn't have come. She was going to get both of them hurt.

Inej pulled away, moving back out of view of the door, leaning her back against the side of the bed and staring back at the window. Maybe if she ignored her the girl would leave. Maybe if she ignored her, when the girl got caught Inej wouldn’t be punished as well. It seemed a pretty unlikely scenario. After a moment, and a small, cautious footstep, a tentative voice managed: 

“Do you speak Kerch?”

Inej said nothing, did not even dare to look in the girl’s direction. This was her mistake, not Inej’s and she would not let herself be destroyed for it. 

“ Kei ryezich Kerch? ” the girl tried again, “ Kei ryezich Ravkayash? Na ryezich Suli ,”

Do you speak Ravkan? I don’t speak Suli. 

Inej was doing her best to ignore her, but she was also still a stubborn child from the Suli caravans who did not like being underestimated. 

“I speak Ravkan,” she said, in the language, not looking up, “We all speak Ravkan,” 

“And Kerch?”

“Some,”

When she finally gave in and tilted her head towards her invader, it was to see immense relief breaking across her face. 

“Good,” she whispered, switching to Kerch, “Do not speak Ravkan. Do not speak Suli,”

Inej said nothing. 

“I am Yana,”

Yana’s Kerch was slow and deliberate, halting in places, but with the little she knew of the language that was mostly what Inej needed to be able to follow a conversation. After a beat of silence that she knew Yana was waiting for her to fill with her own name, the Ravkan girl instead ventured: 

“You have bruises,”

She tapped her neck very gently, and Inej lifted her own hand to feel the painful flesh around her throat. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. 

“She will bring a Healer, before tonight. I do not know when - we might not have long,”

Inej was tired. She was so, so tired. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to eat. She wanted to cry. But she would gladly have stayed on the floor, hungry and scared and tired, chained to the bedpost for days on end, if it meant that it was the only thing that would have to happen to her. 

“Why?” asked Yana, not needing to specify what she meant.

Inej looked back out the window. 

“I think… because I cried. I didn’t un… un-der-stand everything she said,”

“You need translations?” asked Yana, sitting down uninvited opposite Inej, “I can try to help,”

Inej leaned round the edge of the bed for a moment, eyes flicking over the door, then back to Yana. She found herself momentarily focusing on the girl’s black lace stockings. Inej’s own feet were bare, cold against the floorboards. Yana’s feet, she realised only when she’d been staring at her for long enough, were scarred beneath the stockings. She could see the marks between the swirling edges of the lace. 

“We should have a little time, at least,” the girl assured her, “She is busy,”

There was a long, long silence. 

“I’m Inej,”

Inej couldn’t remember the exact shape of every word that Tante Heleen had hissed into her ear but she repeated what she could of the words she hadn’t known, and Yana did her best to dutifully translate. And that was how Inej learned the Kerch translation for the word she’d first heard as a toddler, that she had heard a handful of times in Ravkan, that even now she was not sure she knew the translation for in Suli. Yana looked down, embarrassed or uncomfortable or both, and mumbled the word into her chest apologetically. Inej just nodded in silence; a vague memory of her mother, of a stranger, of flying in her cousin’s arms, that she couldn’t quite see clearly was tugging at her edges. She didn't want to see it - and yet, she desperately did. She wanted to sink into it, into being a child clinging to her elder cousin’s shoulder, and never climb back out. 

She learned other things from Yana, too. New words. New things to be cautious of, new things to be afraid of. She learned what happened to the last Suli girl at the Menagerie - though she could tell Yana hadn’t meant to let it slip, everything implicit in her words had been quite obvious to Inej. She learned that Heleen never sent her buyers to the auctions that the rest of the children on the ship that brought Inej here were to be taken to; she had greased the right palms, made the right deals. The men who’d taken Inej took any Suli girl they found to Heleen for first picking, if she wanted her, and they’d do the same for any other vacancy she might need to fill. Apparently now she was looking for someone from the Southern Colonies; the Leopard cloak was empty. Inej learned these things and filed them away inside her head, gathering a catalogue of any information she could scrounge together. Over time she started gathering more, from other sources, until it had become a strange escape; a library in her mind, where she could wander freely between the shelves and peruse the books to her liking. All these little things, stored inside her head. She hadn’t realised they’d be what saved her life. 

I can help you. 

And that was how it started. Yana, sitting across from her on the waxy wooden floor. She’d managed to slip out before Heleen appeared, but it had been a close thing. 

“Inej?”

Inej jolted as the shape of the Slat reformed itself around her, grey walls at her side and wonky floorboards beneath her leather-soled shoes. 

“Inej?” Anika ventured again, a little nervously, “Are you okay?”

Inej blinked. It seemed she had only made it as far as turning the corner to the next set of stairs, and Anika was leaning around the wall with concern forming a little divot between her brows. Behind Anika, though Inej wasn’t sure the girl had noticed, Kaz was standing halfway down the steps that led to his office. Inej scowled. 

“Send Jade to the safehouse,” she snapped, not entirely certain which one of them she was addressing, “That’s not my job,”

And with that, she turned sharply on her heel and marched away. Back to her room to be alone for as long as she could manage it. Back to her room to eat, to try to sleep, and to send up a prayer for poor, pretty Yana. 

Chapter Text

Even after mulling on her words for a few days and giving herself the time to assume that some smaller details may be over exaggerated or entirely fabricated, Nina was still feeling pretty sure that the rumours Siobhan had heard were complete and utter nonsense. Squallers flying, she’d said, and Tidemakers turning to mist? Please. Whatever this drug was, Siobhan had no name for it from whatever hearsay she’d picked up on, and however the story was being spun, this was not the truth. It couldn’t be.

Though the disbelief hadn’t stopped Nina from asking around, had it? 

Her contacts in Ketterdam weren’t extensive but they could be considered reasonable enough for her purposes; she was trying to start a conversation to find out whether anyone knew the whereabouts of Wylan’s friend Anya, anyway, so she reasoned that if she was already talking she might as well bring the rumours into it too. And people had heard of it, she started to realise. Jurda parem, they were calling it. She supposed it made sense if it had some link to jurda , the little blossoms were stimulants and to Nina’s understanding it sounded like this - obviously fictional, she promised herself - drug was as well, but it was that second word that bothered her. Parem . A Shu word, she knew. Without pity.

There was nothing solid anyone could really give her, so it was probably just some melodrama that would blow over within the month, but for some reason Nina couldn’t shake it. 

The hunt for Anya had been less fruitful. Anyone who had heard of her - which so far was only one Fabrikator from the other side of town, though there was a Squaller at another house on West Stave who’d said he knew someone in the Geldin District who might be able to find out more - could only tell her that they’d heard nothing of the girl since her indenture to Councilman Van Eck came to a somewhat seemingly abrupt end. That was hardly unusual around here; Nina doubted anyone would think twice about it. 

Nina could have just waited a few days to see if the Squaller’s contact managed to find anything for her, but she desperately wanted to be able to give Wylan news - even just of progress in searching, if not anything concrete. She thought he needed to hear something good. 

“The staff are mostly too well paid to bribe,” said Inej, speaking Suli, as the pair walked down East Stave together, “But I managed to gather a little gossip,”

It had been three days since the de Baal job, and the sun had briefly returned to Ketterdam in between the recent rain showers but the air was still cold and Nina was wrapped snugly into her coat. Inej usually, and to a casual onlooker would have done today, seemed resistant to the weather, but more than once on this walk so far she’d tugged on her long sleeves to pull them over her palms. Nina wasn’t sure if she was cold or if something was on her mind. She wondered if she should ask, but she didn’t want to pry. 

The ground was still wet and the cobblestones were slippery underfoot as they strolled, but Nina had been watching Inej with close attention for the past ten minutes and was yet to see her slip or struggle with her injured knee. Good. Inej had neglected to mention it since a few nights ago, the night of her birthday, when she broke into Nina’s room at the White Rose in tears. Nina still wasn’t sure if she’d seen anything in particular when she’d been scoping out the WIllow Switch, or if it was all just too much for her to keep it under wraps any longer. Hopefully, after what Nina had told her that night, Inej wouldn’t feel like she had to keep it buried anymore; if she wanted - needed - to talk, Nina would always be there. 

“Apparently there was quite a shouting match the day she left,”

Nina raised an eyebrow. 

She’d asked Inej after her fruitless initial attempt at tracking Anya down, if she could try to find out anything about Van Eck sending her away, only if she had time and only as soon as she had a chance. Nina glanced at her watch - it had been about ten hours. 

“All I could gather from the servants was that she and Van Eck were briefly alone, and then she ran out in the main hallway shouting for Wylan. They said that she tried to attack Van Eck and the guards had to pin her down,”

“She attacked him?”

“Well,” Inej shrugged, “The servants are also spreading that the reason Wylan left was because he got caught in a sweaty romp with one of his tutors, so I’d probably take their words with a pinch of salt,”

Still , Nina thought, that seems like a development. Nothing that happened in that house ever seemed to quite make sense. 

“Do you think…?” Nina hesitated, and glanced at Inej to see that she was staring up at her, patient but expectant, “He wouldn’t have… killed her, would he?”

Inej paused for a moment, her head cocked slightly to one side as she considered. They had both stopped walking for this moment, and Nina found herself rubbing the soft lining of her coat between her thumb and forefinger as she watched Inej’s mind turn. Inej had pulled her sleeve right up over her palm. 

“No,” she said, decisively, shaking her head, “No, I don’t think he would have. Where’s the money in that?”

Inej turned to make another step and Nina made to follow her, again trying to study the younger girl’s gate until she looked up and - catching Nina off guard - asked lightly: 

“Did you know that Elodie has ten siblings?”

Nina blinked. 

“Really?”

“Well, eight living siblings; five older, three younger. She was telling Jeluna about them,”

Nina frowned, nodding slowly. She wasn’t sure where Inej was going with this. 

“She’s never met the youngest, her mother was pregnant when she came to Ketterdam,”

Eleven children. Saints, some women were bloody stronger than Nina was. 

“I thought…” her voice drifted, thinking of what she had told Inej at the Slat when they’d spoken quietly about Elodie before. 

“Her parents?”

Nina nodded. 

“I think so. The way she talks about it all, at least, makes me think you were right. It sounds like she all but raised her younger sisters alone; a six year old and a one year old. They… they won’t remember her, will they?”

What was she trying to get at, here? Nina tucked her thumb inside her palm and began to work it against her skin in comforting, repetitive circles. Her earliest memories were all at the Little Palace in Os Alta; groups of small school children, raised by teachers and nurses and in a way each other, peering on tiptoe through the windows of the Palace to see the older Grisha rushing about below on their important missions. She remembered her early lessons, with Healers and Heartrenders alike in their little chairs where some were still so small their feet didn’t touch the ground. She remembered, at least for the most part though maybe the finer details would be lost on her, the dormitory she’d lived in before she was old enough to move into a double room, split with one other student when twelve and deemed an inappropriate age to make them stay with the tiniest of the others, or to have to change in the space shared with so many. She remembered the Civil War, the evacuation of the school to Keramzin, trying to calm the littlest ones from crying even as she had wanted to simply give in and start sobbing herself. She remembered the Darkling’s army finding them, and damn everything straight to hell if she didn’t remember the Shadow Fold. She remembered having her own bed chambers upon her return, and wondering whether she’d reached the age the school deemed proper for it or if there were simply less Grisha than rooms left over. 

But Nina didn’t remember the arms that had held her before she could walk. She didn’t remember who had fed her before she sat in a dining hall with dozens of other children. She didn’t remember who dressed her before she learned how to herself, or who gave her the clothes she had travelled in the whole journey to Os Alta. The journey, at least to her faded recollection and a little child’s mind, had been incomprehensibly long, and she had spent it - though this part she no longer remembers very clearly - sat on the bench of a carriage with her legs pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around them as she glared over the top of her knees at the man and woman in the fancy, colourful coats. In her tiny fist she had clutched a handkerchief, someone from wherever she had come from must have given it to her, and with all her minuscule might she tried to keep it safe and secret. But as soon as she arrived at the Little Palace she was led to a small, strange looking room, given a pile of clean clothes, and told to change. She didn’t have a kefta yet, of course, and the children didn’t exactly have a uniform - though there were certain rules expected of them - but they were not allowed to keep the clothes they had arrived in. 

“It’s a plague precaution,” the woman in the pretty coat had told her, kneeling down so they were closer to the same height, “We just have to be safe, you understand that don’t you?”

Nina didn’t remember this by now. She didn’t remember nodding at the woman slowly, even though she didn’t really know what that meant. It sounded scary. Everything was scary today. 

“And look at these new clothes,” she’d smiled, holding up a blouse that was a crisper white than the one Nina wore beneath her cardigan, clearly much newer, “Aren’t they pretty?”

If Nina really searched her mind, she could bring to the surface some vague snippets of that day. She could remember that her cardigan was a thin, woollen thing, of comfy navy blue. When she took it off she did her best to fold it in front of her to lay it on the table, though it probably looked a mess, and she could remember the golden embroidered crest on the too-small-to-put-anything-in breast pocket. A school uniform, then? But surely Nina had been too small for that, yet? What else could it have been? 

She could remember, as well, the embroidered black stitches on the inner tag of the cardigan, that matched the tag of her blouse and skirt and the label inside her shoes; the letters of her name in neat, threaded lines. But she couldn’t remember who had sewn them. 

She’d washed all over and then dressed in the clothes that the woman with the pretty coat had left for her, and had then been walked hand-in-hand through the doorway to an entirely new world. That was when they found that she was still clutching her little handkerchief, refusing to give it up. She might have cried, she didn’t remember by now, but plague precautions were plague precautions, Nina needed to be a big strong girl now, and her tears were not appropriate for a future soldier.

“You are special, Nina,” someone had told her - the woman with the pretty coat? Someone different, in a different coloured coat? There were so many of them, all so tall and strong and busy. Nina had never felt smaller, “You are part of the Second Army, now. You are forever part of something bigger than yourself. Isn’t that special? Isn’t that exciting?”

Nina smiled, nodded, let them take her hand and lead her on. She trained and studied and dedicated her entire life to Ravka, to her home, to the country that would love her forever, to the Second Army of which she would now forever be one small cog in the grand machine. She was Grisha, she was special, she was a soldier of the Second Army. That meant something.

They took the handkerchief and burned it, along with the clothes that someone had embroidered for her. Someone for whom Nina had not even done the courtesy of a memory. 

“I suppose so,” she said quietly, without looking at Inej. 

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been happy at the Little Palace. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to be part of the Second Army. But for whatever reason this had been bothering Nina lately. The lack of the Before. 

“My little cousins will have forgotten me, won’t they?”

Oh. That was where she was going with this. 

Nina finally turned to see Inej, who was staring fervently ahead in what looked like an effort not to drop her gaze down and start studying her boots. She couldn’t really say anything. She just slipped her hand around Inej’s and squeezed it tightly. What could she say?

Chapter Text

Jesper couldn’t remember the last time he’d got a good night’s sleep, but despite his exhaustion one was apparently avoiding him tonight. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling because he’d given up on closing his eyes by this point, listening to the sound of the Dregs downstairs in the Slat. Somewhere down the hall he heard what distinctly sounded like someone throwing up, and grimaced. Whatever sickness had wormed its way into Layla had still not released its grip on her, and though it didn’t seem to be spreading at the minute Kaz had ordered her locked alone in her room with only Anika moving in and out. Anika had not been happy. 

“Just make sure she’s still alive,” Kaz had said, impatiently. 

“Why me?”

“You heard me, now keep moving. I have more pressing issues to deal with than Layla hacking her guts up, don’t make yourself a problem,”

Anika made a disgruntled sound that Jepser didn’t know the right word to explain, before marching off down the corridor mumbling something, which was doubtlessly less than complimentary, under her breath. 

How long had it been, now, that Layla was ill? Three days? That was unlike her. Whatever this was, it must be bad; Jesper did not fancy getting anywhere close to it. 

He blinked in the dark, the eaves on his far wall, his mind empty and yet moving far too fast. What time was it? He might as well have stayed at the tables. Maybe he could go now. He probably shouldn’t. But if he wasn’t going to sleep anyway… Well, what was the harm? 

He stood and lit a candle on his table, dim light but enough to get by, and swapped his nightclothes for a shirt and trousers, as well as one of his favourite orange waistcoats. It was only then that he picked up the pocket watch he’d discarded on the table when he’d arrived last night - he hadn’t worn it today - to discover that the face was cracked and the time now permanently read four bells quarter chime. Dammit. He’d only bought this about a month ago, as well. How many perfectly good watches was he determined to break? Well, actually ‘good’ might have been a bit of an overstatement; all of the watches had been cheap and to be entirely honest a bit crappy, but the point was that they kept time and he couldn’t afford to keep buying new ones. He’d broken so many that he was starting to think that his drunken self had some kind of unfinished business with clocks. 

Still, he guessed it was probably somewhere near to two bells as he shucked on his jacket and began to head down the stairs. Pietro could be heard down the landing fruitlessly arguing with someone, probably Anika, to be let into Layla’s room, and beyond that there was the general, ever-present hum of activity that always circulated the Slat; it was both always different and always the same. There was always gossip, but it was always new, and there were always jokes and stories and shouting and laughter and sometimes some of that changed, but not often. What was the popular topic tonight? The Hoede house, it sounded like, as Jesper drifted through. Unsurprising. Even the Barrel had caught wind of the stadwatch crawling all over Councilman’s Hoede’s mansion earlier this week, and had grabbed onto the rumours of a plague outbreak with both hands. Jesper’s gaze slipped upwards, towards Layla’s room. Let’s hope not , he thought, or we really might be screwed. 

The death of the Zemeni Trade Ambassador was also on the table for this evening’s buffet, but by the sounds of things that was quickly becoming old news. Kaz would cling to it, Jesper was sure; he hated a puzzle he couldn’t solve, and this seemed an impossible one. 

“Not even you could’ve done that,” Jesper had said to Inej, two days ago, lounging across a chair at the back of the Slat. 

Inej, perched opposite him with her feet tucked beneath her, poised upon her toes as though prepared to leap away at a moment’s notice, raised an eyebrow. 

“Who says I didn’t?”

Jesper barked a laugh, earning a smile from Inej, but she’d had to concede defeat in the end - both that she couldn’t have done it herself, and that she had no idea how the feat had been achieved. 

“Well,” Jesper stood up and took Inej’s hand, pressing it briefly to his lips before he began to walk away, “we’d better figure it out, or Kaz is going to be unbearably smug when he does,”

Inej laughed, then spun and leant over the back of the chair to watch him leave. 

“Where are you going?”

“The Crow Club,” he said, turning to walk backwards so they could see each other, “I’ll only be a few hours. You should get some sleep,”

“I should be so lucky,” she shook her head, “My shift starts in an hour,”

Jesper nodded, though they both knew he was studying the gathering shadows beneath her eyes, and then spun on the feel of his boot to continue walking. 

“Maybe you should take your own advice,” she called after him. 

He’d pretended not to hear. 

Jesper had been pretty accurate, unless the clock on the wall in the Slat was also broken, in his guess at the time. He slipped out the front door at about two bells half chime and began to wander the short distance North towards the Crow Club. 

The night was busy, but they always were. The streets were flooded with figures halfway between clambering free and crawling deeper into the dark. No-one came down these streets to light the lamps anymore and their tall, burnt out carcasses peered down over the moths that had found new lights to chase in their absence. They moved like one creature of a thousand limbs; or like the canals of the city itself, flowing where they thought they wanted to, not knowing or not caring that they were always being directed, guided, controlled, by the riverbed below and the rocks around them and the sky and sun and moon high above their heads. Even the air felt busy, tight and pressing, crowding in close as though there was a ceiling somewhere above East Stave that kept it penned in as the pressure built higher and higher. Where was the release? What would give first? 

Jesper imagined some invisible glass shattering over all of it, and came to the conclusion that he clearly needed to relax and have a drink. 

*

“Are you listening to me?”

Probably not. Jesper blinked, tried not to yawn, rubbed the sleep from one of his eyes as he tried to nod and almost face planted straight onto the table. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, “Sorry. Listening,” 

Nina only shook her head, then thumped her palm hard against the table so Jesper jumped and jerked upwards. 

“That was uncalled for,”

“Really?” she asked, drily, “And what was I talking about?”

“Erm… Feliks is pissing you off and…” Jesper waved his hand vaguely, “something or other,”

“No - well, yes, but that wasn’t really what I was talking about. Do you want a coffee?”

Saints, yes. Jesper gratefully accepted when Nina left and returned with two cups of coffee in her hands, pretending he wasn’t tempted to snatch hers too and drink them both. They were sitting in a cafe on one of the winding little streets off East Stave; it wasn’t the prettiest place to look at, but it served blissfully strong coffee and blissfully low prices, so it was good enough for Jesper. 

“So, remind me?” he asked, spooning sugar into his mug. 

“Van Eck keeps asking me to go back,” Nina sighed, picking up the little milk jug, “and I’m ignoring him, but Feliks wants me to go,” 

Jesper nodded, slowly, then he sipped his coffee. He wanted to be delicate - Nina still hadn’t told anyone, or at least not Jesper, what had happened on her second visit to the Van Eck mansion and he expected that if he pushed he’d end up getting nowhere. Although maybe she’d brought it up in hopes he’d ask? Jesper decided to tread lightly, and if she wanted to tell him anything he was sure she would. 

“Why does he want you back?”

Nina shrugged. 

“The same shit as before, but I can’t keep Feliks at bay forever the man’s a bloodhound for cash and Van Eck has too much of it to pass up on. I don’t know what to do,”

“Talk to Kaz?” Jesper offered, a little half-heartedly because he had no doubt that Nina had either already tried Kaz or had her reasons not to go to him. 

He wasn’t going to press any further on the Van Eck matter; if Nina wanted to tell him anything that would’ve been her opening, and if Jesper thought about that skiv for too long he was going to end up putting his fist through something and getting them thrown out - and he couldn’t afford to start going to a different cafe. 

“I guess,” Nina released a heavy sigh into her coffee as she lifted the mug towards her face, “I need to talk to him anyway about,” she glanced briefly around the mostly unoccupied coffee shop, “the contract,”

Jeluna’s contract, Jesper assumed. He nodded as Nina took a sip of her coffee, then frowned and added another splash of milk. 

“I think I’m making progress on Anya, by the way,” she added, “Since you’re sure to see Wylan before me,”

Ignoring that last comment, which Nina had added with an unsubtle smile, Jesper frowned slightly as he said: 

“Anya?”

“Wylan’s friend? She’s a Healer; he asked me to look for her. She used to be at the Van Eck house but he doesn’t know what happened when she left - or, when he moved her elsewhere. I haven’t found anything yet but, just if you see him, let him know I’m trying,”

Jesper nodded.

“Yeah, sure,” he sipped his coffee, “Speaking of whom, erm… Raske told me, the other day, that he fainted in the workshop this week,”

Nina looked up sharply and Jesper knew that both of them were remembering Wylan’s terror when he woke up. Jesper didn’t know if Wylan had been alright, Raske hadn’t said anything of it he hadn’t been, but it was the collapsing that concerned him. 

“What could-?”

The little bell above the door pinged as it rattled its way open and loud chatter filled the air. Both of them glanced up to see a group of about five or six, jostling and shouting, their Black Tips tattoos on full display. This was the problem with the cheap places, of course; everybody went to them. 

Nina turned quickly back to face Jesper, her fingers tensing on around her cup. 

“Almost done?” she asked, her voice falsely light, her hand moving to press fingers against the mug and show him how many weapons she had noticed. 

Jesper was already standing up as he replied, resisting the urge to lay hands on his revolvers. If the Black Tips thought he was reaching for a gun they might draw themselves, and then what kind of mess were they going to get into? 

They left without an obvious hurry but still with a slightly hastened step. As much as Jesper wasn’t one to run from a fight, he didn’t much like their odds against a larger group. And anyway, there was sure to be plenty of time for that at tomorrow’s parley. 

Chapter Text

Wylan didn’t want to go to work. That, in and of itself, wasn’t particularly unusual - especially not in the week following the bridge collapse. But for the first time since starting his work with Kaz Brekker, it was for a different reason that Wylan felt nervous to step over the threshold of the demolition workshop. 

Raske hadn’t said anything about Wylan collapsing, but he was sure that he knew. How couldn’t he? Wylan had woken alone with his back against the concrete floor, his head aching and his vision even blurrier than usual as he managed to pull himself up by pressing his weight into the nearest table and keeping his arms slightly raised for balance until he’d reached a chair. A brief moment had passed before Raske appeared round the doorway, frowning, claiming to have heard a noise and was wondering what had happened; Wylan just about managed to tell him it was fine, but he’d actually thought he might be about to throw up. 

He didn’t want to see him again; didn’t want to wonder if he was thinking about it, or what he might have thought in the moment, or wonder if he thought it was going to happen again. Ghezen, please don't let it happen again. Wylan didn’t know why this kept happening, but he was not enjoying it. 

Clouds were rolling in over the street like a great, dark blanket trying to smother every last breath right out of the city and the threat of rain was imminent, but still Wylan dragged out his walk for as long as possible. The cold air prickled on his skin, but it gave him no desire to hasten his step. He was near the Slat when he saw two figures that he recognised turning a corner ahead of him, making their way in his direction; Jesper and Nina. Nina didn’t seem to have spotted him as she bid Jesper and began to walk in the other direction, back up towards West Stave, Wylan acknowledged, but Jesper had definitely seen him. He called his name as they approached each other, Wylan of course hadn’t changed his stride because there was no feasible way other than sight that he could have known Jesper was there yet, and both of them drew to a stop as they exchanged vague greetings; Jesper had just come from a coffee shop, Wylan was on his way to the workshop, Jesper was working tomorrow night, so on and so forth. 

“You know,” Wylan teased, when the cafe cropped vaguely up in conversation again, “you do still owe me a coffee,”

Jesper smiled as he replied:

“That’s true. Do you… I mean, would you still like one?”

Wylan had nodded before he’d even processed the question. 

“Were the flowers-?”

“It’s okay, I think, for future reference,” Wylan said, before his cheeks flooded crimson and he stammered: “Not that I’m expecting you to- I mean, wait, I mean-”

Jesper laughed. 

“I’ll remember that,” he squeezed Wylan’s fingers, “for future reference. How’s tomorrow morning sound?” 

Wylan nodded. Tomorrow morning sounded wonderful. 

“I’ll meet you at the Slat,” he managed, thinking it might be easier to go to Jesper instead of having Jesper come to him, “Nine bells? I promise not to run away this time,”

Jes laughed again, sparking light back into something deep inside Wylan’s chest that had been lost to darkness for a long time. 

“Nine bells,” he agreed, “But you should know that you can always leave if something’s too much for you, Wy. I’m not trying to pressure you into anything here,”

Wylan nodded, not sure whether or not he should be surprised that he genuinely believed him. Jesper felt safe in a way that Wylan didn’t know how to quantify, and he wanted to cling to the feeling for as long as possible. He gripped Jesper’s hand a little tighter, running his fingers over the shape of the other boy’s rings like he was trying to absorb their image into his very being. He leaned up, ever so slightly, tilting his face towards Jesper’s. 

“It’s a pity I don’t know how pretty your eyes are,” he murmured. 

“That’s my line,” Jesper teased, “And how do you know they’re pretty?”

Wylan smiled. 

“Oh, they definitely are,”

Jesper’s hand snaked around Wylan’s waist, just for a moment, before he dropped away. Wylan tensed. Had he said something wrong? 

“Kaz is waiting for me,” Jesper sighed, his eyes falling somewhere over Wylan’s shoulder as he stepped back. 

Wylan didn’t dare to turn and look, of course, but he could guess that Brekker was close by. 

“Nine bells?” 

“Nine bells,” he agreed, pretending not to watch for every moment before Jesper disappeared from his eyeline. 

Tomorrow morning. Coffee. It sounded so simple. It sounded like it could change the world. Wylan made it all the way to the workshop before he realised that he was still smiling. 

*

Wylan didn’t have many outfits to choose from, but it still took him longer than he’d care to admit to decide what he was going to wear this morning. He walked to the Slat fidgeting with his sleeve, the button of the cuff nestling repeatedly in and out of the exact right shape on the edge of his hand, a comforting synchronicity constructed between it and the movement of his fingers. Why was he so nervous? 

Jesper wasn’t there yet, but Wylan was fifteen minutes early and Jesper was sure to be at least five minutes late, so he hadn’t really been expecting to see him straight away. He drifted to the edge of the room, not sure if he should take a seat or not - the Slat was busy, of course, but not the busiest he’d seen it and there were a couple of free chairs nearby. Wylan doubted anyone would think it strange for him to take one - they might even think it stranger that he was hovering over by the door without moving to a table - but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. Besides, if he took a seat maybe people would wonder how he knew that it was empty. It was safer to hold back and wait. 

“You seen her?” someone was asking a boy sitting at a table not far from Wylan. 

The boy was alone, studying the table or maybe his own hands quite intently, apparently unaware of the newcomer behind him. She nudged his arm. 

“Pietro?” 

The boy - Pietro - looked up sharply, his shoulders tensing slightly as he was pulled back into the world. Wylan wondered where he’d been. 

“I - Jade, sorry, I just-”

“S’okay,” Jade sat down next to him and thumped two glasses onto the tabletop, “Just wondering if you’ve seen Layla?” 

Pietro shook his head, taking one of the glasses and downing it in a single gulp. 

“Convinced Anika to let us write each other messages, but she’s struggling even to read them,” he pulled a bit of paper out of his pocket and passed it to Jade, “Anika wrote that on her behalf, apparently,”

Wylan drifted away into his thoughts as Jade began to read the note, letting the sounds and conversations of the room wash over him in long, vague waves as the minutes ticked slowly by. 

“You’re not still on that?” someone complained across the room. 

“Girls don’t just vanish, Vi, there has to be-”

“No, they don’t, what they do is run. She’s back in Shu Han by now,”

Wylan didn’t know who they were talking about, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. There was another conversation about a murder, and this one he had heard about - the Zemeni Trade Ambassador, in broad daylight, had stepped into a washroom; no-one came in or out, but later he was found with a knife in his back, the tap still running. There was also a hum of conversation about something happening at the Exchange tonight, which was news to Wylan but he supposed that shouldn’t be much of a surprise. And anyway, whatever it was, he probably didn’t want to know. 

“Wylan?” 

Wylan paused, turning slowly towards the source of the sound somewhere to his left. It was too early for Jesper, surely, but anyway that wasn’t his voice. That was Nina’s voice. 

She was crossing from the other door, looking a little surprised to see him there - and something else as well. Her hand drifted to play with the neckline of her blouse, and then the little necklace half hidden beneath it; her eyes flicked over him, then away, then back again; her throat quivered slightly as she swallowed and tried to give him an unconvincing smile. 

“Wylan, hi, it’s Nina,” she said, as she approached, “I didn’t realise you’d be here… erm, can we… Can we talk for a minute?”

Wylan nodded warily as Nina quietly directed him to an empty table in the quietest corner of the room. She shuffled out a chair so that they could sit directly opposite each other, without the obstacle of the table in between them, and laid her anxious hands still in her lap as they sat down. 

“I don’t really know what to say,” she murmured, “Wylan, I’m so sorry, I really hate that I have to tell you this…”

“Just say it,” he whispered, and that was when he realised that he already knew what she was going to say, “It’s easier that way,”

Nina pursed her lips slightly, nodding. 

“I found out everything that I could about Anya,” she said, slowly, “And I don’t know everything, but…”

It was somewhere around this point that Wylan stopped hearing her. He didn’t need to. He could hear the shape of the words, the tone of her voice; he could feel the soft brush of her hands against his, the little circle she’d begun to draw just above his thumb, over and over again. He knew. He didn’t need to hear the words. 

He knew. 

He knew. 

Chapter Text

The end of Anya’s life was characterised by knocks on doors. So mundane. So simple. 

The first one came at the Van Eck house. Joras wasn’t long back from a voyage with one of Van Eck’s shipments, as a Squaller he travelled with most of the trade ships to call winds or calm the skies whenever necessary, and had caught a bad break to two of his fingers during the journey. 

“What did you do this time?” Anya asked, shaking her head, letting gentle humour lilt in her voice, as she gestured for him to sit down with her. 

Joras insisted he had got his hand trapped between the boom and the thwart, which meant nothing to Anya because she didn’t know the parts of a boat - and that meant she couldn’t be certain whether or not the story added up, because she didn’t know how booms or thwarts worked. She felt suspicious as she eased Joras’ hand into hers, but she said nothing. It wasn’t too difficult an injury to fix; Anya traced her fingertips lightly over the broken bones and shifted them back into place, the dark bruising shrinking beneath her touch, the quick cracking sound of his bones filling the air between them and then dissipating just as quickly. Joras flexed his fingers in and out of his fist, then pulled a sharp arc through the air so a brief gust of wind flew through the workshop. Anya laughed as her hair lifted briefly up off her shoulders and then resettled. 

“Perfect,” he smiled, “As always,”

“You just do that because you like to hear me laugh,”

“Well, who wouldn’t want to hear such a beautiful sound?”

Anya liked Joras - enough that she didn’t mind his flirting, and might even reciprocate from time to time - but theirs was a difficult friendship to maintain. So frequently he vanished, and for so long, and so often he came back injured. For the past year or so the two of them had been the only Grisha indentured at the Van Eck house, and so much of Anya’s time was spent alone trying not to go mad in the confines of the workshop. Wylan would often sneak to see her, when he could; on early mornings, or when his father was out or busy with other occupations. 

She’d once told him, when they were alone in the workshop, that sometimes she thought she wouldn’t mind kissing Joras. More to fill a silence than anything else, not that it was a lie but just that she couldn’t think of anything else to say, but Wylan had burst out laughing and Anya wasn’t sure she’d ever been happier to see him smile. She still threw one of her grapes at him in mock offence, though. 

“Hey!”

“I’m sorry,” he managed, still laughing, as he picked up the grape and threw it back at her, “You just took me by surprise,”

A moment passed. 

“So… Joras?”

“Oh, leave me alone,”

“You brought it up!” Wylan cried, laughing again, before suddenly wincing and glancing at the door as he lowered his voice, “Why don’t you just ask him?”

Anya raised her eyebrows. 

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I could spontaneously combust ,” she said, restraining a giggle, “Or… I don’t know, accidentally kill him or something,”

Wylan laughed again, pressing one hand over his mouth to try and muffle the sound.

As Joras looked at her now, somehow she knew that he genuinely meant that he enjoyed her laugh, that even though the sound was a silly, fun-filled shriek and not the pretty drifting and tinkling of bells, that he thought it was beautiful. She stared back into his eyes for a minute, eyes that so calmly settled on her as though they had never wanted to be anywhere else but here, the dark moss of a forest floor containing a thousand beautiful secrets that Anya wanted to learn. 

“What?” he smiled, a little nervously, “What are you looking at?”

Anya shrugged. 

“Just you,”

“Oh? You like what you see?”

“I might,” 

Joras’ smile changed ever so slightly, something sparkling on the edge of those dark green eyes. 

“And if I said-”

A banging sounded against the door, and Anya collapsed back into her chair like a deflated balloon as Joras turned his head towards the sound. It would either be Wylan or Paige, one of the younger maids in the house; no-one else ever knocked. 

“Come in,”

The door crept open and Paige leaned cautiously around its edge, looking suspiciously like her nervous smile was trying to hide something. She greeted Joras quietly, her focus clearly elsewhere, before turning towards Anya. 

“Mister Van Eck would like to see you in the main house,” she said softly, “He said to Tailor Wylan’s scars,”

Anya frowned, feeling her guard raising inside her. There was a schedule for Tailoring Wylan’s scars, and she shouldn’t be needed until next week. But she nodded anyway, stood and walked to the door, catching a final glance at Joras over her shoulder as she left. He looked worried. She tried to give him as reassuring a smile as she could manage. 

Paige led Anya to the living room door and then knocked, and when they were called inside a moment later Anya was once again set to alarm when she realised that it was not Wylan’s voice she could hear, but Jan Van Eck’s. They would not be able to have much conversation, then, if he intended to hover over them like a hawk. She bit her lip, something anxious seeping through her chest, and followed the maid inside.

Wylan wasn’t there.

The door banged shut behind Anya and she whirled instinctively, fighting the urge to duck and pull her hands over her ears, to see that Paige had disappeared. She turned back with about as much politeness and dignity as she could muster, to find herself faced by Jan Van Eck, with two of his guards either side of him, and a man she didn’t know. He must have been a similar age to Van Eck, maybe a little older but it was hard to say, and wore the same mercher black, an expensive looking tie pin, a thick, gold wedding band, and shoes so well shined that when she dipped her gaze Anya could see her own frightened reflection staring back up at her. 

“Mister Van Eck,” she managed a polite smile, lowering her head in the customary Kerch bow, “I was expecting that your son-”

“Wylan will not be joining us today,” his voice was cold and as the words rushed over her, Anya’s blood seemed to shiver into matching its temperature, “Well?”

It took Anya a moment to realise that he was no longer addressing her, but the stranger at his side. He looked her up and down, like he was surveying a painting in a gallery or a cut of meat on a market stall, and then shrugged. 

“Agreeable terms,” he replied, before holding his hand out towards Van Eck, “The deal is the deal,”

“The deal is the deal,”

They shook. Anya stood there, blinking, as the stranger marched straight past her and out of the door as though she weren’t even there. 

“By tomorrow morning,” he said over his shoulder, “If that’s possible,”

“Of course,” Van Eck nodded, “As soon as possible,”

Anya didn’t understand. She watched the door close again, fidgeted with the sleeve of her kefta , waited until she thought it was appropriate to venture:

“Sir, I’m sorry, I do not-”

She cut off in a gasp as Van Eck grabbed her shoulder, shoving her almost onto the floor as he hissed into her ear so the guards could not hear him. 

“I know what you did, you little wretch . I should sell you into a whorehouse on East Stave for pulling a stunt like that,” he spun her round to face him with almost embarrassing ease, his hand was bigger than her entire shoulder, and a slow, terrifying smile spread across his face as he pushed her towards the door and said: “But luckily for you, Councilman Hoede offered a far more favourable price,”

For a moment Anya barely registered what was happening, could do nothing but search her mind for what she could have possibly done. 

“Rest assured,” he continued, “you will never get anywhere near my son again,”

Anya stumbled. Wylan . He knew that she’d been helping Wylan. 

And now she was going to leave him here, in this house, they were going to take her away and who would be here for-

“Wylan!” she shouted, because surely, surely, he had to be here somewhere, he had to hear her, he had to know, she had to warn him, “Wylan!”

She didn’t know where she found the strength to break free, but the next thing she knew she’d wrestled away from Van Eck’s grasp and was running into the hallway, screaming Wylan’s name up the staircase. The guards were, of course, on top of her in seconds.

She was on the second step of the stairs when they grabbed her; a hand under her shoulder, on her waist, an arm wrapping around her middle and dragging her backwards. 

“Wylan!” she tried again

Please hear me.

“Wylan!”

“Wylan is at university,” said Van Eck coolly, watching her from across the hallway with his arms folded across his chest, “And if you have no intentions of calming yourself-”

“ Babink ,” she snarled at him, trying to push forwards through the guards’ hold on her, ignoring the stunned looks on the faces of servants hovering nervously in doorways, “You do not deserve a son like him, you do not deserve the ground that he walks on,”

Never had she spoken like this before, not to him, not to anyone. It might have been her only chance to ever do so. Might as well lean into it. 

She spat and snarled every word that she could think of, every possible name that she could call this man, fighting uselessly against the iron grip of the guards pinning her in place. Van Eck just stood and watched her, almost with mild amusement, like a parent waiting for their toddler to tire themselves out instead of succumbing to their tantrum. She paused for breath, which felt heavy and constricted in her chest, and Van Eck studied his fingernails. 

“Are you quite done?”

“Nothing would ever be enough to be finished with you,” she hissed, still trying to step forwards against her restraints, but she had to admit that she was running out of Kerch words to say.

She resorted back to babink , sure that he would understand its meaning well enough, and he just gave a long, low sigh. 

“Knock her out,”

“I could kill you!” she shouted, hurling herself forwards and almost tumbling straight onto the floor with her own momentum as her wrists fell free. It wasn’t true, of course, she wasn’t even sure she could’ve done it if she’d tried. But it felt good to say it, to scream it, “I could kill you for what you did to him!”

Van Eck’s hand landed on her shoulder, tight and painful, and then the guards were on her again and she was being forced towards the ground. 

“If that is at all true, Anya,” he said, leaning down like he was speaking to a very small child, “then you have missed your chance,”

Pain exploded on the side of Anya’s skull, and everything went dark. She dreamed of Ravka. She woke up in chains. 

Waking up came, at first, hand in hand with a strange sense of confusion for her surroundings. Her mind quickly lost its grip on the image of home that she’d been lost in, replaced by tall walls and dark, austere wood panelling beneath wallpaper that told the stories of somebody else’s god; at first she thought she knew where she was, a small storage closet off a service corridor at the back of the Van Eck house that moved from the Grisha workshop to the servants’ staircase and above. This room was the right size, had the right panelling, had the same basic shelving units at her back and neatly folded piles of linens - but she was facing the wrong way, she realised, because sitting like this should mean the door was behind her and instead she was staring at it dead on; the door, also, bore no brass hook on its back but instead there was a slender hat rack at its side, empty of property but for a red kefta draped over one of its pegs like the skin of a dead animal yet to be transformed into a coat for sale. Her red kefta, with the white embroidery and the loose stitching along the cuff where she’d caught it on a nail protruding from the top of the table. She could see the little rip from here, the broken red and white threads curling over each other and hanging frozen in the air. It reminded her that this was not , in fact, her kefta, not really, that such damage would never have so easily occurred upon the fabric of the real thing; this was a Kerch kefta, a false impression of something that was supposed to mean so much more than it, and Anya did not own it. Anya did not own anything. If she’d moved to pick up the costume now she would have felt fabric practically ready to break between her fingers, seams set to burst with the pressure of quick movement, a practically translucent weave, a red ribbon pinned to the lapel - nothing about it built for battle. But she didn’t do that, couldn’t in fact, because there was another thing wrong with this room: Anya was chained to a chair. 

This hadn’t particularly surprised her, it hadn’t been the first thing to alert her something was amiss, and it definitely wasn’t the first time she’d woken up like this during her time in Ketterdam. But it was the realisation that she did not know where she was that made the panic grip her; the foreboding sense that this was new, this was different, and that meant she didn’t know what was going to happen next. 

She didn’t know how much time passed before the door clicked and groaned its way open, but it must have been at least an hour. Footsteps had sounded down the corridor more than once and Anya had braced for the appearance of a stranger, but none had come. This time, though, the footsteps had been different - one in command, expensive shoes and a confident stride, another more nervously obedient scurrying afterwards, and two more in almost perfect time with each other. Someone important, with a servant and two guards. She was sure of it. Whoever was keeping her here, they were coming to collect. 

Anya had quite easily readied herself for the arrival. Her hands were bound tightly to each arm of the chair but she didn’t need her Grisha power to summon tears, she was well-practised at calling for them on cue. With cheeks wet and eyes still brimming, she lowered her face towards her chest and waited for the door to open. Look weak. Look frightened. Look willing. Look quiet. 

It was one of the guards who opened the door. The lock giving way to his key with a loud clunk that slightly surprised Anya - Van Eck rarely bothered with a lock if she was already in chains; he knew well enough she would not get anywhere - and in he stepped, harsh face peering over her and beady eyes flitting over the room. Anya looked up slowly, sniffing through her fake tears, blinking both to adjust to the sudden stream of light pouring through the open door and because she knew that more droplets of water would roll prettily down her cheeks as she did so. She let a breath catch in her throat as her eyes met the guard’s, pleading silently until he turned away and stood to attention with his side towards the door. 

Her captor stepped inside, and immediately Anya clicked the pieces together. It was the same man she’d seen at the Van Eck house, with his slowly roaming eyes and fingers that twitched briefly towards his wedding ring before falling still. She’d first thought him to be closer in age to Jan Van Eck but perhaps the lighting here was less flattering. She would guess he was at least in his early fifties, and he was as obviously prosperous as he had looked at their brief earlier encounter; dressed in fine mercher black with a large, dark blue stone glinting in his tie pin. 

Luckily for you, Councilman Hoede offered a far more favourable price.

So this was it, was it? This was all that her desperate fighting had gotten her. A house farther down the same road, new people to learn, new rules to follow, new threats to contend with. No chance of moving any further. No chance of helping Wylan. 

She was still on the same fucking street. And all of it was over. 

Hoede was followed in by a servant but the other guard remained outside the door, perhaps in case she started shouting again or tried to get out. They obviously knew everything she’d done in her final moments at the Van Eck house. 

“Anya?” asked Hoede, not that it particularly sounded like any kind of question of introduction, studying the tears of her cheeks with what she, grimly and yet victoriously, thought might have been satisfaction, “I am glad to see you have awoken,”

I’m sure you are. What a waste of money it would be if I’d dropped dead on my way here. 

“I am Councilman Hoede and, as you should know, I purchased your indenture just recently,”

Anya nodded, slowly, then attempted a halting, nervous: 

“Yes, sir,”

Hoede gave a single, sharp nod, still surveying her. 

“Well before we can take this agreement any further,” he said, as if she was agreeing to anything here, “we need to discuss what happened yesterday,”

Yesterday? How long had she been unconscious? What had they done to her? 

“I am very sorry, sir,” she said, emphasising her accent ever so slightly, “I was frightened, I did not understand what was happening and I panicked,”

“That’s very understandable,” Hoede nodded, “It is not uncommon for those like yourself to be prone to such hysterics, I know, but you must learn to keep them under control,”

“Of course, sir,” she managed, through gritted teeth. 

“Are you calm enough now that we can remove your bonds? You will be sensible?”

“Yes, sir,” Anya bit the inside of her lip, hard, “Thank you,”

Hoede regarded her for a moment longer, then snapped his fingers towards the boy at his side. He was maybe twenty or a little more, Zemeni born but with no hint of an accent in the few words she’d overheard him sharing with Hoede as they walked down the hallway, slender and neatly fitted together like his joints had been intentionally snapped into place. He smiled at her and Anya felt the skin on her arms turn colder even though there was no breeze in the room. Why would he look at her like that? What did he want from her?

“Show her to the Grisha workshop,” Hoede told him, “But know that I will keep a close eye on you, young lady, and misbehaviour shall not be tolerated,”

And then the door had banged shut and he was gone. The guard followed him out, and the pair was alone. Anya swallowed tightly as the servant knelt at her feet to first free her ankles, and then her wrists. 

“I’m sorry about him,” he said, softly, “But I promise, it’s not too bad here,”

She resisted the urge to huff in reply; servant he may be, and his seeming dislike of Hoede may not be false, but he had more power than her here and she would not risk taking the bait in a cruel plan. If she had learned nothing else of this country, she had at least learned that everyone always had an ulterior motive. 

“What’s your name?”

“Anya,”

“Good to meet you, Anya. I’m Ori,”

She said nothing.

“I’m told you were brought from Councilman Van Eck’s house?” he asked, almost cheerily, as he unwound the chains from around the chair leg. 

“Bought,” she corrected, distantly, as though it were a simple matter of grammar. 

“I met his son once,” Ori continued, as though she had not spoken, and though it seemed he would have gone on, Anya lurched forwards and grabbed his shoulder before he could utter another word, fire in her chest. 

“Wylan?” she whispered, forgetting any hopes of keeping herself away from traps or tricks, forgetting any sensible need to hide her secrets, “You’ve seen him? Is he-?”

“Y-years ago,” the boy stammered in surprise, leaning away from her, “When he was a child,” 

Anya dropped away from him, breaths shuddering through her chest, nodding and lowering her gaze apologetically. 

“Excuse me,” she dared to murmur, “I… I do not know what came over me,”

Ori glanced at her for a moment, then his easy smile returned and he offered her a hand to get to her feet. 

“You are close with him? Wylan?” he asked, either ignoring or not noticing how nervously Anya accepted his outstretched hand.

How was she supposed to answer this without wading into dangerous territory? She had acted rashly, without thought, and now she was going to have to face the consequences. 

“He is kind,” was all she dared to murmur. 

There were two other Grisha in the workshop here; a Fabrikator named Yuri, a couple of years older than Anya, and Retvenko, a Squaller some good amount of years older than either of them who’d been at the house ever since the Ravkan Civil War. When Anya stepped over the threshold that first day they both looked up, then at each other, some kind of secret language passing between their silent eyes. As soon as Ori had introduced them to each other he left, and Retvenko beckoned Anya toward him to issue her a warning. She listened, terrified, promising herself she would be careful. But, of course, that didn’t make a difference. It took about a month. 

They both knew, afterwards, when she crept to the workshop like a frightened mouse and spent the entire day in silence, studying the ground, trying to keep herself from crying. Yuri watched her over the top of his work, and she felt like she was going to catch alight beneath his gaze. Retvenko did her the small blessing of ignoring her, but for passing her a glass of water when they paused for lunch. 

“At least drink,”

Anya said nothing. When the pair returned she had not moved an inch from where she sat, had not touched the glass. Yuri held out a piece of fruit towards her and suddenly a dam burst inside her; the tears flooded out of her from despair and pain and sorrow and from being so overwhelmed by this simple, tiny act of kindness. Sobs burned like fire in her throat, the tears felt like acid on her cheeks. She was vaguely aware of Retvenko calling for a maid, of words passing between lips, of being shepherded out of the workshop and up the servants’ staircase to her little room. They claimed that she was ill, and she got three days alone, shivering in her room, to stitch the pieces of herself back together. It was lucky timing, if you could call it that; Hoede’s wife returned from her break to the countryside that week and remained at the house for a full five months. For a full five months, nothing happened. 

*

“May I ask why you're here?” said Anya, offering a chair to the boy who had just been led into the Grisha workshop. 

He looked too young to wear the purple stadwatch uniform he was clad in, but she guessed he must be just a year younger than her. There was a nasty bruise under his eye, dark purple and blue, that Hoede wanted her to clear up for him. 

“It’s my new post - well, first post, really,” he said, as he sat down, “I’m staying here for a while, I think; they want extra security at the Councillmen’s houses because of what happened to the Zemeni Trade Ambassador,”

“We should be introduced properly then,” she nodded, “If we are to know each other for some time. I am Anya,”

“Joost,”

“Good to meet you, Joost,” she stood slightly to lean over him as she reached out to Heal his bruise, “This will itch for a moment, but then it will be fine,”

Anya didn’t smile much these days. There were too many things going on inside her head for that. It was barely a month since they told her that Wylan… 

No, Anya didn’t smile much at all these days. But when Joost looked up at her with those wide, pale blue eyes, something tugged at the corners of her mouth. He’s clearly never experienced Grisha power before, and the awe in his expression made him look so innocent that she couldn’t help it. She smiled, just a little, to see that innocence still existed somewhere. And so close by. 

It had only been after about a week of living at the Hoede house that the Councilman asked her about Wylan. That boy, Ori, must have told him. Anya seethed - more for her own foolishness than for him reporting on her; she should have known that he’d do it. That he may have had no choice but to do so. 

“Perhaps, Anya,” Hoede had said, “if we don’t have any problems, it would be possible to arrange some time for you to see him again,”

“Really?” she’d whispered, looking up, in spite of herself. 

She tried to reel it back but it was too late. Hoede had heard the desperation in her voice, seen it in her eyes. He knew he’d got her. He smiled. 

It wasn’t true, was it? She knew that, really, of course she did. Even if Hoede wasn’t outright lying to her, Van Eck would never allow it. 

“It may be possible. Can we agree that if the next month passes without issue you will be happy to write to him?”

“He-”

“I’m aware of the child’s lack of sight,” Hoede waved a vague hand, “I am sure someone would be able to read it to him, and that he could transcribe a reply. Would you like that? Do we have a deal?”

It didn’t matter that she knew, somewhere inside of her, that this was a front, a trap, a lie. It didn’t matter if it was just a dream. Because he’d found her lever anyway, and Anya nodded even though she knew that she probably shouldn’t. 

“We have a deal,”

And that was it, then. He had rendered her incapable of saying no. 

It was an evening not long after this that the second knock in the build up to Anya’s death came calling. The knock came on the door of her little bedroom and she was led out to the back of the house by a guard in Hoede’s green livery with no answers to her questions. The air was crisp enough to raise the hair on her arms as she padded out into the night, to see Hoede and a group of guards waiting for her. Anya was shoved roughly forwards by the meaty hand of the guard who brought her downstairs and found herself almost tripping straight over a girl lying in the grass of the garden. She was on her back, staring unblinking at the dark sky with empty eyes. There was nothing behind them anymore, there was only the reflection of the stars far above. Anya gasped. 

“What- what happened?”

“It is not of your concern,” snarled Hoede, his eyes dangerous. 

Anya took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“I cannot Heal her if she is already-”

“She is dead,” said Hoede, simply, as if both of them couldn’t already see it. As if it didn’t matter, “Make it look like she was choked,”

“Why-?”

Anya’s question died with the sting of a hand across her cheek. 

“Do it,”

Shivering, though not because the night was cold, she knelt at the corpse's side and took her hand into her own. There was nothing to feel beneath the press of empty skin; no blood, no movement, nothing. But she must have died quite recently because livor mortis, where the blood pooled on the underside of the body without a heart to keep it pumping, had not yet begun. Barely an hour then, maybe less. 

The girl was young, Anya realised - at least a year younger than her, probably more. She was dressed in scant fake silks, her body lithe beneath them, her feet bare. Her skin had the golden hue of someone who’d been raised in the Southern Colonies, under a brighter sun than that of Kerch, and her brown eyes were wide and startled, more like they belonged to a doe than that they matched the leopard spots painted on her cheek and down her neck. 

Anya raised one hand to the girl’s neck, very slowly, and began to trace her fingers across the skin. With her other hand she reached out to her insides, trying to find out what had happened, and was met with the shock of water inside her lungs. Water? She had drowned? 

She traced a thumb over the girl’s pointed cheekbone as though to brush away a non-existent tear, smudging the edge of a painted leopard spot. What did they do to you? 

This couldn’t be right. The girl bore no signs of drowning; her flesh had not bloated, her skin had not discoloured. Her skin and hair were bone dry, but she couldn’t have been dead longer than an hour.

But there were too many eyes on Anya to investigate much further. Too many threats for her to dare taking much longer. She apologised silently to the stranger as she spread bruises across her throat and then, with a sharp tug through the air that sparked real tears into the corner of Anya’s eyes, crushed her windpipe. 

“What was her name?”

No-one answered her. She could hear them moving behind her but she stayed leaning over the girl anyway, brushing the hair of her face as she began to whisper a prayer. They were pulling her away before she’d got the chance to close the girl’s eyes. 

“No - no wait, please, let me-”

“Your job is done,” 

“No, please, please, let me pray for her, let me- let me-”

The guard holding her gave her a sharp shake, strong enough to rattle her teeth so they felt like they might spring right out of her jaw, and lifted Anya clear off the ground with casual ease as she continued to try and pull away. 

“No, please, please-” she tried, still scrambling uselessly towards the girl, “Please-”

She earned herself a smack on the side of the head, and finally fell silent. They held her there as two more guards collected the corpse, and Anya watched Hoede through a stream of tears as she bit her tongue to keep her pleas and questions to herself. 

“You will not breathe a word of this to anyone,” he said, looking down at her, “Understood?”

Anya breathed tightly, lowering her gaze not from fear, and definitely not from respect, but because she did not want him to see her cry. 

“Yes, Onkel ,” she whispered, “Of course,”

She did as she was told.

Anya had written to Wylan at least five times since coming to this house, though a reply had never come and she knew in her heart that the letters were never sent. It was a month ago, now, that she’d dared to ask Hoede about the possibility of seeing him again. 

“I’m afraid I learned just earlier today that the boy has left the city,” he’d said, almost distracted, “to attend music school in Belendt. I assumed you knew of this - did he not write to you?”

Of course he didn’t, Hoede knew that. But Anya didn’t even care for this cruelty, because she’d stopped listening by the time he said that. Because there was not a chance that Jan Van Eck would let his son leave this city. If Wylan wasn’t in that house anymore it could only mean one thing, she knew. She felt like something was piercing her through the stomach; the moment Hoede had left, a painful sob forced its way from her throat and she fell onto her knees. Yuri’s gentle arm appeared around her shoulders and she wept into his chest, unable to articulate any of the thousand things inside her head. She didn’t need to hear anything else. 

She knew. 

She knew. 

But, somehow, once Joost had drawn that smile out of her, it was like she’d remembered how to and her body didn’t want to let go of it. He started stopping to talk to her on his every round of the house, even bringing her little trinkets that he’d bought in the city - a little beaded bracelet, a whimsical map of Kerch with an ocean full of hand-sketched sea monsters. 

The third of those fate-sealing knocks, if you believe in things like fate, came not for Anya, but for Yuri. No-one knew why Hoede had come for the Fabrikator this early evening, and no-one knew what had happened whilst he was gone, but when he returned something profound had clearly changed.

“Yuri?” Anya ventured, watching him, “Are you-?”

He flinched to look up at her, eyes flashing and wild. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he whispered, “I don’t- I didn’t- I- I-”

His words broke into fragments as though he couldn’t breathe, but before Anya could say anything more he had lurched to his feet and met her in the centre of the room. 

“It broke her,” he hissed, grabbing Anya’s hand so tight enough to be painful, “It’s inside her head. It’s in my head, all of it. It’s screaming,”

“Yuri-” Anya tried, pulling her hand to no avail, “Yuri, please-”

“She doesn’t even remember,” the way his voice shook almost made it sound like he was laughing, but he looked absolutely terrified, “So much metal in the body. I can feel it,”

“Yuri-”

He pressed a finger to his lips, shaking his head, then said softly: 

“You need more calcium. Did you know that? I didn’t, before, but I can feel it now,”

“I- what? Yuri-”

“I can help with that,”

“What are you-?”

Yuri raised one of his hands and then suddenly there was a guard on his arm, forcing him backwards. He didn’t struggle, but he kept his gaze on her and his free hand still held hers close. 

“They came for me,” he whispered, eyes wild and desperate, gripping her even tighter and pulling her close, “They’ll come for you too. They’re coming,”

“Let go of me, Yuri, let-”

“ Pray ,” he snarled, letting go of her so she fell backwards with her own momentum and crashed against the wall, “They’ll come for you next,”

Anya stared at him, shaking, pressed against the wall on the floor of the Grisha workshop. What was happening? This was Yuri . Yuri, who had found her on the bad nights, brought her food and water, who had sat with whilst she wept. Yuri, who had held her when the news about Wylan came, who had cradled her like a child and never pressured her to tell him any of it, who had let her cry into his shoulder for what to him would have sounded like nothing of more gravity than a weather report. She stared up at him, still quivering, as someone offered her their hand to help her to her feet and someone else began to lead Yuri out of the workshop. 

“Wh-What-?”

“He didn’t mean to hurt you,” murmured someone to Anya’s right, and after a beat she realised it was Greta’s hand that she was holding; a maid about her age who had always been kind and gentle, “He has a very bad fever, it’s addling his mind. Mister Hoede wants him quarantined, to make sure it doesn’t spread. Don’t pay his words any heed, it doesn’t mean anything,”

Anya nodded stiffly, a little shakily. 

“Are you alright?”

“I- yes, thank you,”

Greta smiled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. 

“I’ll bring some tea,” she said, “It’ll do you good,”

Anya could only nod, and return shivering to her chair at the workbench. He was just spouting nonsense, wasn’t he? It was just a fever. Wasn’t it? She shuddered, rubbing her wrist where the shadow of his hand still gripped her. 

The last knock didn’t take too long to come.

Anya and Retvenko were sitting in the workshop, in their customary silence, when Greta rapped the open frame as she stepped into view. 

“Mister Hoede asked for you to go to the boathouse,” she told Anya, with a light shrug that told Anya there was no point in asking why because Greta didn’t know either. 

Anya nodded, glancing briefly back at Retvenko with frightened questions in her eyes that he either did not notice or did not care to acknowledge - it was impossible to tell with him - and followed her out into the garden. Crossing through the damp grass it was difficult to push away the memory of the dead girl she had Tailored, and as she tried to push the thoughts away Anya forced herself to focus on the crocuses growing near the boathouse and around her feet. She could smell them in the air, rising up to greet her and cradle something close to her chest. Joras had given her a bunch of crocuses, once, that he got at the harbour on his return; six of them, tucked together in a brown woven ribbon. 

“How did you possibly afford this?” she’d asked, holding them close and inhaling their scent like a drug. 

“Who says I bought them?” he teased, and when he saw her stricken expression: “I picked them Ani, don’t look at me like that!”

They’d both laughed. Anya convinced Paige to let her keep a glass of water from the kitchen in the workshop, and the crocuses sat in the centre of the table until they’d turned so brown and dry and wilted that she could no longer justify keeping them. Looking back on it, she wished she pressed them when they were fresh; she could have tucked them into the pocket of kefta and kept them close forever. But they were long dead now. 

“Pretty,” Wylan had said, when he was certain it was only the two of them in the room; only Anya knew that he could see the flowers, “You have definitely got to ask him to kiss you,”

“ Wylan !”

“He picked you flowers, Ani ,” he’d teased, having overhead the nickname that morning, before Joras left for another voyage, “He even chose a ribbon for them. I bet he’d say yes,”

Anya blushed so profusely that she wasn’t sure she’d ever looked pinker in her entire life. 

“I should never have told you,”

Wylan grinned. 

“You did though,” he preened, “Now you have to live with it forever,”

Anya wondered if Joras knew where she’d gone, if he ever thought about her anymore. She thought about Wylan, grinning at her over a vase of crocuses, laughing, the light dancing in his eyes, and suddenly felt the desire to rip every single flower from the beds and tear them into a thousand pieces. Why was the smell so strong? She hated it. It was choking her. She prayed for something, anything , strong enough to overpower it so she never had to smell those stupid flowers ever again. 

“Anya?” 

Anya flinched as Greta’s hand brushed against her elbow, shaking herself back into reality. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Anya rubbed a disobedient tear off her cheek, “Yes. Thank you,”

They walked inside in silence. 

Hoede stood inside the boathouse, with a stadwatch officer, whom Anya guessed must be high up by the little stripes on the breast of his jacket, and another man wearing mercher black, but they weren’t the first thing that Anya noticed. The first thing she noticed was the large metal… well, box , she thought, for lack of a better word to describe it. The front wall was made up mostly by a large window and inside she could see a small table, wherein sat a small boy kicking his feet off the edge of his chair. A stadwatch guard stood behind him. 

Hoede nodded at Greta to dismiss her, then beckoned Anya wordlessly to the box and gestured for her to step through the open door on the side. The stadwatch guard closed the door behind her, and she heard the sound of a lock being moved on the outside. This side of the glass was mirrored, so Anya could no longer see Hoede or the strangers in the boathouse, but there was a vent above the glass and she could hear them speaking. The guard directed her to sit down, and she followed the instruction. 

“What’s going on?” asked the boy, looking between them. 

The guard told him to be quiet, and with a nervous shiver he stuck his thumb into his mouth. How old was he? Not yet ten, surely. What was going on here? 

An entire hour passed by as a hum of voices began to slowly filter into the boathouse, a small crowd gathering for no purpose that Anya could divine, before the door opened once more and Hoede stepped inside. He patted the boy on the back. 

“Be brave, lad, and there’s a few kruge in it for you, ja ?”

The boy nodded nervously, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. 

“And you,” he turned to Anya and she braced as he grabbed her by the chin, tilting her face up to meet his eye, “You do as you’re told and this will be over soon, ja ?”

Anya forced her serene mask over her features, the cloak she wore day in, day out, and gave him a vague, empty lie of a smile. 

“Of course, Onkel ,” 

He nodded, apparently satisfied, and stepped back through the door. There was another low conversation on the other side of the glass that Anya could not properly hear beyond the edges of words - “results… Fabrikator”, “the dose”, “compensate”. What the hell was she listening to? 

“Sergeant?” called a voice she didn’t know, loudly now and clearly for the ears of those trapped inside this strange box, “First test,” 

The stadwatch guard instructed the little boy to pull up one of his sleeves, and almost as soon as he had done so he produced a small knife and crossed it over the child’s skin. The boy burst into tears as blood leaked onto his pale skin and Anya, glaring at the stranger, immediately leant forwards to him as she tried to whisper comforts. 

“Let me see,” she murmured, “I can-”

“Stop that,” snapped the sergeant, placing a hand on her shoulder, but Hoede’s voice floated through the grate telling him to leave off and he stepped away. 

Anya shot an angry stare to the mirror that she hoped was aimed at Hoede, and then laid her fingers softly over the boy’s cut to close the wound. He stared at her, then back at the smooth, unbroken skin of his arm, running a finger over it like he couldn’t believe what had happened. 

“Was that magic?” 

“Of a sort,” Anya smiled, watching him. Innocence , she thought again, with an internal shake of the head, that’s still all it takes to make me smile , “The same kind of magic that your body does, given time and a bit of bandage,”

The boy nodded, still running his fingertips over the place that she had Healed him. 

“Yes, good,” came Hoede’s impatient voice through the grate, “Now the parem ,”

Anya frowned. She didn’t know that word. 

The sergeant demanded the boy hold out his arm again and he shied away, shaking his head, but the man grabbed his wrist and pulled it sharply towards him as he slashed the knife across his forearm once more. Before Anya had a chance to respond, he had placed a small envelope in front of her on the table. 

“Swallow the contents of the packet,” said Hoede. 

If he thought she trusted him enough to do that without question then he must be mad. 

“What is it?”

“That isn’t your concern,”

“What is it?” she demanded, refusing to touch the envelope until she was answered. 

“It’s not going to kill you,” he said, impatiently, “We want to judge the drug's effect, we're just going to ask you to perform some simple tasks. The Sergeant will make sure you do only what you're told, understood?”

Anya nodded, more because she saw no other way out of this than following instructions than because she felt convinced, and slowly reached for the little packet. 

“No-one will harm you, but if you hurt the Sergeant you have no way out of that cell. It's locked from the outside,”

Anya nodded again, then peeled back the edge of the envelope and tipped the contents down her throat. 

“Is…” she frowned, but still the hope that she had tried so hard to kill sparked inside her chest, “Is it just jurda ?”

“What does it taste like?” asked Hoede. 

“Like jurda , only sweeter. It’s-”

Anya cut herself off with a sharp gasp as every muscle in her body seemed to seize. She inhaled heavily, leaning back. She couldn’t smell crocuses anymore. She could smell blood - the boy’s blood, bleeding lightly on the skin of his arm across the table from her. She could hear his heartbeat, and the sergeant's heartbeat, and the heartbeats of everyone on the other side of the mirror. Each one of them sounded different, she realised; every heart had its own individual pattern, and she could hear all of them without even trying. What was this? It was… beautiful. Anya sighed, and realised she was smiling. A different kind of smile. A new one. 

“Just the same as the Fabrikator,” said someone on the other side of the glass. 

His heart rate had risen; he was scared of her. Good. He should be. 

“Heal the boy,” called Hoede. 

Anya knew, somehow, that she wouldn’t need to try. She didn’t even look at him, just to see if it would work - and it did . She waved her hand; no touch, no line of sight, nothing. The boy’s cut closed in an instant, and Anya felt something rushing inside her. 

“ That was magic,” he whispered, and she did turn to see him then. 

“It feels like magic,”

“Anya, listen closely,”

Anya made a soft humming sound. She didn’t really want to listen to him anymore. She didn’t have to. She could do anything she wanted to. And that was definitely going to be a problem for Councilman Hoede. 

“We’re going to perform the next test now. Sergeant, cut the boy’s thumb off,”

The child cried out in fear, scrambling to sit on both his hands as he frantically shook his head. The sergeant stepped forwards, but Anya wasn’t worried. She looked up at him, smiling her brand new smile. 

“Shoot the glass,”

“What did she say?”

“Sergeant!”

Anya watched him. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if it was working. She reached out to him again - it was so easy, so quick. The sound of his blood rushing moved through her like she was floating on the surface of the True Sea, she wrapped an invisible hook around his heart and felt its rhythm as she raised the rest of her focus to his brain and said again: 

“Shoot the glass,”

She knew that it had worked this time. There was a slight knack to it, but once she’d done it once she knew that she could do it again and again and again. His heartbeat calmed and settled, safe and eased in her command. Comfortable. His face went slack, his eyes blank, and then he drew his weapon and turned to follow his orders like a good little watchdog. 

The gunshots were loud but they couldn’t frighten her now, not when she could control them - not when the heartbeats were even louder. Not when she was floating. The glass rained down ahead of them, a shattered mirage, and a frenzy of cries filled the air. Guns were raised, the cocking of pistols hit her ears, but Anya was calm. She was not afraid. She would never have to be afraid again. 

“Wait,”

All of them - every single one, with a single word - fell quiet and blank. They looked up at her expectantly, patiently. Her toy soldiers. 

“Hoede,” she beckoned, “Come inside,”

He obeyed, of course. 

“Come here,” she whispered to the boy, not commanding him like she had done the others. 

He shuffled towards her and tucked himself into the arm she offered him, either too scared or too confused or too overwhelmed to ask any questions. 

“Don’t look,” she whispered, gently easing him against her shoulder and stroking the back of his head. 

He settled into her, one tiny fist clinging to her kefta. Anya looked up at Hoede, waiting in patient, expectant silence.

“Do as you're told and this will soon be over, ja?”

It was definitely not for innocence that she was smiling any longer. 

*

Anya didn’t know the layout of Ketterdam well, but it wasn’t hard to find her way to the harbours. She ran as far as she could down the Geldstraat, only halting briefly in front of the house that she was pretty sure, though she didn’t know the street or the front of the house very well, belonged to Jan Van Eck. She hesitated - but she didn’t even know why. Wylan wasn’t there. Wylan was… he wasn’t there. There was nothing left in this city for her, not anymore.

It was time to go home. 

Chapter Text

It had been, in the end, the Squaller from West Stave who managed to bring Nina news of Anya. He had a friend who worked in the Geldin District who knew a Grisha indentured to a house on the Geldstraat who knew a Fabrikator at the Hoede house who was indentured alongside an old Squaller called Retvenko, who claimed to know everybody. Considering how long the trail to reach Retvenko had been, Nina was pretty sure that he didn’t know everybody, but she had been willing to let that technicality slide if he knew anything about Anya. In the end, though, it hadn’t mattered that the Fabrikator, Yuri, he’d been called, knew Retvenko because, first of all, Anya had also been indentured at the Hoede house and, second of all, Yuri was dead. 

Nina sat in her room at the White Rose, staring at the message in front of her. In trying to reach Yuri the person that the Squaller on West Stave’s friend knew had only been dismayed to learn of plague outbreaks in the house, and shortly afterwards of Yuri’s death. They’d managed to get in contact with Retvenko - apparently even if he didn’t know everybody he knew enough people to be reached through multiple different routes - who had confirmed the reports of Yuri’s death, informed them that yes, he knew exactly where Anya was, because she had also been indentured at the Hoede house, and refused to comment on the matter any further. It hadn’t taken too much more digging on Nina’s part to learn of the body in a bedraggled red kefta that had washed up in the harbour the other night and been quickly rushed to the bodymen whilst its discovery was hushed up. 

There was no confirmation it was Anya, was there? There was also no confirmation that it wasn’t - and who else could it be? The best possibility was that she was missing; that she’d run from the house in the wake of some kind of disease outbreak and no-one had been able to track her down. The worst was that she was dead; in her attempt to run, maybe having taken a ship out to try and return to Ravka, she had drowned and washed back up into the Ketterdam harbours. 

Nina didn’t want either of them to be true. 

“I can’t tell him,” she’d lamented to Inej, privately cursing herself for the dramatics when nothing had happened to her herself. 

Inej gave her a knowing glance as she shuffled, settling deeper into her cushions. They were perched on her bed at the Slat, leaning against the wall, pillows propped behind their backs so they were almost comfortable. 

“You know it’s worse if you don’t,” 

Nina nodded.

“I know. I will, I just…” she lowered her head into her hands, staring at the fold of her trousers and the edge of Inej’s quilt cover that was visible between her crossed legs. Her palms were cold against her temples, “I want to give him one good thing. Just one. And all I’m going to do is hurt him,”

She thought of the tall, dark-panelled walls of the Van Eck house, the cold of the room in which she’d first met Wylan, as though in defiance of the fire crackling in the hearth. We aren’t supposed to talk . The hour they had spent in fraught silence, the fire and the distant wind their only company, as he sat still and stiff beneath her touch. He’d been, in some ways, different by the day he came to the White Rose. In the obvious ways, yes, he was thinner and frailer and paler, but in smaller ways too. He talked to her, a little, whilst she worked, and he smiled afterwards - for a moment, even if the tears were coming. 

Inej’s hand closed over Nina’s wrist, an unexpected and almost sharp motion. 

“Look at me,”

Nina turned to face her slowly, gaze rising to meet Inej’s. 

“You are not the one hurting him,”

“Inej-”

“You have to tell him,”

She thought of Wylan’s slow smile, of the grip of his hand around the edge of the chair so tight that his knuckles paled. She thought of the blood rushing to his cheeks with any gentle correction she gave him, of the sheer terror in his eyes when he’d woken from his faint in her room. Nina nodded. 

“Yeah,” she whispered, “I know,”

She hadn’t exactly expected it to happen so quickly though; she’d left Inej on the staircase of the Slat and walked downstairs to find Wylan hovering by the door. He’d said barely anything since she came over, in fact for a minute she hadn’t been sure he was listening to her at all as he continued to sit perfectly still, staring at her hand on his, but when she’d done her best to gently explain that the body they’d found in the harbour may or may not have been Anya’s he adjusted his fingers beneath hers, just a little at first but then turning his hand over properly to return her hold. It was only then that she properly acknowledged he wasn’t just staring at their hands, of course, he simply could not see her. 

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Nina let herself fall still, focusing on the feeling of Wylan’s hand in hers, locating his pulse and listening to his breathing. A tear fell down his cheek, and then another and another, but he didn’t move to brush them away. After a moment, she dared to whisper: 

“Do you want me to… to lessen it? I can make it feel…” she hesitated. She didn’t want to say better , “different,”

Wylan seemed to consider this for a moment, but then he shook his head. His voice was soft and low when he ventured: 

“I think I need to feel it,”

Nina nodded, then caught herself and instead just gave Wylan’s hand a gentle squeeze; she didn’t think anything needed to be said out loud. She wasn’t sure how much time passed, though it probably wasn’t many minutes, before footsteps began to clack closer to them through the general noises of the Slat and Jesper’s voice moved tentatively through the air. 

“Nina? - Wylan? Are you alright?”

Wylan drew his hand away from Nina’s with a sharp inhale of breath, reaching to wipe his eyes with his shirt cuff as he turned away. 

“What’s going on?”

A beat passed before Wylan, slightly strained and still not turning towards them, managed: 

“Can you-? Please, I can’t- I-”

“Of course,” said Nina, softly, before nodding for Jesper to follow her a few steps away. 

She filled him in briefly, keeping her voice low, glancing back to Wylan over her shoulder with every other word. He’d barely moved a muscle since they stepped away. 

“Did he say anything?” asked Jesper, quietly, watching Wylan. 

“Not much,”

“Alright,” he gave her a sort of half smile, “Thanks. Are you okay?”

Nina opened her mouth, then closed it again, then managed: 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” 

Jesper looked at her for a moment, then nodded and stepped away. 

“Wylan?” 

Wylan didn’t seem to respond. 

“Wylan? Can I take your hand?”

This time he nodded, to which Jesper looked a little relieved, and when Jesper’s hand closed over his he seemed to return the motion. 

“Do you want to go upstairs?” Jesper asked, gently, “We can get some privacy,”

A moment passed before Wylan nodded again, keeping his grip on Jesper’s hand as he stood up. Nina stood and watched them leave in silence. Her chest felt hollow.

Chapter Text

“I’m starting to think we aren’t destined to get coffee,” Jesper smiled, trying to keep his voice light, as he led Wylan up the stairs. 

The staircase was narrow enough that Jesper had to stand on the edge of the step above Wylan for them to be able to keep their hands intertwined, and he tried to keep half an eye on Wylan’s footing as they climbed. He remembered that Wylan had taken the steps outside the library slowly even with his cane, his free hand tight on the railing, and without it the motion would be harder - especially since the stairs at the Slat probably wouldn’t be considered very even. 

Wylan had one hand around Jesper’s, the other of the wooden rail, and although he knew that, understandably, stairs weren’t easy for Wylan, Jesper still thought they might be moving noticeably slower than usual. He lingered on his step for a moment as Wylan moved to follow, feeling the warmth of the boy’s hand in his, unsure of what to say or what to do. They walked the rest of the way to Jesper’s room in silence, and Jesper quickly shoved some of his stuff out of the way so Wylan could sit down on the bed. 

“Do you want a drink, or anything?”

Wylan shook his head, but Jesper poured him a glass of water anyway and told him where it was on the side in case he wanted it. He sat down a little tentatively next to Wylan, but was saved from trying to figure out what he should say next by the sound of a broken sob escaping from between Wylan’s lips. 

“I’m sorry,” Wylan whispered, as Jesper looped his arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulled him close. 

Jesper hushed him gently, letting his hand find loose purchase against Wylan’s as he buried his head into Jesper’s shoulder. Jesper rocked slowly, ever so slightly, from side to side as they sat, and after a minute Wylan lifted his legs up onto the bed to tuck his feet beneath him. He still took the time to haphazardly kick his shoes off, which Jesper couldn’t help but smile at. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, softly, as Wylan shuffled and lifted his head. 

For a moment there was quiet and Jesper thought Wylan might not be ready to answer, but then he ventured into the still air: 

“I just… I really thought for a minute that she might be okay. I thought… maybe I could finally help her,”

There was something, maybe, more to that that Wylan wasn’t saying, but Jesper didn’t push. 

“I never helped her,” he whispered, “I did nothing and now- and now-”

Wylan’s breathing began to speed up, audible and erratic. Jesper grabbed his hand, his palm pressed against its back as he laced his fingers between Wylan’s. 

“Breathe with me,” he murmured, “Count three in, out for four,”

“Jes-”

“In for three, out for four,”

Wylan obliged, perhaps slightly begrudgingly, as Jesper counted out loud. They did the same twice more, then breathed in for four and out for five. By the time they’d reached six counts in, Jesper could feel Wylan’s pulse relaxing where he’d gently pressed his thumb into his wrist. He squeezed his hand. 

“I promise you,” he said, “this is not your fault,”

“I should’ve… I could’ve-could’ve…”

“Could have done what?” Jesper asked, half surprising himself with the feeling of intensity that had begun to burn in the back of his throat. He adjusted to take both of Wylan’s hands, twisting so they were face to face kneeling on the bed, “Wy, I don’t know what happened in that house and I don’t expect you tell me any of it, but I know you were not in any kind of position to-”

“Don’t,” said Wylan, tears sliding down his cheeks now. His hands tensed beneath Jesper’s, but he didn’t pull away, “Please,”

“Wylan-”

“You can’t justify this,” he shook his head, “Nothing can fix… She was five houses away. We were on the same street ,”

Jesper wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, not knowing the full story of what happened to Anya, but he would ask Nina for the details if he needed them. He wouldn’t make Wylan say anything. 

“I never even looked for her,”

“Alright,” Jesper pulled his feet round to sit cross-legged, vaguely regarding his boots on the bedspread and thinking he probably should’ve kicked them off like Wylan did, “How would you have looked for her?”

“I could have-” Wylan hesitated, briefly, “I could have asked around, or spoken to Joras-”

“Joras, being…?”

“A Squaller at my father’s house,”

“You think there’s a chance Joras knew where she was?”

Wylan looked down, then very lightly shook his head. 

“Who else could you have asked?”

Silence, for a moment. 

“I could have asked someone when I first moved to the Barrel. Nina, someone else. If I’d tried sooner-”

“Alright,” said Jesper, again, “Let’s say you found out where she was, another house on the Geldstraat, yeah?”

Wylan nodded. 

“What could you have done? Once you knew?”

“I… I don’t know, but I could have done something , I-”

“Maybe,” Jesper shrugged, “But that’s a lot of maybes, Wylan. There isn’t any way of getting rid of that feeling, okay? That guilt? It isn’t an easy thing to live with,”

Curiosity might have briefly passed through Wylan’s features, but if Jesper hadn’t imagined it then the boy had noticed and controlled it well. He released Wylan’s hands, moving to drop his legs back over the side of the bed, then tucked one arm gently round him. 

“But you do have to find a way, in time. It’s going to fucking suck ,” Jesper smiled as Wylan laughed very, very softly, “And some days are worse than others, I know. But this was not your fault, Wylan. Grief is something you carry with you forever; sometimes it’s the heaviest thing you’ve ever held and other days you can just slip it in your pocket, but it’s always there - and that’s good, that’s normal. That’s love. Guilt isn’t like that; guilt is like trying to handle a deadly snake with no experience. You might get lucky for a while, but if you aren’t sensible - and you don’t figure out what you’re doing - it might swallow you whole,”

Wylan shuddered, another tear tracing down his face as he turned to rest the side of his head against Jesper’s shoulder. 

“How?” 

“Oh, I wish I could tell you,” Jesper smiled, “I’m afraid that’s something everyone has to figure out for themself. It makes it easier, though, if you have people to help you. Someone who cares about you, and who you can talk to freely. No-one can really teach you how to carry it though, or how to charm the snake. Not in my experience, anyway,”

They sank into the silence for a time. Jesper focused on the feeling of Wylan’s hand in his, the weight of his head pressed against his shoulder. He moved his free hand in slow, silent patterns against the bedsheet, studying the wall ahead. 

“What was your mother like?”

Wylan’s voice was so quiet that Jesper wasn’t immediately convinced he’d spoken. He glanced down at the top of Wylan’s head. 

“You don’t have to answer,” Wylan filled the pause, “Sorry, I shouldn't have-”

“She was the best,” Jesper smiled, “She taught me to shoot,”

She taught him lots of other things, too. Jesper’s mother had been Grisha, like him, and the only person who’d truly understood his restless energy. He remembered her making bread rise just by looking at, then making him promise not to tell his Da.

“This is our little secret,” she’d say, “Okay?”

Jesper only remembered asking her why once, when he was very small, and all she’d said was that she didn’t want to make Colm worry. 

“I don’t really remember mine,” Wylan whispered, “Not properly. I miss her, though. Sometimes… Sometimes I think I shouldn’t. It’s not my pain, if I don’t even remember her,”

Jesper shook his head. 

“That’s not how it works,” he promised, “Of course you miss her,”

Jesper could admit, to himself though not, of course, out loud in front of Wylan, that he wondered about Wylan’s mother sometimes. He wondered what she’d been like, and whether… well, it felt awful to think it, but whether she had loved her son. In all the ways her husband clearly hadn’t. He wondered if she’d been safe, all those years ago. He wondered how she’d died. 

Wylan lifted his head, as though he were looking at the wall opposite them, and clutched Jesper’s hand like he was afraid he would melt away. 

“Why are you so nice to me?”

“Would you prefer it if I made fun of you once in a while? We could start with your dress sense,”

“I dress well,”

“You don’t dress too badly - for a blind person,”

Wylan laughed, which relieved Jesper slightly. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” he smiled, “Nina already told me how bad your dress sense is,”

Jesper gave a fake, melodramatic gasp as he announced:

“I dress impeccably ,”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to take your word on that,”

A short quiet settled over them once again. Wylan began to cry again, after a minute or so; silent tears falling over his cheeks and dripping into his lap whilst he refused to wipe them away. 

“Remind me when it gets easier?” he whispered, a half-hearted attempt at teasing creeping into his voice. 

Jesper squeezed his hand. 

“A little while yet, I’m afraid,”

Wylan turned his face towards Jesper’s, his chin tilted up, his eyes still reddened and his cheeks still damp. He leaned forwards, and then upwards, and then before Jesper even had time to think Wylan’s lips were brushing against his. 

Jesper had wanted to kiss Wylan since… well, he couldn’t remember knowing Wylan and not wanting to kiss him. He’d felt some curiosity towards the boy since the day he’d walked into that business class, and spent more time in the few lectures he’d attended staring at the boy from across the room than he had paying much attention to the session. The desire to flirt the merchling into a corner, just to see what might happen, had crossed his mind more than once when he passed him in hallways or happened to hear him talking about some rich-sounding nonsense or other. But knowing Wylan, in the library, in front of the sunset, on the side of the canal and giving him a bunch of flowers outside the Slat – that was very different. That brought a change in it, for Jesper. He wanted to make Wylan laugh, he wanted to feel that little hitch in his chest when their fingers intertwined, he wanted to lounge in a chair and listen to Wylan talk to him about mathematics he couldn’t understand just so he got to see that shimmer in his eyes, the smile that had a different edge to it than other smiles. He wanted to lie on top of his bed and stare at the ceiling holding Wylan’s hand, talking about nothing and everything. He wanted to listen to him play the flute, he wanted to tell him stories. And, Saints , he knew that he wanted to kiss him.

But not like this. 

Jesper pulled away. 

“Wylan…” 

Wylan’s cheeks turned crimson as his face flooded with horror, panic spiralling in his eyes as he shook his head, leaning backward. 

“I’m sorry-” he managed, “I shouldn’t- I’m sorry, I-”

He stood up. 

“I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry, I’ll go, I-”

Wylan took a pace away but Jesper grabbed his wrist, immediately regretting it when Wylan flinched but all the same not letting go; he needed to hold him there. He needed him. 

“Wylan,” Jesper gave his arm a gentle tug and Wylan relented, moving back to sit down on the side of the mattress. He didn’t look at Jesper, “It shouldn’t be like this,”

There was a pause. Jesper let his hand slip away from Wylan’s wrist and down towards his palm, his thumb resting against Wylan’s knuckles, his fingers still just high enough to feel Wylan’s pulse beneath them. 

“I’m not stopping you because I don’t… because we don’t both want the same things,” he breathed, his voice barely feeling like it existed in the cold air between them, “I’m stopping you because you don’t want to do this,”

A beat passed before Wylan tilted his head towards Jesper’s, just slightly, his eyes roving upwards even though they couldn’t see him. Jesper couldn’t really explain why he lifted his free hand towards Wylan’s face and slowly ran his thumb over the lowest ridge of scar tissue that crossed through those beautiful, piercing blue eyes, he only knew that he did it and it felt like he never should have done anything else. 

“You’re grieving,” he murmured, “And you want to be distracted,”

“I-”

“I don’t want to kiss you just because you’re hurting, and you don’t really either. Not right now. It would be unfair to let you,”

Wylan closed his eyes for a moment, and another tear leaked through his lashes and onto Jesper’s thumb. He nodded.

“Besides,” Jesper’s voice lilted, ever so slightly, “I have selfish reasons too,”

Wylan’s eyelids fluttered as he tilted his face back upwards, and Jesper felt the rush of their eyes meeting even though Wylan couldn’t see his. 

“I want to be something to you, Wylan Hendriks. But I don’t ever want to be something you regret,”

Chapter Text

There was a raised edge all along the length of Jesper’s mattress, where the fabric was sewn together and turned through. The ridge presumably ran around the mattress’ entire circumference - because otherwise where were the stitches? - but Wylan hadn’t explored any further than the section of it currently gripped so tightly in his hand that it was almost definitely pressing indents into his palms. The floorboards were a tumultuous ocean beneath his feet. He’d never been one for seasickness, but he thought he might be about to develop it. Why could nothing stay still and steady?

Wylan wasn’t sure exactly when it had been that his father caught on to his friendship with Anya, but he knew that it had been a long time before he sent her away. Wylan could only be sure that he’d known for definite after one catastrophic evening, when he was maybe thirteen, but he might have known for longer. The only thing he could hold onto was that his father had never known about him telling Anya the truth about his sight - Ghezen only knew what he would’ve done to her if he had. There had been a knot tied in the pit of Wylan’s stomach for years over that thought; the stupid running of his mouth that might have led to Anya washing up dead in a harbour even younger than she had done. 

Oh Ghezen, he really was going to throw up. 

That evening, when they knew for certain that Jan Van Eck was dangerously aware of their friendship, he’d come home earlier than anyone was expecting. Wylan had been in the Grisha workshop and passed however many blissful minutes, he couldn’t be sure of the exact number, completely unaware that his father was marching through the house searching for his son. If he’d moved faster, been found in any other room of the house, and alone at that, he could’ve kept Anya out of the way.

Their entire relationship, it would seem, was built on Wylan never being quick enough to save her. 

It had been well over an hour afterwards, in fact probably more like three, that Wylan’s bedroom door creaked nervously open; trapped somewhere between haste and hesitation. Wylan had been crouched between the end of his bed and the wall with his knees pressed up against his chest, trying to make himself as small as he could possibly be. He wanted to shrink to the size of a pinhead and crawl beneath the bed or the floorboards, to hide so thoroughly that it seemed to the entire world he had simply vanished. No questions asked, no suspicions raised. Just there one moment, gone the next. When he heard the door, though, he stumbled hurriedly to his feet, straightening the shirt cuffs that he’d been crumpling inside his fists as though two seconds of shaking them out would heal them of creases and folds. It was probably - almost definitely - just a servant bringing him something to eat, but Wylan’s heart rate wasn’t doing a very good job of listening to the logic his brain was trying to offer him. And at any rate, he didn’t want them to see him cry. 

He reached vaguely for his cane, discarded somewhere on his bed, without relenting to turn his head and see where he’d dropped it and instead keeping his eyes slightly unfocused on the edge of the doorframe. Whatever he might have been thinking, he honestly couldn’t have said, he knew that he hadn’t been expecting to see Anya peering nervously round the door. 

“Anya- what-?”

She pressed a finger to her lips and made an almost violent shushing sound as she pushed the door closed behind her. For a moment she stood with her back pressed against it, eyes closed. Wylan watched her chest rise and fall, her breaths deep and full. His fingers wrapped back around his shirt cuffs and began to crush them against his palm again. 

“What did he do to you?”

Anya glanced at him for a moment before she stood up properly from where she’d been leaning and walked a few short steps into the room.