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Chapter Text

Two bells quarter chime- past midnight

Kaz

Kaz dabbed the blood from his lip. He folded the napkin twice and tucked it quickly back into his pocket. The sight of his own blood wasn't one he cared for much- a reminder of the unfortunate truth that he was human. Some of the wilder rumours coursing the Barrel went that Kaz's blood ran black through his veins, that his skin was tough and impenetrable as a shark's, that he drank the blood of his victims with breakfast the way regular folk drank coffee. Planting rumours about himself into the minds of the chumps populating the Barrel ensured their fear, their respect, but the way words were spun and stories spiralled had turned him into the monster under Ketterdam's creaky bed, the shadow beneath it's feet. In a way, he preferred that version of himself. The beast of the Barrel didn't shake like a leaf at the mere brush of bare hand against skin. Dirtyhands didn't have a family, he didn't have a heart to feel with. Kaz Brekker, widely feared, a legend, a phantom. Not the boy who stood before the mirror bleeding because one of his own, one of his crows, had made his fist acquainted with Kaz's nose. At some point down the line, he himself had convinced himself of these stories, turned himself into the conniving demon they all knew him to be. But as much as he resented it, the life-bringing liquid that coursed through him was a cherry red against the white of his skin, staining it as it dribbled down his chin.

Kaz had taken countless punches during his time in The Barrel without so much as a flinch. He himself was known to generously dish them out. He'd been beaten black and blue at the hands of Barrel thugs and thieves, and yet he'd clawed his way through the cobbled streets and black canals, right up the ranks of the Dregs, and he'd made them all pay for it in his own slow, relishing way. Sticks and stones.

A strike from Jesper's fist carried more weight. Dirtyhand's voice within him, his first concern was reputation. How would Kaz Brekker stand with his chin up after he and Jesper had been seen brawling like wild cats?

But a more prominent sensation twinged in his, what barely deserved to be called so, heart: Confusion. Anger. Hurt.

His throws has been sloppy and aimless, the lashings of a wounded animal. Perhaps he was one.

His white mask of an expression fell over his face as he composed himself. Through the thin walls of the Slat, he could hear Jesper's blubbering, the smooth salve of Inej's voice consoling him. The voices moved back and forth, travelling along the walls as Jesper's restless limbs paced and Inej's silent feet followed close behind. Kaz knew the disapproving looks he'd recieve, Nina's green-eyed glare and Inej's quiet disapproval. But that didn't matter as long as he could look the mirror and not find a hint of weakness in his reflection.

He analysed the sharp angles of his face. His ghostly pale skin. His shark eyes. Several scars, mostly faded, the largest of which sat along the crease of the corner of his lip. Scars were not weaknesses, not amongst criminals. They were medals of the fights you won, the pain you could endure. One, a faded pink on his right cheekbone, he had earned the day he met Jesper.

The Zemini boy had stumbled into the crow club just as it was closing for the night. It was a quiet night- well, as quiet as it got for the Barrel. They hadn't drawn in as much business tonight as Kaz had hoped. Not when the Emerald Palace had a new deal on, taking advantage of the influx of Ravkan tourists that came to escape the winter.

Anika and Pim sat at the bar, downing whiskey they knew wouldn't sell, listening to the merry shrieks of the Emerald Palace that echoed through the deserted doorway.

Kaz didn't have time for sulking. Tonight, he would occupy himself with the issue of luring Rollin's customers, warding off vandalism that had become quite an issue for the Dregs, and the recruitment of newer, more skilled members. Several of his best bruisers he'd lost due to quite a tragic street brawl, and one member had slipped Kaz's grasp and buggered off to Novyi Zem with two thousand Kruge swiped from Kaz's coffers.

Earlier that day, someone had shot through Kaz's office window at the Slat, the bullet just grazing his skin- but it left quite a nasty gash on his right cheekbone. He had heard the laughter, albeit followed by hurried escape- everyone in Ketterdam was well aware of Kaz's wrath. Regardless, they had still had the nerve to disrespect him, on his own streets, in his own building. And as much as Kaz would have liked to chase the sorry suckers down and give them a taste of his fist, he was too pressed for time. At this rate, the Dregs would be the laughing stock of the Barrel, with no means to defend themselves- and none of the pitiful lot of them knew their way around a gun.

They had hit low points before. And Kaz had kept them afloat. So that's what he'd do- if only they'd stop mooching about the place like useless lumps.

Kaz rapped his cane against the rotting wooden floor- he'd have to get it refurbished. "Get this place packed up." He said on a deep sigh.

"It's only two bells half chime, boss. Barely nighttime."

"Didn't ask for the time. Get off your asses, the two of you."

Pim turned to Anika, who shrugged. Kaz shrugged on his black coat as they dimmed the lights.

The door flung open just as Anika went to shut it, and a flailing mess of limbs and plaid tumbled in. Anika and Pim jumped, hands at their weapons immediately. The boy caught himself, chest heaving, eyes darting back and forth in a wild panic. He caught Pim's eyes.

"Sorry for the grand entrance. Do me a favour, if anyone comes knocking, just tell them I'm not here." He said, already pushing past Pim and striding toward the back rooms of the Crow Club. Kaz emerged from the shadows, blocking his path. The boy jumped as if he hadn't seen him coming.

"With that level of confidence, you'd think you owned the place."

"Kaz Brekker." He spluttered. The initial fear in his face suddenly turned to relief, "Kaz Brekker. Hey, you're terrifying. Do you mind playing scarecrow for me, just this once? I'll owe you."

Kaz's eyes darkened. Did nobody around here respect him anymore? His hands tightened over his cane. He was going to teach this insolent Zemini boy that Kaz was in fact the crow that would need scaring.

"Wait a second, it's you!" Anika burst, jabbing an accusing finger at the boy, "You're the idiot that blasted Kaz's window this afternoon, down the Slat. Jasper or something."

"Jesper," Jesper corrected instinctively, then froze, turning slowly to Kaz, "Shit."

They heard something smash outside, the clamour of angry men approaching from down the street. Jesper looked desperately between the door and Kaz, "Shit. Listen, Kaz, Mister Brekker, Sir, whatever you like. I'm genuinely sorry for that. It was just a dare- nothing personal. You can have the ten Kruge I won out of it. Please, let me hide here, I'll make it up to you any way I can."

Only ten Kruge? Kaz thought sourly. His blood was worth more than that. He ought to give this Jesper kid a beating he'd never forget.

He thought of that afternoon. The shot through the window had been impossibly clean, leaving an impressive little hole that barely shattered the surrounding glass. The bullet had just barely grazed his cheek. Looking at Jesper now, Kaz doubted the shot was intended to seriously harm him. That shot was too clean, too precise- if Jesper had been aiming for Kaz's head, he could have hit him. Plus, Jesper didn't seem the killing type.

Jesper. That name did ring a bell. He kept tabs on anyone with any presence in the Barrel- here, he remembered it now. Jesper Fahey. Relatively new to Ketterdam, and had already built himself a reputation for placing bets and street brawls. Bets he usually lost, brawls he usually won. Kaz assumed be was only getting by on the streets of Ketterdam on unfounded confidence and brazen audacity alone.

Those men out on the street must have been after Jesper, come to collect some debt or finish a fight. Jesper was sweating now, foot tapping the ground impatiently as he scanned for some kind of escape from this situation. He paced back towards the door, and was stopped by Anika and Pim.

"Shoot." Kaz said suddenly. Jesper whipped round, bemused. Kaz clutched his crow's head cane with both hands now, fingers covering it's silver face. He held it closer to his body. "Three bullets. Without drawing blood."

Sweat shone on Jesper's brow. He shook his head disbelievingly, but to Kaz's surprise, he didn't question it. Jesper drew a hand to his hip and retrieved a gun. Through the panic in Jesper's expression, there was a glint in his grey eyes, a spark. Jesper spun the gun twice, showing off how easily it obeyed his hand. Kaz thought he saw Jesper smile as he fired. One bullet burned past Kaz's hair, leaving a smouldering trail just along the side of his head. The ends of the hairs there smoked slightly. The other flew past Kaz's ear. Jesper blew his gun, aimed and fired the third shot. The bullet reached the tight gap between Kaz's gloved fingers and bounced from the silver eye of the crow's head with a clink.

Kaz ran a hand through the smouldering ends of his hair. Jesper drew a breath.

"Anika, Pim. Deal with these thugs outside and then show Jesper here to the Slat." Jesper's eyes were wide in shock and awe. Anika opened her mouth to argue. "It's about time we had a sharpshooter on the team."

Kaz limped over to the door where they stood, and parted like the red sea to make way for him, "But first." Kaz swung at Jesper with the metal head of his cane, striking his cheek. Now Jesper's wound mirrored Kaz's, and Jesper stumbled from the hit, hand emerging from his cheek dripping with blood. That was the currency of the Barrel. Blood for blood. And now they were even.

"Welcome to the Dregs." Kaz grinned. Jodie grinned back.

No, not Jordie. Jesper. Kaz cursed himself. He couldn't let himself falter again- especially not in front of the others. Once is a mistake. Twice would beg questions Kaz wasn't ready to answer.

There was a soft knock on the door. Before Kaz could give her permission, she was inside, looking at him with her honest brown eyes and a pitiful expression. There was nothing worse than Inej looking sorry for you. Particularly after what she had just witnessed.

"I hope you're not here to tut your head at me for that little display. What was that Suli proverb again, the one you use in situations like this? They all merge into one patronising clump in my head."

"I am not Jesper. You don't have to bring your defenses up."

"You have a funny habit of trying to slip past them while they're down."

Inej moved forward slightly, and Kaz flinched inside. He was reminded of the last time they were alone in the bathroom together. His lips on her skin, his gloveless hands fiddling with her bandages. Her nimble figure in front of him, her neck, her nose, her legs, her smell, her warmth. All washed away by the bitter river of unsurpressable memories that rushed at him at the feeling of his skin against hers, no matter how badly he craved it. But watching her now, moving towards him in the dim light... it was the closest he'd been to losing control.

Kaz wasn't one for envy. But watching Jesper with his arms around Inej's waist, watching Inej plant friendly kisses on their foreheads, watching them sway arm-in-arm, Nina howling some awful sailor's shanty as he stood with the shadows, watching on, knowing he'd never be able to draw closer? That feeling was indescribable. There were times where it hit him like a punch to the gut. Others where he had been almost grateful for the distance, so that they couldn't tell just how much he longed for that they had. If only he could reach out and touch Inej now, cup her face, press his lips to hers...

His stomach churned.

He turned around to watch her in the mirror instead. She crossed her arms.

"I've not come to berate you, nor to advise you." She said, although he could see she wanted to. She probably had a thousand proverbs lined up in her head. "I want to know the plan."

Kaz barked a humourless laugh. "We've all just witnessed what happens when I let you people in on anything."

Inej shook her head, "You knew. You knew about Wylan, and you knew exactly how Jesper would react. It's all a part of your master plan, isn't it?"

Of course. When had Inej ever failed to see straight through him? Kaz's insides may be blacker with every lie he told, but to Inej he may as well be made of glass. Kaz looked to his cane.

Despite the unprecedented turn he and Jesper's interaction had gone upon their return from the job, the night had otherwise gone exactly as plan. He had Rollins where he wanted him, and his crew were all dancing to Kaz's tune- all except Inej. Kaz's biggest threat to power had never been Haskell, or Rollins, or any other Barrel thug. Righteous Inej, as widely loved as she was feared, had the power to swipe his team from under him. All she had to do was go against him and all of his plans would be foiled. Kaz wondered if she knew the power she had, over the Dregs and over him.

"All I'll tell you about the plan is that there is one, and it's going smoothly." Said Kaz eventually. "And it doesn't involve the Merchling shackled to Pekka Rollins' piano forever."

Kaz looked up and met Inej's eyes in the mirror. They seemed glazed over, like she was lost in a memory.

"I know what it is to lose your freedom, Kaz. I know what it is to be a caged bird. Powerless."

Kaz thought of Jesper. Jesper's thinly veiled despair over the last few weeks, tortured by Wylan's absence. He thought of Jesper's face when he spotted Wylan tonight, playing piano in Pekka Rollins' club; pale and bruised and homesick and there was nothing Jesper could do about it. Inej climbing the incinerator shaft, sweat beading on that delicate brow, and Kaz couldn't catch her if she fell. Inej on the ship, ready for death to take her, and Kaz could do nothing to steal her from it's jaws. Inej in Van Eck's chains, stashed somewhere where Kaz couldn't reach her, couldn't feel her presence, couldn't breathe.

Powerless. I know that word too. And I don't like it. Kaz felt his hands tighten around his cane. He was different from Jesper- he could see the bigger picture. He was stronger than his own emotions.

But was he, really? Jesper had pointed it out himself, between punches. You're a stone-faced bastard, but you're no tougher than I am. Kaz had risen to where he was by using a given target's weaknesses against them. Their stupidity, their brainless greed, their love. He'd always been stronger than the men he bested because he possessed none of these things. He had the brains, the slight of hand, the poker face. The trick was not to love anything.

Now, he really was no better than Jesper. He'd allowed himself a weakness.

That weakness in question stood behind him, eyes wide and questioning. Kaz finally turned to face her.

"The Merchling may be suffering for now, but I promise you that by the end of this, he'll be anything but powerless. Hell, he'll be the richest man in Ketterdam." He stepped towards the door, towards her. She didn't move away; if anything, she seemed to lean in closer. "For now, I need your help in keeping Jesper docile. I need all hands on deck for what's coming." Trust me. He didn't add that on. Trust Kaz Brekker? Who would he be kidding?

Inej accepted this hesitantly, stepping aside to let Kaz through. He tried not to let his eyes linger and strode past. From the hallway, he could still hear Jesper murmuring to someone in the other room. Kaz knew what Jesper's first response to any sort of turmoil was. He knew that Inej wouldn't allow Jesper to drag himself off to a gambling den, and felt some security in that knowledge. Nina and Matthias were there with him, as was Inej, having returned to the room. He heard some quiet conversation, then tentative laughter, then the clinking of glasses, then singing and chatter. He could just picture them, arm in arm, swaying in the candlelight.

Kaz with only the shadows keeping him company.

He almost smiled at the sound of Nina's booming, entirely off-key singing. As much as these people annoyed them, he'd be damned before he let them down. Not Wylan, not Inej, not, Nina, not Matthias, not Jordie.

Fuck. Not Jordie. Jesper.

There was work to be done. Brick by brick, he reminded himself, shrugging on his coat and tucking his hat over his hair. He melted into the night, a ghost stalking in the shadows in pursuit of his unfinished business.

Earlier that night- Eleven bells- before midnight.

Jesper

Jesper needed to clear his mind. And how better to do so than jumping on one of Kaz's late-night schemes? Night air in his lungs, pearl revolvers at his hips, bullets flying past his face. Head empty and heart racing.

Tonight's job was a juicy one- sabotaging Pekka Rollins' new club opening. It was a pretty exclusive place and only men with coin to spare got in. Kaz hadn't let him in on a job in ages, so Jesper was pretty pleased to be included on this job that seemed so important. Kaz couldn't bring his eyes away from the entrance as they lurked around the corner, already wearing their disguises- Kaz, Jesper, Pim and Matthias. Inej was already getting into position inside, and Kaz had insisted Nina sit this one out.

Jesper wasn't an idiot. He could tell there was more to this Pekka Rollins business than met the eye, he could see it in Kaz's snarl. Frankly, he couldn't care less. He was happy to shoot at whoever Kaz wanted, so long as he could exercise his trigger finger and get paid what his talent was worth.

Kaz had explained the plan beforehand, but Jesper hadn't really been listening. He was just drinking in the excitement of it all, fiddling around his disguise, trying to find what he was craving. The Barrel came into full bloom at night, neon signs and all, people stumbling from pub to pub in their Komedie Brute costumes. Smoke in the air, vomit, piss, beer, cheap perfume, glass smashing, shoes on cobblestone, heels snapping, screaming, laughter, gunshots, purple Kruge, red lipstick, men with wandering hands. Jesper remembered being a fresh-faced farm boy on his first night in Ketterdam. He and his new university friends had been swept up by a crowd, found themselves here, and Jesper would never forget the total awe he had felt. The streets of the Barrel were as chaotic as the inside of his brain, and for the first time he felt balanced. He made this place his home for a reason. So why was none of it enough any more?

Nothing the Barrel had to offer would ever live up to what Jesper was so desperately missing. The smell of silky soft curls, ruddy gold that glinted in the light. Serious blue eyes and a furrowed brow. That thoughtful gaze, that quietly brave determination, that incredible mind and meticulous hands carved just for the piano and the paintbrush. Jesper had had a taste of luxury, and now no cheap thrill was ever going to quench his hunger for it.

Every corner brought back some kind of unwelcome memory. There was the first shop he'd broken into on his first real job with Kaz. There was the club he'd played his first hand at cards. There was that pub he'd brought Wylan to the night he vanished.

That was one of the best nights of Jesper's life. If only it hadn't ended quite so badly, he would have treasured the memory forever. He'd dragged Wylan along with him on a bar crawl, intent on giving the pampered Merch his "first real taste of the Barrel." Wylan had been reluctant, still wary of it all. But with a few drinks in him... saints, he may as well have been an entirely different person. They went from pub to pub, Wylan getting woozier with every drink he downed, and he wreaked more havoc than Jesper had thought he was even capable of. Laughing until he couldn't stand up, shoving a man off of the piano and turning the place into his own manic concert, attempting to start several fights that Jesper had to diffuse. Jesper keeping the peace, of all people. At one pub, he had leapt atop a table, announced his undying love for Ketterdam, started a sailor's shanty and then fell face-first into the crowd. By that point Jesper knew it was probably time to go home- but that was a story he would hold over Wylan's head for years to come.

They walked home arm in arm, Wylan in Jesper's coat that was far too long on him, drunk on night air and struggling for balance on the slippery cobblestone. Jesper had laughed at Wylan laughing at everything. The Merchling really couldn't hold his drink. Jesper didn't remember feeling this good, well, ever.

Back at the Slat, they noisily ascended the stairs, and several Dregs stuck their heads out of their doors and cursed them. They just laughed harder. Wylan fumbled with the key around his neck, the one Jesper had made for him using his power, and once inside they collapsed onto the bed in a giggling heap.

The buzz died down and Jesper felt Wylan's breathing slow. In the dim light, the noises of the Barrel through the window seeming worlds away from their warm little sanctuary, there was a moment of silent bliss. A moment where Jesper knew nothing but their synchronised breaths and the blur of a world slowly slipping into sleep.

"Wylan?" He heard himself say. There was a low hum of acknowledgement from Wylan's chest. "I love you."

Jesper didn't know if Wylan had responded. He was already fast asleep, nose buried in Wylan's hair.

When he woke up in the morning he could feel right away that something was wrong. He couldn't feel Wylan's weight beside him on the bed; his hands reached for what was no longer there. At first, he didn't think much of it. Maybe Wylan had gone to the bathroom, or to run an errand. He would be back soon.

Only he wasn't.

Wylan wasn't in the Slat, or the Crow Club, or with Kaz or Inej or Nina. He wasn't anywhere. Nobody had seen him come or go. The streets of Ketterdam had swallowed him, gone without a trace, leaving Jesper unsure of whether Wylan was just a pleasant dream he'd woken up from. Yet Wylan's clothes in the closet, his sheet music and his flute, his leather satchel undisturbed in Jesper's room stood as proof of his existence. Jesper had wandered the streets aimlessly, like a lost puppy, hoping that Wylan would just appear around the next corner. At some point he gave up and mooched back over to the Slat, heart still flickering with the dim hope that Wylan had simply returned while he was out.

That was when he'd seen it. The key he'd given Wylan. Fashioned using his own power, hanging from a silver chain he'd saved up for. Smashed to pieces and waiting for him outside if his door.

Jesper had fallen to his knees and gathered the broken pieces, trying in vain to fit them back together, but it was hopeless. He squeezed them in his hands, feeling the shards cutting into his skin, and hurled them out of the window with as much rage as he could muster.

For the weeks after that, he did what he always did. He pretended he didn't care. Everyone else pretended to believe it.

Jesper played some cards at the table, he kissed some strangers- but the others must have noticed that he never brought anyone back to his room. It used to be a rotating cast of strangers, hurrying in and out of his room every night. But now, in Jesper's heart, his room was still sacred to him and Wylan. Every drink, every flirt, every ace he played, it was all hollow now.

Like the pitiful bastard he was, he kept all of Wylan's things. He didn't quite know why.

In a way, he didn't blame Wylan for leaving. Nobody in their right mind stuck around for the likes of Jesper. But Jesper was foolish enough to believe that this time it was different, this time was forever. Wylan had filled that craving in him he never knew was there, and then vanished, leaving Jesper's shattered heart in his wake.

"Oi" Pim was clicking his fingers in Jesper's face, waking him from his daze.

"Yeah?"

"We're going in."

Jesper mustered a grin, shedding his overcoat to reveal a waiter's suit beneath. The rest of them had matching suits. He followed Pim and Matthias toward the door, Kaz already out of sight. They let the flow of the crowd carry them, clusters of people desperate to get in.

Matthias approached one of the bouncers at the door. A bruiser with stocky arms marked by the Dime Lions tattoo, beastly but still lacking in size compared to Matthias' enormous frame. Matthias produced a fake ID- quite obviously fake, if you had a close look. But the bouncer wouldn't have time for that, not with the clamouring of surrounding people and the way Matthias jabbed his finger at it while yammering at him in fjerdan-diluted Kerch. The bouncer grunted and simply waved them through.

"That was shockingly easy." Murmured Jesper to Pim.

They walked through a darkened corridor into the light of the club. It was a hot stew of bodies milling about, of cigarette smoke and sweat, and Jesper already felt unpleasantly warm in his suit. He grabbed two glasses from a side table and the three of them dispersed into the crowd. He offered the glasses to a few people, trying to look as inconspicuous and waiter-like as possible. This place was finely furnished, nice crystal champagne glasses, a chandelier, and a recurring theme of purple decor. A sign above the bar read in silvery green lettering: The Lioness.

This is my kind of place, he thought to himself with a grin. It used to be at least. The only place he longed for now was the golden jurda fields of Wylan's curls, the wide blue sky of his eyes. But he still had a great appreciation for the flashy luxury of places like this. Pleasure build on quicksand foundation.

The type of people in here were nothing like the cheapskates and tourists that visited the Crow Club and the Emerald Palace- they were well-dressed wealth, Merchers and doctors, lawyers and high-ranking Stadwatch. People like that usually came to the Barrel disguised in Komedie Brute costumes, not wanting to bear the shame of their own self-indulgence, but here amongst the rich and powerful they didn't seem to feel the need. Pekka was selling to the rich now. He was climbing the ladder. No wonder Kaz wanted to bring him down a peg.

Jesper couldn't help but wonder where Pekka had gotten the coin for such an extravagant place. He may be king of the Barrel, but he was hardly swimming in it. Jesper paced once more around the room, picking out faces where he could recognize them- several members of the Merchant council were here. They had to be involved somehow. Pekka would never be able to fund this on his own.

What time was it again? Jesper was getting antsy now. He just wanted to shoot something already, crawl through a vent, scale a fence. He almost hoped someone would recognise him and bust his cover. That would make things more interesting, at least. But nobody bat an eyelid at him.

He spotted a table of scattered cards and dice, and pushed away in the other direction before it could tempt him. Woah. Self-control. Would not have pegged that as a Jesper talent.

He spotted Matthias's blond head and broad shoulders bobbing through the crowd, eyeing the watch concealed beneath his sleeve. At half chime, he would give the signal. Come on, you Fjerdan oaf, get on with it.

Jesper's eyes wandered from Matthias and caught something that made his heart stop. A grand piano, sleek and black, beautifully furnished. It made the most beautiful sound, rich and echoing, the smooth notes floating like a sweet smell over the chatter. At the piano, with his head down and brow furrowed in focus, a figure Jesper recognised.

No. That can't be him. With his heart pounding against his ribcage like it wanted to leap free, Jesper drew closer, pushing through the crowd. The boy came into better view under the golden light of the chandelier, his ruddy curls glistening just so. It was undeniably Wylan.

For a second Jesper forgot everything and relief and joy tore through him like sunlight through an open window. That was short lived. Memories of the shattered key came flooding back. Jesper's words to him the night before he trampled everything they had built. No goodbye, no explaination. Jesper's grip tightened around the glass in his hand.

The job, the signal, sabotaging Pekka Rollins, it was all forgotten in an instant. Without a second thought, Jesper marched over to the piano.

Eleven bells quarter chime- before midnight

Inej

Inej had spotted Wylan straight away. From her perch on the ceiling, clinging to the wall like a spider hidden from view, she had a clear view of the whole room. On the far side of the room sat Rollins himself, on a sofa surrounded by pretty young women and guarded by his biggest Dime Lions bruisers. He looked smug as could be. Almost as smug as Jan Van Eck and his friends whom she didn’t recognize, who Inej was somewhat surprised to see sat in their own private booth above the bar.

Of course- that was how Rollins had managed it. This lavish club was a joint effort.

A recognizable head of curls sat at the piano in front of the bar, beneath the booth. Inej frowned, risking a few inches for a closer look. The boy lifted his head, and it was Wylan indeed. His face seemed paler than usual, and he sat slightly hunched, like he was trying to make himself smaller. The music he played was beautiful, fingers gliding skillfully over the keys, but she couldn’t see any of the usual enjoyment or brow-furrowed focus in his face. He looked almost queasy, blue eyes glazed over. Faded bruises sat on his cheekbones, his neck, and Inej spotted them on his wrists as his sleeves moved while he played. He was wearing a ridiculously purple shirt, sleeves puffed and neckline cut in a triangular pattern, like some sort of jester’s outfit.

Inej glimpsed something silver under the piano at Wylan’s feet, and then it clicked. Van Eck spared the occasional glance at him, erupting into peels of laughter. He looked pleased with himself, that cruel smile splitting his face.

Jesper told her that Wylan had simply left.

Inej felt suddenly unsteady. The sight of the chain on Wylan’s ankle stole her breath like a hard punch to the gut, winding her. She understood the expression in Wylan's face like anything. He was pretending he was somewhere else. She pushed away memories of the ship, of Tante Heleen. This isn’t the same.

Kaz must have known. There was nothing, nothing he left to chance when it came to Rollins. Surely he had a plan for this. Surely there was an explanation.

 She took a deep breath, steadying herself. She had to focus on the job at hand.

As more and more people spilled in through the door, Inej spotted Kaz amongst them. Kaz slinked through the room, weaving around people unnoticed in his black coat and hat, keeping to the shadows. He was limping without his cane. He kept his head down and face shielded from view, but for a split second he paused under where Inej was perched, cocking his head to the side in a motion you would miss if you blinked. The one person Inej couldn't hide from- it was like he could sense her presence.

Inej knew what Pekka Rollins meant to Kaz. His energy had been uncharacteristically frantic leading up to this job, and it was hardly high-stakes. They were simply wreaking some chaos and stealing a painting. No doubt for Kaz this was only the beginning.

She wished she knew what was happening in his head. She wished she knew what he was thinking when he looked at her. She wished she knew what he was plotting when he spat Rollin's name.

A couple of minutes later, Jesper’s lanky frame swaggered into view, followed by the bulky Fjerdan and Pim. She followed each of them with her eyes, tracking them through the crowd. She held her breath as Jesper wandered closer and closer to the piano, praying he wouldn’t see Wylan before Matthias gave the signal. She could already anticipate what would happen.

The saints chose not to answer that prayer. She watched as Jesper’s eyes travelled the room, landing on the piano. She watched his perky expression waver, fading into something darker, something brimming with rage, with hurt.

Please, Jesper, contain yourself, she silently urged him. She scanned the crowd for Kaz or Matthias, hoping to somehow warn them, but it was too late. Jesper was marching over to the piano.

Shit. He’s going to blow his cover.

Jesper was Inej’s first friend in Ketterdam. She had been fond of some of the girls at the Menagerie, but at the first sniff of a friendship Tante Heleen would leap in and pit them against each other. That was one of the worst things about her time there- the loneliness. Tante Heleen made sure she was the only person Inej could rely on for any kindness, for her own survival. She had almost gotten close to a Kaelish girl there, Saoirse, but Tante Heleen had spotted their blossoming bond and squandered it. She told the girls that only one of the two of them would eat in the evenings, and it would be the girl who brought in the most clients that day. It worked like a charm and Saoirse had resented her.

When Kaz had purchased her indenture, Inej was thrown into a new world, out of her depth. The Dregs were hardened thugs, with scruffy hair and clothes, scowls built into their features. Before they had learnt to fear her, she suffered weeks of their suspicion and their rejection.

And then there was Jesper. Jesper, in his lime green waistcoat and checked trousers like a chipper long-limbed alien, had simply taken her under his arm and never let her go. She remembered the first time she’d met the sharpshooter, he bought her a tall drink of beer and just talked at her, for hours on end. The first time in this saints-forsaken city that someone had looked at her as more than a commodity, more than a scared little scrap of a Suli girl. Other than Kaz, of course, who saw her as a valuable investment.

It felt incredible. She clung to that feeling of camaraderie, that feeling that she was not alone. She grew to knew Jesper, and she let him grow to know her. This city that had taken her hostage, built on greed and suffering, had given her love. In return, she learned to love it back, it’s winding streets and canals that shimmered in the moonlight. There were four things in the world she trusted. Her saints, her knives, her feet and her friends. And of her friends, Jesper might well be her most treasured.

She knew how much Wylan meant to Jesper, and vice versa. She saw it in the way they protected each other, in the way Jesper steered clear of the Gambling dens with a newfound surety, in the way Jesper reached for Wylan’s hand before he reached for his guns. And Inej saw her friend bleeding behind his mask all these weeks gone by without his other half there.

She herself missed Wylan sorely. But it was like someone had cut off Jesper’s leg. There was nothing worse for Inej than watching someone she loved suffer. Watching them now, Jesper’s face a painting of hurt, Wylan chained to the piano leg, she couldn’t stand it. Screw Kaz’s plan. She was going to do what was right. For her friends.

On the spot, she came up with the mental sketch of a plan. She’d saw the chandelier rope before Matthias gave her the signal and in turn force the others to carry out their parts, causing a distraction during which she could quietly free Wylan and escape with her friends. But she found herself hesitating. Then where would that leave Kaz? She could hear Kaz’s voice in her head. Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan, and it will all work out. That’s what he’d told her this evening. Maybe this was a part of Kaz’s plan? Had he intended for Jesper to find Wylan?

She glanced down at the two of them now. Wylan had spotted Jesper coming towards him. His blue eyes widened in fear. Jesper slammed his hands on the lid of the piano and hissed something at him, eyes ablaze with anger. Wylan met them with a sad, longing gaze. He looked down at his feet. Jesper followed his gaze, spotted the chain. He looked back up at Wylan, shaking his head, rage melting into a worried frown.

Wylan looked as if he desperately wanted to speak, but couldn’t. He responded to Jesper’s words with silence, staring down at his fingers on the keys. Wylan closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He begun to play. And, to Inej’s surprise, sing.

“How’s one to know?

I’ll meet you where the spirit meets the bones,

In a faith-forgotten land.”

This caught some people’s attention, and they paused their conversations to listen. Wylan’s voice really was quite beautiful. He held meaningful eye contact with Jesper as he sang, communicating in secret.

“Oh, Ghezen,

My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

Taking mine, but it’s been promised to another.”

Inej kept still, unsure of what to do. She saw Matthias frown, checking his watch, equally indecisive as her.

“They’re in the room,

Your opal eyes are all I wish to see

They want what’s only yours.

Jurda blooms in the fields,

Spring breaks loose, the time is near,

What would they do if they found you out?

Crescent moon, coast is clear

Spring breaks loose, but so does fear

You’ve got to burn this house to the ground.”

Wylan’s eyes flickered upward. He sang the words with intention, with careful emphasis. You’ve got to burn this house to the ground. What would they do if they found you out. Coast is clear.

Realisation hit Inej. He’s warning us. Inej glanced up at Van Eck. She had been confused by the sheer number of Stadwatch circling the place, but now she understood. It was a lure. Both of Kaz’s enemies together in one place? It was irresistible. Van Eck and Rollins knew they were here. We have to act now. Inej crawled along the ceiling, keeping out of sight. She had to find Kaz.

“How’s one to know?

I’d live and die for moments that we stole

On begged and borrowed time

I’ll tell you to run

Or dare to sit and watch what will become

And drink my father’s wine.”

Inej hoped with everything that Jesper would catch on to Wylan’s message. Van Eck certainly had. He gestured to Pekka Rollins across the room, who nudged the Dime Lion grunt next to him. He lead a group of them down onto the floor. Pekka followed them down.

Wylan stopped singing, his fingers gently pressing the keys as the song fazed out. His unwitting audience applauded his performance. Jesper stood frozen, mesmerized.

Inej urged him silently, Move, Jesper, move. She couldn’t see Kaz anywhere. He must have slinked off into a back room, or perhaps he was already captured.

Jesper did something that was the opposite of helpful. He fell to his knees and begun trying to unpick the clasp of the chain on Wylan’s ankle. The hope in Wylan’s face deflated, and he took Jesper’s face in his hands, eyes darting around the room at the approaching Dime Lions. He seemed to murmur something to Jesper, who just shook his head, still fiddling the lock with shaky hands.

“What do we have here?” Spoke a gruff, Kaelish voice. Jesper didn’t look up from the lock, although Wylan took his wrists and weakly tried to stop him. Inej could see his lips mouth run.

The Stadwatch and Dime Lions didn’t stop Matthias as he stomped over and pulled Jesper up by the scrap of his neck. He gave Pekka Rollins a small bow of respect, “Apologies, Mr Rollins, I’ll remove my troublemaking colleague.” Matthias turned towards the door, but three huge bruisers formed a wall in front of him.

“I don’t think so.” Pekka chuckled, nodding to his bruisers, “Tattoo.”

One grabbed hold of Jesper and pulled back his sleeve, revealing the crow tattoo on his inner arm. Pekka grinned, flashing his gold tooth, “Brekker's crew.”

Jesper’s hand flew to his hip, but the bruiser had already pulled a gun to his head. Jesper put his hands up. “Do whatever the hell you want to me. Leave this Fjerdan guy out of it, I’ve got nothing to do with him.”

“What’s Brekker planning this time, eh? Did he send you to retrieve your boyfriend?” Pekka took Wylan’s face in his tattooed hand and squeezed his cheeks, “Your little damsel in distress. Who wouldn’t want to rescue that face?”

“You can have me. Let Wylan go. He’s got no business with Kaz Brekker.”

Rollins clicked his teeth. “No can do, I’m afraid.” He retrieved an envelope from his coat pocket and tossed it to Jesper. Inej watched Jesper open it. She couldn’t see its contents, but whatever it was made Jesper’s face pale.

“Brekker will have sent his Wraith along with you.” Pekka said, an evil grin on his face, “I’ve heard she was once quite the acrobat. I’ll have her next. And you, you’re handy with a gun. Never missed a shot. You’ll be the perfect addition to my Crow collection.” Pekka shook Wylan’s shoulder, “Ah, I can picture it now. I’m sure thugs from all over the Barrel will pay a pretty penny to see Brekker’s infamous crows reduced to circus animals, with me as the ringmaster.”

Inej felt a chill down her spine. She had to do something, now.

She pulled out her knife again, returned to her spot above the chandelier and begun sawing harder, putting all of her strength into it. Matthias risked a glance up at her, and she caught it, giving him the signal she had been waiting to receive from him. The signal meant one thing and one thing only. Chaos.

Matthias seemed to weigh his options, before moving swiftly into action. He jerked free from the bruiser's grip on his arm, grabbed the wine glass from an onlookers hand and smashed it on the piano. He took the broken shard and shoved it right into the eye of the Dime Lion bruiser holding Jesper, who released him as he screamed and threw his hands to his eye. In the blink of an eye, Jesper had his guns in his hands, and every gun in the room trained on him. Matthias gave him the signal, the smallest hand movement, and Jesper understood. He shot in random directions, at the sign, the piano, smashing wine glasses around the room. He dived onto the floor as a slew of bullets followed him, pinging around in every direction, and crawled through the stampeeding feet of screaming people.

Inej kept working on the chandelier. The rope was thick, enforced with thin strands of metal. She switched to a larger knife. The chandelier swayed as the rope wore thin, and Inej hoped the people below were too focused on avoiding gunfire to notice her.

“Up there!” She heard someone shout, pointing his finger up at her. She sawed as hard as she could, the rope fraying and fraying until it was just a strand. She felt the click of guns aimed at her. She just needed a few seconds more...

Boom. That must have been the emergency bomb, set off by Pim in the bar. Bottles smashed as a sea of drink gushed from the bar all over the floor, sending the frantic crowd slipping and sliding each way. Pekka and the Dime Lions shifted their attention for just long enough, and the chandelier came smashing into the ground, shards of glass flying like shrapnel.

Inej allowed herself a sigh of relief before scurrying along the wall into the safety of shadow. She felt a slight sense of victory watching Pekka and Van Eck so confused and disoriented.

Matthias looked to her again, like a soldier awaiting instruction. She indicated Jesper currently scrambling over Wylan, who hid under the piano shielding his head from the gunfire. Then she quickly snuck out the way she came in- she trusted Matthias to get them out safely. She had to make sure that Kaz got out.

As she made it to the rooftop of a surrounding building, she heard another bomb go off inside. When in doubt, more mayhem.

Twelve bells- midnight.

Matthias

Amidst the chaos, Matthias, Jesper and Pim had escaped into the streets of Ketterdam, retrieving their abandoned coats from the corner where they left them and slipping away. Matthias had had to physically pull Jesper away from Wylan. They exchanged few words and parted with a kiss.

Matthias didn’t quite know what to feel about the two of them. In Fjerda, such relationships simply did not exist. A man would find a woman, court her, marry her, give her children and then support her for the rest of their lives. In return she would manage the household and remain loyal to him. For a long time, this made sense to Matthias. And then he met Nina. Lewd, loud, boisterous, capable Nina. He couldn’t even picture her in the role of a Fjerdan wife. Their relationship was not one of mutual service, but one of friendship, trust, compassion. He chose Nina and Nina chose him.

Two women or two men loving each other the same way as a man and his wife, that was unheard of. Perhaps people like Wylan and Jesper had always existed in Fjerda, but like the Grisha, they hid. Frankly, Matthias did not know of the existence of such people until he met this quarreling pair. The little druskelle inside of him took against it immediately. Unnatural. The other Matthias, the winning side of him, saw the same look of love between them that he shared with Nina. Beautiful. Although it continued to surprise him just a little bit each time they acted as a man and woman would together, he hadn’t thought too much of it beyond that. And he’d always quite liked Wylan. Sometimes it seemed it was the two of them against the rest, trying to preserve their morality. Matthias had been impressed by his sketches of the ice court- he wanted to ask Wylan to draw him a wolf.

As they scurried through the streets of Ketterdam, Jesper was one thing he never was. Silent. It worried Matthias. Jesper certainly wasn’t his favourite company, but Matthias didn’t dislike him either—and one thing he knew was that Jesper was never, ever silent.

“We are in safer territory now.” Matthias grumbled, and they slowed their pace, panting. Matthias eyed Jesper. His eyes were red-rimmed, hair sticking up like he’d been through a tornado. He looked nothing short of wild.

Matthias hesitated, unsure of whether it was wise to question Jesper in his current state. “You left him behind.”

“What an astute observation, Fjerda.” Snapped Jesper, continuing on up the street. They headed in the opposite direction from the Slat, towards a safe location that Kaz had prepared. “Anything else to share? How about “the sky is blue" or “I’m a big blond oaf"?”

“Why?” Pressed Matthias. Jesper spun, his wounded grey eyes boring into Matthias's.

“Because he’s fucking indentured to Pekka fucking Rollins.”

“And this means?...”

“It means that under the law, that Dime Lion scum owns him. It’s all on paper, Wylan’s signature.”

Matthias frowned, “But Wylan can’t read. He did not know what he was signing. Surely in court-"

“You really think Pekka Rollins can’t sway the jury?” Said Jesper on a breathless release that may have been a laugh, “You really think there’s any way out of this?”

Truthfully, Matthias didn’t know. And truthfully, Matthias had no idea what to say to Jesper, how to console him. Matthias pressed his lips into a line, his eyes trained on the cobblestone under his boots.

“You’re probably thrilled about this, eh Fjerda. Some cosmic karma for the sexually warped Grisha. You must be hopping up and down in your little druskelle boots.” Jesper went on, voice dipping tearfully. Matthias snapped up to meet his eyes.

“Do not talk to me about the druskelle.”

Jesper laughed bitterly, “Oh, come on, as if I can’t see how much my presence just ticks you off. I stand for everything your people hate.”

“I do not hate. Not any more.”

Jesper shook his head, forcing a sardonic smile on his face where tears threatened to replace it. He didn’t say anything more. Pim looked between them awkwardly, and they continued on, through the quieter and darker streets, listening to the echo of the chaos they had just wreaked. Matthias wanted to say something, anything. But in a small way, Jesper was right. They were on different planes of being- although Matthias’s Kerch was coherent, they both still spoke a language incompatible with the other. Matthias couldn’t think of another person who felt further away.

But there was one language they both spoke fluently. Matthias breathed in deeply.

“There is one thing I like about Ketterdam. The water.” He looked out onto the canal, water black in the darkness, “There is a saying in Fjerda. The water hears and understands. This place has no shame. It preys on the weak. But it listens.”

Jesper said nothing. Matthias didn’t risk a glance at his shadowed face as he continued, “I know you love your father. I know you miss your homeland, as much as you love Ketterdam. I miss Fjerda every day.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Matthias exhaled, “That I understand. As much as we are different, we are the same; I miss my home and you miss yours. You love Wylan and I love Nina. What is there to hate?”

There was silence for a while. Only the gentle splash of water against the canal boats and the sound of their own breathing. Then, quietly, Jesper spoke, “Do you tell Nina you love her?”

Matthias smiled, “She knows it.”

“Yeah, but what do you say to each other? What does she tell you so you know she loves you?”

“Some things do not need to be said.”

Jesper sighed, albeit fondly, “Damn it, Fjerda, why do you have to be so wise and mighty about everything?”

“I promised to always defend her. And I do.”

“And how do you know she loves you?”

Matthias got the sense that Jesper was prying for answers for a more personal reason than just curiosity. How Jesper could doubt the Mercher's son's love for him, Matthias had no clue- he thought it went unspoken in the way Wylan had just sung his heart out for him. Clearly, Jesper had less appreciation for subtleties than Matthias did.

“I know she loves me when she tells me her jokes until I laugh. When she sings in that awful warbling manner until I give her my attention and beg her to stop.” Matthias smiled to himself, “Nina is not as talented as Wylan.”

“Saints, she might be as bad as that Alys girl.” Jesper laughed.

Matthias chuckled along, “Don’t remind me.”

Jesper looked down, lips searching for the words, “I don’t think anybody would love me. Not enough to stay. Well, Da does, but he shouldn’t really. I just want...” he trailed off, and seemed to regret saying anything at all.

“Someone who stays.”

Jesper nodded, “Yeah.”

Matthias had no idea what to say to that. They walked in silence. Matthias watched the black water churn and lap at the brick sides of the canal. The water listens and understands. Jesper was also staring out at the water, and Matthias was sure they must have both been thinking those words. Something pleasant bloomed in Matthias’s chest. He wasn’t known for his interpersonal skills, and yet he’d somehow managed to make Jesper laugh, soothe his sorrows just a little bit. And, dare he say, he had gained some understanding, some empathy with this boy who had once seemed so foreign and unreachable.

The water listens and understands. The ice does not forgive.

Perhaps the waters of Ketterdam were making him mellow. Perhaps in them he could find forgiveness that Fjerda could not offer him.

A few minutes later, the reached the safe place, a discreet little hotel tucked between two larger buildings that leant against it like drunken friends. Kaz had given them a key that unlocked the basement, pitch black and largely bare. Jesper lit a torch.

“I’ll keep a look out.” Said Pim.

Jesper was already restless, energy sparking through his limbs, “You sure it’s safe?”

“Yeah. They didn’t see my face.” Pim smiled sympathetically and closed the hatch door. They heard his footsteps overhead. Matthias leant against the wall as Jesper paced, the silence between them more comfortable than it had been before.

They heard the hatch of the door open a few minutes later, its hinges sighing as Inej slid through it, feet meeting ground with silence and grace. Kaz followed her in, landing more loudly on his boots and ignoring whatever pain must have shot through his bad leg at the contact. His cane scraped the stone floor as he righted himself.

“Well, that went horribly wrong.” Jesper said, and Inej hushed him.

“Shh. There are people in the rooms upstairs. Pim is scouting it out as we speak.”

“Where is Nina?” asked Matthias gruffly.

“Pim’s sent for her.” Kaz replied, voice low. From his face, Matthias couldn’t tell what he was feeling. He never could. With him it was entirely impossible to make out whether everything had gone down the drain or exactly to plan.

Jesper stepped towards Kaz and for once was still, face stern, “Explain.”

Kaz eyed him, face drawn into the scowl that often occupied his face, “Explain how you sold yourself out and then embarrassed yourself in front of our greatest enemy?”

Jesper shook his head, jaw straining, “Explain why you betrayed one of your own.”

“Surely you’re familiar enough with betrayal.” Kaz gestured Inej. They all knew what he was referring to- the ambush at fifth harbour that had left Inej clinging to life. The ambush that had been brought on by Jesper’s loose lips. Jesper turned his face, cheeks pink with the sting.

“What happened at fifth harbour was my fault, and I couldn’t be more sorry. But that has fuck all to do with Wylan. I won’t let you let him suffer, I won’t, I won’t let you use him in some stupid scheme like you did with Da. He never wanted any part in this life in the first place, he doesn’t...” He looked to Kaz with pleading eyes, “Just bring him home.”

Kaz assessed him with an expressionless gaze. “Look at yourself. Begging at my feet, begging at Rollin's feet. You’re a weakness, Jesper. To yourself, your crew and your precious Merch.”

Matthias caught Inej’s eye as they watched on in quiet shock and disapproval. He wondered if he should say something.

Jesper stepped forward, craning his tall frame over Kaz, “Me? A weakness? Not being an unfeeling rock doesn’t make me a weakness.”

“Oh, but it does. If you hadn’t been so desperate for your boy back you wouldn’t have screwed the mission. If you hadn’t been slobbering over him so obviously for months maybe he wouldn’t have been taken in the first place. But even without emotional investment, you manage to make a mess of things. Because that’s what you do. You mess things up. For yourself and everyone else.”

Matthias felt a small flicker of anger on Jesper’s behalf. Kaz just went on, the edge in his voice pushing through his facade of calm, face twitching behind his masked expression. The look in his eyes, it was almost... almost unhinged. It matched the gleam that came across them in brief moments when Kaz spoke Rollin's name, only this time more prolonged. Inej’s face begged the same question as his own: where the hell was this coming from?

“Maybe some more time in captivity for Wylan will do you good. You can learn to stand on your own feet and not fold to the first person who looks at you fondly and doesn’t flee the next morning.” Kaz finished, icily.

Jesper breathed in deeply, the brimming tears in his eyes shining in the candlelight, “You risked all of our lives to steal back Inej from Van Eck. On the Ferolind, you were crazy, trying to hide how pathetically listless you were without the Wraith there. She’s like a second crutch to you. So if I’m weak, what does that make you?”

Kaz’s eyes glazed over with something unrecognisable, “You failed us today. You’ve failed over and over again, your father, Wylan, Inej, the Dregs. You failed me, Jordie! I needed you and you failed me!”

“Who the fuck is Jordie?”

Kaz swung first. He never swung first. He made a point of it. That was why Matthias and Inej jumped, taken aback when Kaz’s cane landed on the floor with a clatter as he threw sloppy fists at Jesper. Jesper grabbed him by the hair, jerking him back, and Kaz's leg circled swiftly into his leg. In a flurry of punches and grabs and kicks, they were on the floor, Jesper shouting things Matthias couldn’t make out over Kaz’s angry roars.

He wondered if he should step in. He thought Inej might, watching her fingers twitch over her knife's handle. That was when the hatch swung open with a creak and Nina’s head peered in, her long brown hair dangling into the room and swaying like a willow.

“We’re clear. You lot can move upstairs, there’s an empty floor.” Spoke Pim’s voice from behind her. Behind Nina was a blond figure, Matthias couldn’t quite remember her name. Annie, maybe?

“What on earth is going on here?” Said Nina, a hint of amusement in her voice. Jesper and Kaz scrambled to their feet, maintaining a scathing glare as they wiped the blood from their faces.

Two bells half chime after midnight

Nina

Nina was the only one who knew of Kaz’s plan. Chiefly because she was a key part of it. But he had sworn her to secrecy. As they sat now, in a vaguely tattered hotel sitting room, Jesper’s tears mixing his blood, she had a burning urge to just tell them. As much as she wanted to, she needed Kaz’s plan to work. Imagine how many Grisha could be safely liberated with six million Kruge? Yes, Kaz’s promised reward had grown, and so had the danger for Grisha in Ketterdam with the arrival of the Shu.

Matthias was giving some sort of speech about maturity and forgiveness, and Nina jabbed him in the ribs. She knew all Jesper was really wanting to hear right now was that yes, Kaz was a dick, and yes, they were on Jesper’s side.

Inej was quiet. She left the room for several minutes, leaving Jesper ranting and Nina humming in agreement while Matthias tried (and failed) to reason with him, and when she returned she simply took Jesper into a tight hug and didn’t let go.

Jesper fell quiet. He hugged her back, chin on her shoulder and eyes squeezed shut. Nina sensed something particularly meaningful about that embrace, a bond so conditionless and insurmountable that nothing would break it. It reminded her of her fellow soldiers at the Little Palace, and for a moment there was an ache in her. She squeezed Matthias’s hand.

“Is he okay?” murmured Jesper into Inej’s hair.

“Yes.”

“Do you think he’ll forgive me?”

Inej pulled him back by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes, “You’re his brother. You’re my brother. There is no such thing as forgiveness between siblings.” Jesper nodded, and some understanding passed between them.

Nina stood up silently and they watched her cross the room. Jesper broke into a smile when he saw her produce a bottle of wine and four glasses.

“We can’t fix everything, but we can certainly drink the pain away.” She said, handing Jesper the first glass. She wanted to tell him that everything would be fine, in good time. She wanted to reassure him. But she couldn’t, not without giving it all away.

“How about a song?”

Nina smiled, “But of course. They call me the Nightingale for a reason.”

“They call you no such thing.” Matthias laughed.

“Nah. I’m a crow through and through, so it’s fitting that I sound like one.” Said Nina, and cleared her throat, and said quietly to Jesper, “I hear Wylan sings beautifully.”

Jesper nodded. Then, she was singing, and they were all laughing again, at the lewd lyrics and Nina's dramatic emphasis. They were swaying and singing along.

Nina glimpsed Kaz on the way out, in his black hat and coat, moving as swiftly and silently as a shadow despite lack of his cane.

The plan was now in motion.

Chapter Text

Idk when the next chapter will come i might not write it if this gets no attention so show some love if you want the next part 😘

*update- ignore this the next chapter is out <3*

Chapter Text

Seven bells the next morning

Inej

They had fallen asleep scattered around the room, Nina and Matthias cuddled on the tattered sofa, Jesper in the armchair, Inej curled up in the corner with a pillow. Her back ached vaguely, but she’d slept in worse places, and in worse company. For a split second, she felt something brush her, and for a split second, she hoped it was Kaz. But it was just the stroke of her own hair over her shoulder as she pulled herself upright.

She’d dreamt last night. A perturbing dream. The six of them were back at the Lioness, Inej on the high wire and although she tried to jump she found she was stuck. Forced to walk the wire back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, while the faceless audience watched her. Her five friends were below, crying her name, but she couldn’t look down to see them, couldn’t leap from the wire to save them; she only knew that Pekka had them and that she could do nothing to save them.

She sat and watched her friends for a while, sleeping peacefully in the golden light of sunrise. Jesper’s chest rose and fell steadily with his breath and he was stiller than she’d ever seen him. Too still for her liking. She wanted his grey eyes to flicker open and for him to leap to life again. Him sprawled out like that, stiff as a corpse, it was too easy to imagine terrible things.

Her mind sifted through the previous night’s events- in particular, Wylan’s song. She found his lyricism quite beautiful, its warning message a delicately weaved undercurrent. She wondered if perhaps there was more he was trying to communicate, something they’d missed?

Then, it came to her.

She gently woke Jesper up, which he didn’t appreciate, responding in grumbles and his eyes opening into a glare.

“Come with me.” She said, already pulling her tunic over her head and slipping into her boots.

“No, thanks.”

“Jesper.”

Jesper rolled his eyes, but pulled himself to his feet. “Where are we going?”

“Shh", Inej nodded to a still sleeping Nina and Matthias, “Just follow me.”

Ketterdam was only just waking up as Inej led Jesper through the streets. It wasn’t quiet- The Barrel was never quiet. But there was a freshness to it, a hint of the crisp sea air drifting over from the harbours, pale sunlight on the rooftops. The scent of hope over the smoke and booze and perfume. Inej felt antsy, but excited- if she’d succeeded in interpreting Wylan’s message, they might just get him back today. That all depended on the circumstances. She wouldn’t answer any of Jesper’s questions. She didn’t want to disappoint him if she was wrong.

If this didn’t work, she would find Wylan one way or another and bring him to safety. Not even Kaz would stop her. She owed that to Wylan, to herself, to every person whose life was stolen by a signature on a sheet of paper. It made her sick to think about.

Inej made sure they gave the gambling dens a wide berth, opting instead to scurry alongside the rats through the narrower passages that ran like veins through the pulsing heart of Ketterdam. Jesper strode along beside her, chatting casually about whatever stories he’d picked up and whether a bear would win in a fight against a thousand seagulls. He fell quiet when he recognised where they were approaching.

“I was here yesterday, with Matthias and Pim. Are you taking me back to...”

“Trust me.” Inej said with a hand on his shoulder. The eager look in her eyes must have communicated something of her idea, because Jesper’s lit up with hope. He nodded, and resumed whatever he was talking about.

They passed The Lioness. Workmen swarmed the area, carrying building materials for repairs, fixing the damage that they had created. For that, Inej felt a small sense of victory. The Dime Lions must have been tired from their search last night because most of them were practically dozing off, leant against the wall, supposedly “overseeing" the work. Inej and Jesper kept to the shadows- mostly for Jesper’s benefit. Inej knew she could slip past with ease if she were alone.

Jesper frowned when they walked on past the entrance. “Is there another way in?”

She glanced up and down the street, and when she was satisfied nobody would see them, she slipped through a narrow gap in the brick wall and pulled Jesper through with her. It was a tight squeeze for him, but he made it. He gasped as he fell against the cold stone floor, fumbling in the pitch blackness. Inej helped him to his feet and led him along the narrow tunnel, until they met another wall made from uneven stone. She ran her hands along it, searching for the loose stone. When she found it, she pushed it out, and they both came tumbling into the room with a cloud of dust.

Inej had been here many times before. A crumbling mausoleum pressed against the back of where The Lioness now stood, conjoined with it. It was converted into a little place of worship, with the symbols of the Saints carved into the dusty stone. Inej found it the most peaceful place to pray because nobody else knew about it, nobody would know she was there. Well... it would be foolish to assume what Kaz did or didn’t know. But besides him, it was safely her secret. Although she hadn’t visited recently, not with all of the work she had piling up.

Jesper glanced around at the place and then turned his bemused gaze to her. “Why have you brought me here?”

“I’ll meet you where the spirit meets the bones. The spirit meets the bones here, in death, in the grave. In a faith-forgotten land. Nobody remembers this little mausoleum, and the surrounding pleasure houses have definitely forgotten their faith. It’s a long shot, but...”

“Inej Ghafta.” Jesper said, shaking his head, “You are a genius.” He slowly paced the room, examining the adorned candle-lit walls with a slow thoughtfulness that he rarely allowed himself.

Inej smiled, “Not quite. Anyway, he could have been talking about a hundred different places, or he could have meant nothing by it at all.”

“No, he meant here. I’m sure of it.” Jesper said quietly, a smile creeping over his features. He ran his fingers over the wall, over the tiniest indentation, a little black mark in the grey walls. Inej squinted closer and realised that it was the tiniest scratch of a crow.

“So now?”

“We wait.”

Nine bells- morning

Nina

“Where are Inej and Jesper?”

Nina woke with a start to the dark shape of Kaz looming over her. Never the most pleasant start to the day.

“How am I meant to know?” She said blearily, pulling away from the warmth of Matthias’s chest against every fibre of her being that wanted to stay with her ear to his heartbeat. He was awake now, too, frowning up at Kaz.

“Demijn. What do you want so early in the morning?”

Kaz didn’t answer, wandering over to the window instead. As Nina’s mind caught up with her, she remembered all that was at stake, all of the risks that must have been weighing Kaz’s mind.

“Pekka won’t have gotten to them. They probably went out.” She assured him.

Kaz pursed his lips, saying nothing. He struck his cane against the wooden floor. “Time is ticking. Let’s get started.”

He turned and begun walking away, as if he expected Nina to follow without question.

“Wait a second, I’m hardly conscious yet.” She said, pulling herself upright. Matthias grumbled, shuffling closer to her. “Did you manage to lift the painting?”

“Yes."

Nina nodded, “I’ll take it to a tailor today, see what can be done.”

“Matthias can do that.” Said Kaz, “I need you for something else, Nina.”

Nina and Matthias exchanged a look. Nina shrugged, and followed Kaz as he drifted across the room. In the corner, slotted behind the bookshelf, Kaz produced a canvas that nobody had seen him put there. Sneaky bastard never failed to impress her. Kaz ran gloved fingers gently over the top of the canvas to remove the dust, the touch calculated and admiring, almost a caress. One of the first things Nina ever noted about Kaz was his delicate way with his hands. It was in the way he traced the curve of his crows head's silver beak, in how he never so much as creased a note of Kruge.

He turned the canvas over. Nina met the painted eyes of a woman, her soul caught in the brown acrylic. She had on a hopeful expression, a content smile. Her lips were pale pink, her cheeks rosy, her hair mousey brown. A perfectly average young woman.

Kaz examined her for as second, before turning to Matthias. “You and Anika will meet with the tailor and bring her back here. Make sure nobody sees you. Show her the painting and discuss what can be done. But don’t let her leave. Offer up any price.”

“What do we need the tailor for?”

“Anika knows. Leave it to her.”

Nina knew, too. And she knew Matthias wasn’t going to like it.

Matthias planted a kiss on her forehead before plodding reluctantly down the stairs to meet with Anika. Anika was a pretty girl. Nina fancied her. But she was sick at the thought that Matthias might too. Still, she trusted him. And she knew that he was about as flirtatious as a lump of steel, anyway.

Kaz tucked the painting back into place and they left too, winding through the streets in near silence. There were lots of things Nina was dying to know about Kaz, but he was tight-lipped about most things and completely clammed up when it came to the personal stuff. Nina knew how Inej felt about Kaz. She could make a pretty good guess about how Kaz felt about Inej. So the question was not about what he felt, it was more why the hell aren’t you acting on it? Nina couldn’t imagine hesitating to put a ring on Inej’s finger.

He was an enigma she wasn’t going to bother to try and decrypt.

“Are you leading me to my death?” Asked Nina, “Or are you going to pull me into an alley and try to kiss me?”

Nina could usually get a blush out of someone with that one. Even with Wylan, who was drawn to women about as much as Nina was drawn to liquorice. But Kaz just raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, you know you would want to. It’s a shame for you that I’m taken.” Nina said, glancing pointedly at him, “And you’re damn lucky Inej isn’t. Yet.”

“Why would I care about that?”

Ah. There it was. The defences went up.

“I don’t know. I might have gotten the slight impression that the two of you are meant for something beyond friendship- or whatever weird thing you have going on right now.”

“That thing being that we work together.”

“You certainly do. You work together greeeeaaaat.”

Kaz’s eyebrow rose impossibly higher, “Your brain is so buried in gutter gunk that I doubt you’ll ever recover it.”

“Oh well. It’s not like it was a valuable investment anyway.” Nina smirked. For someone so clever, there was not a dumber phrase ever spoken- to the girl he was in love with, too. Kaz ignored her.

 Nina continued, “I hear some of the Dregs have their eye on her... Jack, that young sailor lad, he has the hots for her. Big time.” Kaz’s expression didn’t change. She wouldn’t be surprised if Jack mysteriously went missing very soon.

She glanced around and was suddenly alert of where Kaz was taking her. Down the staves, towards the water, towards Reaper's Barge. The nearer they drew, she felt the cold sensation in the tips of her fingers, the unfamiliar power trickling through her. She didn’t like it at all. Matthias had tried to convince her that this new power could be good if she only embraced it, that she could learn to accept something that at first seemed scary. He said it was a trophy of her survival of parem. But the sensation was so alien, such a far cry from the beat of the world's heart that has connected her to her people and to herself, that she sometimes felt she’d rather have lost her power altogether. She clenched and unclenched her fists. She would rather die than admit to Kaz Brekker that she was nervous. But even he seemed unusually twitchy as the barge came into view.

To her surprise, Kaz stopped them outside of the graveyard that looked out onto the barge. He fiddled with the lock on the looming golden gates- only the rich could afford to be buried here, particularly after the Firepox had produced more bodies than humanly manageable. She could feel the rush of the dark, cold force stronger than ever here, a gushing river racing through her, it’s whispers filling her ears.

Kaz led her through the fog, slipping between crumbling graves and twisting tree branches. He paused outside of a larger monument, impressively sculpted but without recent upkeep, a crumbling angel with it's face turned up to the sky, to Ghezen. He turned to her, eyes black as coffee.

She had a terrible feeling that he wanted her to use her abilities for something less than moral.

Eleven bells (morning)

Wylan

If there was one thing Wylan was familiar with, it was a locked door. Back at his father’s mansion, where Wylan’s very existence had gone long forgotten, there was still a blue door, three doors down to the left on the second floor, with scratch marks up and down it’s inner side. Doodles and music notes, sometimes an attempt at a word, and the occasional clawings of fingernails. The door opened into a spare store room his father seldom put to use, not since his troublesome son had been taken care of. All it contained were empty shelves.

Wylan was a frequent of that room. Particularly around the ages of ten to fourteen. Because his father had tossed him in there so often, locked away and forgotten about, he’d hidden drawing materials beneath a loose floorboard. He could have hidden food- but being alone with his pain and racing thoughts was worse that going hungry. The record for longest visit to the blue room had been three days straight. Wylan had been thirteen.

He felt thirteen again now, the same helpless kid whose father would rather he died or was never born. The boy who didn’t exist outside of four narrow walls, who was desperate to leave a mark of himself somewhere. So that he could look at it and know that he was real, that he had control over something, some aspect of himself. That he wasn’t a ghost. Here he was again, cast into the dark by his father. Without the one person who made him feel the most alive.

At least he still had his music. But while the drawing materials under the secret floorboards had been an act of defiance towards his father, Van Eck had stolen Wylan’s choice in the matter. He would perform what he was told, when he was told to. Some nights he helped on the bar or swept up afterwards. Wylan felt bad complaining. Being forced to play piano wasn’t the worst fate in the world. He thought about Inej.

Still, Van Eck had always found ways to make it worse for him. He wasn’t given much to eat, first of all- as to be expected. Beatings weren’t a rare occurrence. Wylan was grateful to the more sympathetic Dime Lions who would slip him straight gin which would ease the pain for a while, before he would promptly vomit it all up a few hours later and receive yet another beating. Then there was the ridiculous clothing and lack of anywhere to sleep- he settled for a spot by the fireplace in the upstairs sitting room. Wylan could put up with all of this. It honestly wasn’t much worse than his childhood home, or the lodge and the tannery, or camping out in frozen Fjerdan wasteland. But it hurt all the more, because this time he had something to lose, something to be kept from. Van Eck and Pekka Rollins knew it. They dangled it over him every chance they got.

The only thing that kept him going was his faith that Kaz was one step ahead. He always was. At least that had been his condolence before Kaz himself had shown up a week or so ago with a crazy plan and a terrible task for Wylan.

Wylan took a deep breath and rapped on the door.

“Come in.” Said the hoarse voice from within. With shaking hands, paler than they’d ever been, Wylan turned the handle and stepped into the office. Mr De Vries smiled from his desk, his blue eyes twinkling as his sagging skin folded around them. His cheeks were sunken, his beard was white and scraggly and the man was essentially senile, but he had a friendly look about him. Wylan might have been inclined to trust him if not for his close partnership with both Van Eck, Pekka Rollins and the like over the years- providing them his almost psychic stock market predictions. The man was a genius when it came to investments. He was very valuable to Wylan’s father, and from what he could gather, a rather close friend of Pekka's. Wylan wasn’t needed today while they repaired downstairs, so as per Kaz’s instructions, he had slipped away, found De Vries' office near the back of the building, and now he was going to have to do something he was not at all proud of.

Mr De Vries’ voice was warm, “Pieter.”

Wylan returned the brightest smile he could summon, “Pa.”

The man waved him in. Wylan shut the door behind him, a sick feeling rising in his stomach. Lying came startlingly easily to him, but he still felt awful doing it. Especially to a confused old man grieving his son... his son who looked a lot like Wylan. His son, Pieter De Vries. An unfortunate casualty of the fire pox outbreak several years ago.

“What is it, my boy?” De Vries chuckled, “It’s not often enough you make time to talk with your old Pa.”

“Sorry.” Wylan took the seat hesitantly, worried that De Vries was sharper than he’d been credited for, that he'd recognise the redhead pianist masquerading as his son. But his eyes were cloudy blue and smiling fondly at him. He looked like he couldn’t be prouder, totally oblivious to the lying, scheming, bruised and battered Barrel rat sat before him. Was this what a father’s loving gaze looked like? Lucky Pieter.

No. Not lucky Pieter. Wylan swallowed.

“I do want to talk with you, Pa. I want to learn more about your business. I hoped you would show me where you keep the records-"

“Ah, business is something for you to worry about when you’re older. You’re barely thirteen yet.”

“I’m seventeen, Pa.” Wylan said softly, “I want to learn from the best. It gives us a chance to spend more time together if you’ll teach me the ropes.”

De Vries leant forward, withered fingers lacing together, “Oh, yes! My son. You’ll be brilliant one day. My son, a businessman, an investor. My son."

The lump in Wylan’s throat was growing. He was taking advantage of this poor, deluded man, and for what? His freedom? His revenge? Both? Kaz Brekker had turned him into a liar and a cheat. But he had also given him a family. Inej, Matthias, Nina, Jesper. He reminded himself of why he was doing this. He reminded himself that the people he loved were relying on him. And he still had his morals- he was just learning to bury them in the face of something more important.

Jesper. Of course.

Did he get my message? Only one way to find out.

Wylan cleared his throat, “As I was saying, I would like to know where you keep the records. I can look through them and learn from your victories without disturbing you from your work.”

“Of course.” De Vries opened a small drawer in his desk. On it sat a miniature painting of a pale blonde woman with a tufty-haired toddler in her lap, presumably Pieter and his mother. Pieter’s eyes were clear blue, like Wylan’s. It was horrid to think that both poor Pieter and his mother were dead now, their memory abused by Kaz Brekker in his never-ending chess game. De Vries pressed a small copper key into Wylan’s hand.

Wylan looked down at it, “Thank you. But what does it open?”

“Hm?”

Wylan dangled the key from his hand, “What does it open?”

“The safe. The records. Bookcase...” De Vries trailed off, eyes glazed as ever, “Shall I ring for tea? I fancy tea, don’t you?” Wylan’s heart jumped as De Vries reached for his bell.

“I’ll bring you your tea, Pa. But I can’t stay with you.”

“Why not?”

“I’m going to go and pray. To thank Ghezen for your good health, and for future success.” Kaz had told Wylan that De Vries was a religious man. He nodded approvingly.

“Good lad.”

Wylan smiled, getting up and making for the door as fast as he could.

“Wait, Pieter,” Said De Vries, eyes wide, “You will come back, won’t you?”

Wylan wondered if a repressed part of De Vries really knew his son was dead, and just wanted to believe Wylan’s lies. Maybe he thought he was dreaming, or that his son had come back to him in phantom form, or a million wild spiritual hopes that Wylan didn’t want to trample. Greif had a way of clouding your judgement.

“Of course, Pa. With your tea.”

Wylan shut the door and started down the hallway. He felt vaguely guilty, but there was something more important at the forefront of his mind, a place he needed to be. Wylan made his way down the back stairs, all the way to the wine cellar. They kept De Vries tucked away in a little office on the top floor, out of pure loyalty, Wylan presumed, as the man was surely useless now. Still, it meant he was able to get discreetly from one place to the other, and when he reached the cellar, he sought out the ancient wooden door tucked nearby a wooden crate. His chest burnt with urgency as he prised it open.

His heart fell when he found the room empty. He shouldn’t have expected anything, really- his message was cryptic. But he had still hoped. He shut the door gently behind him and paced the room, running his hands along the engravings in the walls, when he sensed something shift in the shadows. He cocked his head. He didn’t need to look up, he didn’t dare to.

“Inej?” He whispered.

There was movement again, a palpable tension in the air. Wylan held his breath. Then a sharp noise seared through the silence, a crash that wouldn’t have been quite so deafening if it hadn’t occurred in such pure, undisturbed quiet. But that was Jesper incarnate. He came sweeping in like a hurricane to wake your sleepy town. The most beautiful chaos.

Wylan hadn’t quite processed the hole in the wall that Jesper had come tumbling through before Jesper had his arms around him. Wylan pulled away, hands cupping Jesper’s face, just to see that he was real. He was covered in dust, grinning deliriously. The sight of Jesper’s winning smile brought one onto Wylan’s face. Jesper’s lips met Wylan’s, and then he was kissing every inch of his face.

Jesper eventually pulled away to get a proper look at him. “Saints, you look like death.”

“Thanks.”

“Did I say death? I meant handsome as ever.”

“Obviously.”

Jesper smiled. The excitement was wearing off, though, and his eyes were worried. His thumb grazed Wylan’s cheekbone, “Are you alright, love?”

They both knew that wasn’t a question worth answering. Jesper pressed his forehead to Wylan’s, “I’m so sorry.”

“Jes,” Wylan said, pulling Jesper even closer, “Don’t apologise.”

“If I hadn’t-"

“Don’t.”

They were quiet for a while, cradling each other as the dust settled around them. It had been hard enough letting Jesper leave yesterday. Now, Wylan was unsure if he could ever let go again. There was something in Wylan that Jesper kept alive and with every passing day Wylan could feel it dying again.

Jesper’s hand was buried deep in his hair, the soft brush of his lips on Wylan’s ear as he spoke so irresistibly softly, “That song was beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

“Flattery.” Wylan said, and he could feel himself smiling genuinely for the first time in weeks, “Keep going.”

Jesper chuckled, “You’re too good for me.”

No. We’re perfect for each other.

Before Wylan could form the words, Jesper took his arm and abruptly turned towards the hole in the wall, pulling him along, “What are we still doing here? Come on!”

Wylan’s heart sank again. Jesper looked up at him with his sparkling grey eyes, confused that he wasn’t moving, and he felt it split fully in two.

“Jes, you know I can’t...”

“Yes you can. We’ve come to get you. You’re coming home.”

Wylan couldn’t look at him. He was under express instruction from Kaz not to reveal anything. Not even to Jesper. Especially not to Jesper.

When it was clear that Wylan wasn’t going to budge, Jesper released his hand, instead running it over his own face. Wylan tried to catch hold of him again, but he was pacing, hands itching over his revolver handles as they often did when he was antsy. Wylan would follow Jesper into a fire. But he couldn’t follow him out of this building.

“You have to understand. I signed an indenture-"

“Why? How? You wouldn’t have been able to...” Jesper trailed off, leaving the obvious unspoken. Wylan wouldn’t have been able to read it.

Wylan let out a shaky breath, “I... they had roughed me up pretty badly when they first took me. I was hungry and confused and hurting and they were shouting and shoving papers in my face. I just wanted it to stop. And I know my own signature, so...”

Jesper was tapping a foot on the ground in an almost impatient manner. He was back in his constant state of perpetual motion, and Wylan wanted back the still moment they had just shared. “They can’t keep you forever. I won’t allow it. Kaz won’t allow it. You’re a Dreg, not a Dime Lion- a Crow.”

“I know.” Wylan considered his next words carefully, “It wouldn’t hurt the Crows to have a man on the inside, would it?”

Jesper gave him an incredulous look, “That man isn’t meant to be you. You’re our demo guy.”

“You have Raske. He's a demolitions expert.”

“He’s not you.”

Wylan took Jesper by the shoulders, forcing him to stand still, “Listen, Jes. If we leave right now, if you take me while I’m the legal property of Pekka Rollins-"

“Don’t say property. Nobody owns you."

“While he owns me,” Wylan said, “You would be declaring war with the law, with the Merchant Council, with the Dime Lions and every gang in the Barrel, every Ghezen-fearing citizen in Ketterdam-"

“So what?” Jesper burst out, “Kaz wants his war, let’s give it to him. We can escape somehow, go to Novyi Zem-"

“And leave the rest of them behind? Kaz, Nina, Inej, The Dregs? My mother?”

Jesper jutted his chin, “Kaz can burn in hell for all I care.”

“You don’t mean that. And besides, the law will follow us.” Wylan cupped Jesper’s cheek, holding firm eye contact, “There is no way out of this. Not yet.”

The words hurt Wylan to say. He wanted to tell Jesper that everything would be okay, that he would go to the ends of the earth to make him happy, no matter the price. He wanted to indulge Jesper’s daydreams of running away together. But that wasn’t how life worked. And he knew this didn’t have to be permanent, that if Kaz’s plan was a success, that he’d be out of here in a few month’s time or less. That was a big if.

He himself wanted to sob as he watched Jesper’s eyes drain, watched warm tears slide down his cheeks and onto Wylan’s hand. That was when he knew that Jesper was just as broken as he was. Jesper cried silently into Wylan’s hair. Wylan took fistfuls of Jesper’s coat, pulling him closer, wanting to take on that pain as his own. He could feel Inej’s presence more pointedly than ever now, watching from above them, ready to defend if someone came walking through that door. He loved her. Her honesty, her solidity, how telling her the truth was safer than whispering it to the wind. He loved Matthias’s earnest and stubborn ways. He loved Nina’s humour and her rage. He loved Kaz, the sinner and all of his sins.

And Jesper. Oh, there were no words to describe what he felt for Jesper. But he’d settle for these ones.

“I love you, Jes. So much.”

Jesper raised his eyebrows in surprise, “You... love me?”

Wylan wanted to slap him. “You’re such a buffoon.”

“No, I just-"

“In every crowd of people, I search for your face. I taught myself to write your name. I play a game with myself where I guess how you’ll react to things I say, and most of the time I’m right. I adore you, Jesper. What have you been seeing this whole time?”

Jesper shrugged. Wylan kissed him.

“You know Kaz. He'll have a plan.”

Jesper shook his head, “What now? I can’t just leave-"

“Jesper.”

Jesper set his jaw, “If this is the way it’s going to be, then so be it. But don’t think you’ve gotten rid of me yet.” Jesper’s eyes swept the room, “Can you meet here? Every second day at five bells in the morning?”

“Promise you’ll be careful-"

“Careful's my trademark.” Grinned Jesper. “I’ll have to keep you updated on Barrel gossip.”

“And I’ll let you know who’s sleeping with who back here.” They chucked despite themselves.

They had a few minutes to themselves before having to part ways. Inej appeared in the corner of the room, pulling Wylan into a tight hug and murmuring promises before she slipped outside to check the coast. Wylan helped push the stone back into place after Jesper, hand lingering there as if he could sense Jesper’s on the other side. Here he was again, alone in this dark dusty room.

But a million times less lonely than he was yesterday.

He fished the key out of his pocket, squeezing it in his palm. Small victories. Small steps to a greater cause. Now he just had to find the door this key unlocked. He looked down at it, and remembered the key Jesper had made him, and felt around his neck where it used to be. Had they taken it while he was unconscious? Had the chain snapped in transit?

It didn’t matter. Jesper himself had been the key to him, a version of him seventeen years dormant. He didn’t need a piece of metal to prove it.

Wylan dusted himself off with a smile and shut the door behind him.

Chapter Text

Please let me know what you would like to see more of in this fic going forward- more kanej? More of the crows as a team? Feedback is always helpful <3

*update: next chapter already out <3*

Thank you for reading so far and hopefully the next chapter will be done soon!

Chapter Text

A week later

Three bells in the afternoon

Inej

The first taunt came the day after they had visited Wylan. A mysterious brown package was sat waiting outside of her door at the slat, heavy and wrapped in brown paper. No note attached, no indication of who sent the thing. Inej had pulled on some gloves to unwrap it, incase the contents happened to be poisoned, explosive, or worse.

And it was worse. Much worse. She hadn’t known it at the time, but she was piecing it together now.

The next package came a day later, on the Tuesday. While the first had contained what appeared to be a pair of thick golden bangles, which she had simply tossed under her bed, the next contained a chain, the same shade of gold. She discovered that, with a lot of fiddling, you could hook the chain onto the bangles to form what looked like a pair of handcuffs. Slightly suspicious now, she tossed it away again, out of mind. Then the third package arrived. A metal stamp in the shape of the Dime Lions symbol.

She cursed herself for taking so long to realise.

She double locked her door and window that night. She knew it wouldn’t stop them if they did come for her, but it eased her paranoia just a bit. But what was more sinister about it was the fact they hadn’t come for her. Were they waiting for the right time? Did they want to provoke her into coming after them?

Or maybe they'd assumed that she’d tell Kaz about their little present to her. Maybe it was him they were goading. She had to ensure he wouldn't find it, or he'd never let her out of his sight, and then how would she keep these secret meetings between Jesper and Wylan going?

Well, there wasn’t really such thing as secrets with Kaz. He may or may not have already known about the visits. But she liked to let Jesper believe it was their secret.

She was becoming more and more certain that Kaz did know, in fact, since Wylan had started asking her discreetly for things, like lockpicks and pocket knives and matches and wax. Which she provided, obviously. And now she was sure he was in on Kaz’s plans somehow.

Nina had come back to the Slat one day, pale and shaken, and told them she’d be very busy with errands for the next few weeks. Inej hardly saw her after that. So she’d been spending most of her time with Matthias and Jesper, listening to them bicker. And when she got sick of it, she padded silently along the hall to Kaz’s office and planted herself by the window as he worked. He ignored her, she ignored him, silently sitting in each other’s company. Their usual. Only now it didn’t feel the same as it once did. There was something growing inside of her, and with each passing day of watching Jesper and Wylan together, couples canoodling on the streets, kisses on cheeks between blushing children, the more it yearned for what was right in front of her, at his desk, gloved hands gliding over paper in his signature sharp lettering.

There were a lot of things Inej wanted. She wanted a ship, she wanted free rein on an open sea; she wanted her family, the smell of Suli cuisine cooking on the fire; she wanted her justice and her peace. This was a different kind of want, not the distant dreamy call of the future or a pillar of the heart, but the innate kind, a natural desire as simple as craving water when you are thirsty or drawing nearer to the fire when you are freezing. Her other wants, her hopes and her dreams, they were her future and her past- Kaz Brekker was her now.

That was all a very wordy way of saying that she was a teenage girl having teenage feelings and was tired of pretending otherwise. She thought of what it would be like if Kaz braided her hair, touched her face, kissed her lips. It would be the first desire she hadn’t had to fake. The fear she had learnt in the menagerie still sat with her, but as she’d well learnt from her time in Ketterdam, desire was stronger than fear. Frequently, she found her mind wandering to its favourite place, the memory of Kaz tying her bandages, them in the bathroom together as his lips grazed her neck.

Inej was sat here now, at the window in the afternoon light, watching his exhausted frame hunched over his desk. He had his shirt rolled up to his elbows and one hand at the back of his neck, fingers buried in his hair. The other held his favoured ink pen that flicked elegant words from his mind onto the paper. She was sharpening her knives, but her eyes wandered over to him more than she would have liked. She wanted to hold him, whisper to him until he relaxed, rest her head on his chest so she could hear his heartbeat and know he was safe...

“I have a job for you.”

The words were sudden. Inej looked up from her knives, as if she hadn’t been watching him from the corner of her eye.

“Several, actually.” He continued, “If you’re willing.”

“What’s the job?”

“First, I only need you to collect something. Wylan should have it for me by now. He’ll also have information, which you should dictate word for word. You’ll need to go back regularly and gather what he’s managed to learn."

“So it was part of your plan? Wylan’s indenture?”

“Of course not.” Kaz said, skipping over the need to elaborate further, “Then, you’re going to break into Pekka Rollin's family home.”

Inej considered this as she would any job, although she knew it was something more. It was only a break-in. She’d done it many times before, stolen from countless people. But she could be putting herself in Pekka Rollin’s trap. She knew what the implications were of putting herself into a vulnerable position like that. And if she was caught? Well, she didn’t know if any of them would survive it.

“I’m willing.” She said, turning towards him and slinging one leg over the other, “But first, you’re going to tell me everything you’re planning.”

Kaz’s eyes twinkled, hinting at something close to a smile in his stony complexion.

She left the Slat in the early hours of the next morning, while the sky was still pitch black, creeping over the rooftops to The Lioness. It was still relatively busy, but the crowds were fizzling away, and those left were too drunk to tell the difference between night and day. She entered in plain sight, through the main doors, keeping close to a group of giggling women to avoid suspicion. Wylan wasn’t there at the piano, so he must have been waiting for her.

She spotted a door in a dark corner, waiters milling in and out. The door read Staff Only in scratched lettering on a wooden sign. Nobody appeared to be enforcing that rule. She slipped in her silent way through it, up a winding staircase, and found herself in a narrow corridor. The noise from downstairs was muffled up here. She padded along it, peeking through doors that had been left ajar. One room had two bunk beds with rumpled sheets, clothes scattered on the floor and candle wax dripping onto the window sill from the dying candle that lit the walls. Living quarters of some kind. Inej wondered if Wylan was staying up here.

On she went, drifting through the building unnoticed, noting small details she could haunt Rollins with later. The Wraith made sure to live up to her title.

She came to a point where the corridor split off in three directions when she heard someone hiss her name. Even though she recognised the voice, her knife still sat readily in her hand.

Wylan beckoned her over, nodding to the door he stood in front of. He glanced up and down the hall as she walked over to him, twisting the key so the door opened with a soft click.

“I’ve tried to make this quick for you,” he whispered, as she followed him in, “But you’ll probably still have to check things over.”

It was a cramped room, each wall covered with densely packed shelves, safes, and loose sheets of paper. Wylan had really had his work cut out for him. To be honest, he didn’t look like he’d slept since the last time she saw him. But fierce determination was crackling behind his blue eyes, eyebrows furrowed in careful concentration. There was a reason Kaz had taken on Wylan over Raske. Not only because he was Van Eck's son and valuable leverage. Because he was meticulous, relentlessly dedicated to what he did, didn’t leave anything unchecked. Kaz trusted him more than he let on, because the person Kaz trusted most was himself, and his and Wylan’s brains ticked to the same rhythm.

Inej liked him because he stuck to his principles. Despite the fact he couldn’t see it himself, he was a genius. Almost as cunning as Kaz, but infinitely more honest. As much as she adored Jesper and Nina, she sought a different kind of comfort in Wylan and Matthias, something that was sacred to the three of them whether the others saw it as naive or not. They didn’t belong amidst the amoral chaos of Barrel and it’s pretenders, and nor did she. They were misfits together.

Wylan retrieved a blue folder from the shelf, dumping it in Inej’s arms. He had wedged some loose papers under one of the safes, and took that out too. He shuffled through them, handing them over one by one, lingering on an envelope that had faded yellow with age. “I compiled all the relevant documents into that file,” he said, tapping it, “And the rest is just stuff I found in De Vries' office I thought would be important.”

Inej blinked. “Amazing. But how did you?-"

“Kaz made me a list of words,” he dug a crumpled paper from his pocket, handing it to her, “I looked for them on the documents and took the ones that matched.”

Inej scanned the list. Pekka Rollins. Betje Rollins. Betje Willems. Post-mortem. Amongst them, the names of several addresses along the Geldstraat and East Stave.

“Do you understand them?”

“Do you think Kaz tells me anything?”

“Do you want me to read them aloud for you?”

“It doesn’t matter at this point. I managed okay.” Wylan said with a small smile. She examined him more carefully from up close; there was a bruise on his left cheekbone, a small cut by his eyebrow.

She put the papers down by her feet and pulled him into a hug. He was only a few inches taller than her, his cheek against her hair as he hugged back. Guilt gnawed at her every day she left him in this place with his monstrous father. Although life hadn’t always dealt her it’s best, at the very least she could say that she had parents who loved and cherished her, who missed her every second that went by without their baby girl. She couldn’t imagine how a father could be so cruel to his own child, and how someone like Wylan had grown to be the way he was despite the man who raised him. A person raised without a hint of compassion had still matured into one of the most compassionate people Inej knew.

Perhaps we all become the person we needed at our lowest.

Wylan pulled away gently, smiling sadly as if to say this isn’t the right time. There was work to do, after all.

Inej gave him a fond pat on the shoulder, taking a small notebook and quill from her pocket. “Kaz told me you have some information.”

“Right.” Wylan inhaled through his teeth, “I doubt he mentioned what I’ve been up to. I hope you don’t think I’m a terrible person after this.”

Inej smiled, “Never.”

The next day

Kaz

Knowing people is different to understanding them. Kaz had needed to master the delicate art of manipulation to get what he wanted, learning how people thought, their habits, their temperaments, their weaknesses, strengths, etcetera, so he could move them like chess pieces across his board. The outcome of a plan was heavily determined by the exact topple of the dominos, the slight of hand, the look in one’s eye.

Kaz shuffled through his papers, hunched over his desk as he had been non-stop for several days, thinking it over and over again, considering the players on his board, the cards in his hand that Pekka Rollins couldn’t see. Inej had once told him, it’s wrong to use people for personal gain, Kaz. Kaz had responded dismissively, People don’t like to think they’re being used. It’s better to use the word ‘manoeuvred’, or ‘guided'. People love being guided.

He was setting up the dominos, one by one. He had Wylan gathering important information, acting as a spy, and provided potential leverage. Nina was prepared for what was to come, settling nicely into her role. The body was disposed of. Matthias was antsy, but obedient so far. The accounts were in order. The story was writing itself in front of him. He had the means to some forced confessions. One neat little flick, and it would all come crashing down right on top of Rollins.

A floorboard creaking just outside of his office set off alarm bells in Kaz, and he snapped his eyes up to meet it. It was only Jesper, stood sheepishly in the doorway. He relaxed, realising with mild annoyance that his heart had been racing.

He looked at Jesper with raised eyebrows, as if to ask what is it? Jesper pressed his lips into a reluctant line, scuffing his shoes on the doorframe restlessly. They hadn’t exactly been vocal with each other. Not for the past week or so, since their argument. Kaz wasn’t about to be the one to break that silence.

Eventually, Jesper couldn’t hold in whatever it was any more. “I’m only talking to you because I have to.”

“Mmm.” Kaz acknowledged, childishly satisfied at the fact he’d won their unspoken little game.

“I... I found this in Inej’s room.”

“Why were you in Inej’s room?”

“I was looking for her,” Spat Jesper defensively, “And I just saw something glint under her bed, thought it might be something... something worth looking at.”

“Something valuable that you could sell.” Kaz corrected him, and Jesper groaned frustratedly.

“Are you going to listen to me or what?”

“Fine, Jesper, I’ll entertain you. What did you find under Inej’s bed that was so fascinating you found it necessary to disturb me?”

Before he’d finished the sentence, Jesper had reached into his pocket and slammed whatever it was down on Kaz’s desk. He walked back to the door to close it.

Kaz inspected it. It was just soft enough that he could presume it to be solid gold, an elaborately decorated set of handcuffs. Kaz glanced up at Jesper.

“What Inej chooses to do in her free time is none of my concern.”

“Look at it properly, you podge.”

Kaz didn’t appreciate the name, but even so, he’d turned it over to run his hands over the design of the left cuff. A lion. A Dime Lion. Of course, he’d seen it. He even moved it so that Jesper would find it, the nosy podge. He had noticed immediately the Dime Lions had been leaving packages at Inej’s door. He knew they had people watching her at every corner, watching him. They had stopped their campaign to capture them after that night at The Lioness because they were watching, waiting for the right time to do it. They’d fix up the Dime Lion, find a weak link in Kaz’s crew, and engineer the perfect situation in which to humiliate him. They wanted it to come from his own crew, they wanted him utterly powerless. It was spite over strategy. Kaz knew all of that. But Jesper didn’t have to.

“Inej should have told me.” Said Kaz simply, pushing the chains back across the desk.

“Inej should have told us,” Jesper was already pacing the little office, the floorboards squeaking irritably under his shoes, “What are they planning now? We can’t lose Inej too. None if us will survive it. They’ll pluck us one by one-"

“You’re right. They’ll kick us all down, make us suffer. Inej will become their circus animal. They’ll enslave you for your Grisha power, if they don’t shoot you on the spot. Either way, you’ll most certainly never see your sweetheart again.” Kaz said, casually, like he was chatting about the weather. Jesper froze on the spot, gawking at Kaz like he’d slapped him.

Kaz rose slowly from his desk, walked over to Jesper, who stepped back like he was worried Kaz was going to swing at him again. Kaz stopped in front of him.

“The question is,” Kaz pressed his Crow’s head cane into Jesper’s chest, “What are you willing to do to stop it?”

Jesper’s jaw set. That’s right. He wanted Jesper angry, wanted his heart thrumming. Wanted him motivated, willing to do Kaz’s bidding. Kaz still had no intention of letting him in on anything- more out of strategy than personal grievance at this point. He needed Jesper to sell the act.

As usual, Kaz got what he needed out of Jesper. He bent him to his will. And he felt as if he’d regained the power he’d lost during their altercation. But there was a dull ache, a quiet cry within him as he watched Jesper stalk sullenly out of his office, that wanted Jesper to know that part of this was for him. Part of everything Kaz did was for him, for his Crows. Wanted Jesper to know that... he cared. Somewhere, deep inside, he cared. But that was something he didn’t think he’d ever be able to vocalise before the words died on his lips.

Like how he’d never let on that the golden lion glaring up at him from his desk, it did scare him. Fear was an emotion he didn’t allow himself, but nonetheless, it tried to rise to the surface. He couldn’t help but picture Inej in its snarling jaws.

As he watched Jesper leave, the knowledge stabbed at him that he knew Jesper. He knew Jesper like he knew how to pick a lock. Like he knew that two plus two was four. But they would never understand each other.

He wandered over to the windowsill, Inej’s favoured spot, running his fingers along it. The room didn’t seem complete without her there, at her perch, sitting with him in comfortable silence. He knew the implications of what he was going to ask her to do. But he knew that if the cards were stacked right, it would bring her freedom.

Freedom. Freedom from Ketterdam, from the Barrel, from the life she led. Freedom from him. If he had it his way, they would stay there forever, her at the window, him at his desk, talking about anything and everything and nothing at all. He wanted her to stay. But at the end of it all, he wanted her to have everything. And him? He was nothing.

He remembered the day he took Inej to the Slat from the first time. In her menagerie silks, eyes black rimmed, looking at him like he was a beacon of hope, with a mixture of tentative hope and fear and fascination. She was quiet as a mouse for the first few weeks, scurrying about, trying to take up as little space as possible. He taught her to make precise cuts with her knives, she taught him the most efficient way to scale a wall. And it must have struck him one night, a few weeks into knowing her, that he enjoyed her company. The Dregs had started to realise the same thing. Jesper paraded her about as his new best friend, and they were attached at the hip for a frustrating few months. The days passed and steadily Inej had become irreplaceable to all of them. But nobody was under the illusion that she belonged here. Anybody who saw her, delicate frame perched on the rooftops, thoughtful and still and menacing, must have known that she was simply too good for this place.

He lowered himself into his desk once again. From downstairs, he heard a thump, the shouts of a struggling man. Inej had brought him what he’d asked for.

He refocused his mind. He needed to become his own myth, the ruthless, heartless, bloodthirsty Brekker. He needed to become this man's worst nightmare.

He was going to get the truth out of him one way or another.

Chapter Text

Part 3 uploaded yesterday. Let me know what you think so far and how i can improve! <3

*please continue on to the next part, sorry for interrupting with yet another one of these*

Chapter Text

That same day

Wylan

Wylan felt sick. The ground tilted under his feet, his head swimming, and he was somewhere else, somewhere deep deep underground where the sunlight couldn’t reach him.

When he'd been beckoned to Pekka's office, he knew he was in a different kind of trouble. They must have caught him talking to De Vries, spotted him looking through the records. He was contemplating how he would play it off, keep Kaz’s involvement a secret, when he knocked and an all too familiar voice answered.

There, stood by the fireplace, the light dancing over his features, a distortion of Wylan's own, was Jan Van Eck. Wylan’s heart plunged as he noted his expression. Not angry, not repulsed, but smug.

What had he done?

“Please, come in.” Van Eck sank into the leather chair in front of Pekka Rollin’s desk. Rollins himself was smoking a fat cigar by the window. He had on a crooked grin, his gold tooth on display. Wylan narrowed his eyes.

“Wipe that sour look off your face. You owe a great deal of gratitude to this man.” Spat Van Eck.

“Gratitude?”

“He’s given you a purpose, somewhere for you to make yourself useful. Without him you’d be dead in a gutter somewhere.”

Wylan lifted his chin, hiding the fact he was pink with anger and shame, pins and needles beneath his skin. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you.”

“Quiet, boy. Perhaps it was different in your little gang of miscreants, but here, you speak only when we allow it.” The thing that scared Wylan was the fact that there wasn’t a note of annoyance in Van Eck's voice, only that condescending, smug tone, sly and velvety, the hiss of a snake. His icy eyes held a glint of cruel pleasure. It was unfamiliar- the tone Wylan was most used to coming from his father was cold indifference.

Van Eck lifted a bony finger to draw him over. Wylan took a couple reluctant steps closer, until he was close enough to see the streaks of grey in his father’s eyebrows, the subtle edges of steel in his irises. “You miss them, don’t you? Brekker and his spider, especially that Zemini boy of yours. Jesper, is it?”

Wylan wanted to punch the name out of his father’s mouth.

Van Eck saw the retort Wylan was swallowing, and his grin only stretched, cruel lips curling upward on his sharp face, “Well, you won’t have to miss them for long. They’ll be joining you, very, very soon. I only wanted to thank you. Thank you for bringing them straight to us.”

Wylan’s stomach lurched. He jerked back from Van Eck, unsteady on his feet. Pekka was chuckling from across the room, the stink of his cigar heavy in Wylan’s tight lungs.

“Tonight, they’re going to come here to see you, just as they have been for weeks now. And you are going to meet them.” Van Eck said on the hint of a chuckle, voice high with glee, “You can tell me, as you watch us give them what they deserve, if your risky little arrangement was worth it.”

Blood flushed to Wylan’s face, his temples thrumming with rage. The words spilled out of him uncontrollably. “You relish in this, do you? Maybe we never saw eye to eye, father, but I’d never pegged you as the kind of man to revel in the suffering of the seventeen year old kids you’d chased around in circles like some sort of sadistic maniac. Then again, I’d also thought you clever.”

Van Eck seemed almost taken aback. Perhaps he’d expected Wylan to cry and beg, or hang his head in resignation like the powerless child he remembered. Wylan wanted to laugh. A lot had changed since then.

A scowl fell over his father’s face, “And who are you to speak on intelligence? May I remind you-"

“Yes, I can’t read. Illiterate moron, etcetera. I’m well versed, father, I assure you. Maybe I’m an idiot, but I also breached the most highly fortified stronghold in Fjerda and came out alive. And upon return, my gang of miscreants and I have bested you time and time and time again.” Wylan didn’t know where this was coming from, but now he’d started, he couldn’t stop if he wanted to, “Kaz Brekker will always outsmart you. Because he has what you will never have, never in your wildest dreams. Class.” Wylan mirrored the expression Van Eck had shown him his whole childhood. A dithering glance down his upturned nose, as if his father was no more significant than the irritating buzz of an insect. “You, Jan Van Eck, are a smarmy, pathetic, balding shrimp of a man.”

He barely managed a vindicated smirk before a sharp slap rang out in the small room. Wylan resisted the urge to bring his hand to his burning cheek, trying to retain his composure. It wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d been on the receiving end of his father’s hand.

Jan Van Eck sunk back into his seat, face red but returned to it’s nonchalance. He caged his fingers, “I would gladly make you pay for each and every word, but I leave petty violence to the Barrel rats.” He looked to Pekka Rollins, who put out his cigar on the wallpaper.

Wylan was not pleased to learn that Rollins' boots were iron capped.

They turned out the fireplace and left him there in the office, locking the door behind them. As he left, Van Eck crouched down, bringing his face to Wylan’s ear. “Tomorrow.” He said simply, a smile in his voice. They left him there, in the dark office, curled up on the floor. Bruised, battered and alone. Alone, alone, alone.

Not for the first time.

Wylan let the tears come. They stung his eyes, streaming down his face and onto the carpet without a sound. At least his father hadn’t seen. At least Jesper wasn’t here to see him like this.

Wylan had no idea whether Kaz had planned for this, or whether Wylan had screwed it all. All he could cling to was hope, faith in Kaz. Maybe Jesper and Inej wouldn’t come tomorrow. Maybe they’d forget. Wylan prayed with all he had that they’d left on a boat to Novyi Zem and were safely on the way to a new life, far, far away from here.

He weaved own hands into his hair and tried to imagine they were Jesper’s.

The same day

Inej

Needless to say, Inej was never overly fond of violence. But she was far from incapable of it when need be. To her, any blood spilt carried emotional weight, and she regretted every drop of it.

To Kaz, it was business. Nothing he relished in, but nothing he found unnecessary.

She lurked in the corner of the room, observing the interaction taking place in front of her. The man was in his mid forties, with thick eyebrows and an upturned nose, a stubborn grimace on his face as blood trickled down his forehead. Kaz had been trying for at least twenty minutes, but the man was stubborn. He kept his chin up, looking down on Kaz even from below him, tied to the rickety chair with his bulky arms bound behind his back.

Inej had seen men like him before. She’d watched them fight, only to break between Kaz’s thumb and index finger. And she could tell from the look in Kaz’s eyes that he was only warming up.

Kaz barked another demand at him. The man spat. Kaz punched him. The man grinned up at him, teeth red with blood.

Kaz ran both hands through his hair, moving over to rest against his desk on both palms. He was exhaling slowly, pretending to compose himself. Inej had watched this act many times before. He exaggerated his gait, turned on his best, most cutting glare, swung his fists with purpose. He turned himself into a pantomime villain, only to later show them what they really had to fear.

Kaz pulled over a crate from the corner of the room and sat himself at eye level with the captive. He maintained intense eye contact all the while. It was time for the real show to begin.

“Bastiaan, is it?” Kaz spoke after a prolonged silence.

“Not tellin' you nothing.”

Kaz tilted his head, almost playfully, “Bastiaan. Your friends call you Bas. Your wife calls you Batti. I wonder how you ended up with that nickname; it’s so sweet I can feel myself getting toothache. You don’t seem all that sweet to me, Batti.”

Bastiaan kept his mouth shut, but from the way his face was turning red, Inej could tell he wouldn’t be a tough nut to crack.

“Mary. Your wife.” Kaz continued, “The mother to your children, gentle Katherine and boisterous Bram. I hear Katherine has a gift for numbers.” Kaz had him now. Bastiaan was staring unblinking at him, eyes wide with a mixture of hate and apprehension. “Your children are happy. They love their father. I’m sure they come scurrying to greet you at the door after a long day’s work. The thing is, Bas, that we have a shared interest here. I’m sure you don’t want your kids growing up with a father who's rotting in hellgate, and I don’t want that either. That’s where we can help each other.”

Bastiaan squirmed in his chair, as if struggling to get away from Kaz. Kaz leaned forward. “You confess your role in the murder of Betje Rollins, and you testify that Pekka Rollins ordered her assassination. That way, you can go home to clever little Katherine and leave your old life behind.”

Bastiaan seemed to consider this, but barked a laugh, “You got no proof. This woman’s dead and buried. You’d have nothing but my word, and that don’t stand up in court.”

Kaz rose to his feet and made his way over to the door. He knocked twice, went back and sat down on the crate. The door creaked open several second later, and in swept a woman in a billowing black cloak, wisps of grey-brown hair peeking out from beneath her hood. Inej could just barely see a glimpse of her pale profile. Bastiaan turned pale, the breath gone from his lungs, a shiny sheen of sweat forming on his face. He had the expression that he'd seen a ghost.

“You... but...you...”

“You recognise her, don’t you?” Kaz grabbed his face, pulling him to face him, “You recognise that face. Good to know you at least remember the faces of the people that you watch die.”

“But... she... I saw her, she was...”

“Dead?” Kaz said, a cool composure in his voice, “Evidently not.”

When the woman spoke up, her voice was brittle and small, but Inej could sense the warmth in her. “Saints forgive you, you foolish man.” She sounded almost sorry for him, without a hint of condemnation in her voice. Despite the unfamiliar tone, Inej thought she heard something familiar in the way her mouth formed the words.

“Betje has been in hiding for the past nineteen years. She escaped Ketterdam as a stowaway on a ship to Novyi Zem, then travelled from there to Ravka. Four months ago, she risked the journey back home, having heard stories of the ice court and Kaz Brekker’s genius escape, and sought my help.” Inej couldn’t help but notice that this all sounded very rehearsed coming from Kaz’s mouth, “Now, you can imagine how Betje wouldn’t feel very charitable toward her assassin. But she’s a reasonable woman. If you testify on our behalf, if you tell the truth, then you get to come out of this mostly unscathed. If not, then you’re going down with Rollins. Do we have a deal?”

The man swallowed, but nodded, not meeting Kaz’s eyes. Inej looked away. The woman, Betje, walked out, and Inej heard her frantic footsteps down the stairs.

Kaz kept the man hostage that night, locked in a room on the top floor, mercifully untied from the chair but still bound at the hands and wrists.

If these ordeals affected Kaz, he never showed it. But tonight he was restless. He sat, hunched over his desk, shuffling through the same papers over and over again. Inej perched at her spot at the window, watching him in the candlelight. The rooftops were shiny in the moonlight, a sheen of rainwater reflecting the sky. The lights and sounds of Ketterdam were vibrant as ever, but seemed to die before they reached them, before they could get past the window frame. All that existed in these four walls was her and Kaz.

She watched Kaz as he buried a hand in his hair, eyes frantic, scanning the pages with wild eyes, and she knew the only name playing over his mind was Pekka Rollins. It was always this cycle, day in, day out, her at the window sill, him at the desk. So close and yet a million worlds away.

He had broken the cycle. He had touched her that day, in the bathroom, and changed them forever. Maybe it was her turn to do the same.

Silently, she got to her feet and padded over to him. She stopped just beside his desk, and ran a hand over the papers in front of him. “Kaz.”

Kaz froze, eyes fixated on her hand.

“Just... stop, for a little while.”

“Pekka Rollins-"

“You’ll let Pekka Rollins consume you. Once you have your payback, where will that leave you?” Inej trained her fingers over the desk, allowing them to brush Kaz’s gloved hand, “There are more important things in the world than revenge.”

Kaz looked up to meet her eyes, a deep, wide blackness, like two spots of ink on his pale face. But if you looked closely, in just the right light, there were little rings of brown in them. Like the rings of a tree, a ripple of light in a cup of coffee.

Kaz looked back down at his gloved hands, as if considering. He went to peel one off, but froze to take a breath, and Inej could see he was struggling.

“It’s okay.” She said softly. Kaz let out a shaky breath, leaving the gloves on. He held her gaze as he rose to his feet.

He was taller than her, but that didn’t make her feel small. Memories flashed by of her time at the Menagerie, feeling like drowning in a sea of silks and cheap perfume, like she was losing herself because nobody saw the Inej beneath it all. Like she was becoming nothing more than a body. But from the very start, Kaz saw what she really was, who she really was. Next to him, she felt strong. She felt like... they could be strong together.

The tension between them was so taut that even a wrong quirk of the eyebrow could snap it. She had imagined him a thousand times. A thousand words that had never left her lips were swirling around in her head. Maybe it was time to stop thinking.

She reached out a tentative hand. He didn’t flinch, eyes following it as she brought it up to his face, hovering just over his cheek. She placed the other on the other side of his face. There they were, not quite touching, the heat of their skin like electricity as she drew nearer. He didn’t pull away. His breath was shaky, but his gaze was steady, sure. Beckoning.

Her thumb only just grazed his cheekbone. He drew a sharp breath, and she pulled away, but he leant back into her touch with a stubborn exhale, and she could feel the skittish energy built up over weeks bleeding out of him. His skin was warm, not quite soft, but not coarse either. His faded scars ran like shallow crevices over his cheekbone and jaw. A map. His face was a map, and these were the marks acquired from the places he’d been. She wanted to explore all of it.

Slowly, gently, she ran her thumbs along his temples, his cheekbones, her fingers trailing his jaw. She smoothed the creases in his furrowed brow. His eyes were closed now, his breathing ragged, but he fought himself, leaning into the contact.

There were words on Inej’s lips, but they evaporated at the sound of the door creaking open behind them. Kaz jerked away from her.

“Did you really have to put your hostage in the room above mine? He’s shrieking like a mountain goat-" Jesper paused in the doorway, looking between Inej’s stunned expression and Kaz’s fierce glare. “Am I interrupting something?”

Kaz gave him a sour look and sat back at his desk, “I ought to write Colm Fahey a letter alerting him to the fact that he failed to teach his son basic manners. Here, we knock before entering.”

“You never knock.” Huffed Jesper.

Kaz had his eyes back on his papers, “And I’ve come to regret it many a time. I imagine you have somebody waiting for you in your bed, so run along.” Kaz said with a wave of his hand.

“I don’t, actually.” Jesper said, the words more mournful than indignant. Even Kaz knew not to push any further on that one. Jesper turned to Inej, “Can we talk?”

“If it’s about the rendezvous you have planned at The Lioness tomorrow, you can have that conversation in front of me.” Kaz shuffled the loose papers together and tucked them into his desk drawer, “I’ll be accompanying you.”

Chapter Text

The next day

Wylan

Of course they’d still insisted he clean the foyer on the day they planned to destroy him. The sky was still dark outside, a hint of dawn on the horizon. Wylan was in his ridiculous uniform, polishing glasses at the bar- glasses that had already been polished countless times, but nothing was too pristine for Van Eck. Shards of dim golden light drifted the walls of the Lioness from the chandelier, which swayed gently like a crystal angel, casting most of the room in darkness.

He jumped when a voice spoke, deep and accented in soft-spoken Kaelish. “Early to start work, don’t you think, son?”

Wylan put on his best smile, “Early to be at the bar, Oisin.”

Despite Rollin’s distaste for him, not all of them Dime Lions took against Wylan. Wylan had grown up with convoluted feelings toward the Barrel, a place his father believed shouldn’t even exist- he feared it, as he was taught, but he was curious. What drove people to the sort of villainy that beat through the Barrel like a pulse? He’d quickly learnt the answer- desperation.

Oisin was in his late forties, red-haired with skin like crinkled paper, an ex-sailor, and he’d lost his family only weeks after their arrival in Ketterdam to firepox. He was a young man at the time- not much older than Wylan. In his grief, he’d picked up a too-strong taste for alcohol, and joined the only family who would accept this shattered version of him: the Dime Lions. Oisin had told him the story a week or so after Wylan's capture, a drink or two into the evening. He’d been touched by Wylan's music, and requested “Lullaby of the Willow”, a composition his wife had loved. Wylan was told by Rollins and his father in no uncertain terms not to address anybody, even look them in the eye, but Oisin had sat down and wrenched a conversation out of him. How anybody could remain so soft-hearted, among the Dime Lions and the cruelty of Ketterdam, was beyond Wylan. But he found that a love for music flourished even among these hardened criminals, and therefore a respect for those who delivered it. There were other gang members who showed him kindness, because he was young, handsome, quiet, and brought warmth to their bitter hearts with his music; what was there worth mistreating? From an optimistic point of view, the whole experience had shown him that there was beauty to be found in even the worst of places.

“You working the bar today?” Oisin sat down, “Or the piano?”

Wylan shivered at the thought of what was to come today. “I'm not sure.”

“Ah, well, you let me know.” He glanced around the sparsely populated club, nose crinkled, “I don’t like this place. Only come to hear you play “Lullaby of the Willow”. Rollin’s clubs aren’t how they used to be in Betje’s day.”

Wylan perked up, “Betje’s day?”

Osisin smiled, a far-off look crossing his face as it did when he was about to go on one of his rambling stories, “Ah, Betje. Daisy of the Barrel, we used to call her. While she was alive, the Rollin’s business had so much class. She and Pekka was a legend, y’know. Love story for the ages.”

Wylan nodded. The last part was quite ironic, given what he knew.

“Not all of us in this neck of the woods are scoundrels and scum, y’know. Betje was a rich girl. Not Mercher-rich, but her father owned properties all over Ketterdam. I betcha he was a crook himself. Not like Betje. Betje was an angel. Always had a kind word for the struggling souls on these streets- she wrote to the papers. Thought there were real, legitimate businesses here worth taking seriously. Well, I’m not sure about that, but she was Kerch, after all.” Oisin laughed, a deep, hearty sound. It eased the anxiety pulling tight Wylan’s chest. He wished he’d grown up with a father like Oisin. Minus the alcohol problem.

Oisin continued, “Fell for Pekka one summer and married him right away. It was scandal. But we here loved her. She was the people’s princess, really. Brought loveliness to even the nastiest corners of the city.”

“She sounds great.”

“She was. Then her poor father died, and they say she died of grief only a year later. Was a dark day- darker than usual, anyway.”

Died of grief, sure. Died for inheriting her father’s assets, more likely. What Oisin was saying made his heart flutter with hope. Betje’s martyr-like reputation in the Barrel was the key thing their plan rested on. None of this he didn’t already know- his research for Kaz had been thorough- but it was comforting to hear again.

Wylan’s hand trembled, and he almost dropped the glass he was holding. Oisin leant in, ginger brows furrowed, “Who’s gone and roughed you up like that, boy? You look like you’ve spent the day in Hellgate.”

Wylan brought a hand to the purple bruise staining his cheek, “Nobody.”

“If it was somebody I’m familiar with, I can-“

“It’s fine, Oisin, I promise. Thank you.”

Oisin tutted, but didn’t pry any further. Wylan wasn’t used to being fussed over. He liked it, even if it made him flush. Someone who noticed and cared. Of course, there was Jesper now, and his friends, and Colm had always shown Wylan open-armed tenderness. But Wylan couldn’t say he never felt jealous- Colm would have died for Jesper, need be. Jesper had someone who fret day and night over him, who was always waiting if things should go wrong, who considered Jesper his pride and joy. Wylan wished he had someone like that, particularly growing up. It was the worst kind of envy, for the worst kind of pain. He thought of his mother. Then he tried very hard to wipe that image from his brain.

Wylan couldn’t help fantasising about some alternate reality in which his mother was never sent away, and a father who loved him, and a real home. Maybe there was a universe where Oisin was his father, and took him all around the world on his ship, from Ravka to The Wandering Isle to Novyi Zem, and Jesper would have never fallen into the pit of despair that was Ketterdam, would still be living on the farm with Colm, and would cross paths with Wylan and they’d fall in love under the bright sun and dreamy yellow fields. Of course, Wylan wouldn’t have Jesper any other way. He would choose to meet Kaz and Inej and Nina and Matthias every single time. But there was always a part of him that would never be complete.

Wylan finished his conversation with Oisin, who presumably sloped off to some other bar, and neatly stacked the polished glasses into a glistening pyramid. His anxiety was prickling at his skin, and fidgeting didn’t seem to release it. It was like a cold creature writhing it’s way through his gut. An hour or so had passed, and the sun was gradually creeping up, but it felt to him like much longer.

Midday came, however slowly, and Wylan worked the bar, serving rowdy customers already several drinks in so early in the day. Some shouted obscene things at him, but he largely went ignored, as he was used to. The bar reached it’s peak for the daylight hours at four PM- it usually thinned out in the evening as people went off to get supper, and then got much busier again after nightfall.

Wylan dropped the wine bottle he was pouring from at the sound of the double doors flying open, heavy wood striking the wall with a booming, echoing reverberation. So loud the whole bar took notice, and a hush fell over it, quickly replaced with jeering and heckling as five figures moved through the crowd.

The customer was shouting at Wylan for soaking him in red wine, but Wylan could barely hear him- he was stuck in a stunned trance at the sight of Kaz Brekker, surrounded by his crew, in broad daylight, in enemy territory. Inej stood to one side of him, Jesper to the other, and behind them stood Anika and Pim. Inej and Kaz were entirely composed, while Jesper jutted his chin, chest puffed in an animated and entirely fabricated display of confidence. He met Wylan’s eyes, and Wylan could see that facade was close to crumbling. They were received by the crowd like a troupe of clowns sauntering into Parliament.

Kaz struck his cane against the floor. “I demand an audience with Pekka Rollins.”

“Oooh, he demands an audience!” Someone mocked, and a scattering of snickers followed, “Well, somebody better fetch Rollins, then.”

Kaz kept his eyes steadily trained forward. Jesper’s fingers were itching at his sides, caressing the handles of his guns, and his eyes searched the room. They eventually found Wylan, and found their way back every few seconds, although he tried conspicuously to hide it. Wylan smiled reassuringly. Jesper looked like he was fighting something back as his gaze fell to the floor.

Pekka did indeed emerge, and it was with a smug expression on his face that he stood facing Brekker, looking down on the five Dregs from the elevated landing. “Brave of you to be showing your face here, Brekker.”

“Sorry we didn’t leave you enough time to twirl your moustache and practise your villainous laugh.” Said Jesper, with an air of forced ease.

Kaz had on a bored expression, as if the dozen or so guns trained on him were a tedious occurence, “You’re going to court, Rollins.”

Rollins barked a laugh, reaching to draw the fat cigar from his mouth as smoke trailed his words, “You’re taking me to court?”

“Oh, I'm not.” Something close to a smile crossed Kaz’s face as he beckoned with a gloved hand and a troupe of purple-clad Stadwatch burst in, forming a tight circle around a cloaked figure. Slowly, milking the tension, she pulled her hood back to reveal a face familiar to many- that much was clear from the gasp that followed.

Two Stadwatch approached Rollins, “You are under arrest on the suspicion of murder.”

“See you in court, Rollins.” Kaz said dryly, “And I wouldn’t call upon Van Eck for support; he’s going to have problems of his own.”

Chapter Text

Hi,

So this has been a busy period for me, and i wanted to say that i do have a plans in mind for this fic and ideas for future fics, and from july onward i will be able to complete it and start new ones. Thank you so much for the support so far and thanks for your patience, i can't wait to get back to writing this!

Xx