Work Text:
His mouth went dry the first time he saw Saint Petyr on Inej’s dark hair, a stark contrast of milky white on the midnight strands. When Kaz chose the knife, he didn’t know it could have any other use than spilling blood.
It was the kind steel, the tradesman had said. The pain would be easier to bear if the kill was clean. That was what he had thought when he saw the slender blade, the pale bone color reflecting off the red velvet of its case, being sold on a trading boat specializing in exotic blades. The seller was smuggling a shipment of jurda and docking at Firth Harbour under his nose. He had made him pay, commission, and blood. The knife was an added benefit. The craftsmanship was exquisite and he was a man who knew the value of money. It would help her make the first kill easier.
At least that was what he thought.
He watched as she tugged the knife from her hair, dark waves fell like curtains surrounding her as she steeled herself. Her hands were shaking.
“Wraith!”, he urged. “Now.”
Every other gang member with them was watching. It wouldn’t bode well for both of their reputations to..
Hot blood splashed across his face.
Kaz scrunched his face disgustedly. Inej gripped her blade tight, ivory covered in the color of rust. She had sliced the aorta. A splurge of dark liquids sprayed from the man's neck as hespasmed in his last breath.
All to hell with a clean kill. He had taught her better.
The gang clapped. They cheered. Some slapped her shoulders in congratulations. Inej looked at him, her eyes trapped like a target at the end of a hunter’s gun.
He nodded.
In a flash she was gone, scaling the walls with blood-stained fingers, and disappeared. His eyes tracked her shadow until she was gone. She was nowhere to be found at the Crow Club for their customary round of celebratory drinks. When they finally made it back to the Slat, Kaz was more than anxious.
Could she have jumped on a cargo ship in the night and escaped without him knowing the better of it?
As he rounded the corner to the second floor, his knees were screaming from the night’s exertion. A muffled cry could be heard from her room, painfully loud on his journey across the landing to his floor.
A small click loosened from the lock of his wretched soul.
*.*.*.*.*.*
There was an unusual smell wafting in the afternoon wind.
Kaz unconsciously inhaled, breathing in the unfamiliar scent in his attic. The scent was smoky and herbal, like burning woods and dry leaves. He eyed annoyingly at the windowsill. Another source of his distraction was perching on the windowsill, black eyes glancing at him, head tilted observing him from an angle.
“Sod off.” He grounded out, then immediately felt stupid for even opening his mouth.
“Okay, should I come back in another hour?”, came a reply as Inej dropped gracefully from whatever ledge she was on moments ago, bringing with her that unusual smell. Her hair was freshly clean and loosen, cascading softly down her small shoulder and smooth brown arms.
The crow squawked in surprise and flew away. A few black feathers blew in with the wind and scattered on his carpeted floor. His moment of stupidity had a witness, but he also knew his Wraith would never tell.
“Not you”, Kaz's irritation grew. “That damn crow. Do not feed it again.”
He continued his tally, gloved fingers skimming the sheets of paper documenting the Club’s monthly figures.
She ignored him.
Of course. The Wraith was growing the beginning of a backbone, or it had always been there. He had felt it the first time they met, simmering dangerously beneath the broken facade of the Lynx. Pulling out the small pouch of crumbs, Inej sprinkled a pinch on the ledge next to where she had settled, legs dangling precariously to one side of his office’s window.
He watched from the corner of his eyes. The sun was bathing her golden features in the warm afternoon. Her hair was picked up by the wind, toying with dark delicate lashes fanning her cheeks.
Inej smiled. Another waft of dry wood tickled his nose. Her dark hair glowed like honey in sunlight and Kaz had to physically remind himself that he was not a damn bee. It shimmered like gold silk pulling on the last thread of his mind.
“What’s that smell?”, he couldn’t resist.
“Sage. I was doing a ceremony, she tossed him a wary look. “Is it the smell that is bothering you?"
“Does this have anything to do with your Sulli tradition?” He avoided it with another question. It was the exact opposite. Inej never had a scent, but if she did, he imagined it would be exactly this.
She look surprised. It was rare that he ever initiated a conversation that was not related to killing or scheming. But he had his assumptions.
“Yes,” she nodded. “A repentance for the life I had taken.” Inej's voice trembled as the memory resurfaced. The light in her eyes dimmed. He could see the ghost of a nightmare that would be haunted her dreams from now on.
A fickle of annoyance tugged at his heart. “Get used to it. Soon there won’t be enough burning that can rid your hands clean of blood,” he snapped. His mood turned sour quickly.
Inej said nothing in return. Kaz returned to his paperwork, his fountain pen scraped loudly in their stretched silence.
The crow was back, but her smile was gone.
It landed on her lap, squawking noisily for attention.
*.*.*.*.*.*
She winced.
Kaz narrowed his eyes. Something was not right.
Inej’s left wrist, which she had kept hidden until now, was wrapped in thick bandages seeping with blood. Kaz had been through enough escapades to know what a bad wound looked like.
“Where did you go?” He demanded.
Inej sighed. “A butcher.”
He didn’t bother to ask why. It was clear from the way her eyes rimmed red, her voice hoarse around the edge, and slurred just slightly. She probably took too much swig of whiskey for the nerves, if the way she swayed unsteadily was any indication.
The Wraith never swayed.
Had she asked, he would have pointed her to the Herb Ink parlor on the other side of West Stave, one street down from The House of Snow. It was where Kaz got his last name tattooed on days after he turned fourteen. The letter R for Reitveld, to mark the success of his crew robbery against Pekka Rollins’s bank that had conned him and Jordie. The day he took down another brick for his revenge on the leader of the Dime Lion. The medic who treated his leg turned out to have a special talent with needle and ink. He worked as a tattooist on the side for extra cash, providing his trade for impulsive tourists on random drunken nights to folks wanting to impress some damsels at the many pleasure houses lining West Stave.
He could still taste the bitter smell of burn herbs that the scrawny medic had dressed the wounds with to quicken the healing. He would know how to remove the ink without causing too much damage to the skin. He had briefly considered the place where all the Dregs got their gang symbol tattooed, but it wasn’t worth the risk of someone poking their nose in his private business.
It didn’t matter now.
Inej looked absolutely wretched. He hoped the wound wouldn’t be infected. A spider couldn’t climb with just four legs. He would not be swindled half of his investment by some butcher.
“If you are worried about my ability to perform then you shouldn’t,” she said defiantly. The effect would have been convicting, if her words didn’t slurred just the tiniest bit. “This will heal by tomorrow with a good sleep.”
“My darling Inej, you wouldn’t know.” He replied mockingly.
She looked like she was about to combust. Her face narrowed in resentment. At the Menagerie, at the Peacock, at him. But this was what they had agreed, she wouldn’t find comfort and soothing words from him. Kaz was better with action, the kind that made them pay with their life.
He rummaged through his bottom desk drawer and threw her a round tin case with a thick brown paste that smelled like burned gasoline. “Three times per day. Get a fresh bandage.” He ordered.
“I want you here to report tomorrow night. 9 pm sharp. We have a tail to follow.”
“What about the Hampstead’s interrogation in the morning?” Inej questioned, disbelief written all over her features.
“I’ll do it,” he said. She was too stunned to nod.
He was right, the wound took over a week to heal. It left behind a hideous scar, but he had never seen the spring in her step lighter.