Chapter Text
I
Ketterdam was always cold and wet. Even during the hottest summer days one could get away without sweating if one didn’t move more than usual. Or lose a lot of money in a gambling den. In winter the weather was just awful. The wind screamed through the crooked alleys and shook all the rotten buildings of the Barrel. Three years ago Rotty had opened the door to the Slat’s back entrance with a little too much enthusiasm and it had flown right off its hinges and smashed into poor Keeg, whose broken nose took a good month to heal. Per Haskell had not bothered to have it fixed and everyone in the Slat had been cold and miserable for two weeks until Kaz had paid the carpenter from his own pocket to get the door fixed.
Kaz Brekker’s doors did not rattle any more. They were now of heavy cherry wood in the Slat and the entrance to the Crow Club was of fitting black ebony from Novyi Zem. In those cold and long winter nights, when the wind threw the incessant rain at all who dared to put a toe outside, Kaz Brekker’s doors did not just promise some hours of entertainment, depravity and maybe a lucky win or a terrible loss, but also dry feet and a good warming glass of Kaelish Whiskey or ale.
Inej had first felt something akin to comfort within the walls of her tiny room in the Slat and though at the time she had dreamt to be rid of this horrible city at night, she now looked forward to that comfort every time she came back from sea to wait out the winter storms. The tiny room wasn’t hers any longer, of course. Kaz Brekker was a very practical man: a new recruit had needed a bed, and he much preferred to have his Wraith close when he could. And Inej didn’t mind at all.
Now she leapt eagerly from roof to roof towards that practical man and the dry crooked building of the Slat. The rain had given them no rest all afternoon as she and her crew had taken down the Wraith ’s sails and made sure that she was ready to be docked for at least a month. Then, just as they were finishing up, it had stopped raining. Inej had had the chance to change into dry clothes, but the cold had stuck to her bones and the wind was still howling.
Kaz’s attic window was open. Foolish , one could say in this weather, but Dirtyhands always had a reason. She slipped in like the shadows of the evening. He was at his desk in the attic, not downstairs in Per Haskell’s old office. An ugly scowl spread all over the sharp features of his face and yet he was there, not on the ground floor, so that she could come through the window and find him here.
“Inej,” he greeted her without looking up, but the softness in his voice didn't match the glower.
“Welcome back.” He slammed one piece of paper to the side, moved on the the next one and groaned.
“Thank you,” Inej answered, but she could tell that he was in the midst of solving a problem, so she sat on the corner of the desk. There was no rush, they had only ever made steps forward by being patient.
Kaz fell back into silence as he crossed out lines on the papers and scribbled down some new numbers, but he moved the steaming coffee cup in front of him towards her. Inej took some sips, grimacing a little at the bitterness, but enjoying how the beverage warmed up her throat and chest. She let the butterflies in her belly dance as she imagined his lips on the cup in the same spot. When she sat the coffee back down Kaz was still pouring over the papers, but he offered her his free hand. She took it gladly and closed her eyes as he stroked along the shape of her knuckles.
“Those cretins couldn’t count if I told them to do so with their fingers,” he concluded and Inej blinked drowsily.
He sighed, dropped his pen and drove a hand over his face and hair. She reached for a strand that had come loose over his forehead—slowly, so that he could pull away—and slipped the tips of her fingers through his raven locks to rearrange it. And then, finally, Kaz allowed himself to fully look at her and Inej felt herself blush at his wide eyed gaze, as if she were the first dawn after a long and dark winter.
“What is it?” she asked, just because she had to say something.
He looked back at the papers he had been working on with an expression of disgust.
“We had a strong storm last week and the Council of Tides was ordered to prioritise merchant ships so that they could still dock. They closed the harbours to tourist vessels last Wednesday when the weather was the worst, so there were few pigeons around and the people I had at the Silver Six thought it to be a good idea to have a little party by themselves and forget to write down the little income we did have that night. And now I have fucking gaps in my ledger.”
Inej couldn’t help smiling a little: “Saints forbid there’s something wrong with your numbers.”
He raised an eyebrow, but she could see the corner of his mouth twitching: “I might remind you, my darling, that my numbers are your cannons. You want your guns clean and rust-free, I want my ledger without gaps.”
Inej laughed and he gave her hand, which he still held in his, a squeeze. She thought about slipping slowly from the desk into his lap and claim the warmth of cold-hearted Dirtyhands’ arms. They had done so before and she felt like it was a good night, though they often got ahead of themselves when the excitement of their reunions still filled the air around them.
The choice was made for her by a faint knock on the door. Kaz tore his eyes from her, but still held her hand.
“Come in,” he barked.
Pim looked about as faint as his knock had been. He gave Inej a nod, but his gaze was quick to snap back to his leader, as if he were expecting a quick blow from the crow-headed cane at any time.
“Boss,” he said, “Ehm… you said we should come to see you at this time.”
Kaz did not offer any comfort in the form of some sort of answer.
“Er…” the bruiser swallowed, “Office downstairs was empty, so I thought I’d come up and knock.”
“What flawless logic,” Kaz commented. “Anika? Rotty?”
“I—I tell them to come up?” Pim stuttered, but did not make Kaz give an unnecessary answer.
Moments after they all stood in front of the desk like misbehaved dogs, tails between their legs. They made a remarkably good effort at ignoring their boss’ naked hand intertwined with Inej’s. All Dregs knew that their leader was quick to dirty his hands with blood, regardless of how spotless they looked without gloves.
Kaz was unfazed. He let the uncomfortable silence that filled the room do its job and Inej felt a little sorry for the three. Rotty was the first one to crumble.
“So the numbers are back in order? We are very sorry boss, really,” he mumbled.
“If only you being sorry would fix the headache I got from going over last week’s ledger again for the past few hours,” Kaz growled.
“Won’t happen again, boss,” Anika added steadily, but Inej could see that her cheeks were burning like a scolded child.
Her leader nodded: “No, it won’t. If I catch you drunk during your shifts again, I’ll have you switch jobs with some of the new recruits and you can spend the rest of the winter washing dishes and cleaning the toilets.” The three were quick to agree.
“Really, boss, it was just a mistake,” Pim shrugged.
“Mistakes in the Barrel cost you dearly” was Kaz’s reply before he dismissed them.
“Good to see you back, Wraith,” Anika said, but then they were all quick to disappear.
Inej shook her head with a smile. “They are just in a festive mood,” she said, “It’s Vlammenfeesten soon.”
“I am not interested in their mood, they are paid better than most thugs in this hole of a city to do their job well,” Kaz sneered.
She reached slowly for his nape, where he was always tense when he spent hours at his desk, and drew small circles with her fingers there. He pulled her closer by her hand—not so that their bodies could quite touch—but enough as to feel each other’s warmth.
“You liar” Inej whispered, her lips burning, as she could feel his gaze on them. “You care about their mood very much and were glad to fuel a bad one when it served you to kick out Per Haskell. And now you better keep them happy.”
“Happier than pigs in a puddle,” Kaz murmured, closing his eyes for a second as Inej slowly worked through the tight muscles. “I missed you.”
She was glad that he wasn’t looking at her, so that didn’t have to hide her blushing cheeks from his all-noticing gaze.
“Good,” she said instead, but it was a faux pas because he gazed at her through half closed eyes then and she knew that she had been discovered. He was willing to play along for a while though. “Oh?” he inquired.
Since she no longer could hide, she stepped into full view. One hand still on his shoulder, she put on her proudest face—the face of Captain Ghafa, Bane of Slavers.
“I like that you think about me,” she wanted to declare, but it ended up sounding more like an admission.
She could see the vein at the base of Kaz’s neck pumping hard, his pupils swallowing up his dark eyes, but he would not be the deadliest Barrel boss if he would give into temptation so easily.
“Is that so?” he teased, but pulled her closer, eyes attentively on her face, as he slowly lifted his hand to her waist.
Inej gladly stepped in, it was rare now that Kaz’s touches were anything but comforting. He was as good at being gentle—oh so careful—with his hands, as he was at breaking bones with a punch.
“I like the idea of being there in a corner of that menacing mind of yours and be the annoying little voice of goodness.”
She dropped to his lap carefully, shifting most of her weight onto his good leg as he pulled her towards him, because there was no trace of sweat on Kaz’s brow, no ghosts lingering behind his gaze, no shadows to shake him.
“You’d be content with just a corner, Captain Ghafa? I thought pirates are greedy,” he rasped, but his voice was soft, eyes wide like those of a boy who’s holding his sweetheart in his lap.
Soon they would have to stop, to breathe and give up again. It was the same for them, as it was on the streets of the Barrel: if you wanted to win, you had to choose to fight when you were strongest. But they still had a couple of moments, so Inej leaned in close, until their foreheads touched lightly.
“Then I take it all,” she whispered.
“You can have it all, my darling Inej,” he said silently, so that only she could hear. But now it was getting harder for him to keep his breathing steady.
So they let the space between them get bigger again and Inej watched the familiar look of disappointment spread over Kaz’s handsome face. He did not like to lose, especially not against himself.
She gave him some moments to breathe, as she looked around the room, taking in the slight changes that she could spot every time she came back from the sea. Then her gaze landed on a familiar envelope on the desk. It was plain, no sender’s address, but Kaz only knew two people who would send him such an expensive envelope. Inside was a hand-painted card depicting a bonfire glittering on a surface of water.
Dear Kaz,
we would like to kindly invite you on the night of Vlammenfeesten to celebrate together. Dinner will be served at seven, but you are very welcome to come by earlier.
Underneath were the traditional seasonal greetings:
May warmth and prosperity be with you on cold nights,
Wylan and Jesper
And two additions:
PS = please come through the tunnel.
PPS = Kaz, Wylan put it very prettily because even with my bad influence he can’t help being polite, but just pretend to be a nice human being and come. Also the card was painted by Marya, so don’t be an asshole and burn it. Also, Inej already knows about this, so if you are trying to hide this from her, so that she won’t try to convince you: nice try.
Inej laughed merrily and Kaz’s attention was back on her.
“Being with a mercher is a bad influence for Jesper, he’s getting much too cocky,” he commented and she could feel her grin spreading wide over her face.
“I wonder where he got that from… Are you going?” she inquired then.
“Are you going to convince me?” he fired back, but he was a tad slower than he would usually have been. “Vlammenfeesten is hardly a Suli festivity.”
“It isn’t,” Inej agreed. She had never bothered with celebrations during her time with the Dregs because she would rather go to bed than sit in the cold around a smoky bonfire and get indecently drunk. Also, Ghezen was not her god and to celebrate “the money that kept your house warm during the cold winter”, as it was tradition, seemed ridiculous to her. When Jes and Wylan had invited her to come though, the idea of sharing some warmth with her friends on the night of Vlammenfeesten—“the feast of flames”—seemed lovely.
“I think we should go,” she therefore said and then slowly added: “You’re Kerch. You must have celebrated when you were younger.”
She was still hesitant to breach the subject of Kaz’s youth. She knew the horrible bits about it by now, but otherwise he almost never talked about it and Inej felt like she was trying to put her hands on something that was not hers to touch. Kaz, though, had never rebuked her for asking. The closest he ever got to denying her an answer was to tell her that he would not talk about it just then. So now, when he reached with a slightly trembling hand for her knee, silently telling her that he had to get up for a moment, she knew that he was just taking his time to answer. No matter how harsh Kaz was on himself, he had become devilishly good at strangling his demons before they could even start to whisper into his ears.
“Tell me about some Suli festivity you celebrate this time of year,” he asked, as they both leaned against the desk and watched the fireworks illuminate the sky in sudden gushes of colour.
“It will be Dinjalia in little more than a month. It’s the Day of the Wind, which is ever in movement on the plains of Ravka, like we Suli are. We wear our hair loose and tie ribbons in it and then ride bareback through the plains without any shoes on, so that we might harness the wind and become one with it. So that our wings can soar in the air,” she explained and felt a giddy rush of childish excitement at all the memories that flooded her mind.
“You must freeze,” Kaz commented.
Inej nodded: “Yes, but it’s the best part of it because after you go out riding, you share a hot, spiced tea with all of your family and you are so cold that it burns down your throat when you sip it!”
By now Kaz was smiling, but did not quite want to give in yet. “So like any other strong liqueur, but you don’t get drunk?”
She showed him playfully on the shoulder. “Much better than any other liqueur!” she corrected him.
"Are you going to celebrate with your parents?" he asked.
She smiled at the though: "Yes, if the winter storms cease by then, the caravans will be my first stop."
He nodded and then:
“We never celebrated Vlammenfeesten much, when I was younger. My father had to manage the entire farm by himself to keep making enough money to send us to school. He was always working outdoors and too tired by night to bother with any type of special preparation for the celebration. On the day itself he would come in a bit earlier, maybe we would slaughter a goose to mark the occasion. We would sit by the fireplace, but that was really nothing special, and my father would have some whiskey from a bottle he only ever drank from on that occasion. We never had a traditional bonfire because he was scared that it would spread over to the fields, if it were too windy.”
Inej listened to this new piece of Kaz’s story like a magpie: greedily collecting this little piece of him in the treasure chest of her heart. Then she looked at him and repeated: “I think we should go. Even if it’s only to get drunk with Jes and Wylan.”
“Darling, pirating has given you a very bad relationship with alcoholic beverages,” was all he had to offer as a protest.