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It was another big Dregs celebration tonight. These were becoming increasingly common, Kaz noted absentmindedly as he navigated through the crowded Crow Club. It seemed that Pekka Rollins wouldn’t be putting up much of a fight against his own destruction. The two gang leaders had reached the endgame, and Rollins was belly up, especially after the fight the Dregs had won tonight. Hence the beer. And the general revelry.
Kaz watched Jesper climb onto the long dining table to lead a group of Crows in some sort of complicated drinking game. Wylan was close to his side, as usual, making moon eyes at Kaz’s second. Kaz rolled his eyes as mugs of ale began sliding across the table, deciding it was time to retire for the night. As he walked across the room, he took in the glowing cheer of the gang members around him. Everyone was safer, richer, and happier these days. Nina and Mattias were notably absent from the festivities, probably being gross and in love somewhere. It seemed everyone was falling in love these days, Kaz thought, his brow furrowing.
The crowd cheered as Jesper chugged his drink, stumbling precariously close to the table's edge. Typical Dregs debauchery. Kaz carefully picked his way through the crowd toward the staircase to his room, avoiding sticky hands and sloshing beer.
BOOM!
Screams. Dust fell from the rafters. Kaz fell to the floor in an instant, adrenaline pumping. An attack from Rollins? He rolled against the wall, protecting his head. With a start, Kaz realized he lost a glove in the process, the leather now lying in a disgusting puddle of beer. His next step, of course, would be to engage in Emergency Protocol E—
“Sorry!” Wylan yelled over the din. “Sorry, the fireworks were meant for later! And for outside!”
That imbecile of a demolition “expert.” Kaz pulled himself to his feet, taking in any damage to the club. Dust everywhere, a scorch mark on the ceiling, Wylan covered in soot — nothing new for the club. No harm, no foul, Kaz supposed. Rolling his eyes, he turned back to the staircase. Tomorrow’s problem, he thought.
As he turned to the staircase, a drunk Crow pawed at his bare hand, using it for leverage to haul themselves off the floor. Flinching, Kaz kicked them off him. A familiar putrid water rose in his throat. He ignored their gasp of pain as he retreated up the stairs to the washroom, scalding his hand with hot water and soap.
I’ll have you without your armor or not at all, is what his Wraith had said to him. Her words seemed to echo in his head from dawn to dusk. It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on his plotting, Kaz admitted, wandering to his bedroom window to gaze at the sea beyond Ketterdam.
What would his life be like, if he could just magically overcome this curse? He thought. He immediately scoffed aloud. Kaz Brekker didn’t believe in magic anymore. Turning sharply from his window, Kaz settled at his desk, intent on reviewing the club’s finances for the month. Profits were soaring as the other gangs became increasingly nervous of the Crows’ authority. This was material. This was worth focusing on. So why did his eyes continue to drift to the harbor outside the window?
The candles in the room were low by the time the books were balanced. Kaz wearily blew out the wax-drenched wicks and stumbled into bed, his eyes tired but his mind buzzing.
Movement from the corner of his eye had Kaz out of bed, cane in hand, in milliseconds. Someone small, with a long braid of brilliant dark hair, was hunched in his window frame. Someone important. Someone magical.