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Dear Nina,
Greetings from Os Kervo! My contacts in the Little Palace have assured me that you have yet to leave on whatever mission you couldn’t elaborate on in your last letter, and Saints forbid they are wrong. I do not know when I will have a chance to write to you again, and vice versa. I hope to tell you a story in this letter that will encourage and comfort you after you leave, even if you cannot take this paper with you. I think that in this trying time, we both need it.
I recently got to bear the name of my ship again. We came to Os Kervo to return several rescued Ravkan and Suli girls to their homes after we brought down a slaver ship off the coast of Eames Chin (you were right, by the way. Killing people is so much easier than taking care of them). We also had heard tell that a wealthy Kerch merchant whose name I cannot disclose had a bank account set up in this city, which would offer prove that they have been dealing in the slave trade for years. I could not ask for a better crew, but we all knew that none were as much of a spider as I was.
I scaled five stories in the dead of night, and I would be lying if I said it didn’t feel amazing. If you told me three years ago that I would miss Ketterdam, I would have laughed in your face. But slipping through the windows and into the office like the Wraith that I am felt strangely nostalgic, if that makes any sense.
That is not the point of my story, though. I found the information I needed relatively quickly, but as I was searching for it, I opened a drawer filled with stationary and several letter openers (why someone would need more than one is beyond me). One of those letter openers caught my eye. Maybe it was the blood red handle with black vine patterns, similar to a Heartrender kefta. Maybe it was the incredibly random deer skull on the office wall, which seemed to be staring at me. Saints, maybe it was the fact that I had waffles for breakfast this morning. But the letter opener reminded me of you.
By the time the accountant realizes he is missing a letter opener, we will be long gone. The blade could do with some sharpening, and then it will be just as deadly as all of the others. I briefly thought about naming it Nina, but I think Jesper’s penchant for style has rubbed off on me, because I don’t want to break the pattern of naming my knives for Saints.
From what you have told me, you are to be tailored as a young widow for some undisclosed country to protect Grisha (it’s Fjerda, isn’t it?). So, I am calling my newest blade Sankta Vasilka-the patron saint of unwed women. If I am right about where you are going, then you will be in a land where unwed women are either children, widows, Springmaidens or spinsters. No one will give you a second thought out there.
That is their failure. You will be like Vasilka-being seen as weak and helpless when you are creating a plan to change everything. You will be their reckoning. And as long as I hold Sankta Vasilka, I will be with you.
The Wraith is behind you, if you are ever in need of her.
No mourners, no funerals.
-Inej
P.S-I still sing the song you taught me on the Ferolind sometimes. When we meet again, I implore you to teach me more.