Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aryn Adjala stalked down the streets of East Stave, heading for the Slat. 

The tourists and travelers staggering from club to club paid her no mind. But the people who worked the streets, the citizens of the Barrel, the ruffians and thugs and gang members who called these streets home, they noticed her. 

They noticed the long knives that swung from her hips and the revolver strapped to her thigh. They recognized her, their minds matching the face, to the name, to the legend. They scurried out of her way, like rabbits fleeing a hound.

She passed by the Crow Club, and her eye caught on a familiar face posted at the door. Linnea Opjer, her closest friend and a fellow member of the Dregs. 

Aryn figured she could take a slight detour and not be too late for Kaz. “Linnea!”

Linnea turned at the sound of her name and spotted her. She made an elaborate salute. “Captain.”

“For the hundredth time, I’m not a captain. Never was. I’m not even a privateer anymore.”

She raised her eyebrows, looking her up and down. “Yeah, well, you still dress like one.”

“Oh, shut up.”

She wasn’t wrong. Aryn’s clothing, a loose, white poet's shirt tucked into tight black trousers, beneath a sleeveless, black doublet, was indistinguishable from what she’d worn during her time with Sturmhond’s crew.

“I can’t stay, Kaz is waiting for me,” said Aryn. “But do you want to get a drink later?”

Linnea shook her head bitterly. “I wish, but Brekker has me working the door all night.”

“How’d you piss him off this time?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, you know Brekker can’t take any criticism.”

Dirix, who was posted beside her, coughed, “Bullshit.”

She rounded on him, hands on hips. “I’m sorry?”

“Telling Brekker to shove his orders up his ass isn’t exactly criticism.”

“Well, I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Dirix.”

Aryn took that as her cue to continue heading towards the Slat, leaving the sound of their bickering behind.

Five minutes later, she stepped into Kaz’s office and removed her hood. 

“Well?” Kaz asked. He was seated at his desk, rifling through a stack of papers.

Aryn took a deep breath. Finally, after days of scheming and planning, she had broken into the house and learned the one thing that might have been the key to ending this for good. 

“We were right. I saw him.” 

Kaz glanced up sharply from his papers, “Do you have it?”

She nodded, smiling, and reached into her pocket, pulling out a small crocheted lion. “Here,” She tossed him the lion, “His pride is so predictable.”

Kaz caught it and then tucked it into his coat pocket without looking at it, “Good, because we have a new job and we can’t afford any distractions.”

“A new job? What’s the prize?”

“Four million kruge.”

Aryn whistled. “That's a pig pile of scratch. So, four million kruge split among….how many?”

“Four million kruge, each.”

Her breath caught. Four million kruge. That was enough to keep anyone rich for the rest of their lives. Her eyes met Kaz’s, “With that kind of money we could—”

“End this. Once and for all.”

She slumped into the chair in front of Kaz’s desk. Her mind couldn’t process what she was hearing. With this kind of money, they would be a huge step closer to their goal. They could finish this, take down Pekka Rollins, destroy him utterly. He would finally get the suffering he deserved. Suffering worse than the kind he had put her through. I could go home. Back to Ravka. 

But something had changed. Something felt different when she thought about leaving Ketterdam. Leaving behind the life of a criminal, a free life, her life, the life she loved. Leaving behind Kaz and Inej and Jesper and Corrin. 

Kaz was watching her closely, but all he said was, “So, you’re in?”

She was about to say yes, but then she hesitated. Something about this didn’t feel right. It seemed too good to be true; there had to be a catch. 

“Just one thing. Exactly who in this saint's forsaken city has that kind of money lying around and what kind of job warrants that kind of payoff.”

A pause, then, “The Merchant Council.”

“Saints, Kaz. Tell me you didn’t.”

“I did.”

Aryn closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

The Merchant Council. A group of the richest, most law-abiding merchants in the whole of Kerch, who formed the ruling body of the country. Was Kaz crazy? This was a page straight out of the gang boss's rulebook. You didn’t engage with the Merchant Council, didn’t admit to any kind of criminal involvement. And you especially didn’t make any deals with them, let alone a, no doubt, illegal one with this kind of payoff. 

Aryn sat there for a few seconds trying to comprehend the utter stupidity of it. “I have a lot of questions. Starting with, are you out of your mind??!!”

“No.”

She stood and paced back in forth in front of the desk.

 “When did they approach you?”

There was a long silence.

“Kaz.”

Kaz didn’t look at her when he said, “Right after I left the Exchange. Jan van Eck had me jumped in an alley and brought to the Hoede house.”

Aryn froze. She turned to stare at him, now thoroughly appalled. The two of them were the most dangerous people in the Barrel. They relied on it. Yet now Kaz had been jumped. By a mercher.

Still without looking at her, Kaz said, “I was distracted. I let my guard down. It won’t happen again.”

"You let your guard down? Are you kidding me? Nothing excuses the bastard of the barrel allowing himself to be jumped by a mercher."

"I thought I saw Jordie." He refused to meet her gaze.

That smothered her anger. Loss was something she understood; losing some you love, most of all. 

"Kaz–" she began, but fell silent as he turned to face her. Something in his expression told her to drop it. “So what’s the job?”  

“They want a small team to break into the Ice Court and liberate a man by the name of Bol Yul-Bayur, who is currently imprisoned somewhere in the Ice Court.”

Aryn’s face turned white. 

“So you’ve heard of him.”

“Yes, he’s a Shu scientist rumoured to have created a drug called—”

“Jurda parem. So then you know what it does to grisha, and you know why the Merchant Council wants us to retrieve him.”

“I understand that we have to free him from the Ice Court, but I can’t condone giving him to the Kerch."

Kaz blew out an exasperated breath. “I don’t have time for your patriotic bullshit.”

Her eyes shot daggers across the room. “Either make time or I’m out.”

“After we get paid, you can get your friends in Ravka to help you steal him back. Now are you in or not?"

"You know perfectly well that they think I'm dead and I'd like it to stay that way."

Kaz gritted his teeth, "Then you can pay me to steal him back, now answer the goddamn question."

“I’m in, obviously.”

Kaz nodded as if he had expected it, but she knew he had been holding his breath.

“But that doesn't change the fact that this job is impossible. I don't entirely know what we’re facing.”

“That’s why we need Helvar.”

Matthias Helvar, the Fjerdan druskelle, a grisha hunter and part of Fjerda’s elite military, who believed all grisha were unholy abominations and probably knew the Ice Court and its security inside out. The Helvar who would kill all of them and himself before ever betraying his country. The Helvar who was a sworn enemy of her country and everything she stood for. That Helvar.

“How do I put this? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, I'm not, I'm getting him out this evening. Be at the Crow Club tomorrow night, we’ll meet you there.”

“Who’s we?”

“You’ll find out tomorrow night, just be there.”

Aryn sighed and headed for the door. They were all going to die, and Kaz didn’t seem remotely concerned about it.

Chapter Text

Aryn was very drunk and very late. 

Of all the days of the year, of course, Kaz had to pick this one to begin some impossible death heist. Because, like she had for the last three years, she'd spent most of the day consuming as much alcohol as she had the kruge for. 

Which meant she'd completely forgotten that she was supposed to be meeting Kaz and the others at the Crow Club. Which was why she was practically sprinting down the street and trying to sober herself up before she got there.

Dirix and Annika were working the door, and Annika smirked at her as she passed and called after her, “Don't worry, I'll keep your winnings from last night if Kaz kills you.”

Aryn flipped her off over her shoulder. The club was the fullest it ever was, and it took her a while to wend her way through the card tables to a door on the back wall. 

Quickly, she slipped inside, just in time to hear Kaz say, “We’re going to untie you,” said Brekker. “I hope prison hasn’t robbed you of all your manners or good sense.”

They all glanced at the door as she entered. She glanced around, taking stock of the crew. Wylan was seated at the table, Jesper by the back wall, Inej was taking a knife to the ropes binding the man she assumed must be Matthias Helvar, and Nina Zenik, who was watching him with concern. Matthias looked at her strangely, studying her black, leather clothing and the long knives that swung from her hips.

“I believe you know Nina,” Kaz continued. “The lovely girl freeing you is Inej, our thief of secrets and the best in the trade. The idiot who just walked in is Aryn, mercenary and ex-privateer.” He shot her a glare, but she ignored it and went to lean against the wall by Jesper. “Jesper Fahey is our sharpshooter, Zemeni-born but try not to hold it against him, and this is Wylan, best demolitions expert in the Barrel.”

“Raske is better,” Inej said.

The boy looked up, ruddy gold hair flopping in his eyes. “He’s not better. He’s reckless.”

“He knows his trade.”

“So do I.”

“Barely,” muttered Aryn.

“Wylan is new to the scene,” admitted Kaz.

“Of course he’s new, he looks like he’s about twelve,” retorted Matthias. Well, he seemed even lovelier in person.

“I’m sixteen,” said Wylan sullenly.

“We should be using Raske,” Jesper said. “He’s good under pressure.” 

“I don’t like it,” agreed Inej.

“I didn’t ask,” said Kaz. “Besides, Wylan isn’t just good with the flint and fuss. He’s our insurance.”

“Against what?” asked Nina.

“Meet Wylan Van Eck,” said Kaz as the boy’s cheeks flooded crimson. “Jan Van Eck’s son and our guarantee on thirty million kruge.”

Chapter Text

Jesper broke the silence, “Of course you’re a Councilman’s kid.” He burst out laughing. “That explains everything.”

Wylan was red-faced and mortified. Nina looked stunned and irritated. The Fjerdan just seemed confused. Kaz appeared utterly pleased with himself. And, of course, Inej didn’t look remotely surprised.

Aryn shook her head at the ceiling. Leave it to Kaz to keep something like this from them.

Wylan’s mouth opened and closed, his throat working. “You knew?” he asked Kaz miserably.

Kaz leaned back in his chair, one knee bent, his bad leg stretched out before him. “Why do you think I’ve been keeping you around?”

“I’m good at demo.”

“You’re passable at demo. You’re excellent at hostage.”

Aryn snickered, and Wylan turned even redder.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Jesper. “We should still take Raske and leave this baby merch on lockdown in Ketterdam.”

“I don’t trust Raske.”

“And you trust Wylan Van Eck?” Jesper said incredulously.

“It doesn’t matter if we trust him or not. Wylan doesn’t know enough people to cause us real trouble,” put in Aryn.

“Don’t I have some say in this?” complained Wylan. “I’m sitting right here.”

Kaz raised a brow. “Ever had your pocket picked, Wylan?” 

“I ... not that I know of.”

“Been mugged in an alley?” 

“No.”

“Hung over the side of a bridge with your head in the canal?” 

Wylan blinked. “No, but—”

“Ever been beaten until you can’t walk?”

“No.” 

“Why do you think that is?”

“I—”

“It’s been three months since you left your daddy’s mansion on the Geldstraat. Why do you suppose your sojourn in the Barrel has been so blessed?”

“Lucky, I guess?” Wylan suggested weakly.

Jesper snorted. “Kaz is your luck, merchling. He’s had you under Dregs protection – though you’re so useless, up until this minute none of us could figure out why.”

“It was perplexing,” Nina admitted.

“Kaz always has his reasons,” murmured Inej.

“Why did you move out of your father ’s house?” Aryn asked.

“It was time,” Wylan said tightly.

“Idealist? Romantic? Revolutionary?” guessed Jesper

“Idiot?” suggested Nina. “No one chooses to live in the Barrel if he has another option.”

“I’m not useless,” Wylan said.

“Raske is the better demo man—” Inej began.

“I’ve been to the Ice Court. With my father. We went to an embassy dinner. I can help with the plans.”

“See that? Hidden depths.” Kaz tapped his gloved fingers over the crow’s head of his cane. “And I don’t want our only leverage against Van Eck cooling his heels in Ketterdam while we head north. Wylan goes with us. He’s good enough at demo, and he’s got a fine hand for sketching, thanks to all those pricey tutors.”

Wylan blushed deeper, and Jesper shook his head. “Play piano, too?”

“Flute,” said Wylan defensively.

“Perfect.”

“I play piano,” muttered Aryn, and Jesper turned to stare at her.

“You—”

“And since Wylan has seen the Ice Court with his very own eyes,” Kaz continued, ignoring them, “He can help keep you honest, Helvar.”

The Fjerdan scowled furiously, and Wylan looked a little ill. “Don’t worry,” Nina said. “The glower isn’t lethal.”

Aryn noted the way Matthias’s shoulders bunched every time Nina talked. She didn’t know what history they were chewing on, but they’d probably kill each other before they ever got to Fjerda.

Kaz tapped his cane on the polished wood floor. “Take out your pen and proper paper, Wylan. Let’s put Helvar to work.”

Wylan reached into the satchel at his feet and pulled out a slender roll of butcher’s paper, followed by a metal case that held an expensive-looking pen and ink set.

“How nice,” Jesper noted. “A nib for every occasion.”

“Start talking,” Kaz said to the Fjerdan. “It’s time to pay the rent.”

Matthias directed his furious gaze at Kaz. Definitely a mighty glower. It was almost fun to watch him pit it against Kaz’s shark-like stare.

Finally, the Fjerdan shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “The Ice Court is on a bluff overlooking the harbour at Djerholm. It’s built in concentric circles, like the rings of a tree.” The words came slowly, as if speaking each one was causing him pain. “First, the ringwall, then the outer circle. It’s divided into three sectors. Beyond that is the ice moat, then at the centre of everything, the White Island.”

Wylan began to sketch. Jesper peered over Wylan’s shoulder. “That doesn’t look like a tree, it looks like a cake.”

“Well, it is sort of like a cake,” Wylan said defensively. “The whole thing is built on a rise.”

Kaz gestured for Matthias to continue.

“The cliffs are unscalable, and the northern road is the only way in or out. You’ll have to get through a guarded checkpoint before you even reach the ringwall.”

“Two checkpoints,” said Wylan. “When I was there, there were two.”

“There you have it,” Kaz said to Jesper. “Marketable skills. Wylan is watching you, Helvar.”

“Why two checkpoints?” Inej asked.

Matthias stared at the black walnut slats of the floor and said, “It’s harder to bribe two sets of guards. The security at the Court is always built with multiple fail-safes. If you make it that far—”

“We, Helvar. If we make it that far,” corrected Kaz.

The Fjerdan gave the barest shrug. “If we make it that far, the outer circle is split into three sectors: the prison, the drüskelle facilities, and the embassy, each with its own gate in the ringwall. The prison gate is always functioning, but it’s kept under constant armed surveillance. Of the two others, only one is ever operational at any given time.”

“What determines which gate is used?” asked Jesper.

“The schedule changes each week, and guards are only given their postings the night before.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” said Jesper. “If we can figure out which gate isn’t running, it won’t be manned or guarded—”

“There are always at least four guards on duty even when the gate isn’t in use.”

“Pretty sure we can handle four guards.”

“The gates weigh thousands of pounds and can only be operated from within the guardhouses. And even if you could raise one of them, opening a gate that isn’t scheduled for use would trigger Black Protocol. The entire Court would go on lockdown, and you’d give away your location.”

A ripple of unease passed through the room. Beside her, Jesper shifted uncomfortably. If the expressions on the others’ faces were any indication, they were all having the same thought: Just what are we getting into? Only Kaz seemed unfazed.

“Put it all down,” Kaz said, tapping the paper. “Helvar, I expect you to describe the mechanics of the alarm system to Wylan later.” 

Matthias frowned. “I don’t really know how it works. It’s some kind of series of cables and bells.”

“Tell him all you know. Where will they be keeping Bo Yul-Bayur?”

Slowly, Matthias rose and approached the plans taking shape beneath Wylan’s pen. His movements were reluctant, as wary as if Kaz had told him to pet a rattler.

“Probably here,” the Fjerdan said, resting his finger on the paper. “The prison sector. The high-security cells are on the topmost floor. It’s where they keep the most dangerous criminals. Assassins, terrorists—”

“Grisha?” Nina asked.

“Exactly,” he replied grimly.

“You guys are going to make this really fun, aren't you?” asked Jesper. “Usually people don’t start hating each other until a week into the job, but you two have a head start.”

They glared at him, and Jesper beamed back at them, but Kaz’s attention was focused on the plans.

“Bo Yul-Bayur isn’t dangerous,” he said thoughtfully. “At least not in that way. I don’t think they’ll keep him locked up with the rabble.”

“I think they’ll keep him in a grave,” said Matthias.  

Aryn looked thoughtful, “I don’t think they will. My guess is they’ll keep him somewhere that’s secure, but accessible. They’ll probably want to use parem to weaponize grisha or to use it against them, so they’ll keep him close.

Matthias snorted, “You know nothing of Fjerda.”

Aryn raised an eyebrow. “Don’t I, though?”

Kaz cut in, “Operate on the assumption that he isn’t dead. He’s a valued prisoner, one they don’t want falling into the wrong hands before he stands trial. Where would he be?”

Matthias looked at the plan. “The buildings of the outer circle surround the ice moat, and at the moat’s centre is the White Island, where the treasury and the Royal Palace are. It’s the most secure place in the Ice Court.”

“Then that’s where Bo Yul-Bayur will be,” said Kaz.

Matthias smiled. Actually, it was less a smile than a baring of teeth. Charming.

“Then your quest is pointless,” Matthias said. “There is no way a group of foreigners is going to make it to the White Island.”

“Don’t look so pleased, Helvar. We don’t get inside, you don’t get your pardon.”

Matthias shrugged. “I can’t change what is true. The ice moat is watched from multiple guard towers on the White Island and a lookout atop the Elderclock. It’s completely uncrossable except by way of the glass bridge, and there’s no way onto the glass bridge without clearance.”

“I really hate to say this,” said Aryn, “Trust me, I do, but Helvar is right. There’s no way we can get onto the white island.”

“Hringkälla is coming,” Nina said.

“Be silent,” Matthias snapped at her.

“Pray, don’t,” said Kaz.

“Hringkälla. It’s the Day of Listening, when the new drüskelle are initiated on the White Island.”

Matthias’ knuckles flexed white. “You have no right to speak of those things. They’re holy.”

“They’re facts. The Fjerdan royals throw a huge party with guests from all over the world, and plenty of the entertainment comes straight from Ketterdam.”

“Entertainment?” Kaz asked.

“Actors, dancers, a Komedie Brute troupe, and the best talent from the pleasure houses of West Stave.”

“I thought Fjerdans didn’t go in for that sort of thing,” said Jesper. 

Inej’s lips quirked. “You’ve never seen Fjerdan soldiers on the Staves?” 

“I meant when they’re at home,” Jesper said.

“It’s the one day a year they all stop acting so miserable and actually let themselves have a good time,” Nina replied. “Besides, only the drüskelle live like monks.”

“A good time needn’t involve wine and ... and flesh,” Matthias sputtered.

Nina batted her glossy lashes at him. “You wouldn’t know a good time if it sidled up to you and stuck a lollipop in your mouth.” She looked back at the plans. “The embassy gate will have to be open. Maybe we shouldn’t worry about breaking into the Ice Court. Maybe we should just walk in with the performers.”

“This isn’t the Hellshow,” said Kaz. “It won’t be that easy. Visitors are vetted weeks before they arrive. Anyone entering the embassy will have their papers checked and checked again. I hate to say it, but the Fjerdans aren't fools.”

Nina raised a brow. “Not all of them, at least.”

“Don’t poke the bear, Nina,” Kaz said. “We need him friendly. When does this party take place?”

“It’s seasonal,” Nina said, “on the spring equinox.” 

“A week from today,” Inej noted.

Kaz cocked his head to one side, his eyes focused on something in the distance.

“Scheming face,” Jesper whispered to Inej.

She nodded. “Definitely.”

“Is the White Rose sending a delegation?” Kaz asked.

Nina shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything about it.”

“There still isn’t time to secure documents or create a cover that will bear up under scrutiny,” said Inej.

“We’re not going in through the embassy,” said Kaz. “Always hit where the mark isn’t looking.”

“Who’s Mark?” asked Wylan.

Aryn doubled over. 

Jesper burst out laughing. “Oh, Saints, you are something. The mark, the pigeon, the cosy, the fool you’re looking to fleece.”

Wylan drew himself up. “I may not have had your ... education, but I’m sure I know plenty of words that you don’t.”

“Also, the proper way to fold a napkin and dance a minuet. Oh, and you can play the flute. Marketable skills, merchling. Marketable skills.”

“No one dances the minuet anymore,” grumbled Wylan.

Kaz leaned back. “What’s the easiest way to steal a man’s wallet?” 

“Knife to the throat?” asked Inej.

“Gun to the back?” said Jesper.

“Poison in his cup?” suggested Nina.

“You’re all horrible,” said Matthias.

“And you’re all stupid,” said Aryn, “The easiest way to steal a man’s wallet is to tell him you’re going to steal his watch.”

Kaz nodded, “Exactly. You take his attention and direct it where you want it to go. Hringkälla is going to do that job for us. The Ice Court will have to divert resources to monitoring guests and protecting the royal family. They can’t be looking everywhere at once. It’s the perfect opportunity to spring Bo Yul-Bayur.” Kaz pointed to the prison gate in the ringwall. “Remember what I told you at Hellgate, Nina?”

“It’s hard to keep track of all your wisdom.”

“At the prison, they won’t care about who’s coming in, just anyone trying to get out.” His gloved finger slid sideways to the next sector. “At the embassy, they won’t care who’s going out; they’ll just be focused on who’s trying to get in.” 

Aryn glanced at Kaz with a look of grudging admiration. “We enter through the prison, leave through the embassy. This just might work.”

“Helvar, is the Elderclock functional?” asked Kaz

Matthias nodded. “It chimes every quarter hour. It’s also how the alarm protocols are sounded.”

“It’s accurate?”

“Of course.”

“Quality Fjerdan engineering,” Nina said sourly.

Kaz ignored her. “Then we’ll use the Elderclock to coordinate our movements.”

“Will we enter disguised as guards?” Wylan asked.

Jesper couldn’t keep the disdain from his voice. “Only Nina and Matthias speak Fjerdan.”

“And me,” added Aryn.”

He glanced at her in surprise, but corrected himself.  “Only Nina, Matthias, and Aryn speak Fjerdan.”

“I speak Fjerdan,” Wylan protested.

“Schoolroom Fjerdan, right? I bet you speak Fjerdan about as well as I speak moose.”

“Moose is probably your native tongue,” mumbled Wylan.

“We enter as we are,” Kaz said. “As criminals. The prison is our front door.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Jesper. “You want us to let the Fjerdans lock us in jail. Isn’t that what we’re always trying to avoid?”

“Criminal identities are slippery,” said Aryn, “ They’ll be counting heads at the prison gate, looking at names and crimes, not checking passports or examining embassy seals.”

“Because no one wants to go to prison,” Jesper said.

Nina rubbed her hands over her arms. “I don’t want to be locked up in a Fjerdan cell.”

Kaz flicked his sleeve, and two slender rods of metal appeared between his fingers. They danced over his knuckles then vanished once more.

“Lockpicks?” Nina asked.

“You let me take care of the cells,” Kaz said.

“Hit where the mark isn’t looking,” mused Inej.

“That’s right,” said Kaz. “And the Ice Court is like any other mark, one big white pigeon ready for the plucking.”

“Will Yul-Bayur come willingly?” Inej asked.

“Van Eck said the Council gave Yul-Bayur a code word when they first tried to get him out of Shu Han so he’d know who to trust: Sesh-uyeh. It will tell him we’ve been sent by Kerch.”

“Sesh-uyeh,” Wylan repeated, trying the syllables clumsily on his tongue. “What does it mean?”

Nina examined a spot on the floor, and Aryn said, “Heartsick.”

“This can be done,” said Kaz, “and we’re the ones to do it.” 

Aryn felt the mood shift in the room as possibility took hold. It was a subtle thing, but she’d learned to look for it in a fight– the moment when an opponent thought he’d won before it was over, that’s when it was easiest for him to lose. 

Maybe Matthias sensed it, too, because he folded his huge arms and said, “You have no idea what you’re up against.”

“But you do, Helvar. I want you working on the plan of the Ice Court every minute until we sail. No detail is too small or inconsequential. I’ll be checking on you regularly.”

Inej traced her finger over the rough sketch Wylan had produced, a series of embedded circles. “It really does look like the rings of a tree,” she said.

“No,” said Kaz. “It looks like a target.”

Chapter Text

Aryn sat on the roof of the Crow Club with a flask of kvas, watching the crowds stream in and out of the club and trying to drown the memories of that night. The anniversary of Vasily's death had always been like this. She reflexively spun his ring around her finger with her thumb.

She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. She tried to remind herself that she couldn’t afford to be weak. Weakness didn’t get anyone anywhere in the Barrel. She took another swig of kvas.

“I figured you were up here.” 

 Aryn whirled around, hurriedly wiping her eyes. Shit, she’d let her guard down.

Corrin strolled across the roof toward her. 

Corrin DeKappel, a boy about the same age as herself, had come to Ketterdam from the country. His great-grandfather was an incredibly famous painter, and as such, his family was filthy rich. Corrin, however, had been their biggest disappointment, and when he’d finally been kicked out of his house, he had come to the Barrel and ended up among the ranks of the Dregs. He was tall and wiry, with short blond hair and brilliant emerald eyes. 

He settled down beside her. 

“What do you want, Corrin?”

“What, you think I’m gonna buy my own liquor?” He took the flask from her and took a sip. He immediately spat it back out again. “Ghezen, that's awful. What is this?”

“Kvas.”

He shook his head. “I have no clue how you drink this stuff. It’s disgusting.”

She shrugged and snatched it back from him. He shifted slightly to peer down at the entrance of the club. His thigh pressed against hers, her hip flushed against his side. Aryn felt her face heat and quickly took another swig of kvas.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Corrin asked quietly.

“What is there to talk about?”

He glanced at her, his eyes narrowing in concern. “I assume there was a reason you were crying.”

She looked away bitterly and took another long draft of kvas. “How long were you standing there before you said something?”

“Long enough to know that you’re not okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?” 

She hesitated. No one could know who she was, even Corrin. But she was exhausted and overwhelmed, and he was looking at her with those soft green eyes crinkled in concern. She didn't have to tell him everything. “I lost my oldest brother. It was three years ago today. That’s why I left Ravka and came to Ketterdam, I needed to…get away.”

“From the rest of your family?”

She huffed a dry laugh. “Yeah, what was left of it anyway.”

Corrin hesitated, curiosity getting the better of him. “That’s when the civil war was going on. Was he grisha? Did he die in the war?”

Aryn tightened her jaw, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. Clearing her throat, she said, “He wasn’t grisha or First Army, but yeah. He was ripped apart by the Darkling’s nichevo’ya, right in front of me.”

She felt him place his hand on hers, his thumb tracing the shape of her knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

She looked back at him and caught the look he was giving her: it was pity.

That brought her to her senses. Pity meant he thought she was weak, and in the Barrel, weakness got you killed. Ariana Lanstov had been weak, but Ariana Lantsov had died the night of Nikolai’s birthday. She was Aryn fucking Adjala, one of the most dangerous people in the Barrel, and, “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not–”

She pulled her hand out of his grip and stood up. “Everyone dies. I need to get over it and stop acting like a little bitch.”

He scrambled to his feet. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

“Since when is anything in the Barrel ever fair?” She turned to leave.

He grabbed her arm, forcing her to look at him. “Ari, come on-”

“Just drop it, Corrin,” she snapped.

He fell silent and let go of her arm. She turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone on the rooftop.

Chapter Text

The schooner exploded. Gunshots pierced the air.

It was bad enough that Kaz had dragged them out of bed at the crack of dawn, but a firefight first thing in the morning was the icing on the cake. Kaz had guessed it might happen, so the boat that exploded wasn’t even the real one. Corrin, Rotty, and the other Dregs were waiting at berth twenty-two with the real Ferolind.

Bullets rained down around them as Aryn dived behind a shipping crate. She had no idea how many men there were or who they were; she was a little preoccupied with staying alive. She drew the revolver she kept strapped to her thigh and braced her arm on top of the crate. She fired without thinking, nearly all her bullets finding their mark.

Suddenly, a hand clamped over her mouth, yanking her backward, and she caught the glint of a knife flashing toward her throat. She swung her heel back and kicked the man in the balls, while simultaneously grabbing the hilt of his knife and twisting it out of his hand. She whirled and slit his throat.

She caught a flash of black in the corner of her eye and quickly spun, throwing the knife in one smooth motion. Thankfully, Kaz, for Kaz it was, managed to deflect it with his cane.

“So it seems you were right,” she said, as she fired two shots over his shoulder at a woman who was aiming her gun at him.

“I told you, learn to expect every possibility, and you’re never surprised. Duck.”

She dropped down as he swung his cane at the place where her head had been seconds before. Blood splattered on the ground, accompanied by several of the man’s teeth.

“Let’s go.”

Aryn followed him through the crate to where Jesper was kneeling beside Wylan, reloading his gun. He whirled, revolvers raised, as they approached, but then realized it was them.

“Head east to the next dock, board at berth twenty-two,” Kaz said. 

“What’s at berth twenty-two?” asked Jesper

“The real Ferolind.”

“But—”

“The boat that blew was a decoy.”

“You knew?”

“No, I took precautions. It’s what I do, Jesper.”

“You could have told us we—”

“That would defeat the purpose of a decoy. Get moving.” Kaz glanced at Wylan, who stood there cradling Jesper’s rifle like an infant. Kaz turned to Aryn and jerked his head at Wylan, “Make sure he gets to the ship in one piece.”

She nodded as Kaz vanished back into the shadows, cane in one hand, pistol in the other. 

Aryn nodded to Jesper, “Let’s go.”

“Go?” asked Wylan.

“Didn’t you hear what Kaz said? We need to make it to berth twenty-two.”

Wylan nodded dumbly. His eyes were dazed and shell-shocked. He’d clearly never been in a firefight before.

“Just stay behind Jesper and try not to get killed. I’ll be right behind you. Ready?” Wylan shook his head.

“Then forget I asked.” 

Jesper placed Wylan’s hand on the rifle’s grip. “Come on.”

He laid down another series of shots, sketching a wild formation, probably hoping to disguise their location. Then he lunged away from the crate and into the shadows. Wylan stumbled after him, Aryn close behind.

Jesper hissed as a bullet whizzed by his cheek, close enough to leave a burn.

“Get down!” Aryn shoved them to the ground as a hail of bullets flew through the space where Jesper’s head had been a second ago. In one motion, she stood, turned, fanning her revolver, and quickly took out all four men.

They threw themselves behind the barrels. Jesper gave a sharp whistle to whom Aryn assumed was Nina and Matthias, before flashing two fingers, twice. He signaled to Wylan and Aryn, and they continued to make their way past the boats and ships moored along the dock, keeping as low as possible.

“There!” he heard a voice shout from somewhere behind him. They’d been spotted.

“Damn it,” cursed Aryn

 Jesper shouted, “Run!”

They pounded down the dock, Aryn cussing at the rear as she fired shot after shot at the men following them. There, at berth twenty-two, was a trim-looking schooner with Ferolind written on its side. It was almost eerie how much it looked like the other boat. No lanterns had been lit aboard it, but as they bolted up the ramp, two Dregs emerged.

“You’re the first ones here,” said Rotty.

“Let’s hope we’re not the last. Are you armed?”

He nodded. “Brekker told us to stay hidden until—”

“This is until,” snapped Aryn, “Jesper, get to high ground. Keep them back and distracted as long as you can.”

“Who’s them?” asked Corrin.

“I don’t know. Didn’t get a chance to sit down and chat,” she snapped, before turning back to the rest of them. “No one gets past you. If they take down this schooner, we’re done for.”

The men gunning for them didn’t just care about keeping the Dregs from leaving the harbour. They wanted them dead.

Jesper snatched his rifle from Wylan, then fired at the two men leading the charge down the dock. One fell and the other rolled left and took cover behind the bowsprit of a fishing boat. He squeezed off three more shots, then sprinted up the mast.

Aryn took his place, using the hull of the schooner as cover to bury a bullet in the second man’s head as he peeked out from behind the fishing boat. She felt Corrin join her, pistol in hand, firing shot after shot. But they kept coming.

She went to fire. Click. 

Shit, she was out.

She holstered the revolver, doing a quick count of the men pining them down, as she drew her knives. 

Long and slightly curved, made of grisha steel, they'd been gifted to her by the legendary privateer Sturmhond when her family thought she was studying at the University of Ketterdam with Nikolai, when in reality, she was sailing the True Sea with Sturmhond’s crew. She’d been dragged home, of course, when the Civil War had broken out, and with everything that had happened, she had never gone back, but she’d taken her knives with her.

She nudged Corrin. “Cover me.”

“What’re you–?”

But she was already moving. 

Cursing, he laid down fire, making the men dive behind the boats again, and she took her opportunity. She snuck up behind the first man, driving her knife into his back. Whirling just in time to deflect the bullet fired at her, with her blade, she threw her knives at two of the men. She heard them hit their marks with a thud, as she dropped to her knees and slid between the legs of the man in the front, snatching her blades from the two corpses, and removing his head from his shoulders in one clean blow.

Looking around, she saw that Jesper and Wylan had taken care of the rest of them, and Nina and Matthias had made it onto the ship. She hurried to Corrin’s side. “Who’s left?”

“Just Kaz and Inej.”

“Shit.” Aryn looked out at the docks. More men were closing in on them. Kaz and Inej were nowhere to be found. 

She turned to Jesper. “What the hell do we do?”

He reloaded his guns. “Wait. What else can we do?”

Cursing all the Saints, she took the bullets he tossed her and began reloading her own revolver. 

Come on, Kaz. Where the hell are you?

Chapter Text

“Specht, get us out of here,” Kaz shouted as soon as he limped aboard the schooner with Inej in his arms.

The sails were already trimmed, and they were on their way out of the harbour in moments, though not nearly as fast as Aryn would have liked. There was chaos on deck, people shouting and trying to get the schooner into open sea as quickly as possible. Aryn moved on instinct born from years of sailing the True Sea, yelling instructions at several sailors who seemed to have forgotten how to sail a fucking ship.

“Specht!” she heard Kaz yell at the man he’d chosen to captain the vessel, a sailor with a talent for knife work who had fallen on hard times and ended up stuck in the lower ranks of the Dregs. “Get your crew in shape before I start cracking skulls.”

Specht saluted– then seemed to catch himself. He wasn’t in the Navy any longer, and Kaz wasn’t a commanding officer.

Inej looked terrible. There was blood everywhere, and Aryn couldn’t tell whether she was even breathing. Jesper stepped into Kaz’s path to offer help, but Kaz shoved past him. 

“Where’s Nina?” he snarled.

“Seeing to the wounded below. She already took care of me. Wylan got dinged during the fight. Let me help you—”

“Get out of my way,” Kaz snapped, and plunged past him down the ramp that led belowdecks.

Aryn debated going after him. She wanted to see Inej. But she knew she would be of no use to her. Only Nina could help her now; she was more useful up here on deck.

Slowly, the Ketterdam harbor faded behind them. Aryn leaned out over the railing beside Jesper, closing her eyes and breathing in the salty tang of sea spray. She had missed the freedom of the open sea. She loved Ketterdam, of course, she did, but in the Barrel, she constantly had to keep her guard up. On the sea, she could just...let go.

She opened her eyes and turned around as Kaz emerged from below and stalked toward them.

“What the hell just happened?” Jesper asked. He was leaning against the railing by Aryn, his rifle beside him, hair dishevelled, pupils dilated. He seemed almost drunk, or like he’d just rolled out of someone’s bed. He always had that look after a fight.

Helvar was bent over the railing, vomiting. Not a sailor, apparently. 

“We were ambushed,” Wylan said from his perch on the forecastle deck. He had his sleeve pushed up and was running his fingers over the red spot where Nina had seen to his wound.

Jesper shot Wylan a withering glare. “Private tutors from the university, and that’s what this kid comes up with? ‘We were ambushed’?”

Wylan reddened. “Stop calling me kid. We’re practically the same age.”

“You’re not going to like the other names I come up with for you. I know we were ambushed. That doesn’t explain how they knew we would be there. Maybe Big Bolliger wasn’t the only Black Tip spy in the Dregs.” 

Aryn shook her head. “Geels doesn’t have the brains or the resources to bite back this hard or this fast alone.” 

“You sure? Because it felt like a pretty big bite.”

“Let’s ask.” Kaz limped over to where Rotty had stashed Oomen.

Blood spread across his thigh from where Rotty had said Inej had stabbed him. But her aim had been off, or Oomen wouldn’t have been talking to anyone. 

Helvar and Jesper dragged Oomen over to the rail, his hands bound.

“Stand him up.”

With one huge hand, Helvar hauled Oomen to his feet.

Oomen grinned, his thatch of coarse white hair flat against his wide forehead.

“Why don’t you tell me what brought so many Black Tips out in force tonight?” Kaz said.

“We owed you.”

Aryn scoffed, “A public brawl with guns out and thirty men packing? I don’t think so.”

Oomen snickered. “Geels doesn’t like being bested.”

“I could fit Geels’ brains in the toe of my boot, and Big Bolliger was his only source inside the Dregs.”

“Maybe he—”

Kaz interrupted him. “I want you to think real careful now, Oomen. Geels probably thinks you’re dead, so there are no rules of barter here. I can do what I want with you.”

Oomen spat in his face.

Well, he’s dead, though Aryn.

Kaz took a handkerchief from his coat pocket and carefully wiped his face clean. 

“Hold him,” he told Jesper and the Fjerdan. Kaz flicked his coat sleeve, and an oyster shucking knife appeared in his hand. He made a neat slash across Oomen’s eye – from brow to cheekbone – and before Oomen could draw breath to cry out, he made a second cut in the opposite direction, a nearly perfect X. Now Oomen was screaming.

Kaz wiped the knife clean, returned it to his sleeve, and drove his gloved fingers into Oomen’s eye socket. He shrieked and twitched as Kaz yanked out his eyeball, its base trailing a bloody root. Blood gushed over his face.

Aryn heard Wylan retching. She didn’t so much as blink; she’d done worse. 

He tossed the eyeball overboard and jammed his spit-soaked handkerchief into the socket where Oomen’s eye had been. Then he grabbed Oomen’s jaw, his gloves leaving red smears on the enforcer’s chin. 

“Listen to me,” he hissed, his face inches from Oomen’s. “You have two choices. You tell me what I want to know, and we drop you at our next port with your pockets full of enough coin to get you sewn up and buy you passage back to Kerch. Or I take the other eye, and I repeat this conversation with a blind man.”

“It was just a job,” babbled Oomen. “Geels got five thousand kruge to bring the Black Tips out in force. We pulled in some Razorgulls, too.”

“Then why not more men? Why not double your odds?”

“You were supposed to be on the boat when it blew! We were just supposed to take care of the stragglers.”

“Who hired you?”

Oomen wavered, sucking on his lip, snot running from his nose.

“Don’t make me ask again, Oomen,” Kaz said quietly. “Whoever it was can’t protect you now.”

“He’ll kill me.”

“And I’ll make you wish for death, so you have to weigh those options.”

“Pekka Rollins,” Oomen sobbed. “It was Pekka Rollins!”

Shock slammed through Aryn. Through the haze of her rage, she registered the look on Kaz’s face. He looked as shocked and angry as she felt.

“Saints,” groaned Jesper. “We are so screwed.”

“Is Rollins leading the crew himself?” Kaz asked Oomen. 

“What crew?”

“To Fjerda.”

“I don’t know about no crew. We were just supposed to stop you from getting out of the harbour.”

“I see.”

“I need a medik. Can you take me to a medik now?”

“Of course,” said Kaz. “Right this way.” He took Oomen by the lapels and hoisted him off his feet, bracing his body against the railing.

“I told you what you wanted!” Oomen screamed, struggling. “I did what you asked!”

And that was your mistake, thought Aryn. 

Without another word, he tipped Oomen into the sea.

“No!” Wylan shouted, leaning over the railing, his face pale, stunned eyes tracking Oomen in the waves. The enforcer’s pleas were still audible as his maimed face faded from view.

“You ... you said if he helped you—”

“Do you want to go over, too?” asked Kaz.

Wylan took a deep breath as if sucking in courage and sputtered, “You won’t throw me overboard. You need me.”

The kid was an absolute idiot. A surprisingly brave idiot to stand up to Kaz like that, but an idiot nonetheless.

“Maybe,” said Kaz. “But I’m not in a very rational mood.”

Jesper set his hand on Wylan’s shoulder. “Let it go.” 

“It’s not right—” 

“Wylan,” Jesper said, giving him a little shake. “Maybe your tutors didn’t cover this lesson, but you do not argue with a man covered in blood and a knife up his sleeve.”

Wylan pressed his lips into a thin line. Helvar stood silent sentinel, observing it all, looking seasick green beneath his blond beard. Aryn, taking that as her cue, turned and strode below decks. Her anger throbbed hot as fire, beneath her skin.

Pekka Rollins. Every time, everything, it all came back to Pekka Rollins.

Aryn slammed through the door to her cabin. Every one of her senses was one fire. Her clothes felt too rough, too constricting, rubbing against the scars on her back. 

Her fingers frantically unlaced her sleeveless, black doublet and tossed it onto the bed. The loose, long-sleeved white shirt she wore beneath followed. She pulled off her metal bracers too, letting them drop to the floor as she leaned over the table on one side of the cabin.

Cool air brushed against her scarred back, bare, except for the white band of cloth around her breasts. She was breathing hard, eyes tightly shut.

She heard the cabin door creak open. She whirled around. “Kaz!”

Kaz froze in the doorway. She knew he’d seen them. The long ropes of scar tissue across the length of her back could only have been left by one thing. A whip.

His eyes flicked down to her wrists, at the layered scars left by the shackles, which were usually kept hidden by her bracers.

“Where did you get those?” His eyes were dark. 

He’d never asked her what Rollins had done to her in the months she’d spent trapped in the prison beneath Emerald Palace. There were some lines he wouldn’t cross. And though she’d assumed he had guessed at it, his face told her that he’d never expected this. 

“Did he do that to you?”

She looked at the ground and said nothing. She didn’t want to have this conversation.

“Did he?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper, barely audible. 

He exhaled heavily and turned away.

Aryn turned away and hurriedly pulled on her shirt and bracers. It seemed like he could read her expression, because when she faced him again, he didn’t say anything about it. 

“What did you want, Kaz?”

“I– It doesn’t matter now.” He opened the door and made to leave, but hesitated and turned back to her. “Brick by brick.”

She nodded, “Brick by brick.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Aryn, Kaz, Helvar, Jesper, and Wylan gathered on the forecastle deck to examine plans of the Ice Court away from the eyes and ears of the crew. Someone had brewed coffee, and Aryn sipped from the cup Corrin had brought her. 

She’d noticed, when she’d take a sip, that he’d added salt to it, making it taste like home. Perhaps he’d seen Specht or one of the other sailors doing it, but the thought that he’d remembered that she had been a sailor and, as such, had made her coffee exactly how she liked it, made her smile to herself like an idiot.

“Why aren't there names on anything?” Kaz asked, gesturing at the plans.

“I don’t know Fjerdan, and we need the details right,” Wylan said. “Helvar should do it.” He drew back when he saw Matthias’ expression. “I’m just doing my job. Stop glaring at me.” 

“No,” Matthias growled.

“Here,” Kaz said, tossing him a tiny, clear disk that winked in the sun. He had propped himself on a barrel and was leaning against the mast, his bad leg elevated on a coil of rope, walking stick resting on his lap. 

“What is it?”

“One of Raske’s new inventions.”

Wylan’s head popped up. “I thought he did demo work.”

Aryn thought she caught a hint of jealousy in his voice.

“He does everything,” said Jesper.

“Wedge it between your back teeth,” Kaz said as he handed the disks to the rest of them. “But don’t bite dow—”

Wylan started to sputter and cough, clawing at his mouth. A transparent film had spread over his lips; it bulged like a frog’s gullet as he tried to breathe, eyes darting left and right in panic.

Jesper and Aryn started laughing, and Kaz just shook his head. “I told you not to bite down, Wylan. Breathe through your nose.”

The boy took deep inhales, nostrils flaring.

“Easy,” said Jesper. “You’re going to make yourself pass out.”

“What is this?” asked Matthias, still holding the tiny disk in his palm.

Kaz pushed his deep into his mouth, wiggling it between his teeth. “Baleen. I’d planned to save these, but after that ambush, I don’t know what kind of trouble we may run into on the open sea. If you go over and can’t come up for air, wiggle it free and bite down. It will buy you ten minutes of breathing time. Less if you panic,” he said with a meaningful look at Wylan. He gave the boy another piece of baleen. “Be careful with that one.” Then he tapped the Ice Court plans. “Names, Helvar. All of them.”

Reluctantly, Matthias picked up the pen and ink Wylan had laid out and began to scratch in the names of the buildings and surrounding roads. 

“You’re holding back,” Brekker said, his dark eyes trained on Matthias.

“I’m telling you what I know.”

“Your conscience is interfering with your memory. Remember the terms of our deal, Helvar.”

“All right,” Matthias said, his anger rising. “You want my expertise? Your plan won’t work.”

“You don’t even know my plan.”

“In through the prison, out through the embassy?” 

“As a start.”

“It can’t be done. The prison sector is completely isolated from the rest of the Ice Court. It isn’t connected to the embassy. There’s no way to reach it from there.”

“It has a roof, doesn’t it?”

“You can’t get to the roof,” Matthias said with satisfaction. “The drüskelle spend three months working with Grisha prisoners and guards as part of our training. I’ve been in the prison, and there’s no access to the roof for exactly that reason – if someone manages to get out of his cell, we don’t want him running around the Ice Court. The prison is totally sealed off from the other two sectors in the outer circle. Once you’re in, you’re in.”

“There’s always a way out.” Kaz pulled the prison plan from the stack. “Five floors, right? Processing area, and four levels of cells. So what’s here? In the basement?” 

“Nothing. A laundry and the incinerator.”

“The incinerator.”

“Yes, where they burn the convicts’ clothes when they arrive. It’s a plague precaution but—” As soon as the words left Matthias’ mouth he understood what Brekker had in mind. “Sweet Djel, you want us to climb six storeys up an incinerator shaft?”

“When does the incinerator run?”

“If I remember right, early morning, but even without the heat, we—”

“He doesn’t mean for us to climb it,” said Nina, emerging from belowdecks.

Kaz sat up straighter. “Who’s watching Inej?”

“Rotty,” she said. “I’ll go back in a minute. I just needed some air. And don’t feign concern for Inej when you’re planning to send her climbing up six storeys of chimney with only a rope and a prayer.”

“The Wraith can manage it.”

“The Wraith is a sixteen-year-old girl currently lying unconscious on a table. She may not even survive the night.”

“She will,” said Kaz, and something savage flashed in his eyes. Aryn suspected that Kaz would drag her back from hell himself if he had to.

Internally, Aryn grinned. His biggest weakness, his only soft spot, and he himself couldn’t even see it.

Jesper picked up his rifle, running a soft cloth over it. “Why are we talking about scaling chimneys when we’ve got a bigger problem?”

“And what’s that?” asked Aryn, though she knew exactly what was coming next.

“We have no business going after Bo Yul-Bayur if Pekka Rollins is involved.”

“Who is Pekka Rollins?” Matthias asked, turning the syllables over in his mouth. 

Wylan shuddered, pulling at the gummy substance on his lips. “Only the biggest, baddest operator in all of Ketterdam. He has money we don’t have, connections we don’t have, and probably a head start.”

Jesper nodded. “For once, Wylan is making sense. If by some miracle we do manage to spring Bo Yul-Bayur before Rollins does, once he finds out we’re the ones who beat him to it, we’re all dead men.”

“Pekka Rollins is a Barrel boss,” Kaz said. “No more, no less. Stop making him out to be some kind of immortal.”

Jesper leaned back and said, “You think Per Haskell is going to back you when he finds out you crossed Pekka Rollins? You think the old man wants that war?”

Kaz shook his head, and Aryn could see her own frustration mirrored there. 

She cut in. “Pekka Rollins didn’t come into this world dressed in velvet and rolling in kruge. You’re still thinking small. The way Per Haskell does, the way men like Rollins want you to. We pull off this job and divvy up that haul, we’ll be the legends of the Barrel. We’ll be the crew that beat Pekka Rollins.”

“Maybe we should forget approaching from the north,” said Wylan. “If Pekka’s crew has a head start, we should head straight to Djerholm.”

“The harbour will be crawling with security,” Kaz said. “Not to mention all the usual customs agents and lawmen.”

“The south? Through Ravka?”

“That border is locked down tight,” Nina said. 

“It’s a big border,” said Matthias.

“But there’s no way to know where it’s most vulnerable,” she replied. “Unless you have some magical knowledge about which watchtowers and outposts are active. Besides, if we enter from Ravka, we have to contend with Ravkans and Fjerdans.”

She wasn’t exactly right. Aryn knew exactly which outposts would be active when, but she had no intention of sharing that with the rest of them and having to explain how she knew. Besides Kaz already had a plan and entering through the southern border wasn’t part of it.

“We enter from the north as planned,” Kaz said.

Jesper knocked his head against the hull and cast his eyes heavenward. “Fine. But if Pekka Rollins kills us all, I’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.” 

Brekker ’s lips quirked. “I’ll just hire Matthias’ ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.”

“My ghost won’t associate with your ghost,” Matthias said so primly, that Aryn snorted.

Chapter Text

For the first time in several trying days, Aryn felt at peace. It had been so long since she’d been at sea, she’d almost forgotten the peace it brought her. If she closed her eyes, she could nearly remember. 

She’d been thirteen when she’d melted down her father’s sword. She was angry and exhausted from being the royal family’s ‘biggest disappointment’, still smarting from the last beating her father had given her for spilling her drink on the sword.

So one night, she snuck into his room while he was bathing and stole it. 

Running down the armory, she fed the sword, his prized heirloom, the object he’d beat his own daughter simply for tarnishing, into the flames of the forge.

He caught her, of course, storming into the room minutes later, but by then all that was left of it was the handle. He ordered all the guards to leave the room, and the second the door shut, Ariana knew what was coming.

The King picked up a fire poker that was leaning against the wall. “That sword has been passed down in our family for centuries. And you dare, not just to tarnish, but to destroy it?”

“Father, I–”

Pain exploded across her face, and she screamed as she fell to the ground from the force of the blow. She clutched her brow, blood pouring from where the poker had struck her above her right eye.

King Alexander advanced toward her. “Ungrateful, disobedient, worthless child. How many times must I teach you a lesson?”

“Please,” Ariana begged. “Father, please.”

The King raised the poker again.

She’d never had a great relationship with Vasily. Nikolai was the only one of her brothers that she’d been close to, but then he left to do his military service and attend University, and eventually his letters to her stopped coming. But when Nikolai had left, their father’s fits of rage had gotten worse, and Ariana was the easiest target. Ariana had written to him again and again, but he’d never responded.

Vasily was five years older than her and had seemed, to her, to be an arrogant asshole and a younger version of their father. But she was wrong. He had stepped in and protected her. He had become the only person she could truly rely on, the only one who cared about her.

At that moment, the door flew open and Vasily burst in.

King Alexander’s eyes widened in anger as he put himself between her and the King. His voice quivered in anger, “Vasily, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Protecting her.”

Slowly, Ariana pushed herself to her feet, a hand still pressed to her face, which was bleeding profusely.

The King’s nostrils flared. “Move, now. That’s an order.”

Vasily shook his head. “No.”

The King pulled back his hand, and Ariana flinched as he struck Vasily. 

The poker hit him in the cheek, and he staggered back into her. But he didn’t scream or cry out. His face was bleeding, but he didn’t even flinch.

“Get out of my way, boy, or I’ll give you the same punishment I’m going to give her,” snarled the King.

Ariana was half in shock, but she whispered to Vasily, “He’s going to punish me anyway. I don’t want you to get hurt. Just leave, please.”

“This is your last chance, Vasily. Don’t you dare disobey me,” warned the King.

She tried to push him toward the door. “Vasya, go.”

He reached back, behind himself, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The King’s lip curled. “Very well.”

Ariana squeezed her eyes shut, but she still heard the impact of the poker hitting Vasily’s body. Again, and again, and again. 

There was yet another thud, but this one was accompanied by a crack. Vasily cried out in pain, falling against her, his hand going loose in her grip. She managed to keep him upright, but he was barely standing. And yet he still refused to get out of the way, refusing to let him hurt her.

Vasily pushed her toward the door. “Get out of here. Run to your room and lock the door.”

“But Vasya–”

“Go, Ariana.”

King Alexander tried to grab her, to stop her from leaving, but Vasily blocked him.

Ariana darted out the door and ran, tears pouring down her face, as she tried to ignore the sound of Vasily’s cries of pain echoing behind her. She sprinted past servants and guards, not pausing for a second, until she had reached her room and slammed the door shut behind her, locking and bolting it securely.

She sank to the ground, her back pressed against the door, her body shaking with sobs as she held her injured face. The wound throbbed dully, each sob sending a wave of pain through her body.

The King was going to kill Vasily, she was almost sure of it. Whether he meant to or not, their father was going to kill him for protecting her.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, hours, or minutes, or days.

There was a sharp knock at the door.

Ariana froze. Her blood turned to ice in her veins, her whole body going cold with fear.

Vasily’s voice spoke through the door, “It’s me, Ari.”

Relief defrosted her limbs. She quickly got to her feet and yanked the door open. A gasp escaped her lips. 

Vasily looked horrible. His face was bruised almost beyond all recognition, one eye swollen shut. His cheek was still bleeding, as was a cut on his lip. He was hunched over slightly, clutching his ribs like they were broken. Blood seeped through his white shirt in several places.

He stepped into the room, quickly shutting the door behind him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she stammered, “But you–”

“Don’t worry about me.” He gently tilted her face with his fingers, examining the cut above her eye. “Come here.”

He crossed the room, and she followed. He retrieved a cloth, dipping it in her washbasin and squeezing out the excess water. She hissed in pain as the cloth first came into contact with her wound, but his movements were gentle as he wiped away the blood.

He set the cloth down. “It looks pretty deep, but I think you’ll be okay. The bleeding has mostly stopped. I’ll get a servant to come and bandage it.”

Ariana lifted her hand to his face. He winced as she brushed her finger across his cheek.

The familiar choke of tears squeezed her throat. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled her close, wrapping her in a hug, wincing again as he did. “No, no, it’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. You didn’t hurt me, he did.”

Her voice wavered, “But he hurt you because of what I did.”

Vasily held her even tighter. “He hurt me because he’s a horrible person and a terrible father. Not because of you, or anything you did. This isn’t your fault, okay? Do you understand?”

She nodded, burying her face in his chest. “Yeah.”

They stood for a second, Vasily holding her in his arms. Then he pulled away.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” he whispered, “I promise.”

Ariana’s eyes widened. “What about you?”

He smiled reassuringly. “I told you, don’t worry about me.”

“But Vasya–”

He cut her off, “It’s gonna be okay. I’m going to figure it out.”

And then he was gone, shutting the door behind him, and that was the last time she saw him, until the Civil War began.

The next morning, she discovered that her parents were sending her to Kerch to finish her schooling. Through the gossip of servants, she'd found out that it had been Vasily's idea, and he'd convinced them to let her go by promising never to disobey the King again.

She'd wanted to see him, but her mother had forced her into a carriage, and suddenly the Grand Palace was fading from sight.

She'd lasted a week studying in Kerch before bribing another student who looked somewhat like her to attend her classes and answer to her name.

She’d joined the crew of the legendary privateer, Sturmhond. Sturmhond had been only sixteen at the time, but already a legendary privateer. He’d taken her in and taught her how to throw a punch and fire a gun. How to wield a knife and a sword and any other weapon you could imagine.

Of course, she’d been a criminal; essentially, she’d just been a pirate, though Sturmhond preferred privateer. But she’d loved her free life aboard the Volkvolny, waking up every day and seeing nothing but ocean for miles around.

Every day she’d trained with Tamar or Tolya or Sturmhond. Until she was a better shot than Sturmhond himself. Until he gifted her with her prized grisha steel knives. Until she turned fifteen. Until the Civil War began. 

Aryn leaned back, feeling the sun on her face, the sea spray on her skin, and breathed in the fresh sea air. She was perched in the rigging of the Ferolind just above the crow's nest, the only place on the ship she could be alone. 

She glanced down and saw Corrin watching her. His blond hair, tousled by the wind, looked almost golden in the light of the afternoon sun. He hurriedly glanced away when he saw her looking and struck up a conversation with Specht. Aryn turned back to the sea, trying to ignore the fluttering in her stomach and the flush spreading across her cheeks. 

“Aryn!” 

Oh, what now? She glanced down the mast to where Kaz was standing. She sighed. Well, there goes my peace and quiet. 

Aryn made her way down the mast to where Kaz was waiting for her. Without a word, he led her below deck to his cabin.

Without a preamble, Kaz said, “We can't get out.”

“What?”

“Even if we follow the plan, there is next to no chance that we will make it out of the Ice Court without a confrontation of some kind.”

“So we can't do this?”

Kaz didn’t look at her. “Not necessarily.”

Something was off. There was something Kaz was hesitating to say. Kaz never hesitated.

She frowned. “Kaz. Why are you only telling me this?”

“The Fjerdans wouldn't hesitate to kill anyone who broke into the Ice Court,” he hesitated. “Unless they thought that person could be of use to them.”

Aryn frowned. “Who would…?” She trailed off as she understood. “Me.”

“If Fjerda wanted a war with Ravka, they would have started one already. They have nothing to gain by killing you, but if they captured you and used you for a ransom—”

“Ravka would give them whatever they wanted, and they wouldn’t turn down that kind of opportunity, especially if we threatened to kill Bol Yul-Bayur. They would let the rest of you go.” She hesitated. “And I end up locked in a Fjerdan prison.”

“You’re a good fighter.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, but against druskelle?”

“You have a chance.”

“You’re the one of us who’s better at wagering odds. How much of a chance do you really think that is?” She dragged a hand through her short, choppy hair. “If we get caught and you can't get us out, this is our only option?”

“Yes.”

She clenched her jaw. “Fuck it. It was always likely that someone wasn’t going to come back from this, so it might as well be me.”

He nodded.

“Just promise me one thing.”

“I suppose that’s reasonable if I’m asking you to martyr yourself,” said Kaz with a raised eyebrow. “What is it?”

She held his gaze. “Get me my revenge.”

His eyes darkened. “Of course.

Chapter Text

By the time they bid their goodbyes to the ship’s crew, the sky had turned from pink to gold.

“See you in Djerholm harbour,” Specht called. “No mourners.” 

“No funerals,” they replied.

They began the march from the rocky shore up the cliffside. Spring was coming, but ice was still thick on the ground, and it was a tough climb. When they reached the top of the cliff, they stopped to catch their breath. The Ferolind was still visible on the horizon, its sails full of the wind that whipped at their cheeks.

“Saints,” said Inej. “We’re actually doing this.”

“I’ve spent every minute of every miserable day wishing to be off that ship,” said Jesper. “So why do I suddenly miss it?”

Wylan stamped his boots. “Maybe because it already feels like our feet are going to freeze off.”

“When we get our money, you can burn kruge to keep you warm,” said Kaz. “Let’s go.” 

He’d left his crow’s head cane aboard the Ferolind and substituted a less conspicuous walking stick. Aryn had left behind her grisha steel weapons, handing them over to Corrin. She’d left Vasily’s ring behind as well. She hadn’t told him what it was, but he knew it was important to her, and she trusted that he’d keep it safe. Jesper had mournfully left behind his prized pearl-handled revolvers in favour of a pair of unornamented guns, and Inej had done the same with her extraordinary set of knives and daggers, keeping only those she could bear to part with when they entered the prison. All practical choices, but talismans had their power.

Aryn consulted her compass, and they turned south, seeking a path that would lead them to the main trading road. “I’m going to pay someone to burn my kruge for me.”

Kaz and Jesper fell into step beside her. 

“Why don’t you pay someone else to pay someone to burn your kruge for you? That’s what the big players do,” said Kaz.

“You know what the really big bosses do?” asked Jesper. “They pay someone to pay someone to ...”

They tromped ahead, casting a final backward glance at the vanishing Ferolind. The schooner was a part of Kerch, a piece of home for them, and that last familiar thing was drifting further away with every moment.

They’d been there barely a day and already Aryn was sick of the cold. It was different from the fresh, free cold of the sea. It seeped into your bones, turning your limbs numb and wobbly. 

They stumbled and staggered, awkward in their new boots, trying to find the trick of walking in hard-crusted snow, and soon Matthias was in the lead, setting the pace, though Jesper kept a steady eye on his compass.

“Put your ...” Matthias paused and had to gesture to Wylan. “Keep your eyes covered, or you could damage them permanently.” 

They talked little; even Wylan simply put his head down and walked. Aryn registered Matthias’s surprise at their lack of complaint. We’re all survivors. We adapt. When the sun began to set, they ate their rations of dried beef and hardtack and collapsed into their tents without a word.

The next morning, now that they were off the ship and away from its crew, Kaz was ready to dig into the details of the plan.

“If we get this right, we’re going to be in and out of the Ice Court before the Fjerdans ever know their prize scientist is gone,” Kaz said as they shouldered their packs and continued to push south. “When we enter the prison, we’ll be taken to the holding area beneath the men’s and women’s cellblocks to await charges. If Matthias is right and the procedures are still the same, the patrols only pass through the holding cells three times a day for headcounts. Once we’re out of the cells, we should have at least six hours to cross to the embassy, locate Yul-Bayur on the White Island, and get him down to the harbour before they realise anyone is missing.”

“What about the other prisoners in the holding cells?” Matthias asked. 

“We have that covered. Once we’re out of the cells,” Kaz continued, “Matthias and Jesper will secure rope from the stables while Aryn gets Nina and Inej out of the women’s holding area. The basement is our meet. That’s where the incinerator is, and no one should be in the laundry after the prison shuts down for the night. While Inej makes the climb, Wylan, Aryn, and I scour the laundry for anything he can use for demo. And just in case the Fjerdans decided to stash Bo Yul-Bayur in the prison and make life easy on us, Nina, Matthias, and Jesper will search the top-level cells.”

“Nina and Matthias?” Jesper asked. “Far be it from me to doubt anyone’s professionalism, but is that really the ideal pairing?”

“Matthias knows prison procedure, and Nina can handle any guards without a noisy fight. Your job is to keep them from killing each other.”

“Because I’m the diplomat of the group?”

“There is no diplomat of the group. Now listen,” Kaz said. “The rest of the prison isn’t like the holding area. Patrols in the cellblock rotate every two hours, and we don’t want to risk anyone sounding an alarm, so be smart. We coordinate everything to the chiming of the Elderclock. We’re out of the cells right after six bells, we’re up the incinerator and on the roof by eight bells. No exceptions.”

“And then what?” asked Wylan. 

“We cross to the embassy sector roof and get access to the glass bridge through there.”

“We’ll be on the other side of the checkpoints,” said Matthias, unable to keep a hint of admiration from his voice. “The guards on the bridge will assume we passed through the embassy gate and had our papers scrutinised there.”

Wylan frowned. “In prison uniforms?” 

“Phase two,” said Aryn. “The fake.”

“That’s right,” said Kaz. “Inej, Nina, Aryn, Matthias, and I will borrow a change of clothes from one of the delegations – and a little something extra for our friend Bo Yul-Bayur when we find him – and stroll across the glass bridge. We locate Yul-Bayur and get him back to the embassy. Nina, if there’s time, you’ll tailor him as much as possible, but as long as we don’t trigger any alarms, no one is going to notice one more Shu among the guests.”

“So what I’m getting from this,” said Jesper, “is that I’m stuck with Wylan.”

“Unless you’ve suddenly acquired an encyclopedic knowledge of the White Island, military training, the ability to pick locks, scale unscalable walls, or flirt confidential information out of high-level officials, yes. Besides, I want two sets of hands making bombs.”

Jesper looked mournfully at his guns. “Such potential wasted.”

Nina crossed her arms. “Let’s say this all works. How do we get out?”

Aryn exchanged a quick look with Kaz.

“We walk,” Kaz said. “That’s the beauty of this plan. Remember what I said about guiding the mark’s attention? At the embassy gate, all eyes will be focused on guests coming into the Ice Court. People leaving aren't a security risk.”

“Then why the bombs?” asked Wylan.

“Precautions. There are seven miles of road between the Ice Court and the harbour. If someone notices Bo Yul-Bayur is missing, we’re going to have to cover that territory fast.” He drew a line in the snow with his walking stick. “The main road crosses a gorge. We blow the bridge; no one can follow.”

Matthias put his head in his hands, imagining the havoc these low creatures were about to wreak on his country’s capital.

“It’s one prisoner, Helvar,” said Kaz.

“And a bridge,” Aryn put in helpfully.

“And anything we have to blow up in between,” added Jesper.

“Everyone shut up,” Matthias growled.

Jesper shrugged. “Fjerdans.”

"I know, right?" agreed Aryn.

“I don’t like any of this,” said Nina.

Kaz raised a brow. “Well, at least you and Helvar found something to agree on.”

Further south they travelled, the coast long gone, the ice broken more and more by slashes of forest, glimpses of black earth and animal tracks, proof of the living world.

They questioned everything, trying to make sure that they didn’t miss a single thing.

“How many guard towers are on the White Island again?” 

“Do you think Yul-Bayur will be in the palace?”

“There are guard barracks on the White Island. What if he’s in the barracks?”

Jesper and Wylan debated which kinds of explosives might be assembled from the prison laundry supplies and if they could get their hands on some gunpowder in the embassy sector. Nina tried to help Inej estimate what her pace would have to be to scale the incinerator shaft with enough time to secure the rope and get the others to the top.

They drilled each other constantly on the architecture and procedures of the Court, the layout of the ringwall’s three gatehouses, each built around a courtyard.

“First checkpoint?”

“Four guards.”

“Second checkpoint?”

“Eight guards.”

“Ringwall gates?”

“Four when the gate is nonoperational.”

“Yellow Protocol?” asked Kaz. 

“Sector disturbance,” said Inej. 

“Red Protocol?”

“Sector breach.”

“Black Protocol?”

 “We’re all doomed?” suggested Aryn.

“That about covers it,” Matthias said, pulling his hood tighter and trudging ahead. They’d even made him imitate the different patterns of the bells. 

A necessity, but Aryn had had to try her hardest not to laugh as he chanted, “Bing bong bing bing bong. No, wait, bing bing bong bing bing.”

“When I’m rich,” Jesper said behind him. “I’m going somewhere I never have to see snow again. What about you, Wylan?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“I think you should buy a golden piano—”

“Flute.”

“And play concerts on a pleasure barge.” 

Aryn laughed. “You can park it in the canal right outside your father’s house.”

“Nina can sing,” Inej put in.

“We’ll duet,” Nina amended. “Your father will have to move.”

They continued walking, Nina yammering to Inej somewhere behind her, trying to teach her Fjerdan words. “No, Hring-kaaalle. You have to hang on the last syllable a bit.”

“Hringalah?” tried Inej.

“Better but – here, it’s like Kerch is a gazelle. It hops from word to word,” she pantomimed. “Fjerdan is like gulls, all swoops and dives.” Her hands became birds riding currents on the air. 

Aryn noticed Matthias staring at her and tried to hide a smirk. Nina looked up and noticed him too.

He cleared his throat. “Do not eat the snow,” he counselled. “It will only dehydrate you and lower your body temperature.” He plunged forward, ahead of them, up the next hill. But as he came over the rise, he halted dead in his tracks.

He turned round, holding out his arms. “Stop! You don’t want to—”

But it was too late. Nina clapped her hands over her mouth. Aryn hissed in a breath. Inej made some kind of warding sign in the air. Jesper shook his head, and Wylan gagged. Kaz stood like a stone, his expression inscrutable.

The pyre had been made on a bluff. Whoever was responsible had tried to build the fire in the shelter of a rock outcropping, but it hadn’t been enough to keep the flames from dying out in the wind. Three stakes had been driven into the icy ground, and three charred bodies were bound to them, their blackened, cracked skin still smouldering.

“Ghezen,” swore Wylan. “What is this?”

“This is what Fjerdans do to Grisha.” Nina’s face was slack, her green eyes staring.

“It’s what criminals do,” said Matthias. “The pyres have been illegal since—”

Nina whirled on him and shoved his chest hard. “Don’t you dare,” she seethed, fury burning like a halo around her. “Tell me the last time someone was prosecuted for putting a Grisha to the flames. Do you even call it murder when you put down dogs?”

“Nina—”

“Do you have a different name for killing when you wear a uniform to do it?”

They heard it then – a moan, like a creaking wind. “Saints,” Jesper said. “One of them is alive.”

The sound came again, thin and keening, from the black hulk of the body on the far right. It was impossible to tell if the shape was male or female. Its hair had burned away, its clothing fused to its limbs. Black flakes of skin had peeled away in places, showing raw flesh.

A sob tore from Nina’s throat. She raised her hands, but she was shaking too badly to use her power to end the creature’s suffering. She turned her tear-filled eyes to the others. “I ... Please, someone ...”

Jesper moved first. Two shots rang out, and the body fell silent. Jesper returned his pistols to their holsters.

“Damn it, Jesper,” Kaz growled. “You just announced our presence for miles.”

“So they think we’re a hunting party.”

“You should have let Inej do it.”

“I didn’t want to do it,” Inej said quietly. “Thank you, Jesper.” Kaz’s jaw ticked, but he said nothing more.

“Thank you,” Nina choked out. She plunged ahead over the frozen ground, following the shape of the path through the snow. She was weeping, stumbling over the terrain. Matthias followed.

Aryn’s eyes were drawn back to the pyre. Unlike the grisha, who cremated their dead, most Ravkans were buried or interred in mausoleums. Of course, she had no idea what had happened to Vasily, whether his body, what was left of it, had ever been recovered. She had run. The second her mind had registered that he was really gone, she had taken off, his ring clutched in her hand, out of the Grand Palace, out of Os Alta, out of Ravka entirely, and she had never gone back. She never would.

Chapter Text

Aryn and the others turned away from the pyres, continuing over the hill to where Matthias and Nina stood arguing.

Matthias was saying, “They don’t use pyres at the Court any more.”

“Then what? Drawing and quartering? Firing squads? Does the Royal Palace have a view of the gallows?”

“I’ve had enough of your judgments, Nina. This has to stop.”

“He’s right. You can’t go on this way,” said Jesper.

Nina started, realizing that they were listening. “Stay out of this,” she snapped.

“If you two keep fighting, you’re going to get us all killed, and I have a lot more card games I need to lose.”

“You must find a way to make peace,” said Inej. “At least for a while.”

“This is not your concern,” Matthias growled.

Kaz stepped forward, his expression dangerous. “It is very much our concern. And watch your tone.”

Matthias threw up his hands. “You’ve all been taken in by her. This is what she does. She makes you think she’s your friend and then—”

Inej crossed her arms. “Then what?”

“Let it go, Inej.”

“No, Nina,” Matthias said. “Tell them. You said you were my friend once. Do you remember?” He turned to the others. “We travelled together for three weeks. I saved her life. We saved each other. When we got to Elling, we … I could have revealed her to the soldiers we saw there at any time. But I didn’t.” Matthias started pacing, his voice rising. “I borrowed money. I arranged lodging. I was willing to betray everything I believed in for the sake of her safety. When I saw her down to the docks so we could try to book passage, there was a Kerch trader there, ready to set sail. Ask her what she did then, this honourable ally, this girl who stands in judgement of me and my kind.”

No one said a word, but they were watching, waiting.

“Tell them, Nina,” he demanded. “They should know how you treat your friends.”

Nina swallowed, meeting their gazes. “I told the Kerch that he was a slaver and that he’d taken me prisoner. I threw myself on their mercy and begged them to help me. I had a seal I’d taken from a slaving ship we’d raided near the Wandering Isle. I used it as proof.”

“I didn’t understand what was happening,” said Matthias. “I didn’t speak Kerch, but Nina certainly did. They seized me and put me in chains. They tossed me in the brig and kept me there in the dark for weeks while we crossed the sea. The next time I saw daylight was when they led me off the ship in Ketterdam.”

“I had no choice,” Nina said, sounding like she was close to tears. “You don’t know—”

“Just tell me one thing,” he said. “If you could go back, if you could undo what you did to me, would you?” 

“No,” she said clearly, her voice echoing off the endless ice. “I’d do it all over again.”

A sudden rumble shook the ground. Nina nearly lost her footing, and Kaz braced himself with his walking stick. They exchanged puzzled glances. 

“Are there fault lines this far north?” Wylan asked. 

Matthias frowned. “Not that I know of, but—”

A slab of earth shot up from beneath Aryn’s feet, knocking her to the ground. Another erupted to Nina’s right, sending her sprawling. All around them, crooked monoliths of earth and ice burst upwards, as if the ground was coming to life. A harsh wind whipped at their faces, snow spinning in flurries.

“What the hell is this?” cried Jesper.

“Some kind of earthquake!” shouted Inej.

“No,” said Nina. “We’re under attack.”

Aryn looked where she was pointing, a dark spot that seemed to be floating in the sky, unaffected by the howling wind. She thought she might well have lost her mind. There was someone in the air, hovering in the sky high above her. She was watching someone fly.

Grisha Squallers could control current. She’d even seen them play at tossing each other into the air the few times she’d visited the Little Palace, but the level of finesse and power it took to maintain controlled flight was unthinkable – at least it had been, until now. Jurda parem. 

She hadn’t quite believed Kaz. Maybe she’d even suspected him of outright lying to her about what he’d seen just to get her to do the job. But unless she’d taken a blow to the head she didn’t remember, this was real.

The Squaller turned in the air, stirring the storm into a frenzy, sending ice flying until it stung her cheeks. She could barely see. She fell backwards as another slab of rock and ice shot from the ground. They were being corralled, pushed closer together to make a single target.

She slung her rifle off her back, aiming at the figure in the sky, but before she could fire, a blast of wind swept her up into the sky, throwing her over Nina’s head and out of the circle of stone. She landed hard, crying out as she felt her ankle snap.

“I need a distraction!” shouted Jesper from somewhere in the storm. She heard a tinny plink.

“Get down,” cried Wylan. 

Well, it wasn’t like she could get up to begin with.

A boom sounded overhead, and an explosion lit the sky just to the right of the Squaller. The winds around them dropped as the Squaller was thrown off course and forced to focus on righting himself. A shot rang out, and the Squaller was hurtling towards the earth. 

The ground continued to rock and shake. Aryn had no idea what was happening. She heard a gunshot, then another. Then there was a scream from the distant forest, and everything went still.

She felt dazed, the air strangely hushed after the chaos that had come before.

“Aryn!” called Kaz from the other side of the wall of rock and ice. 

“I’m alive,” Aryn shouted back, “My ankle is broken, but other than that I’m fine.” 

She tried to stand and immediately regretted it as her ankle screamed in pain. She cussed, loudly.

“Wylan,” Jesper panted, his voice slightly muffled by the wall between them. “Get us out of here.”

“Everybody down,” Wylan instructed.

Aryn hit the ground, covering her ears. I swear to all the Saints if this kid blows me up…

Nothing happened.

“Are you kidding me?” said Jesper.

Boom. The slab exploded. Ice and bits of rock rained down over their heads.

Aryn heard Nina’s laugh. “Try to look like you knew it would work.”

Aryn sat up, leaning against the wall of rock. She pulled up the leg of her trousers to inspect her ankle. It was already swelling, and the edge of the broken bone was visible, pressing against her skin.

“You alright?” Aryn turned to see Jesper loping towards her.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Can you put any weight on that?” he nodded to her ankle.

She raised an eyebrow and pulled up her pants leg again to show him the broken bone protruding from her leg. “You think I can put weight on this shit?”

Jesper gagged at the sight, turning away like he was going to vomit.

“You can put a bullet in someone’s head, but a broken bone is too much for you?” asked Kaz from behind her.

“A bullet is in and out, quick, clean. But that,” Jesper turned back toward her, but then gagged and turned away again.

Aryn rolled her eyes. “Oh, get a grip, Jes. All these years in the Barrel, I think you can handle this.”

He bent down, wrapping her arm across his shoulders, and pulling her to her feet, purposefully not looking anywhere near her ankle.

Kaz offered her his cane.

She frowned. “Don’t you need it?”

“It’s just till we get to Nina,” he shrugged, “And I’m used to the pain.”

She took it, and with the help of Jesper and the cane, she managed to limp over to where Nina and the others stood by the body of a young man, a boy really. She assumed he was the Durast on parem that had created the earthquake.

“Nina, help her.” Kaz gestured to Aryn’s foot, and Jesper set her on the ground next to Nina. 

Nina placed her hands on Aryn’s ankle. Aryn gritted her teeth as the bone moved back into position and fused back together. She stood and tested Nina's work, putting weight on her ankle.

“Anything?” asked Matthias.

Jesper nodded. “A party of people heading south.”

“He was calling out for the Shu,” Nina said.

“We knew the Shu would send a team to retrieve Bo Yul-Bayur,” said Kaz.

Jesper looked down at the boy’s motionless body. “But we didn’t know they’d send Grisha. How can we be sure they aren’t mercenaries?”

Kaz held up a coin emblazoned with a horse on one side and two crossed keys on the other. “This was in the Squaller’s pocket. I don’t know what it is,” he said, tossing it to Aryn. 

Aryn peered at it. “It’s a Shu wen ye. The Coin of Passage,”  she glanced up in surprise. “This is a government mission.”

“How did they find us?” Inej asked.

“Maybe Jesper’s gunshots drew them,” said Kaz.

Jesper bristled and pointed at Nina and Matthias. “Or maybe they heard these two shouting at each other. They could have been following us for miles.”

Aryn was confused. From what she knew, Shu didn’t use Grisha as soldiers, and they weren’t like the Fjerdans; they didn’t see Grisha power as unnatural or repulsive. They were fascinated by it. But they still viewed the Grisha as less than human. The Shu government had been capturing and experimenting on Grisha for years in an attempt to locate the source of their power.

They would never use Grisha as mercenaries. Or at least that had been the case before. Maybe parem had changed the game.

“I don’t understand,” said Nina. “If they have jurda parem, why go after Bo Yul-Bayur?”

“It’s possible they have a stash of it, but can’t reproduce his process,” Kaz said. “That’s what the Merchant Council seemed to think. Or maybe they just want to make sure Yul-Bayur doesn’t give the formula to anyone else.”

“Do you think they’ll use drugged Grisha to try to break into the Ice Court?” Inej asked.

“If they have more of them,” said Kaz. “That’s what I would do.” 

Matthias shook his head. “If they’d had a Heartrender, we’d all be dead.” 

“It was still a close thing,” replied Inej.

Jesper shouldered his rifle. “Wylan earned his keep.”

Wylan gave a little jump at the sound of his name. “I did?”

“Well, you made a down payment.”

“Let’s move,” said Kaz.

“We need to bury them,” Nina said.

“The ground’s too hard, and we don’t have the time. The Shu team is still moving towards Djerholm. We don’t know how many other Grisha they may have, and Pekka’s team could already be inside.”

“We can’t just leave them for the wolves,” she said, her throat tight.

“Do you want to build them a pyre?”

Aryn winced. Would it kill him to have the slightest bit of empathy? It very well might.

“Go to hell, Brekker.”

“Do your job, Zenik,” he shot back. “I didn’t bring you to Fjerda to perform funeral rites.”

She lifted her hands. “How about I crack your skull open like a robin’s egg?”

“You don’t want a look at what’s inside my head, Nina dear.”

She took a step forward, but Matthias moved in front of her.

“Stop,” he said. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you dig the grave.” Nina stared at him. He took a pick from his gear and handed it to her, then took another from Jesper’s pack. “Head due south from here,” he said to the others. “I know the terrain, and I’ll make sure we catch up to you by nightfall. We’ll move faster on our own.”

Kaz looked at him steadily. “Just remember that pardon, Helvar.”

“Are we sure it’s a good idea to leave them alone?” Wylan asked as they moved down the slope.

“No,” replied Inej.

“But we’re still doing it?”

“We trust them now or we trust them later,” Kaz said.

“Are we going to talk about Matthias’ little revelation about Nina’s loyalties?” asked Jesper.

“Pretty sure most of us don’t have ‘stalwart’ or ‘true’ checked off on our résumés.”

Chapter Text

It took two more days of travel to reach the cliffs that overlooked Djerholm, but the going was easier as they moved south and towards the coast. The weather warmed, the ground thawed, and Aryn began to see signs of spring. Djerholm’s harbour was crowded with ships, its tidy streets marched to the water in orderly fashion, so different from the ones in Ketterdam, and the houses were painted such colours – red, blue, yellow, pink – as if in defiance of the wild white land and the long winters this far north. Even the warehouses by the quay were wrought in cheerful colours. It looked as if a child had imagined it, everything candy-hued and in its proper place.

Was the Ferolind already waiting at the docks, snug in its berth, flying its Kerch flag and the distinctive orange and green parti-colour of the Haanraadt Bay Company? If the plan went the way Kaz hoped, tomorrow night they would stroll down the Djerholm quay with Bo Yul-Bayur in tow, hop on their ship, and be far out to sea before anyone in Fjerda was the wiser. She preferred not to think of what tomorrow night might look like if the plan went wrong.

Aryn glanced up to where the Ice Court stood like a great white sentinel on a massive cliff overlooking the harbour. Matthias had called the cliffs unscalable, and she had to admit that they would present a challenge, even for Inej. They seemed impossibly high, and from a distance, their white lime surface looked clean and bright as ice.

“Cannon,” said Jesper.

Kaz squinted up at the big guns pointed out at the bay. “I’ve broken into banks, warehouses, mansions, museums, vaults, a rare book library, and once the bedchamber of a visiting Kaelish diplomat whose wife had a passion for emeralds. But I’ve never had a cannon shot at me.”

“There’s something to be said for novelty,” offered Jesper.

Inej pressed her lips together. “Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”

Aryn shook her head. “As someone who has actually had a cannon fired at them, can I just say, it’s not fun.”

“Those guns are there to stop invading armadas,” Jesper said confidently. “Good luck hitting a skinny little schooner cutting through the waves bound for fortune and glory.”

“I’ll quote you on that when a cannonball lands in my lap,” replied Aryn.

They slipped easily into the traffic of travellers and traders where the cliff road met the northern road that led to Upper Djerholm. The upper town was a rambling extension of the city below, a sprawling collection of shops, markets, and inns that served the guards and staff who worked at the Ice Court as well as visitors. Luckily, the crowds were heavy and motley enough that one more group of foreigners could go unnoticed. Maybe the crew from the Shu Han was relying on the jumbled crowd for cover, too.

Signs of Hringkälla celebrations were everywhere. The shops had created elaborate displays of pepper cookies baked in the shape of wolves, some hanging like ornaments from large, twisting trees, and the bridge spanning the river gorge had been festooned with ribbons in Fjerdan silver. One way into the Ice Court and one way out. Would they cross this bridge as visitors tomorrow?

“What are they?” Wylan asked, pausing in front of a peddler’s cart laden with wreaths made of the same twisting branches and silver ribbons.

“Ash trees,” replied Matthias. “Sacred to Djel.”

“There’s supposed to be one in the middle of the White Island,” said Nina, ignoring the warning look the Fjerdan cast her. “It’s where the drüskelle gather for the listening ceremony.”

Kaz tapped his walking stick on the ground. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”

“The ash is sustained by the spirit of Djel,” said Matthias. “It’s where we may best hear his voice.”

Kaz’s eyes flickered. “Not what I asked. Why isn’t it on our plans?”

“Because it’s the holiest place in all of Fjerda and not essential to our mission.”

“I say what’s essential. Anything else you decided to leave out in your great wisdom?”

“The Ice Court is a vast structure,” Matthias said, turning away. “I can’t label every crack and corner.”

“Then let’s hope nothing is lurking in those corners,” Kaz replied.

Upper Djerholm had no real centre, but the bulk of its taverns, inns, and market stalls were clustered around the base of the hill leading to the Ice Court. Kaz steered them seemingly aimlessly through the streets until he found a run-down tavern called the Gestinge.

“Here?” Jesper complained, peering into the dank main room. The whole place stank of garlic and fish.

Kaz just gave a significant glance upwards and said, “Terrace.” 

“What’s a gestinge?” Inej asked.

“It means ‘paradise’,” said Matthias. Even he looked skeptical.

Nina helped secure them a table on the tavern’s rooftop terrace. It was mostly empty, the weather still too cold to attract many patrons. Or maybe they’d been scared away by the food – herring in rancid oil, stale black bread, and some kind of butter that looked distinctly mossy.

Jesper looked down at his plate and moaned. “Kaz, if you want me dead, I prefer a bullet to poison.”

“I’d take a bullet over this food any day,” said Aryn

Nina scrunched her nose. “When I don’t want to eat, you know there’s a problem.”

“We’re here for the view, not the food.”

From their table, they had a clear, if distant, view of the Ice Court’s outer gate and the first guardhouse. It was built into a white arch formed by two monumental stone wolves on their hind legs, and spanned the road leading up the hill to the Court. Aryn and the others watched the traffic come and go through the gates as they picked at their lunches, waiting for a sign of the prison wagons. 

There was no coffee to be had, so they ordered tea and little glasses of clear brännvin that burned going down but helped to keep them warm as a wind picked up, stirring the silvery ribbons tied to the ash boughs lining the street below.

“We’re going to start looking conspicuous soon,” said Nina. “This isn’t the kind of place people like to linger.”

“Maybe they don’t have anyone to take to jail,” suggested Wylan.

“There’s always someone to take to jail,” Kaz replied.

Aryyn gestured toward the road, “Look.”

A boxy wagon was rolling to a stop at the guardhouse. Its roof and high sides were covered in black canvas, and it was drawn by four stout horses. The door at the back was heavy iron, bolted and padlocked.

Kaz reached into his coat pocket. “Here,” he said and handed Jesper a slender book with an elaborate cover.

“Are we going to read to each other?”

“Just flip it open to the back.”

Jesper opened the book and peered at the last page, puzzled. 

“So?” 

“Hold it up so we don’t have to look at your ugly face.”

“My face has character. Besides – oh!”

“An excellent read, isn’t it?” 

“Who knew I had a taste for literature?”

Jesper passed it to Wylan, who took it tentatively. “What does it say?” 

“Just look,” said Jesper.

Wylan frowned and held it up, then he grinned. “Where did you get this?” 

Inej took the book and raised an impressed eyebrow. Matthias had his turn and released a surprised grunt.

“It’s called a backless book,” said Kaz as Aryn took the volume from Nina and held it up. The pages were full of ordinary sermons, but the ornate back cover hid two lenses that acted as a long glass. 

“Clever,” Aryn remarked as she peered through. To the barmaid and the other patrons on the terrace, it looked as if they were handing a book around, discussing some interesting passage. Instead, she had a close view of the gatehouse and the wagon parked in front of it.

The gate between the rampant wolves was wrought iron, bearing the symbol of the sacred ash and bordered by a high, spiked fence that circled the Ice Court’s grounds.

“Four guards,” she noted, just as Matthias had said. Two were stationed on each side of the gatehouse, and one of them was chatting with the driver of the prison wagon, who handed him a packet of documents.

“They’re the first line of defence,” said Matthias. “They’ll check paperwork and confirm identities, flag anyone they think requires closer scrutiny. By this time tomorrow the line going through the gates will be full of Hringkälla guests and backed up all the way to the gorge.”

“By then, we’ll be inside,” Aryn said.

“How often do the wagons run?” asked Jesper.

“It depends,” said Matthias. “Usually in the morning. Sometimes in the afternoon. But I can’t imagine they’ll want prisoners arriving at the same time as guests.”

“Then we have to be on the early wagon,” Kaz said.

Aryn lifted the backless book again. The wagon driver wore a grey uniform similar to the ones worn by the guards at the gate, but absent any sash or decoration. He swung down from his seat and came around to unlock the iron door.

Aryn sucked in a breath as the door swung open. Ten prisoners were seated along benches that ran the wagon’s length, their wrists and feet shackled, black sacks over their heads.

Aryn handed the book back to Matthias, and as it made the rounds, she felt the group’s apprehension rise. Her whole body had gone tense. Only Kaz seemed unfazed.

“Hooded, chained, and shackled?” said Jesper. “You’re sure we can’t go in as entertainers? I hear Wylan really kills it on the flute.”

“We go in as we are,” said Kaz, “as criminals.”

Aryn peered through the lenses of the book. “They’re doing a headcount.”

Matthias nodded. “If procedure hasn’t changed, they’ll do a quick head count at the first checkpoint, then a second count at the next checkpoint, where they’ll search the interior and undercarriage for any contraband.”

Aryn passed the book to Nina, who said, “The driver is going to notice six more prisoners when he opens the door.”

“If only I’d thought of that,” Kaz said drily. “I can tell you’ve never picked a pocket.”

“And I can tell you’ve never given enough thought to your haircut.” 

Kaz frowned and ran a self-conscious hand along the side of his head. “There’s nothing wrong with my haircut that can’t be fixed by four million kruge.”

Aryn cocked her head to one side, brown eyes lighting up. “We’re going to use a bunk biscuit, aren't we?”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t know that word, bunkbiscuit,” said Matthias, running the syllables together.

Nina gave Kaz a sour look. “Neither do I. We’re not as streetwise as you, Dirtyhands.”

“Nor will you ever be,” Kaz said easily. “Remember our friend Mark?” Wylan winced. “Let’s say the mark is a tourist walking through the Barrel. He’s heard it’s a good place to get rolled, so he keeps patting his wallet, making sure it’s there, congratulating himself on just how alert and cautious he’s being. No fool he. Of course, every time he pats his back pocket or the front of his coat, what is he doing? He’s telling every thief on the Stave exactly where he keeps his scrub.”

“Saints,” grumbled Nina. “I’ve probably done that.”

“Everyone does,” said Inej.

“Speak for yourself,” said Aryn

Jesper lifted a brow. “Not everyone.”

“That’s only because you never have anything in your wallet,” Nina shot back.

“Mean.”

“Factual.”

“Facts are for the unimaginative,” Jesper said with a dismissive wave.

“Now, a bad thief,” continued Kaz, “one who doesn’t know his way around, just makes the grab and tries to run for it. Good way to get pinched by the stadwatch. But a proper thief – like myself –nabs the wallet and puts something else in its place.”

“A biscuit?”

“Bunk biscuit is just a name. It can be a rock, a bar of soap, even an old roll if it’s the right size. A proper thief can tell the weight of a wallet just by the way it changes the hang of a man’s coat. He makes the switch, and the poor mark keeps tapping his pocket, happy as can be. It’s not until he tries to pay for an omelette or lay his stake at a table that he realises he’s been done for a sucker. By then, the thief is somewhere safe, counting up his scrub.”

Wylan shifted unhappily in his chair. “Duping innocent people isn’t something to be proud of.”

“It is if you do it well,” said Aryn.

Kaz gave a nod to the prison wagon, now rumbling its way up the road towards the Ice Court and the second checkpoint. “We’re going to be the biscuit.”

“Hold on,” said Nina. “The door locks on the outside. How do we get in and get the door locked again?”

“That’s only a problem if you don’t know a proper thief. Leave the locks to me.”

Jesper stretched out his long legs. “So we have to unlock, unchain, and incapacitate six prisoners, take their places, and somehow get the wagon sealed tight again without the guards or the other prisoners being the wiser?”

“That’s right.”

“Any other impossible feats you’d like us to accomplish?” 

The barest smile flickered over Kaz’s lips. “I’ll make you a list.”

Proper thievery aside, Aryn would have liked a proper night’s sleep in a proper bed, but there would be no comfortable stay at an inn, not if they were going to find their way onto a prison wagon and into the Ice Court before Hringkälla began. There was too much to do.

Nina was sent out to chat up the locals and try to discover the best place to lay their ambush for the wagon. After the horrors of Gestinge’s herring, they’d demanded Kaz provide something edible, and were waiting for Nina in a crowded bakery, nursing hot cups of coffee mixed with chocolate, the wreckage of demolished rolls and cookies spread over their table in little piles of buttery crumbs. 

Jesper nudged Aryn. “So, what brings you on this death mission?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Jesper counted off on his fingers. “Kaz can never have enough money, Nina’s grisha and Ravkan, so she has her moral obligations, Matthias needs his pardon, Inej and I both have debts to pay off, which you know, but what about you?”

“Patriotism?” she offered.

He scoffed. “What? For Ravka? I thought you hated it there– I mean, you left for a reason.”

“I have,” she began, hesitantly. “Some unfinished business to take care of, and I need a shit-ton of scrub to do it.”

“That’s not ominous at all.”

She cracked a smile. “Not in the slightest.”

The bell on the bakery door jingled, and Nina sailed inside, cheeks rosy, brown hair in a gorgeous tangle, and declared, “Someone needs to start feeding me sweet rolls immediately.”

It had taken Nina less than an hour to discover that most of the prison wagons passed by a roadhouse known as the Warden’s Waystation on the route to the Ice Court. Aryn and the others had to trek almost two miles out of Upper Djerholm to locate the tavern. It was too crowded with farmers and local labourers to be useful, so they headed further up the road, and by the time they found a spot with enough cover and a stand of trees large enough to suit their purpose, Aryn felt close to collapse. She thanked the Saints for Jesper’s seemingly limitless energy. He cheerfully volunteered to continue on and be the lookout. When the prison cart rolled by, he’d signal the rest of the crew with a flare, then sprint back to join them.

Nina took a few minutes to tailor Jesper’s forearm, hiding the Dregs’ tattoo and leaving a blotchy patch of skin over it. She would see to Kaz’s tattoos and her own that night. It was possible no one at the prison would recognise Ketterdam gang or brothel markings, but there was no reason to take the chance.

“No mourners,” Jesper called as he loped off into the twilight, long legs eating up the distance easily.

“No funerals,” they replied. 

They camped in a dry gully bordered by a tangle of shrubs, and took shifts dozing on the hard rock ground and keeping watch. 

Nina erased her and Kaz’s tattoos before moving on to Aryn’s. She erased her crow and cup, and then Aryn pulled down the collar of her shirt to reveal the outline of an eagle on her collarbone.

“It’s in Ravkan, so you should probably tailor this one as well,” she explained, indicating the flowing script that made up the bottom edge of the eagle’s wings.

She saw Nina glance at the words, and knew she was reading them, registering their meaning. 

May the Saints receive you. The words spoken at every Ravkan funeral.

“The war?” asked Nina, casually, as she tailored the tattoo.

Aryn nodded.

“A friend, or…”

“Brother.” She offered no other explanation, and Nina didn’t ask.

It had to be past noon of the next day when Jesper finally raised the signal. 

Aryn, Kaz, and Matthias were watching Wylan fuss with something at the base of a thick red fir when Inej finally awoke, and she and Nina hurried over to them. A series of pops sounded, and tiny puffs of white smoke burst from the tree’s trunk where it met the ground. For a moment, it looked as if nothing would happen, then the roots loosed themselves from the soil, curling and withering. 

Matthias bent his head, whispering a blessing.

It took less than a minute for them to pull the tree down so that its trunk lay blocking the road. With the roots intact, it looked as if it had simply been felled by disease.

“Once the wagon stops, the tree will buy us about fifteen minutes and not much more,” Kaz said. “Move quickly. The prisoners should be hooded, but they’ll be able to hear, so not a word. We can’t afford to arouse suspicion. For all they know, this is a routine stop, and we want to keep it that way.”

As Aryn waited in the gully with the others, her apprehension building. 

Just when she started to wonder if Jesper had been wrong and sent up the flare too early, a prison wagon rumbled into view. It rolled past them, then came to a halt in front of the tree. She could hear the driver cursing to his companion.

They both slid down from the box seat and made their way over to the tree. For a long minute, they stood there staring at it. The larger guard took off his hat and scratched his belly.

“How lazy can they be?” Kaz muttered.

“They’re Fjerdans, what do you expect?” whispered Aryn.

Matthias grunted in injury.

Finally, the guards seemed to accept that the tree wasn’t going to move on its own. They strolled back to the wagon to retrieve a heavy coil of rope and unhitched one of the horses to help drag the tree out of the road.

“Be ready,” Kaz said. He skittered over the top of the gully to the back end of the cart. He’d left his walking stick behind in the ditch, and whatever pain he might have been feeling, he disguised it well.

He slipped his lockpicks from the lining of his coat and cradled the padlock gently, almost lovingly.

In seconds, it sprang open, and he shoved the bolt to the side. He glanced around to where the men were tying ropes around the tree and then opened the door.

Aryn tensed, waiting for the signal. It didn’t come. Kaz was just standing there, staring into the wagon.

“What’s happening?” whispered Wylan.

“Maybe they aren't hooded?” she replied. From the side, she couldn’t see. 

“I’ll go,” volunteered Inej 

Inej climbed out of the gully and came up behind Kaz. He was still standing there, perfectly still.

She touched his shoulder briefly, and Aryn saw him flinch. Aryn cussed internally, knowing why he had panicked, why he wore those damn gloves, and praying he could pull himself together.

Finally, he pushed himself up into the wagon, his movements jerky and awkward. 

Inej signalled to Matthias, who leaped out of the gully to join them.

One by one, Inej and Matthias unloaded the six prisoners closest to the door. They led them to the edge of the gully, all while keeping an eye on the progress of the guards on the road. 

“What’s happening?” one of the captives dared to ask. But a quick “Tig! ” from Matthias silenced him.

Once they were out of view, Nina dropped their pulses, sending them into unconsciousness. Only then did Wylan remove the prisoners’ hoods: four men, one of them quite old, a middle-aged woman, and a Shu boy. It definitely wasn’t ideal, but hopefully the guards wouldn’t fret too much over accuracy. After all, how much trouble could a group of chained and shackled convicts be?

Nina injected the prisoners with a sleeping solution to prolong their rest, and Wylan helped roll them into the gully behind the trees.

“Are we just going to leave them there?” Wylan whispered to Aryn as they hurried back to the wagon with the prisoners’ hoods in hand.

Aryn’s eyes were trained on the guards moving the tree, and she didn’t look at him when she said, “They’ll wake soon enough and make a run for it. They might even get to the coast and freedom. We’re doing them a favour.”

“It doesn’t look like a favour. It looks like leaving them in a ditch.”

“Shut it,” she ordered. This wasn’t the time or the place for moral quibbling. If Wylan didn’t know the difference between being in chains and out of them, he was about to find out.

Inej cupped her hand to her mouth and gave a low, soft bird call. They had four, maybe five minutes left before the guards cleared the road. Thankfully, the guards were raising quite a noise, shouting encouragement at the horse and yelling to one another.

Inej locked Wylan into place, as Matthias did Nina. Jesper was next, panting from his run back to the crossroads. He winked at Aryn as she placed the sack over his head. They could hear the guards calling back and forth.

Inej reached for an empty set of shackles and went to lock them around Aryn’s wrists, but she flinched back at the feel of the cuffs.

Her breathing came hard and fast. She couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. In her mind, she was back in that damn cell, the shackles digging into her wrists. She needed to get out of here.

Inej’s eyes flicked from the shackles to Aryn’s wrists, and Aryn saw her eyes widen in realization. Aryn tried to concentrate on Inej as she held her gaze. Slowly, gently, Inej locked the shackles around her wrists and the collar around her neck, pulling the sack over her head.

Alone in the darkness, Aryn tried to control her panic. She couldn’t do this, she couldn’t–

She was a Dreg, a mercenary, one of the deadliest people in the Barrel.

She could handle this.

She couldn’t handle this.

She couldn’t- she needed to- she needed- she needed Corrin.

The thought sprang to mind unbidden, cutting through her panic like a knife through water. The sudden urge to find him distracting her from the feeling of the shackles. She needed to feel his arms around her, to hear his voice, to have him near.

She forced herself to focus on him, to picture him in her mind, hear his voice in her head. 

Taking shots in the Crow Club. Spinning a knife like a top. Plucking a waffle from her fingers with a wink and a smirk. I figured you were up here.

Slowly, her breathing began to slow as she felt the carriage lurch into motion.

Chapter Text

They had done it. They’d gotten into the Ice Court unnoticed. Now all they had to worry about was finding Bol-Yul Bayur, and of course, the small problem of getting out again. They had passed through the enclosure full of weapons and were now in a large white room full of tin tubs and hoses. 

One of the guards said something in Fjerdan before they all stepped through a door on the other side of the room.

Inej turned to Nina. “What did they say?”

Nina replied, “They said undress, wash, and put on that uniform.” She pointed to a stack of colourless prison-issue clothing in a stack by the far wall.

The others began stripping, but Aryn just stood there. 

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. Being locked in those shackles had been bad enough. But showing Inej and Nina her scars, letting someone see what Rollins had done to her. She hadn’t even told Kaz until he’d found out aboard the Ferolind. This was too much.

Breathe, Aryn, breathe. Slowly, she stripped off her coat, shirt, and doublet, followed by the rest of her clothes. Nina’s eyes caught on Aryn’s back. She froze. Inej saw Nina’s expression, and turned to see what she was looking at.

Aryn closed her eyes. 

It took them a second to form words. Finally, Nina choked out, “How- who did that to you?”

Aryn turned to face both of them. Nina looked shocked. Inej’s face was horrified. Aryn took a deep breath. Was she really doing this? 

“Pekka Rollins,” They both flinched. Inej’s mouth fell open, as if she’d finally understood something. “I spent an- unfortunate period of time in a cell under the Emerald Palace. Kaz happened to find me there and got me out.”

Before either of them could ask anything else, she said, “Look, I really don’t want to talk about it. Please- don’t tell anyone, and don’t mention it again.”

They both nodded and began washing, but Aryn could tell they were still in shock. Aryn went through the motions; she washed, dressed in the colourless clothes they’d been given, but her mind wasn’t really there.

Aryn had never been sure if the Dime Lions had been targeting her specifically or if they’d been looking for cheap labor, and she’d seemed like an easy target. She assumed it was the latter, as they’d made it clear they didn’t know she was a Lantsov. All Aryn knew was that a week after she’d arrived in Ketterdam, she’d been jumped by a group of Dime Lions, who’d knocked her out, stripped her of her weapons, and dragged her to meet Pekka Rollins.

Rollins had locked her in a cell beneath the Emerald Palace. She’d spent a week there, wrists and ankles locked in shackles, doing whatever vile tasks Rollins gave her, until one day she’d stolen a key while scrubbing floors and had managed to escape. She’d barely made it out of the cell, exhausted and starving, before the Dime Lions had caught her and locked her back in the cell. 

Rollins had been furious. He’d whipped her within an inch of her life and left her there, hanging from the shackles, her back split open, raw and bleeding. It had broken her. She’d stopped struggling, stopped fighting, stopped trying to escape. She’d ended up spending two months there.

Just when she’d lost all hope, Kaz had come. He hadn’t come there intending to free her. He’d merely been trying to gather intel on Rollins. 

She heard two thuds from outside her cell. Then the door opened and Kaz entered. She recognized him as soon as she saw him. The conversations between the guards outside her cell door and the week she’d spent free in Ketterdam had given her a pretty good grasp of the Barrel, and as soon as she saw Kaz’s gloves, she knew who he was. 

Seeing him there ignited a spark of hope inside her. Kaz, seeing nothing of interest, turned to leave, but she managed to speak. “Wait.”

Kaz turned. 

She racked her brain for something- anything- she could say to convince him to help her. “I don’t think you like Rollins very much, or you wouldn’t be here. Set me free, and I'll help you take him down.”

He made to leave, and she’d blurted, “I’m the Lantsov Princess,” he’d paused, and she’d sensed an opportunity. “I made it out of the Grand Palace, I survived. My brother, Nikolai, he’s the King of Ravka now. He’ll make you rich if you help me, just get me out of here. Please.”

For one painful minute, she waited there, praying he would help her. Finally, he turned, drew two lockpicks seemingly from nowhere, and unlocked her shackles. 

Hesitantly, she took a step forward. She turned to Kaz. “Thank you.”

He nodded and extended his hand. “Kaz Brekker.”

She shook it. “Ariana Lantsov.”

“I would change that if I were you. Unless you plan to return home?”

“No. I’m not going back. You can call me Aryn, then,” she thought for a second, then remembered the Suli maid who had taken care of her when she was little, her birth mother. “Aryn Adjala.”

“Well, Adjala, what do you say we get out of here?”

That was how she and Kaz had met. Slowly, as time had gone on, she’d told him the rest of her story: her life aboard Sturmhond’s ship, her brother’s death, her time with Pekka Rollins. In return, he’d told her about his life in the country, his brother, Jordie, the scam Jakob Hertzoon a.k.a. Pekka Rollins had run on them, and how he’d worked his way up in the Dregs. 

He’d trusted her with the darkest parts of him, and she’d trusted him with the darkest parts of her. They trusted each other to do what had to be done, no matter the consequence. They weren’t friends exactly, more like partners. United by their hatred of Pekka Rollins and their selfsame goal to see him brought low, just as they had been.

Now, she wondered how Kaz was feeling. She knew about his strange affliction, why he wore those gloves, why he had frozen outside the wagon earlier. What if something had happened? 

She shook her head. Their partnership didn’t work if she didn’t trust that he was just as strong as she was. She needed to trust that he could handle it. And if he couldn’t? 

She didn’t let herself dwell on that possibility; there was a job to be done.

Chapter Text

Aryn hurried through the rows of cells. 

She’d released herself, Nina, and Inej from the cell with a pair of lockpicks Nina had tailored beneath her skin. Her arm was still dripping blood. She hadn’t given Nina time to heal it; instead, she’d turned and hurried away on her own mission.

She spotted Kaz ahead of her and caught up with him. He glanced at her, but seemed lost in his own thoughts. She kept pace beside him, saying nothing, her own thoughts, memories of her time in the Emerald Palace, screaming just as loudly.

How many times had she seen Rollins since her escape? Dozens, hundreds of times. And not once did he seem to realize who she was.

The first couple of times, she’d been a shadow at Kaz’s side, just another Dreg who he wouldn’t even bother to glance at. But as she started making a name for herself, she thought she caught glimpses of recognition in his expression, like he knew her from somewhere, but couldn’t put his finger on it. Too many pigeons, too many poor fools he’d conned out of everything, too many broken boys and girls, for him to remember her.

The rows of cells stretched on and on, infinite, impossible. There was no way they would find Rollins in time. But it was only impossible until it wasn’t, until she saw that big frame and florid face through the grate in an iron door. It was only impossible until they were standing in front of Pekka Rollins’ cell.

He was on his side, sleeping. Someone had given him a bad beating. 

Good, she thought, viciously.

Kaz hung back, hesitating. She knew what he was thinking 

Was this enough? Wasn’t this what they’d wanted? This was how she’d imagined it: Pekka brought low, humiliated, miserable, and hopeless, the best of his crew dead on pikes. Maybe all she needed now was for Pekka to know exactly who she was, exactly what he’d done. They could stage a little trial of their own, pass sentence, and mete it out, too. 

The Elderclock began to chime the three-quarter-hour. 

They needed to go. There wasn’t much time left to get to the basement. Nina would be waiting for them. They all would. 

Aryn glanced at Kaz, but he was still hesitating. Whatever he chose, she would stand by. This was his decision to make, but he needed to make it quickly.

The lock on the door gave up easily to Kaz’s picks.

Pekka’s eyes opened, and he smiled. He hadn’t been sleeping at all. “Brekker. Adjala. Come to gloat?”

“Not exactly,” Kaz replied.

Aryn stepped inside and let the door slam shut behind her.

“You know us?” asked Kaz.

Rollins shrugged. “Sure, you’re the little skivs who keep stealing my customers.”

Aryn wanted to kill him for the lack of recognition. Did he really not remember her?

“What do you want, Brekker?”

“I want to do you a favour.”

Rollins glanced at Kaz’s bare feet and prison clothes. “You don’t look like you’re in a position to do anyone favours, kid.”

“We’re going to leave this door unlocked. You’re not stupid enough to go after Bo Yul-Bayur without a crew to back you. Wait for your moment and get out.”

“Why the hell would you help me?”

“You weren’t meant to die here,” said Aryn.

The words were a curse, a promise. This much suffering wasn’t enough for Kaz, which she had to admit she understood. After all the work they’d done to bring him down on their terms, they wouldn’t do it on Fjerda’s. They wouldn’t give him the luxury of a quick Fjerdan execution.

“I owe you, Brekker, Adjala,” Rollins said as they turned to leave.

Kaz glanced back at him, his dark eyes like caverns. “Don’t worry, Rollins. You’ll pay.”

So they had released him from the cell and were sprinting back through the rows of cells, trying to make it back to the basement in time, as alarm bells clanged through the prison.

Kaz hurtled through the door, Aryn right on his heels, to find Jesper waiting for them, holding the rope that led up the incinerator shaft.

“Hurry,” Kaz said.

Jesper looked like he had a thousand questions, but he didn’t stop to ask them. He swung out over the coals and started to climb. Rain was falling in a light patter from above. Aryn began climbing after him and felt the rope tremble as Kaz took hold beneath her. When Aryn looked down, he saw Kaz bracing himself to sling the incinerator doors closed behind them.

Aryn pulled herself up hand over hand, from knot to knot, her arms beginning to ache, the rope cutting into her palms. How had Inej made this climb with nothing to hold on to?

High above, the Elderclock’s alarm bells still clanged like a drawer full of angry pots and pans. 

She shook her head, trying to blink the rain from her eyes, muscles bunching in her back as she climbed higher.

“Thank the Saints,” Jesper gasped from above, and Aryn looked up to see Matthias and Wylan grab his shoulders and haul him up the last few feet. “Kaz and Aryn are on the rope.”

Matthias and Wylan seized the rope to pull them up. Aryn wasn’t sure how much Wylan was actually helping, but he was certainly working hard. They pulled Aryn and then Kaz out of the shaft.

Aryn rolled out of the shaft and lay on the roof, her whole upper body trembling.

Kaz flopped onto his back beside her, gulping air. “Where’s Inej?” he gasped. “Where’s Nina?”

“Already on the embassy roof,” said Matthias.

“Leave this rope and take the rest,” Kaz said. “Let’s move.”

Matthias and Wylan tossed the incinerator rope into a grimy heap and grabbed two clean coils.

Jesper took one, and Aryn did the same, forcing herself to her feet. She followed Kaz and Jesper to the lip of the roof, where Inej had secured a tether that ran from the top of the prison to the embassy sector roof below. Someone had rigged up a sling for those without the Wraith’s particular gift for defying gravity.

“Thank the Saints, Djel, and your Aunt Eva,” Jesper said gratefully, and slid down the rope.

Aryn followed, the others close behind.

The roof of the embassy was curved, probably to keep the snow off, but it was a bit like walking on the humped back of an enormous whale. It was also decidedly more ... porous than the prison roof. It was pocked with multiple points of entry – vents, chimneys, small glass domes designed to let in the light. Nina and Inej were tucked up against the base of the biggest dome, a filigreed skylight that overlooked the embassy’s entry rotunda. It didn’t offer much shelter from the dwindling rain, but should any of the guards on the ringwall turn their attention away from the approach road and onto the rooftops of the Court, the crew would be hidden from view.

Nina had Inej’s feet in her lap.

“I can’t get all the rubber off her heels,” she said as she saw them approaching.

“Help her,” said Kaz.

“Me?” Jesper said. “You don’t mean—” 

“Do it.”

Jesper crawled over to get a better look at Inej’s blistered feet. Using his skills as a Durast to pull the rubber from Inej’s feet.

Aryn and Inej knew his secret, but Nina was gaping at him. “You’re a Fabrikator?” 

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?

 “You never asked?” he said lamely.

“Jesper—”

“Just leave it alone, Nina.” She pressed her lips together, but fell silent.

“Saints,” he said. 

Inej grimaced. “That bad?” 

“No, you just have really ugly feet.” 

“Ugly feet that got you on this roof.”

“But are we stuck here?” asked Nina. 

The Elderclock ceased its ringing, and Aryn’s head finally stopped pounding. She shut her eyes in relief. “Finally.”

“What happened at the prison?” Wylan said that panicked crackle back in his voice. “What triggered the alarm?”

“I ran into two guards,” said Nina.

Jesper glanced up from his work. “You didn’t put them down?”

“I did. But one of them got off a few shots. Another guard came running. That was when the bells started.”

“Damn. So that’s what set off the alarm?”

“Maybe,” said Nina. “Where were you, Kaz? I wouldn’t have been in the stairwell if I hadn’t wasted time looking for you. Why didn’t you meet me on the landing?”

Kaz was peering down through the glass of the dome. “I decided to search the cells on the fifth floor, too.”

They all stared at him. 

“What the hell is this?” Jesper said angrily. “You take off before Matthias and I get back, then you just decide to expand your search and leave Nina thinking you’re in trouble?”

“There was something I needed to take care of.” 

“Not good enough.”

“I had a hunch,” Kaz said. “I followed it.”

Nina’s expression was pure disbelief. “A hunch?”

“I made a mistake,” growled Kaz. “All right?”

“No,” said Inej calmly. “You owe us an explanation.”

Kaz said nothing. 

Jesper whirled on Aryn. “And where were you? You just disappeared without telling us anything, we didn’t have a clue what had happened to you. For all we knew, you had been caught or worse.”

Aryn hesitated, then said, “I was with Kaz. We went looking for Pekka Rollins.” She exchanged a glance with Kaz.

“For Saints’ sake, why?” asked Nina.

Kaz said, “I wanted to know who in the Dregs leaked information to him.”

Jesper waited. “And?”

“I couldn’t find him.”

“Then why are both of you covered in blood?” Matthias asked.

“Run in with a guard.”

“Aryn disappeared way before you showed up, which means this was planned. You’re doing it again,” Jesper turned to glare at Aryn, “Both of you. What’s going on?”

Aryn started to speak, but Kaz cut her off, “I screwed up. I made a bad call, and I deserve the blame for it. But that doesn’t change our situation.”

Jesper threw his hands up and walked to the other side of the roof, refusing to look at either of them.

“What is our situation?” Nina asked Matthias. “What will they do now?” 

“The alarm was Yellow Protocol, a sector disturbance.”

 Jesper pushed at his temples. “I don’t remember what that means.”

“My guess is that they think someone’s attempting a prison break. That sector is already sealed off from the rest of the Ice Court, so they’ll authorise a search, probably try to figure out who’s missing from the cells.”

“They’ll find the people we knocked out in the women’s and men’s holding areas,” said Wylan.

“We need to get out of here. Forget Bo Yul-Bayur.” 

Matthias cut a dismissive hand through the air. “It’s too late. If the guards think there’s a prison break in progress, the checkpoints will be on high alert. They’re not going to let anyone just walk through.”

“We could still try,” said Jesper. “We get Inej’s feet patched up—”

She flexed them, then stood, testing her bare soles on the gravel. “They feel all right. My calluses are gone, though.”

“I’ll give you an address where you can mail your complaints,” Nina said with a wink.

“Okay, the Wraith is ambulatory,” Jesper said, rubbing a sleeve over his damp face. The rain had faded away to a light mist. “We find a cosy room to bash some partygoers on the head and waltz out of this place decked in their finest.”

“Past the embassy gate and two checkpoints?” Matthias said skeptically.

“They don’t know anyone escaped the prison sector. They saw Nina and Kaz, so they know people are out of their cells, but the guards at the checkpoints are going to be looking for hoodlums in prison clothes, not sweet-smelling diplos in fancy dress. We have to do this before they get wise to the fact that six people are on the loose in the outer circle.”

Aryn considered, “But they’ll still be on high alert. A single thing out of place and we’ll be done for.”

“Forget it,” said Nina. “I came here to find Bo Yul-Bayur, and I’m not leaving without him.”

“What’s the point?” said Wylan. “Even if you manage to get to the White Island and find Yul-Bayur, we’ll have no way out. Jesper’s right: We should go now while we still have a chance.”

Nina folded her arms. “If I have to cross to the White Island alone, I will.” 

“Uhhh, that may not be an option,” said Aryn. “Look.”

They gathered around the base of the glass dome. The rotunda below was a mass of people, drinking, laughing, greeting each other, a kind of raucous party before the celebrations on the White Island.

As they watched, a group of new guards pushed into the room, trying to form the crowd into lines.

“They’re adding another checkpoint,” Matthias said. “They’re going to review everyone’s identification again before they allow people access to the glass bridge.”

“Because of Yellow Protocol?” asked Jesper.

“Probably. A precaution.”

It was like seeing the last bit of their luck drain from a glass.

“Then that decides it,” said Jesper. “We cut our losses and try to get out now.”

“I know a way,” Inej said quietly. They all turned to look at her. The yellow light from the dome pooled in her dark eyes. “We can get through that checkpoint and onto the White Island.” She pointed below to where two groups of people had entered the rotunda from the gatehouse courtyard and were shaking the mist from their clothes. The girls from the House of the Blue Iris were easily identified by the colour of their gowns and the flowers displayed in their hair and at their necklines. And no one could mistake the men of the Anvil – extensive tattoos on proud display, arms bare despite the chilly weather. “The West Stave delegations have started to arrive. We can get in.”

“Inej—” said Kaz.

“Nina, Aryn, and I can get inside,” she continued. Her back was straight, her tone steady. She looked like someone facing the firing squad and saying damn the blindfolds. “We enter with the Menagerie.”

Chapter Text

Kaz was watching Inej intently, his bitter coffee eyes glittering in the light from the dome.

“You know those costumes,” Inej said. “Heavy cloaks, hoods. That’s all the Fjerdans will see. A Ravkan fox. A Kaelish mare.” She swallowed and struggled to say the next words. “A Suli lynx.”

“It’s a risk,” said Kaz. “What job isn’t?”

“Kaz, how are you and Matthias going to get through?” asked Nina. “We might need you for locks, and if things go bad on the island, I don’t want to be stranded. I doubt you can pass yourselves off as members of the Menagerie. 

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Kaz. “Helvar’s been holding out on us.”

“Have you?” asked Inej.

“Of course he has,” said Aryn.

“It’s not—” Matthias dragged a hand over his cropped hair. “How do you know these things, demjin?” he growled at Kaz.

“Logic. The whole Ice Court is a masterpiece of fail-safes and doubled systems. That glass bridge is impressive, but in an emergency, there would have to be another way to get reinforcements to the White Island and get the royal family out.”

“Yes,” said Matthias in exasperation. “There’s another way to the White Island. But it’s messy.” He glanced at Nina. “And it certainly can’t be done in a gown.”

“Hold on,” Jesper interrupted. “Who cares if you can all get onto the White Island? Let’s say Nina sparkles Yul-Bayur ’s location out of some Fjerdan higher-up, and you get him back here. We’ll be trapped. By then, the prison guards will have completed their search and are going to know six inmates got out of the sector somehow. Any chance we have of making it through the embassy gates and the checkpoints will be gone.”

Kaz peered past the dome to the embassy’s open courtyard and the ringwall gatehouse beyond.

“Wylan, how hard would it be to disable one of these gates?” 

“To get it open?”

“No, to keep it closed.”

“You mean break it?” Wylan shrugged. “I don’t think it would be too difficult. I couldn’t see the mechanism when we entered the prison gate, but from the layout, I’m guessing it’s pretty standard.”

“Pulleys, cogs, some really big screws?” 

“Well, yes, and a sizeable winch. The cables wrap around it like a big spool, and the guards just turn it with some kind of handle or wheel.”

“I know how a winch works. Can you take one apart?”

“I think so, but it’s the alarm system the cables are attached to that’s complicated. I doubt I could do it without triggering Black Protocol.”

“Good,” said Kaz. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Jesper held up a hand. “I’m sorry, isn’t Black Protocol the thing we want to avoid at all costs?”

“I do seem to remember something about certain doom,” added Aryn.

“Not if we use it against them. Tonight, most of the Court’s security is concentrated on the White Island and right here at the embassy. When Black Protocol sounds, the glass bridge will shut down, trapping all those guards on the island along with the guests.”

“But what about Matthias’ route off the island?” asked Nina.

“They can’t move a major force that way,” Matthias conceded. “At least not quickly.”

Kaz gazed out at the White Island, head tilted, eyes slightly unfocused. 

“Scheming face,” murmured Aryn.

Jesper nodded. “Definitely.”

Inej was going to miss that look.

“Three gates in the ringwall,” Kaz said. “The prison gate is already locked up tight because of Yellow Protocol. The embassy gate is a bottleneck crammed with guests – the Fjerdans aren’t going to get troops through there. Jesper, that just leaves the gate in the drüskelle sector for you and Wylan to handle. You use it to engage Black Protocol, then wreck it. Break it badly enough that any guards who manage to mobilise can’t get out to follow us.”

“I’m all for locking the Fjerdans in their own ‘fortress’,” said Jesper. “Truly. But how do we get out? Once we trigger Black Protocol, you guys will be trapped on that island, and we’ll be trapped in the outer circle. We have no weapons and no demo materials.”

Kaz’s grin was sharp as a razor. “Thank goodness we’re proper thieves. We’re going to do a little shopping – and it’s all going on Fjerda’s tab. Inej,” he said, “let’s start with something shiny.”

Beside the big glass dome, Kaz laid out the details of what he had in mind. If the old plan had been daring, it had at least been built on stealth. The new plan was audacious, maybe even mad. They wouldn’t just be announcing their presence to the Fjerdans, they’d be trumpeting it. Again, the crew would be separated, and again, they would time their movements to the chiming of the Elderclock, but now there would be even less room for error.

Aryn had always thought Kaz Brekker was a genius, albeit crazy, reckless, and a borderline sociopath, but never insane. Now she wasn’t so sure. She didn’t think any sane person could even think about attempting a plan like this.

While Kaz explained, and Jesper used the laundry shears to portion out pieces of rope, Wylan helped Aryn, Inej, and Nina prepare. To pass as members of the Menagerie, they would need tattoos. They started with Nina. Using one of Kaz’s lockpicks and copper pyrite Jesper had extracted from the roof, Wylan traced his best imitation of the Menagerie feather on Nina’s arm, following Inej’s description and making corrections as needed. Then Nina sank the ink into her own flesh– a Corporalnik didn’t need a tattoo needle– while Wylan started on Aryn. Nina sank the tattoo into Aryn’s arm, and then did her best to smooth the scars on Inej’s forearm. The work wasn’t perfect, but they were short on time, and Nina’s calling wasn’t as a tailor. Wylan sketched a third peacock feather over Inej’s skin.

Nina paused, “You’re sure?” 

Inej took a deep breath. “It’s warpaint,” she said. Aryn could practically see her trying to convince herself of it. “It’s my mark to take.”

“It’s also temporary,” Nina promised. “I’ll remove it as soon as we’re in the harbour.”

The harbour. Where they would find the Ferolind. And Corrin.

Aryn didn’t want to think about how the memory of him had been the only thing that could control her panic. She didn’t dare to read into it, to think about what that might mean. She shoved those thoughts out of her head.

The finished tattoos wouldn’t bear up under any kind of close scrutiny, but hopefully they would do.

Finally, they stood. Inej had predicted that the Menagerie would arrive late, but they still needed to be in position and ready to move when the time came.

And yet, they hesitated. The knowledge that they might never see each other again, that some of them – maybe all of them – might not survive this night hung heavy in the air.

A convict, a wayward son, a lost Grisha, a gambler, a Wraith, a boy from the country who had become a killer, a princess without crown or country, who’d made her own name for herself.

And there they all stood, barefoot and shivering in their soot-stained prison uniforms, their features limned by the golden light of the dome, softened by the mist that hung in the air.

What bound them together? Greed? Desperation? Was it just the knowledge that if one or all of them disappeared tonight, no one would come looking? Her parents wouldn’t care; they never had. Vasily and her birth mother were long dead. Nikolai...once upon a time, she had thought he cared about her, but now? If anything, he would mourn the sister he’d lost. But there was no one to mourn the fighter, the survivor she’d become. Linnea, Corrin, they knew the girl she’d become, but who was to say they’d shed any more tears over her than they had over Big Bolliger, or any other Dreg who’d died living their dangerous life? She had no family, no parents or siblings, only people to fight beside. Maybe that was something to be grateful for, too.

It was Jesper who spoke first. “No mourners,” he said with a grin.

“No funerals,” they replied in unison. Even Matthias muttered the words softly.

“If any of you survive, make sure I have an open casket,” Jesper said as he hefted two slender coils of rope over his shoulder and signalled for Wylan to follow him across the roof. “The world deserves a few more moments with this face.”

Aryn was only slightly surprised to see the intensity of the look that passed between Matthias and Nina. Something had changed between them after the battle with the Shu, but Aryn couldn’t be sure what.

Matthias cleared his throat and gave Nina an awkward little bow. “A word?” he asked.

Nina returned the bow with considerably more panache, and let him lead her away. Aryn glanced at Kaz and Inej, who seemed like they also wanted a moment alone, and took that as her cue to stride out of earshot to the edge of the roof. 

Third wheeling was bad enough, but seventh wheeling was even worse, especially during a job. Was seventh wheeling even a thing? She was sure that that’s what this was, though. 

Nina and Matthias clearly had a romantic history, and the tension between them could have melted the whole Ice Court. Jesper’s teasing of Wylan was clearly just badly disguised flirting, even if he was too dumb to see it himself. And Kaz and Inej had been hopelessly in love with each other for ages. Aryn had considered saying something to Kaz, but she figured that was a good way to get a knife between the eyes.

All in all, Aryn wanted to vomit off the side of the embassy. These lovesick idiots needed to focus.

Chapter Text

Aryn, Inej, and Nina crouched at the edge of the dome to await the arrival of the Menagerie. The dome was wide and shallow, all silver filigree and glass.

Aryn saw there was a mosaic on the floor of the vast rotunda below. It appeared in brief flashes between partygoers– two wolves chasing each other, destined to move in circles for as long as the Ice Court stood.

The guests entering through the grand archway were being shepherded into rooms off the rotunda in small groups to be searched for weapons. She saw guards emerge with little piles of brooches, porcupine quills, even sashes that she assumed must contain metal or wire.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” said Nina to Inej. “You don’t have to put those silks on again.”

“I’ve done worse.”

“We know,” said Aryn. “You scaled six storeys of hell for us.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Nina paused. “We know that, too.” She hesitated, then said, “Is the haul so important to you?” 

Aryn was surprised to hear what sounded like guilt in Nina’s voice.

The Elderclock began to chime nine bells. Inej looked down at the wolves chasing each other around the rotunda floor. “I’m not sure why I began this,” she admitted. “But I know why I have to finish. I know why fate brought me here, why it placed me in the path of this prize.”

She was being vague, intentionally, Aryn assumed. She would tell them when she was ready, and Aryn wouldn’t push her.

“They’re here,” Nina said.

The girls of the Menagerie entered through the rotunda doors in a wedge formation, their gowns glittering in the candlelight, the hoods of their capes shadowing their faces. Each hood was fashioned to represent an animal – a Zemeni fawn with soft ears and delicate white spots, a Kaelish mare with an auburn topknot, a Shu serpent with beaded red scales, a Ravkan fox, a leopard from the Southern Colonies, a raven, an ermine, and the Suli lynx. The tall blonde girl who played the role of the Fjerdan wolf in silvery furs was notably absent.

They were met by uniformed female guards.

“I don’t see her,” said Aryn.

“Just wait. The Peacock will enter last.”

And sure enough, there she was: Heleen Van Houden, shimmering in teal satin, an elaborate ruff of peacock feathers framing her golden head.

“Subtle,” said Nina.

“Subtle doesn’t sell in the Barrel.”

Inej gave a high, trilling whistle. Jesper’s whistle came back from somewhere in the distance. 

Nina squinted down through the glass. “How does she keep from collapsing under the weight of those diamonds? They can’t possibly be real.”

“Oh, they’re real,” said Inej, bitterly, and Aryn could guess why. Those jewels had been purchased with the sweat and blood and sorrow of girls like her.

The guards divided the members of the Menagerie into three groups, while Heleen was escorted separately. The Peacock would never be expected to turn out her clothes and lift her skirts in front of her girls.

“Them,” Inej said, pointing to the group that included the Suli lynx, Kaelish mare, and Ravkan fox. They were heading to the doors on the left of the rotunda.

As Aryn tracked the group with her eyes, Inej moved over the roof, following their trajectory.

“Which door?” she called.

“Third on the right,” Aryn called. 

Inej moved to the nearest air duct and lifted the grate. She slid inside. Aryn followed her down into the ventilation duct, crouching and moving along the narrow shaft between rooms. Behind her, she heard a grunt and then a loud whump as Nina hit the bottom of the shaft like a sack of laundry. 

Aryn winced.

Hopefully, the noises of the crowd below would lend them cover. Or maybe the Ice Court had really big rats. They crawled along, peering in vents as they went. Finally, they were looking down into some kind of small meeting room that had been commandeered for the purpose of guards searching guests.

The Exotics had removed their capes and laid them on the long oval table. One of the blonde guards was patting the girls down, feeling along the seams and hems of their costumes, and even poking fingers into their hair, while the other guard kept watch with her hand resting on her rifle. She looked ill at ease with the gun and clearly lacked combat training. Aryn knew Fjerdans didn’t let women serve in the army in a combat capacity. Maybe the female guards had been conscripted from some other unit.

Aryn, Inej, and Nina waited until the guards had finished searching the girls, their capes, and their little beaded purses.

“Ven tidder,” one of the guards said as they exited the room to let the Menagerie girls set themselves to rights.

“Five minutes,” translated Nina in a whisper.

“Go,” said Inej.

“I need both of you to move.”

“Why?” asked Aryn.

“Because I need a clear line of sight, and right now all I can see is your ass.”

Inej wiggled forward so Aryn could move and give Nina a better view through the vent. A moment later, she heard four soft thuds as the Menagerie girls collapsed on the dark blue carpet.

Quickly, Inej wrenched the grate loose and dropped onto the shiny surface of the table. Aryn dropped just as gracefully, landing in a crouch. Nina tumbled down after her, landing in a heap.

“Sorry,” she moaned as she dragged herself upright.

Inej stifled a laugh. “You’re very graceful in battle, just not when you’re plummeting.”

“Missed that day in school.”

They stripped the Suli, Ravkan, and Kaelish girls down to their underclothes, then bound all the girls’ wrists and ankles with cords from the curtains and gagged them with torn pieces of their prison clothes.

“Clock is ticking,” said Aryn.

Aryn's skin was too dark to pass as Kaelish; it was barely light enough to pass as Ravkan, so Nina would be the Kaelish.

“Sorry,” Nina whispered to the Kaelish girl. Aryn knew that ordinarily Nina would have used pigments to alter her own hair colour, but there simply wasn’t time. Nina bled the girl’s bright red colour directly from the strands of her hair into Nina’s own, leaving the poor Kaelish with a mop of white waves that looked vaguely rusty in places, and Nina with hair that wasn’t quite Kaelish red.

Nina’s eyes were green and not blue, but that kind of tailoring couldn’t be rushed, so they’d have to do. She took white powder from the girl’s beaded bag and did her best to pale her skin. As Nina worked, Aryn and Inej dragged the other girls into a tall silverwood cabinet on the far wall, making sure there would be room for the Kaelish.

A rap came at the door, and a voice spoke in Fjerdan.

“They need the room for the next girls,” Nina whispered.

They shoved the Kaelish into the cupboard and managed to get the doors closed and locked, then yanked on their costumes. 

None of the costumes fit properly. Inej’s purple silks were far too loose. Aryn was considerably taller than the Ravkan girl, and her muscular shoulders were much broader. The deep neckline showed far too much for her liking, cutting between her breasts all the way down to her stomach, and the shoulders of the gown felt like they were going to rip. Hopefully, the cape would cover it if it did.

As for Nina …

“What the hell is this supposed to be?” she said, looking down at herself. The plunging gown barely covered her substantial cleavage and clung tightly to her buttocks. It had been wrought to look like blue-green scales, giving way to a shimmering chiffon fan.

“Maybe a mermaid?” suggested Inej. 

“Or a wave?” guessed Aryn.

“I thought I was a horse.”

“Well, they weren’t going to put you in a dress of hooves.”

Nina smoothed her hands over the ridiculous costume. “I’m about to be very popular.”

“I wonder what Matthias would have to say about that outfit,” said Aryn with a smirk.

“He wouldn’t approve.”

Inej said, “He doesn’t approve of anything about you. But when you laugh, he perks up like a tulip in fresh water.”

Nina snorted. “Matthias the tulip.”

“The big, brooding, yellow tulip.”

“Are you ready?” Nina asked Inej as they all pulled their hoods far down over their faces.

“Yes,” Inej said, and this time she sounded like she meant it. “We’ll need a distraction. They’re going to notice four girls went in and only three are coming out.”

“Leave it to me. And watch your hems.”

As soon as they opened the door to the hallway, the guards were waving them over impatiently. Beneath her cape, Nina flicked her fingers hard. One of the guards bleated as her nose began to gush blood down the front of her uniform in absurdly forceful gouts. The other guard recoiled, but in the next instant, she clutched her stomach. Nina was twisting her wrist in a roiling motion, sending waves of nausea through the woman’s system.

“Your hem,” Nina repeated calmly.

Aryn barely had time to gather up her cape before the guard bent double and heaved her dinner over the tiled floor. The guests in the hallway shrieked and shoved at each other, trying to get away from the mess. Aryn, Nina, and Inej sailed by, emitting appropriate squeals of disgust.

“The nosebleed probably would have done the trick,” whispered Inej.

“Best to be thorough.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you liked making Fjerdans suffer.”

They kept their heads down and entered the swell of people filling the rotunda, ignoring the Zemeni fawn who tried to direct them to the other side of the room. It was essential that they not get too close to any of the real Menagerie girls. Aryn only wished the cloaks weren’t so easy to track through a crowd.

“This one,” Inej said, steering them into a line far from the other members of the Menagerie. It seemed to be moving a bit faster. But when they reached the front of the line, Aryn thought she’d chosen poorly. This guard seemed even more stern-faced and humourless than the others. He held his hand out for Nina’s papers and scrutinised them with cold blue eyes.

“This description says you have freckles,” he said in Kerch.

“I do,” said Nina smoothly. “They’re just not visible right now. Want to see?”

“No,” the Fjerdan said icily. “You’re taller than described here.”

“Boots,” Nina said. “I like to be able to look a man in the eye. You have very pretty eyes.”

He looked at the paper, then took in her ensemble. “You’re heavier than it says on this paper, I’ll wager.”

She shrugged artfully, the scales of her neckline slipping lower. “I like to eat when I’m in the mood,” she said, puckering her lips shamelessly. “And I’m always in the mood.”

Aryn forced herself to breathe through her nose. Even Inej appeared to be struggling to keep a straight face. If Nina resorted to eyelash batting, she knew she would lose the fight and burst out laughing. But the Fjerdan seemed to be eating it up. Maybe Nina had a stupefying effect on all stalwart northerners.

“Move along,” he said gruffly. Then added, “I … I may be at the party later.”

Aryn held back a snort of laughter.

Nina ran a finger down his arm. “I’ll save you a dance.”

He grinned like a fool, then cleared his throat, and his stern expression fell back into place. He glanced cursorily at Aryn’s papers and waved her past, his mind still clearly on the prospect of unwrapping Nina’s layers of blue-green chiffon. He checked Inej’s next and waved her past as well, but as Inej stepped forward, she stumbled.

“Wait,” said the guard.

She stopped. Aryn looked back over her shoulder.

“What’s wrong with your shoes?”

“Just a bit big,” said Inej. “They stretched more than expected.”

“Show me your arms,” the guard said.

“Why?”

“Just do it,” the guard said harshly.

Inej pulled her arms free of the cloak and held them out, displaying the lumpy peacock feather tattoo.

A guard in captain’s stripes wandered over. “What is it?”

“She’s Suli, for sure, and she has the Menagerie tattoo, but it doesn’t look quite right.”

Inej shrugged. “I got a bad burn as a child.”

The captain gestured to a group of annoyed-looking partygoers gathered near the entry and surrounded by guards. “Anyone suspicious goes over there. Put her with them, and we’ll take her back to the checkpoint to have her papers reviewed.”

“I’ll miss the party,” said Inej. 

The guard ignored her, seizing her arm and pulling her back towards the entry as the other people in line stared and whispered. 

She looked nervous, but there was nothing Aryn could say to reassure her. Their gazes met, and she gave Inej the briefest nod. Go, she thought silently. It’s up to you now

Chapter Text

Nina entered the ballroom, in that truly scandalous gown of blue chiffon, Aryn close behind her, trying not to fidget. Her eyes, sweeping the ballroom, caught on Kaz and Matthias in druskelle uniforms, hiding in the shadows beneath the stairs. So Matthias’s secret way onto the White Island had worked.

Nina headed for the sweeping staircase, a vantage point for her to find a target she could charm Yul-Bayur’s location out of.

Aryn was about to follow her when she caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she saw a man watching her. 

At first, she thought it was because of the dress, but then, with a thrill of fear, she realised who he was.

Birgin Hilbrand, a member of the Fjerdan nobility and Fjerda’s diplomat to Ravka. Ariana had met him countless times at state dinners, events, diplomacy meetings, and balls thrown by her mother. Hilbrand was studying her intently, looking past the Menagerie costume. She saw his eyes widen in recognition, and he grabbed the arm of a druskelle beside him, pointing at her.

Shit, shit, shit. Of all the people, at all the times, why did it have to be him, right in the middle of a job?

The druskelle nudged his comrades, and they started heading her way. Fuck. Frantically, Aryn’s eyes searched the ballroom. Her gaze met Kaz’s, and she jerked her head at the two men stalking towards her. His eyes widened as he realised she’d been recognized. He glanced from Matthias to Nina, and back to her. He shook his head and mouthed the word ‘Run’. 

That was all it took. She darted through the crowd, careful to appear casual.

A man grabbed her waist. “Hey, lovely–” but she pulled herself out of his grip and ran out the doors on the opposite side of the ballroom. 

Aryn found herself in a corridor of the palace lined with pillars, and she dashed down it, with no clue where she was going. A shout behind her told her she’d been spotted. 

A gunshot. 

She ducked on instinct, and the bullet flew through the space where her head had been. This needed to be dealt with quickly, before they raised the alarm. She dived behind a pillar just as the men opened fire. Bullets pinged off the walls, the floor, the marble columns. Then they stopped. 

Aryn waited, body tense. 

Footsteps, coming closer. 

Wait for it. 

Closer, closer. 

She dropped low and swung out with her leg, knocking over one of the druskelle. He toppled with a shout, and as he fell, she stood, pulling his gun from his hands and striking him across the face. The other druskelle fired his gun at her, but she leaned to the side just in time and shot him in the head before he could react.

She stood for a second, breathing hard, adrenaline coursing through her body. Then the reality of her situation struck her. She was alone on the White Island, her cover was blown, Kaz had no clue where she was, she had no clue where Kaz was, and if Matthias betrayed them all because she hadn’t been watching him, they were all dead. 

It struck her suddenly that if Bo Yul-Bayur had given them the formula, or if he’d made any parem at all, they wouldn’t keep it in the same place they were keeping him. It was basic military strategy; never keep two parts of an asset in the same place because if you lose one, you’ll lose both.

So where would they keep it? But they wouldn’t keep it anywhere, Jarl Brum’s replacement would. Jarl Brum was a careful man, and most likely his replacement was the same way. He would keep it as close to himself as possible. She’d only met Jarl Brum once, during a diplomatic meet in Fjerdan, which had been held in...the druskelle commander's office.

And then she knew, she knew where the formula, or whatever parem they had, was. 

It would mean going into even deeper danger, with only a faint memory to guide her, but she could do it. It would also mean deviating from Kaz’s plan, and Kaz would probably kill her for it, but it was worth it for the prize it would grant. Doing this would make sure the Fjerdans could never use parem on another grisha, and more importantly, could never use it against Ravka.

She almost laughed.

Miles away, in a different country, not having seen him in years, and she was still doing Nikolai favours.

Her mind made up, she set off down the corridor, then paused and ran back to hurriedly drag the bodies of the two druskelle behind a pillar. Both of their rifles were empty, so she grabbed a knife from one. 

She quickly made her way to where Matthias had said the secret path was and across the moat to the druskelle sector. The water was paralyzingly cold, and it weighed down the hem of her dress, the cloak long abandoned. She prayed no one would notice her, and luck seemed to be on her side, because she didn’t encounter a single guard or soldier. She scaled the rope and made her way onto the roof of the druskelle sector. 

Crossing the roof, she peered down into the gatehouse courtyard. A rope hung down from the roof into the courtyard. It appeared empty, no guards and no sign of Jesper and Wylan. Best-case scenario, they’d taken out the guards and were inside the guardhouse, disabling the gate. Worst-case scenario, they’d been caught and dragged off. Either way, she had to move quickly. 

She paused.

This was her last chance to rethink; after this, there was no turning back. 

There were a million things that could go wrong. She might get lost or caught. The formula might not be there. She might not make it back in time. The others might die because she wasn’t there to save them. Kaz might kill her for running off without his say-so. Who was she kidding? This one choice might mess up everything. 

But it was worth it. For the grisha, she might save. For the lives she might save. And, though she hated to admit it, if Birgin had recognized her as alive, then it wouldn’t be long before the Ravkans– and by extension, Nikolai– would find out. The formula for parem might prove a valuable bargaining chip if she were ever ordered back to Ravka. 

Deep down, she didn’t want to go home– she didn’t want to go back to Ravka, because it wasn’t home anymore. Home wasn’t the splendour of the Grand Palace; it never had been. Home was the dark streets and twisting alleyways of Ketterdam, and the salt spray and ocean waves of the True Sea. Home was arguing with Kaz over their latest job. Home was Inej’s smile and Jesper’s laugh. Home was Corrin’s voice, his arm around her shoulders.

Aryn held the knife between her teeth, seized the rope, and rappelled down into the courtyard. 

The door directly to her left was locked, but she pulled a set of lockpicks from her pocket.

Where’s Kaz when you need him? She thought as she fumbled with the lock. Finally, it gave way, and the door opened. She darted inside and hurriedly shut the door behind her. 

She found herself in an enormous, high-ceilinged room lined with tables; probably a mess hall. Far above was a large skylight, which illuminated the room. She paused for a moment, considering. It had been so long since she'd been here.

Praying she knew where she was going, she dashed up the stairs. She started down the dim hallway at the top, then stopped. She didn’t know which room was Brum’s office. Well, I guess I'll have to try all of them. She sighed to herself. This is why Kaz makes the plans.

The first door revealed a closet, the second an empty cell, and the third was locked.

Aryn smiled to herself. This had to be it.

Her satisfaction wavered slightly as she fiddled with the lock again, but finally she threw the door open.

Chapter Text

She’d succeeded, partly. Now all she had to do was get out, which was why she was running, sprinting across the moat back to the White Island. She had to get to Matthias’s stupid sacred ash tree before Kaz assumed she was dead and left without her. If Kaz was still alive.

Suddenly, a boom erupted a few buildings away.

The Treasury exploded. 

Still alive then. Or at least someone was.

The sacred ash came into view– Aryn jolted to a stop at the sight of Nina, Matthias, and, who she assumed was Bo Yul-Bayur, surrounded by druskelle, cables wrapped around them. She snuck closer, slowly, silently, knife in hand, until she was concealed behind the ash tree.

“Do you recognise this, Helvar?” asked the druskelle who looked to be the leader. “You should. You helped with its design. Retractable cables for controlling multiple captives. And the barbs, of course.”

He flicked his finger over one of the cables, and Nina gasped. The drüskelle laughed.

“Leave her be, Lars,” Matthias growled in Fjerdan, the words bristling with rage. For the briefest second, Aryn saw a flash of panic in his former compatriots. Then Lars gave another cable a hard flick. The barbs released, and Matthias let out a pained huff of breath, doubling at the waist, human once more.

The snickering that followed was furtive and cruel.

Lars gave the whip a sharp snap, and the cables contracted, forcing Nina, Matthias, and Bo Yul-Bayur to totter after him in an awkward parade.

“Do you still pray to our god, Helvar?” Lars asked as they passed the tree where she was hiding. “Do you think Djel hears the mewling of men who give themselves over to the defilement of Grisha? Do you think—”

Aryn took that as her cue to drive the knife into his back, eliciting a sharp, animal yelp. He opened his mouth, and blood gushed over his chin and onto the bright silver buttons of his uniform. His hand released the whip, and he fell to the ground. The hooded drüskelle beside him lunged forwards to snatch it up.

The other drüskelle released cries of alarm and pointed their guns. But they were distracted by a loud sound.

A sharp pop pop pop came from the base of the sacred tree. Aryn recognised that sound – she’d heard it on the northern road before they waylaid the prison wagon. When they’d brought the tree down. The ash creaked and moaned. Its ancient roots began to curl.

“Nej!” cried one of the drüskelle.

They stood open-mouthed, forgetting about Aryn entirely, gaping at the stricken tree. “Nej!” another voice wailed.

The ash began to tilt. It was too large to be felled by salt concentrate alone, but as it tipped, a dull roar emerged from the gaping black hole beneath it.

This was where the drüskelle came to hear the voice of their god. And now he was speaking.

“This is going to sting a bit,” said the drüskelle holding the whip. His voice was rasping, familiar. His hands were gloved. “But if we live, you’ll thank me later.”

His hood slid off, and Kaz Brekker looked back at them.

The stunned drüskelle lifted their rifles at the two intruders.

Aryn turned toward the black mouth beneath the roots of the tree and, without hesitation, dove straight into it.

She heard screaming as the others fell behind her. She bit down on the baleen, felt it expand in her mouth, and then she hit the water.

The current rushed around her, so cold it felt like it was freezing her brain. The force of it was astonishing, throwing her over, around, flipping her upside-down. She could barely think. All she could do was close her eyes and try not to panic. 

Breathe. She knew Kaz had done the numbers, and it was a close thing. With as much concentration as she could muster, she prayed to every Saint she knew to get them out of this. Aryn didn’t know how long they had been underwater; all sense of time was gone. But she didn’t really start to panic until the baleen dissolved. She held her breath, praying that they were nearly there.

They emerged from the darkness, soaked, bruised, and gasping in the bright light of the moon. They were in a steep gorge, through the middle of which flowed the river into which the Ice Moat emptied. With her last bit of strength, Aryn hauled herself out of the river and onto the narrow spit of land beside it. 

A surge of dread hit her, and she reached into what was left of her gown. Thankfully, the metal box. Opening it, she sighed with relief. The small pouch inside was relatively dry. She closed the box and slipped it back into the pocket of the gown.

She glanced around to make sure the others had all made it. Nina was dragging herself to her feet. Her dress, like Aryn’s, was in tatters, and she stood coughing and half-naked several feet to Aryn’s right. At the edge of the water, Matthias was dragging the small Shu boy, who was supposedly Bol Yul-Bayur, out of the shallows. But they both seemed in decently good shape, all things considered. But where was Kaz?

She spotted him being dragged down the river by the current. His body was limp, and he was floating, facedown, in the water. 

A bolt of fear shot through her, and without a moment's hesitation, she dived back into the river. The shock of the cold was nearly paralysing, and her whole body was screaming in pain, but she ignored it and swam as fast as she could toward Kaz.

She reached him and pulled him out of the water, nearly drowning herself in the process. His face was alarmingly pale, his eyes closed. She couldn’t tell whether he was breathing or not. She dragged him out of the river and set him on the ground. 

“Nina!” Aryn was nearly hysterical out of fear, “Nina, help!”

Nina ran to her side, Matthias and the Shu boy behind her. “Does he have a pulse?”

Aryn pressed two shaking fingers to Kaz’s throat. She was no stranger to death. She’d had to watch countless other people die. And in the Barrel, they gambled with their lives every single day. But she had never considered the thought of one of them dying, Kaz least of all. If Kaz died— no. She didn’t want to think about it. “It’s there, but it’s fading. 

Nina placed her hands on Kaz’s chest. 

Come on, Kaz. 

“Will he live?” asked the Shu boy.

He has to. Come on, you rotten Barrel thug. You’ve fought your way out of tougher scrapes.

Then Kaz coughed, chest spasming. 

Aryn exhaled in relief. Kaz was alive. She hadn’t realised how scared she was until the fear was gone.

He shoved Nina off of him. “Get away from me,” he gasped, wiping his gloved hand over his mouth. Kaz’s eyes were unfocused. He seemed to be staring right through her. “Don’t touch me.”

“You’re in shock, demjin,” Matthias said. “You almost drowned. You should have drowned.”

Kaz coughed again, and his entire body shuddered. “Drowned,” he repeated.

Aryn nodded slowly, like she was talking to a child. “Ice Court, remember? Impossible heist? Near death? Three million kruge waiting for you in Ketterdam?” 

Kaz blinked, and his eyes cleared. “Four million.” 

“I thought that one might bring you around.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face, wet coughs still rattling his chest. “We made it,” he said in wonder. “Djel performs miracles.”

“You don’t deserve miracles,” said Matthias with a scowl. “You desecrated the sacred ash.”

Kaz pushed to his feet, staggered slightly, drew in another shaky breath. “It’s a symbol, Helvar. If your god is so delicate, maybe you should get a new one.” 

Then he rounded on Aryn. “Where the hell were you?”

“I-”

‘There’s no way it took you that long to deal with those guards. So, where the hell did you go?”

She grimaced. There was no lying to Kaz, but he wasn’t going to take this well. “I went back to the druskelle sector and broke into Jarl Brum’s old office.”

“You did what?” said Matthias.

“All Saints, why?” asked Nina.

“Say that again.” Kaz’s voice was quiet, laced with anger.

Well, screw it. She lifted her chin. “You heard me. I broke into Jarl Brum’s office, stole what little parem they had, and still got back in time to save all your asses. I’m not seeing the problem.”

“The problem is you deviated from the plan,” snarled Kaz. 

“I had to–”

He cut her off, “The target was Bo Yul-Bayur, not their supply of parem. You risked the whole job for–”

“For the chance to save millions of lives,” Aryn snapped. “The Fjerdans could have used the parem to recreate the formula. They would have used it to weaponize grisha against Ravka. As inventive as Nikolai is, against grisha on parem, the First and Second armies wouldn't stand a chance.”

Kaz stepped closer, his shark-like glare locked on her. “I told you to cut the patriotic bullshit if you wanted to stay a Dreg. I don’t give a shit how many people it will save, you don’t want to follow my orders, you can go back to Ravka,” he spat.

Aryn had never noticed just how punchable Kaz’s face was. “Are you fucking serious, Kaz? I ignore your orders one time, and suddenly I’m out? Just like that?”

“Ye–”

“As much as I would love to see how this plays out, and which of you ends up dead,” interrupted Nina. “This job isn’t exactly over yet. So can we save this fight for when we’re all on board the Ferolind and I can place bets on it with Jesper.”

“Fine,” growled Kaz.

Nina threw up her hands. “And you’re welcome, by the way, for saving your life, you ungrateful wretch.”

“I’ll thank you when we’re aboard the Ferolind. Move.” He was already dragging himself up the boulders that lined the far side of the gorge. “You can explain why our illustrious Shu scientist looks like one of Wylan’s school pals along the way.”

“He’s a friend?” asked the boy in skeptical Shu.

“On occasion,” replied Nina.

Matthias helped her to her feet, and they all followed after Kaz, making slow progress up the rocky walls of the gorge that would lead them to the other end of the bridge above, and a bit closer to Djerholm. Aryn was exhausted, but she couldn’t let herself rest. Thankfully, she was used to exhaustion. That was how you survived the Barrel: you could never stop.

And besides, they had the prize. They’d gotten further than any crew. They’d blown up a building at the heart of the Ice Court. But they’d never make it to the harbour without Inej and the others.

She kept moving. A rumbling began from somewhere in the direction of the Ice Court.

“Oh, Saints, please let that be Jesper,” Nina pleaded as they pulled themselves over the lip of the gorge and looked back at the bridge festooned with ribbons and ash boughs for Hringkälla.

“Whatever is coming, it’s big,” said Matthias.

“What do we do, Kaz?” asked Aryn, momentarily forgetting how much she wanted to hit him.

“Wait,” he said as the sound grew louder.

“How about ‘take cover ’?” Nina asked, bouncing nervously from foot to foot. “‘Have heart’? ‘I stashed twenty rifles in this convenient shrubbery’? Give us something.”

“How about a few million kruge?” said Kaz.

A tank rumbled over the hill, dust and gravel spewing from its treads. Someone was waving to them from its gun turret – no, two someones. Inej and Wylan were yelling and gesturing wildly from behind the dome.

Nina let out a victorious whoop as Matthias stared in disbelief. 

Aryn just laughed. When she turned to look at Kaz, she couldn’t quite believe her eyes. “Saints, Kaz, you actually look happy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. But there was no mistaking it. Kaz Brekker was grinning like an idiot. 

Maybe it was because the heist had succeeded. Maybe it was because they were all going to make it out alive. And maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with the tiny, Suli girl leaning out of the top of the tank. Aryn shook her head.

“I’m assuming we know them?” asked the Shu boy.

But their elation dimmed as Fjerda’s answer to the problem of the Dregs rolled over the horizon. A column of tanks had crested the hill and was crashing down the moonlit road, dust rising in plumes from their treads. Maybe Jesper hadn’t gotten the drüskelle gate sealed. Or maybe they’d had tanks waiting on the grounds. Given the firepower contained behind the Ice Court’s walls, she supposed they should count themselves lucky. But it sure didn’t feel that way.

It wasn’t until Inej and Wylan were thundering over the trestles of the bridge that Aryn could make out what they were yelling: “Get out of the way!”

They leaped from the path as the tank roared past them, then came to a gear-grinding stop.

“We have a tank,” marvelled Nina. “Kaz, you creepy little genius, the plan worked. You got us a tank.”

“They got us a tank.”

“We have one,” Matthias said, then pointed at the horde of metal and smoke bearing down on them. “They have a lot more.”

“Yeah, but you know what they don’t have?” Kaz asked as Jesper rotated the tank’s giant gun. “A bridge.”

A metallic shriek went up from the armoured insides of the tank. Then a violent, bone-shaking boom sounded. Aryn heard a high whistling as something shot through the air past them and collided with the bridge. The first two trestles exploded into flame, sparks and timber plummeting into the gorge below. The big gun fired again. With a groan, the trestles collapsed completely.

If the Fjerdans wanted to cross the gorge, they were going to have to fly.

“We have a tank and a moat,” said Nina.

“Climb on!” crowed Wylan.

They boosted themselves onto the sides of the tank, clutching at any groove or lip in the metal for dear life, and then they were rolling down the road towards the harbour at top speed.

As they roared past the streetlamps, people emerged from their houses to see what was happening. Aryn tried to imagine what their wild crew must look like to these Fjerdans. What did they see as they poked their heads out of windows and doorways? A group of hooting kids clinging to a tank painted with the Fjerdan flag and charging along like some deranged float gone astray from its parade; a girl in purple silk and a boy with red-gold curls poking out from behind the guns; four soaked people holding tight to the sides for dear life – a Shu boy in prison clothes, two bedraggled drüskelle, a half-naked girl in shreds of teal chiffon shouting, “We have a moat!”, and another half-naked girl barely clothed in red-orange silk, laughing like a dying goat.

When they entered the town, Matthias called, “Wylan, tell Jesper to keep to the western streets.”

Wylan ducked down, and the tank veered west.

“It’s the warehouse district,” Matthias explained. “Deserted at night.”

The tank clattered and clanked over the cobblestones, swinging right and left over kerbs and back again to avoid the few pedestrians, then sped into the harbour district, past taverns and shops and shipping offices.

Kuwei tilted his head back, his face bright with joy. “I can smell the sea,” he said happily.

Aryn could smell it, too. The scent of home. The lighthouse gleamed in the distance. Two more blocks and they’d be at the quay and freedom. Thirty million kruge. With her share, she could bring Rollins down, and then...and then she could do whatever she wanted. Go back to Sturmhond’s crew, stay with the Dregs, or both if she wanted. She could do anything.

“Almost there!” cried Wylan.

They rounded a corner, and her stomach dropped. “Stop!” she shouted. “Stop!”

She needn’t have bothered. The tank jolted to a halt, nearly flinging Nina from her perch. The quay lay directly before them, and beyond it the harbour, the flags of a thousand ships snapping in the breeze. The hour was late. The quay should have been empty. Instead, it was crowded with troops, row after row of them in grey uniforms, two hundred soldiers at least – and every barrel of every gun was pointed directly at them.

Aryn could still hear the bells of the Elderclock. She looked over her shoulder. The Ice Court loomed over the harbour, perched on the cliff like a sullen gull with feathers ruffled, its white stone walls lit from below, glowing against the night sky.

“What is this?” Wylan asked Matthias. “You never said—”

“They must have changed the deployment procedure.”

“Everything else was the same.”

“I’ve never seen Black Protocol engaged,” Matthias growled. “Maybe they always had troops stationed in the harbour. I don’t know.”

“Be quiet,” Inej said. “Just stop.”

Aryn jumped as a voice echoed over the crowd. It spoke first in Fjerdan, then Ravkan, then Kerch, and finally Shu. “Release the prisoner Kuwei Yul-Bo. Put down your weapons and step away from the tank.”

“They can’t just open fire,” said Matthias. “They won’t risk hurting Kuwei.”

“They don’t have to,” said Nina. “Look.”

An emaciated prisoner was being led through the rows of soldiers. His hair was matted to his forehead. He wore a ragged red kefta and was clutching the sleeve of the guard closest to him, lips moving feverishly as if imparting some desperate wisdom. Aryn knew he was begging for parem.

“A Heartrender,” she said grimly.

Had they kept him down here with whatever troops were posted in lower Djerholm? Why not? He was a weapon better than any gun or tank.

“But he’s so far away,” protested Wylan.

Nina shook her head. “It won’t matter.” 

“I can see the Ferolind,” murmured Inej. She pointed down the docks, just a little way off. It took Aryn a moment, but then she picked out the Kerch flag and the cheery Haanraadt Bay pennant flying beneath it. They were so close.

Jesper could shoot the Heartrender. They could try barrelling through the troops with the tank, but they would never make it to the ship.

“Kaz?” called Jesper from inside the tank. “This would be a really good time to say you saw this coming.”

Kaz looked out over the sea of soldiers. “I didn’t see this coming.” He shook his head. “You told me one day I’d run out of tricks, Helvar. Looks like you were right.” The words were for Matthias, but his eyes were on Inej.

“I’ve had my fill of captivity,” she said. “They won’t take me alive.”

“Me neither,” said Wylan.

Jesper snorted from inside the tank. “We really need to get him more suitable friends.”

“Better to go out with fists swinging than let some Fjerdan put me on a pike,” said Kaz.

Matthias nodded. “Then we agreed. We end this here.”

Kaz glanced at her, and she knew from his expression that he had never expected her to go through with their plan. But in that moment, she knew she had to. She opened her mouth, but Nina got there first.

“No,” Nina whispered. They all turned to her.

The voice echoed out from the Fjerdan ranks once more. “You have a count of ten to comply. I repeat: Release the prisoner Kuwei Yul-Bo and surrender yourselves. Ten …”

Nina spoke to her rapidly in Ravkan. “Give it to me. The parem you stole from Brum’s office, give it to me.”

“Nina, no. You can’t”

“I have to. Please, Aryn, let me do this.”

She shouldn’t. She should give herself up. But there was a chance Nina would survive, a much bigger one than Aryn had of surviving. She reached into her silks. “A single dose will—”

“I understand,” Nina said.

But the others didn’t. Not until they saw Aryn produce the little leather pouch from the pocket of her gown. Its rim was stained with rust-coloured powder.

“No!” Matthias shouted. He grabbed for the parem, but Nina was faster.

The Fjerdan voice droned on: “Seven …”

“Nina, don’t be stupid,” said Inej. “You’ve seen—”

“Some people don’t get addicted after the first dose.”

“It isn’t worth the risk.”

“Six …”

“Kaz is out of tricks.” She plucked open the pouch. “But I’m not.”

“Nina, please,” Matthias begged, and Aryn could hear the desperation in his voice.

“Five …”

This would be Aryn’s fault. If Nina died, if Matthias lost her, it would be because Aryn had been too selfish to take the fall for them herself.

“Four …”

Nina touched Matthias’ cheek briefly. “If it gets bad, find a way to end it, Helvar. I’m trusting you to do the right thing.” She smiled. “Again.”

“Three …”

Then she tossed her head back and poured the parem into her mouth, downing it in a single hard swallow. Her pupils dilated. It was like she was a Saint who’d finally awoken, the air around her crackling with power.

“Nina?” Matthias whispered.

“Move,” Nina said.

“Two … one …”

Chapter Text

Nina went for the Heartrender immediately. She flicked her wrist, and his eyes exploded in his head. He crumpled without a sound. “Be free,” she said.

Nina glided towards the soldiers. Matthias moved to protect her as he saw rifles raised. She lifted her hands. “Stop,” she said.

They froze.

“Lay down your arms.” As one, they obeyed her.

“Sleep,” she commanded. Nina swept her hands in an arc, and the soldiers toppled without protest, row after row, stalks of wheat felled by an invisible scythe.

Aryn sucked in a breath

The air was eerily still. Slowly, Wylan and Inej climbed down from the tank. Jesper and the rest followed, and they stood in stunned silence, all language dissolved by what they’d witnessed, gazing out at the field of fallen bodies. It had happened so quickly.

There was no way to reach the harbour unless they walked over the soldiers. Without a word, they began to pick their way through, the hush broken only by the faraway bells of the Elderclock.

Matthias laid his hand on Nina’s arm, and she released a little sigh, letting him lead her.

Beyond the quay, the docks were deserted. They headed towards the Ferolind, Matthias, and Nina trailing behind. Aryn could see Rotty clinging to the mast, jaw slack with fear. Specht and Corrin– her heart gave an unwelcome flutter– waiting to unmoor the ship. The looks on their faces were equally terrified.

Suddenly, there was a gunshot. Nina staggered. 

Aryn expected her to heal it, but her face turned pale, and she collapsed. Matthias dropped to his knees beside her.

“Matthias!”

They all turned. A group of drüskelle stood on the quay, ten in total, their uniforms soaked, their black hoods raised. Aryn recognised Jarl Brum as the one in the lead.

“Traitor,” Brum said. “Betrayer of your country and your god. You will not leave this harbour alive. None of you will.” 

Had they followed them to the river beneath the ash? Had there been horses or more tanks stationed in the upper town?

“What did you do to her?” growled Matthias.

“The bullet was laced with a poison too fast-acting for her to heal herself in time,” said Brum. “Without her, we will kill every one of you, before you leave the harbour. You cannot harm us. This game is at an end.”

Aryn’s eyes met Kaz’s, and she knew at once that they were together in this, their earlier fight forgotten. She stepped forward. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Brum paused. “Excuse me?”

Jesper grabbed her arm. “Aryn, what are you doing?”

“Just trust me,” she murmured, and then turned back to Brum. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Either you let the rest of my team leave unharmed with Kuwei Yul-Bo, and in return I will hand myself over to you, or—”

“What would we want with some nameless Kerch street rat?” scoffed Brum.

It seemed Hilbrand hadn’t informed the rest of the drüskelle yet. 

She lifted her chin, her posture changing, letting her voice relax back into its old Ravkan accent. “A nameless Kerch street rat? Really, Brum? You of all people should know better.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, a flicker of recognition. “Who are you?”

“Ariana Lantsov.”

A murmur rose up from the group of drüskelle. Aryn heard Jesper suck in a breath, and several other people gasped behind her, though she couldn’t tell who.

“You,” growled Brum. “You’re—”

“Alive, I know. And I’m sure the King of Ravka would give you anything you wanted to ensure I remain so, and am returned to Ravka. So, do we have a deal?”

“What’s to stop me from taking you and Kuwei Yul-Bo, and killing the rest of your crew?”

Kaz grabbed Kuwei and pressed a pistol to his head. The boy cried out in alarm and struggled against him, but Kaz held him fast.

“Well, my friend here would be more than happy to put a bullet in his head, and I can assure you that I have no plans of being taken alive, so I would recommend you not try.”

“I see,” said Brum, his lip curling. “Quite the family of foxes, you are. Each one more conniving and deceitful than the last.”

She smiled coldly. “And one day, one of those foxes just might defeat the wolf.”

He returned her smile just as coldly. “But today is not that day. It seems we have a deal.”

Aryn exchanged a look with Kaz, and he nodded. 

Aryn turned and strode down the dock toward the waiting drüskelle. Jesper tried to stop her, but she brushed him off. She could hear Corrin calling her name, but she ignored him. 

“Let’s go,” she heard Kaz say to the others.

Inej tried to protest, “We can’t just leave her–”

“Let’s go.”

Aryn willed them to listen. She needed to make sure they were all on the boat before she made her move. She kept the hand holding the knife she’d slipped from Jesper’s pocket, hidden in the folds of her dress. 

She nearly laughed. One knife. One singular knife, against ten highly trained drüskelle. I’ve faced worse odds.

On Brum’s order, two drüskelle grabbed her arms roughly and began dragging her away. She glanced back to make sure the others were all aboard the ship. They were. The ship began pulling out of the harbour.

She drove the knife into the thigh of one of the men holding her. He screamed, and she used his momentary distraction to grab the gun of the other man and shoot both of them with it. She grabbed the second man’s body and hauled it up, using it as a shield, as Brum and the other drüskelle whirled around, guns raised. A bullet caught her in the shoulder, but the man’s body protected her from the rest. She fired over his shoulder. One, two, three, five drüskelle hit the ground. 

She released the man’s body, threw her knife at Brum, and ran, sprinting for the edge of the quay, as Brum screamed behind her. Gunshots split the air, tearing through her body. She dived straight into the sea, her body screaming in pain, whether because of the cold or the bullets in her body, she wasn’t sure.

It was agony to swim, but that’s what she did, trying to stay under the water as much as possible, as bullets splashed into the water all around her. She caught a glimpse of the ship and saw Jesper and Kaz and several other sailors returning fire, trying to cover her. 

The ship had slowed down; it was so close, so tantalizingly close. Her limbs were going numb. She didn’t stop, didn’t let herself stop swimming, but the waves buffeting her from all sides were making it hard to keep her head above the water. She went to take a breath just as a wave crashed over her. She choked, inhaling only water. She struggled to stay afloat, but the waves dragged her under.

Aryn tried desperately to hold her breath, to reach the surface. Her lungs burned, the water pressing at her mouth, waiting to be let in. Her vision began to flicker.

Just as she was about to pass out, an arm tightened around her waist, dragging her up above the surface of the water. She gasped for air, coughing water out of her lungs.

“Stop struggling, you’re going to drown both of us.” 

“Corrin?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’ve got you. You’re okay.” His arm was wrapped around her, holding her against him, her back pressed against his chest. He was pulling her through the water, holding her afloat.

She coughed, spitting out more water, trying to clear her lungs. Her mouth tasted like the sea, and her throat burned.

"Breathe, Ari. I've got you." He swam for them both, cutting through the water as fast as he could while still keeping her afloat.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, eyes closing as she tried to catch her breath. Quicker than she had expected, they reached the ship.

Someone had dropped a ladder over the side of the ship, and she climbed up it, pulling herself up over the side of the ship, Corrin following close behind.

The others were all on deck. Nina had come to and still looked as radiant as before, so Aryn assumed the parem had yet to wear off.

“Are you alright?” asked Inej.

“Never better.” Then she staggered, as the adrenaline left her in a rush.

Corrin lunged and caught her before she could fall, an arm looping around her waist, a hand braced against her hip.

She pressed a hand to her side, leaning against him for support, and her fingers came away bloody. She coughed, spitting blood. “Maybe not.”

Nina waved a hand, and several bullets slid out of her body and clattered onto the deck, the wounds healing instantly.

The pain vanished, and Aryn stood up straight. Corrin let go of her, but he kept his hands raised slightly, like he was worried she might fall again.

“Now that you’re not about to die,” said Jesper, “When in Ghezen’s name were you planning on telling us that you’re Ariana Lantsov?”

She shrugged. “Never. As far as I’m concerned, Ariana Lantsov died three years ago. I’m not her anymore.”

Jesper turned to Kaz. “Did you know about this?” He turned to Nina. “Did you?”

“Of course, I knew,” said Kaz.

Nina shrugged. “I only met Ariana Lantsov once, when we were both much younger, so I never recognized her.”

Inej asked, softly, “Does your family know you’re alive?”

Aryn shook her head. “No, and I doubt they’d care if they did.”

Nina frowned. “But I’m sure, Nikolai–”

“Doesn’t give two shits about me. Vasily was the only one who ever cared about me, and he’s dead. Trust me, your great king isn’t as amazing as you think, and Vasily wasn’t as much of an asshole as he pretended to be.” She shook off the thought, feeling guilty for how sharply she'd responded. “But none of that is important.” She turned to Kuwei. “How long does she have?”

Kuwei had some Kerch, but Nina had to translate in places. She did it distractedly, her glittering eyes roving over everyone and everything. “The high will last one hour, maybe two. It depends on how long it takes her body to process a dose of that size.”

“Why can’t you just purge it from your body like the bullets?” Matthias asked Nina desperately.

“It doesn’t work,” said Kuwei. “Even if she could overcome the craving for long enough to start purging it from her body, she’ll lose the ability to pull the parem from her system before it’s all gone. You’d need another Corporalnik using parem to accomplish it.”

“What will it do to her?” asked Wylan.

“You’ve seen for yourself,” Matthias replied bitterly. “We know what’s going to happen.”

Kaz crossed his arms. “How will it start?”

“Body aches, chills, no worse than a mild illness,” Kuwei explained. “Then a kind of hypersensitivity, followed by tremors, and the craving.”

“Do you have more of the parem?” Matthias asked.

“Yes.”

“Enough to get her back to Ketterdam?”

“I won’t take more,” Nina protested.

“I have enough to keep you comfortable,” Kuwei said. “But if you take a second dose, there is no hope at all.” He looked to Matthias. “This is her one chance. It’s possible her body will purge enough of it naturally that addiction won’t set in.”

“And if it does?”

Kuwei held out his hands, part shrug, part apology. “Without a ready supply of the drug, she’ll go mad. With it, her body will simply wear itself out. Do you know the word parem? It’s the name my father gave to the drug. It means ‘without pity’.”

When Nina finished translating, there was a long pause.

“I don’t want to hear any more,” she said. “None of it will change what’s coming.”

She drifted away towards the prow. Matthias watched her go.

“The water hears and understands,” he murmured beneath his breath.

Chapter Text

Aryn knocked on the door of Corrin’s cabin.

He opened it a moment later. “Hey.”

“Hey, I was just looking for my knives and my ring.”

“Yeah, I’ve got them.”

She followed him into the cabin as he began rummaging through his stuff. He pulled out her knives and Vasily’s ring and handed them to her. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” She set the knives on a table and slipped the ring onto her finger. “Uh, listen, I just wanted to say thank you for, you know, saving my life. I would have drowned if you hadn’t gotten there in time.”

“Anytime.” He smirked. “So am I supposed to call you, Your Highness, now?”

She lifted her chin and adopted a pompous attitude. “Well, obviously, and you’re also supposed to bow.”

“Of course, of course. My sincerest apologies, Your Highness.” He dropped to one knee and took her hand. 

She could feel his calluses beneath her fingertips. He bent his head and kissed her knuckles, bruised from throwing too many punches, holding her gaze all the while like he was a proper gentleman and she a noble lady, rather than a couple of thieves.

Aryn rolled her eyes at his antics, as her cheeks heated, trying to ignore the feeling of his lips on her skin, trying not to imagine how his mouth would feel on other parts of her body. “Please stop.”

He stood and released her hand. “Of course, moi tsarevna.”

“That’s worse.” She could still feel his lips pressing against her hand.

There was an awkward silence.

Corrin's gaze dropped, his eyes dark as a forest.

She glanced down, too, at just how little of her body the tattered, soaked Menagerie dress covered. The soaked, red chiffon had gone practically see-through, and what was left of it barely managed to cover her breasts. The skirt was ripped into shreds, exposing the side of her leg all the way up to her hip, the remaining fabric clinging to her thighs.

She became painfully aware of the fact that she was standing in front of him practically naked, and clearly, he had noticed as well.

His eyes quickly flicked away when he realised that she had noticed him staring.

Corrin's gaze met hers.

They were standing so close together, the sharp lines of his face bare inches from her own. The light cast from the flickering candles danced across his face, the soft sweep of his lips, the curve of his neck, catching in his glittering emerald eyes. She could feel his breath on her lips.

The tension in the room was so thick you could have cut it with a knife.

Corrin gently lifted a hand to her hip, his fingers lightly tracing her skin.

Her breath caught in her chest.

He leaned forward–

Aryn quickly pulled away. “I should probably go change, you know, before I get hypothermia or something.”

Corrin cleared his throat and took a step back. “Yeah, I– I'll see you later.”

She grabbed her knives and shoved out the cabin door, her face burning, so quickly that she slammed into Jesper walking past.

“All Saints– Aryn, wha–” He was brought up short when he noticed the door she had come out of. His expression changed into a sly smirk. “What were you doing in Corrin’s cabin?”

“Nothing.” She was sure she must be blushing, and the grin on his face confirmed it.

“Then why are you so flustered?”

“Oh, go to hell, Jes.” She practically threw herself through the door to her cabin, leaving him snickering in the hall behind her.

Aryn flopped down onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Fuck.

She’d screwed up, she’d really, really screwed up. There was no denying her feelings for Corrin anymore; her realization in the prison wagon had been enough to ensure that. And she was sure that she’d wanted to kiss him, but then why had she pulled away?

Because I was scared. 

She was scared because she knew she couldn’t afford a weakness if she was going to take down Pekka Rollins, and she had seen just how much Inej was a weakness for Kaz. 

She was scared because she hadn’t had feelings for someone like she did for Corrin in years.

Hookups were one thing; she was no stranger to those. She’d been through her fair share of guys. And girls, for that matter. But they’d been nothing more than hot strangers she’d spent a night with and never seen again. And even if she did see them again, it wasn’t like they had feelings for each other.

But most of all, she was scared of getting hurt. She was scared of losing Corrin the way she’d lost Damien. 

Damien Markov, one of Sturmhond’s crew, a Tidemaker. Witty, charming, and a massive flirt, he was the kind of boy that mothers warned their daughters to stay away from. He could make her laugh until her stomach hurt when she was sad, and grin like an idiot when she was in pain. He was one of the biggest reasons she loved the ocean.

He was hers, and she was his.

Then he died, killed during Alina Starkov’s quest for the sea whip, and Aryn had promised herself that she would never fall in love again.

Aryn had failed on that front, but if she ignored her feelings for Corrin long enough, eventually they would vanish. So that was what she would do. She wouldn’t let herself get hurt again, wouldn’t let him be her weakness because she was not weak. She couldn’t afford to be.

Chapter Text

As the schooner sped south, it was as if the whole crew was sitting vigil. Everyone spoke in hushed tones, treading quietly over the decks. 

Usually, Aryn dealt with her worry by taking a trip to the Dregs' underground fighting ring. Throw some punches, win some kruge, the easiest way to deal with her anxiety. She was as worried about Nina as anyone – except Matthias, she supposed – but the respectful silence was getting hard to bear. She needed to hit something.

The Ferolind felt like a ghost ship. Matthias was sequestered with Nina, and he’d asked for Wylan’s help in caring for her. Even if Wylan didn’t love chemistry, he knew more about tinctures and compounds than anyone in the crew other than Kuwei, and Matthias couldn’t understand half of what Kuwei said. 

Jesper seemed just as frustrated with being cooped up as Aryn, but he never wanted to talk. Things between them had felt…off, ever since he’d discovered who she was. Kuwei seemed friendly enough, but his Kerch was rough, and he didn’t seem to like to talk much either. Only Inej wanted to chat with anyone, and that was because she seemed to have developed a consuming interest in all things nautical. She spent most of her time with Specht and Rotty, learning knots and how to rig sails. Aryn often joined them, lending her expertise from her time as a privateer.

Corrin had been avoiding her since that night in his cabin. He would offer her a polite greeting or a one-word answer when she approached, but then would mysteriously be needed elsewhere. She knew she needed to fix things with him, but she didn’t have the energy. And more importantly, she didn’t know how. How to fix their friendship without leading him on. How to make things right without letting her feelings for him spill out. How to lie to his face and not make him hate her.

All in all, the journey back was thoroughly depressing.

Aryn had always known there was a good chance they wouldn’t make this journey home at all, that they’d end up in cells in the Ice Court or skewered on pikes. But she’d figured that if they managed the impossible task of rescuing Yul-Bayur and getting to the Ferolind, the trip back to Ketterdam would be a party. They’d drink whatever Specht might have squirreled away on the ship, eat the last of Nina’s toffees, recount their close calls and every small victory. But she never could have foreseen the way they’d been cornered in the harbour, and she certainly couldn’t have imagined what Nina had done to get them out of it.

Aryn worried about Nina, but thinking about her made her feel guilty. A voice inside her kept wondering what would have happened if she hadn’t let Nina take the parem, if she’d stepped in and sacrificed herself, instead of letting Nina take the fall. She’d had to reveal herself to get them out anyway, she would have saved Nina, too, if she’d just done it earlier.

But then I wouldn’t have made it out. That was a hero’s voice, and Aryn had long since stopped thinking she had the makings of a hero. Hell, a hero would have stayed in Ravka and helped Nikolai fight the rest of the Civil War and take back his throne. A hero wouldn’t have shirked her responsibilities. A hero would have helped him rebuild Ravka. She was no hero.

When Kerch finally appeared on the horizon, Aryn felt a strange mixture of relief and trepidation. Their lives were about to change in ways that still didn’t seem real. The scent of possibility, of freedom, wafted through the air.

They dropped anchor, and when nightfall came, Aryn asked Kaz if she could join him, Jesper, and Rotty in the longboat they were rowing to Fifth Harbour. They didn’t need her to come along, but Aryn was desperate for a distraction.

The chaos of Ketterdam was unchanged – ships unloading their cargo at the docks, tourists and soldiers on leave pouring out of boats, laughing and shouting to each other on their way to the Barrel.

“Looks the same as when we left it,” Jesper said.

Kaz raised a brow. He was back in his sleek grey-and-black suit, immaculate tie. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Jesper admitted.

But Aryn knew what he meant. She felt different, even with the familiar weight of her knives at his hips and a revolver strapped to her thigh. Before the Ice Court, before she’d been recognised by Hilbrand, before she’d revealed herself to Brum and the others, Ariana Lantsov had felt like a distant memory, the ghost of a girl she’d once been, but nothing more. Now...she felt like that part of her that had slipped to the back of her mind, distant but not gone.

Kaz left Aryn, Rotty, and Jesper at the dock while he went to find a runner to take a message to Van Eck.

Aryn’s mind wandered. She thought of Nikolai. Had word reached him that she was alive yet? If it hadn’t, it would eventually. Would he care? Would he come looking for her? Should she go back to Ravka? After everything was over, after she had her money and Rollins was defeated, should she go back? There was no hiding, not anymore. Maybe it was better just to face it, to face him.

A half hour later, Kaz returned with a message confirming that representatives from the Merchant Council would meet them on Vellgeluk at dawn the following day.

“Look at that,” Kaz said, holding the paper out for them to read. Beneath the details of the meet, it said, Congratulations. Your country thanks you. 

The words left a funny feeling in Aryn’s chest. Ravka had no reason to thank her. In its eyes, she was a selfish coward who had left when it needed her most. Maybe she was just as bad as Nikoali. Maybe she was worse.

She forced herself to ignore it and laugh along with Jesper, who said, “As long as my country pays cash.” 

“Does the Council know the scientist is dead?” Aryn asked.

“I put it all in my note to Van Eck,” Kaz said. “I told him Bo Yul-Bayur is dead, but that his son is alive and was working on jurda parem for the Fjerdans.”

“Did he haggle?”

“Not in the note. He expressed his ‘deep concern’, but didn’t mention anything about price. We did our job. We’ll see if he tries to bargain us down when we get to Vellgeluk.”

As they rowed back to the Ferolind, Jesper asked, “Will Wylan come with us to meet Van Eck?”

“No,” Kaz said, fingers drumming on the crow’s head of his cane. “Matthias will be with us, and someone has to stay with Nina. Besides, if we need to use Wylan to twist his father’s arm, it’s better that we not show our hand too early.”

It made sense. And whatever discord existed between Wylan and his father, Aryn doubted Wylan wanted to hash it out in front of the Dregs and Matthias.

Aryn spent a restless night tossing in her stiff bed and woke to a muggy, grey dawn. There was no wind, and the sea looked flat and glassy as a millpond.

“A stubborn sky,” murmured Inej, squinting out towards Vellgeluk. She was right. There were no clouds on the horizon, but the air felt dense with moisture, as if a storm was simply refusing to form.

“How is she?” Jesper asked Matthias.

“Weak,” said the Fjerdan. “She’s been unable to sleep. But we got her to take some broth, and she seems to be keeping it down.”

“Where’s the other longboat?” Jesper asked as he, Aryn, Kaz, Matthias, Inej, and Kuwei rowed out from the Ferolind with Rotty.

“Repairs,” said Kaz.

Vellgeluk was so flat it was barely visible once they were rowing through the water. The island was less than a mile wide, a barren patch of sand and rock distinguished only by the wrecked foundation of an old tower used by the Council of Tides. Smugglers called it Vellgeluk, ‘good luck’, because of the paintings still visible around the base of what would have been the obelisk tower: golden circles meant to represent coins, symbols of favour from Ghezen, the god of industry and commerce. 

Aryn and Kaz had come to the island before to meet with smugglers. It was far from Ketterdam’s ports, well outside the patrol of the harbour watch, with no buildings or hidden coves from which to stage an ambush. An ideal meeting place for wary parties.

A brigantine was moored off the island’s opposite shore, its sails hanging limp and useless. Aryn had watched it make slow progress from Ketterdam in the early dawn light, a tiny black dot that grew into a hulking blot on the horizon. He could hear the sailors calling to each other as they worked the oars. Now, its crew lowered a longboat packed with men over the side.

When their own longboat made shore, Jesper and the others leaped out to pull it onto the sand.

Aryn drew her knives and spun them once before returning them to their sheaths. She saw Jesper check his revolvers and Inej touch her fingers briefly to each of her knives, lips moving. Matthias adjusted the rifle strapped to his back and rolled his enormous shoulders. Kuwei watched it all in silence.

“All right,” Kaz said. “Let’s go get rich.”

“No mourners,” Rotty said, settling down to wait with the longboat.

“No funerals,” they replied.

They strode towards the centre of the island, Kuwei behind Kaz and Aryn, bracketed by Jesper and Inej. As they drew closer, Aryn saw someone in a black mercher’s suit approaching, accompanied by a tall Shu man, dark hair bound at the nape of his neck, and followed by a contingent of the stadwatch in purple coats, all carrying batons and repeating rifles. Two men lugged a heavy trunk between them, staggering slightly with its weight.

“So that’s what thirty million kruge looks like,” said Kaz.

Jesper gave a low whistle. “Hopefully, the longboat won’t sink.”

“Just you, Van Eck?” Kaz asked the man in merch black. “The rest of the Council couldn’t be bothered?”

So this was Jan Van Eck. He was leaner than Wylan, and his hairline was much higher, but Aryn could definitely see the resemblance.

“The Council felt I was best suited to this task, as we’ve had dealings before.”

“Nice pin,” Kaz said with a glance at the ruby stuck to Van Eck’s tie. “Not as nice as the other one, though.”

Van Eck’s lips pursed slightly. “The other was an heirloom. Well?” he said to the Shu man beside him.

The Shu said, “That’s Kuwei Yul-Bo. It’s been a year since I’ve seen him. He’s quite a bit taller now, but he’s the spitting image of his father.” He muttered a greeting to Kuwei in Shu and gave a short bow.

Kuwei glanced at Kaz, then bowed in return. Aryn could see a sheen of sweat on his brow.

Van Eck smiled. “I will confess I am surprised, Mister Brekker. Surprised but delighted.”

“You didn’t think we’d succeed.”

“Let’s say I thought you were a long shot.”

“Is that why you hedged your bets?”

“Ah, so you’ve spoken to Pekka Rollins.”

“He’s quite a talker when you get him in the right frame of mind,” said Kaz, and Aryn knew he was remembering what had happened in Rollins’s cell in Ice Court. “He said you contracted him and the Dime Lions to go after Yul-Bayur for the Merchant Council as well.”

Van Eck shrugged. “It was best to be safe.”

“And why should you care if a bunch of canal rats blow each other to bits in pursuit of a prize?”

“We knew the odds of either team succeeding were small. As a gambler, I hope you can understand.”

But Aryn had never thought of Kaz as a gambler. Gamblers left something to chance.

“Thirty million kruge will soothe my hurt feelings,” said Kaz.

Van Eck gestured to the guards behind him. They hefted the trunk and set it down in front of Kaz.

He crouched beside it and opened the lid. Even peering over his shoulder, Aryn could see the stacks of bills in palest Kerch purple, emblazoned with the three flying fish, row after row of them, bound in paper bands sealed with wax.

Inej drew in a breath.

“Even your money is a peculiar colour,” said Matthias.

“I think my mouth just watered,” whispered Jesper.

Aryn had to admit that much money was tantalising.

Kaz pulled out one of the stacks and let his gloved thumb skim over it, then dug down another layer to make sure Van Eck hadn’t tried to bunk them.

“It’s all here,” he said.

He looked over his shoulder and waved Kuwei forward. The boy crossed the short distance, and Van Eck gestured him over to his side, giving him a pat on the back.

Kaz rose. “Well, Van Eck. I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but I’m not that good a liar. We’ll take our leave.”

Van Eck stepped in front of Kuwei and said, “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Mister Brekker.”

Kaz leaned on his cane, watching Van Eck keenly. “Is there a problem?”

“I count several right in front of me. And there’s no way any of you are getting off this island.”

Van Eck pulled a whistle from his pocket and blew a shrill note. In the same moment, his servants drew their weapons and a wind came out of nowhere– a howling, unnatural gale that whirled around the little island as the sea began to rise.

The sailors by the brigantine’s longboat lifted their arms, waves gathering behind them.

“Tidemakers,” growled Matthias, reaching for his rifle.

Then two more figures launched themselves from the deck of the brigantine.

“Squallers!” Aryn shouted. “They’re using parem!”

The Squallers circled in the sky, wind whipping the air around them.

“You kept part of the stash Bo sent to the Council,” said Kaz, dark eyes narrowed.

The Squallers lifted their arms, and the wind wailed a high, keening cry. 

Shit. Well, this was what she got for wishing for a fight. It seemed like Kaz hadn’t expected this possibility.

Chapter Text

“The deal is the deal, Van Eck,” Kaz said over the sounds of the growing storm. “If the Merchant Council fails to honour its end of this bargain, no one from the Barrel will ever traffic with any of you again. Your word will be meaningless.”

“That would be a problem, Mister Brekker, if the Council knew anything about this deal.”

Understanding came in a terrible flash. 

“They were never involved,” Kaz said. 

Why had they believed Van Eck had the blessing of the Merchant Council? Because he was a rich, upstanding mercher? Because he’d dressed his own servants and soldiers in the purple uniforms of the stadwatch? Kaz had met with Van Eck in a quarantined mercher’s house, not a government building, but they’d all been taken in by a little set dressing, a flashy distraction, the kind of trick they used every day to con tourists and pigeons. Expect this time they’d been the ones getting conned.

“You wanted Yul-Bayur,” said Aryn. “You wanted the formula for parem.”

Van Eck conceded the truth with an easy nod. “Neutrality is a luxury Kerch has too long enjoyed. The members of the Council think that their wealth protects them, that they can sit back and count their money while the world squabbles.”

“And you know better?” said Kaz.

“Indeed, I do. Jurda parem is not a secret that can be kept or quashed or stashed in a cabin on the Zemeni frontier.”

“So all your talk of trade lines and markets collapsing—”

“Oh, it will all happen just as I predicted, Mister Brekker. I’m counting on it. As soon as the Council received Bo Yul-Bayur ’s message, I began buying up jurda fields in Novyi Zem. When parem is unleashed on the world, every country, every government will be clamouring for a ready supply of it to use on their Grisha.”

“Chaos,” said Matthias.

“Yes,” said Van Eck. “Chaos will come, and I will be its master. Its very wealthy master.”

“You will be ensuring slavery and death for Grisha everywhere,” Inej said.

Van Eck raised a brow. “How old are you, girl? Sixteen? Seventeen? Nations rise and fall. Markets are made and unmade. When power shifts, someone always suffers.”

“When profit shifts,” Jesper shot back.

Van Eck’s expression was bemused. “Aren’t they one and the same?”

“When the Council finds out—” Inej began.

“The Council will never hear of this,” Van Eck said. “Why do you think I chose scum from the Barrel as my champions? Oh, you are resourceful and far more clever than any mercenaries, I give you that. But more importantly, you will not be missed.”

Van Eck lifted his hand. The Tidemakers spun their arms. Aryn heard a yell and turned to see a coil of water looming over Rotty. It slammed down on the longboat, smashing it to bits as he dove for cover.

“None of you will leave this island, Mister Brekker. All of you will vanish, and nobody will care.”

He raised his hand again, and the Tidemakers responded. A massive wave roared towards the Ferolind.

“No!” cried Jesper.

“Van Eck!” shouted Kaz. “Your son is on that ship.”

Van Eck’s gaze snapped to Kaz. He blew his whistle. The Tidemakers froze, awaiting instruction. Reluctantly, Van Eck dropped his hand. They let the wave fall harmlessly, the displaced sea sloshing against the side of the Ferolind.

“My son?” Van Eck said.

“Wylan Van Eck.”

“Mister Brekker, surely you must know that I sent my son packing months ago.”

“I know you’ve written to Wylan every week since he left your household, begging him to return. Those are not the actions of a man who doesn’t care for his only son and heir.”

Van Eck began to laugh – a warm, almost jovial chuckle, but its edges were jagged and bitter.

“Let me tell you about my son.” He spat the word as if it were poison on his lips. “He was meant to be heir to one of the greatest fortunes in all of Kerch, an empire with shipping lines that reach all over the globe, one built by my father, and my father’s father. But my son, the boy meant to rule this grand empire, cannot do what a child of seven years can. He can solve an equation. He can paint and play the flute most prettily. What my son cannot do, Mister Brekker, is read. He cannot write. I have hired the best tutors from every corner of the world. I’ve tried specialists, tonics, beatings, hypnotism. But he refused to be taught. I finally had to accept that Ghezen saw fit to curse me with a moron for a child. Wylan is a boy who will never grow to be a man. He is a disgrace to my house.”

“The letters …” said Jesper, and Aryn could see the anger in his face. “You weren’t pleading with him to come back. You were mocking him.”

Jesper was right. If you’re reading this, then you know how much I wish to have you home. Every letter had been a slap in the face to Wylan, a kind of cruel joke.

“He’s your son,” Jesper said.

“No, he is a mistake. One soon to be corrected. My lovely young wife is carrying a child, and be it boy or girl or creature with horns, that child will be my heir, not some soft-pated idiot who cannot read a hymnal, let alone a ledger, not some fool who would make the Van Eck name a laughingstock.”

“You’re the fool,” Jesper snarled. “He’s smarter than most of us put together, and he deserves a better father than you.”

“Deserved,” amended Van Eck. He blew the whistle twice. The Tidemakers didn’t hesitate. Before anyone could draw breath to protest, two huge walls of water rose and shot towards the Ferolind. They crushed the ship between them with a resonant boom, sending debris flying.

Jesper screamed in rage and raised his guns. But Aryn and the others knew better.

“Jesper!” Kaz commanded. “Stand down!”

“He killed them,” Jesper said, face contorted. “He killed Wylan and Nina!”

Matthias laid a hand on his arm. “Jesper,” he said calmly. “Be still.”

Jesper looked back at the rocking waves, at the broken bits of mast and torn sail where a ship had been only seconds before. “I don’t … I don’t understand.”

“I confess to being a bit shocked, too, Mister Brekker,” said Van Eck. “No tears? No righteous protests for your lost crew? They raise you cold in the Barrel.”

“Cold and cautious,” said Kaz.

“Not cautious enough, it seems. At least you won’t live to regret your mistakes.”

“Tell me, Van Eck. Will you do penance? Ghezen frowns on broken contracts.”

Van Eck’s nostrils flared. “What have you given to the world, Mister Brekker? Have you created wealth? Prosperity? No. You take from honest men and women and serve only yourself. Ghezen shows his favour to those who are deserving, to those who build cities, not the rats who eat away at their foundations. He has blessed me and my dealings. You will perish, and I will prosper. That is Ghezen’s will.”

Aryn chuckled. “There’s just one problem, Van Eck. You’ll need Kuwei Yul-Bo to do it.”

“And how will you take him from me? You are outgunned and surrounded.”

“I don’t need to take him from you,” said Kaz. “You never had him. That’s not Kuwei Yul-Bo.”

“A sorry bluff at best.”

“I’m not big on bluffing, am I, Aryn?”

She smirked. “Not as a rule.”

Van Eck’s lip curled. “And why is that?”

“Because he’d rather cheat,” said the boy who was not Kuwei Yul-Bo in perfect, unaccented Kerch.

Van Eck startled at the sound of his voice, and Jesper flinched. Aryn nearly burst out laughing at the look of shock on their faces.

The Shu boy held out a hand. “Pay up, Kaz.”

Kaz sighed. “I do hate to lose a wager. You see, Van Eck, Wylan bet me that you would have no qualms about ending his life. Call me sentimental, but I didn’t believe a father could be so callous.”

Van Eck stared at Kuwei Yul-Bo – or the boy he’d believed to be Kuwei Yul-Bo. Aryn watched him wrestle with the reality of Wylan’s voice coming from Kuwei’s mouth. Jesper looked just as incredulous. He’d get his explanation after Kaz got his money.

“It’s not possible,” said Van Eck.

It shouldn’t have been. Nina had been a passable Tailor at best – but under the influence of jurda parem, well, as Van Eck had once said, Things become possible that simply shouldn’t be. A nearly perfect replica of Kuwei Yul-Bo stood before them, but he had Wylan’s voice, his mannerisms, and – though Aryn could see the fear and hurt in his golden eyes – Wylan’s surprising courage, too.

After the battle in the Djerholm harbour, the merchling had come to Kaz to warn him that he couldn’t be used as leverage against his father. Wylan had been red-faced, barely able to speak the words of his supposed ‘affliction’. 

Kaz had only shrugged. Aryn had assured him quite eloquently that ‘she didn’t give a shit’. 

Some men were poets. Some were farmers. Some were rich merchers. Wylan could draw a perfect elevation. He’d made a drill that could cut through Grisha glass from parts of a gate and scavenged bits of jewellery. So what if he couldn’t read?

Aryn had expected the boy to balk at the idea of being tailored to look like Kuwei. A transformation that extreme was beyond the power of any Grisha not using parem. 

“It may be permanent,” Kaz had warned him.

Wylan hadn’t cared. “I need to know. Once and for all, I need to know what my father really thinks of me.”

And now he did.

Van Eck goggled at Wylan, searching for some sign of his son’s features. “It can’t be.”

Wylan walked to Kaz’s side. “Maybe you can pray to Ghezen for understanding, Father.”

Wylan was a bit taller than Kuwei, his face a bit rounder. But Aryn had seen them side by side, and the likeness was extraordinary. Nina’s work, performed on the ship before that first extraordinary high had begun to wane, was nearly flawless.

Fury lashed across Van Eck’s features. “Worthless,” he hissed at Wylan. “I knew you were a fool, but a traitor as well?”

“A fool would have been waiting to be smashed to bits on that ship. And as for ‘traitor ’, you’ve called me worse in the last few minutes alone.”

“Just think,” Kaz said to Van Eck. “What if the real Kuwei Yul-Bo had been on the ship you just turned into toothpicks?”

Van Eck’s voice was calm, but an angry flush had crept up his neck. “Where is Kuwei Yul-Bo? ”

“Let us safely off this island with our payment, and I’ll gladly tell you.”

“You have no way out of this, Brekker. Your little crew is no match for my Grisha.”

Kaz shrugged. “Kill us, and you’ll never find Kuwei.”

Van Eck appeared to consider this. Then he stepped back. “Guards to me!” he shouted. “Kill everyone but Brekker!”

Aryn knew the instant Kaz made his mistake. They’d all known it might come to this. He should have trusted them. His eyes should have stayed trained on Van Eck. Instead, in that moment of threat, when he should have thought only of the fight, he looked at Inej.

And Van Eck saw it. He blew on his whistle. “Leave the others! Get the money and the Suli girl.”

Hold your ground, Aryn was going to shout. Van Eck has the money. He is the key. Inej can fend for herself. But he was already turning, already sprinting to get to her as the Grisha attacked.

The Tidemakers reached her first, vanishing into mist, then reappearing at her side. But only a fool would try to take Inej in close combat. The Tidemakers were fast – vanishing and reappearing, grabbing at her. But she was the Wraith, and her knives found heart, throat, spleen. Blood spilled over the sand as the Tidemakers collapsed in two very solid heaps.

Aryn caught movement from the corner of her eye – a Squaller hurtling toward Inej. Kaz wasn’t close enough to get to her in time, and he knew it, but he saw that Aryn was.

“Aryn!” he shouted.

Aryn was already firing, and the Squaller plummeted to the earth. The next Squaller was smarter. He came in low, gliding over the ruins. Jesper and Matthias opened fire, but they had to face the sun to shoot, and not even Jesper could aim blind. 

Aryn ran in front of Inej, knife in one hand, revolver in the other, but a sudden blast of wind threw her out of the way. The Squaller barrelled into Inej and sped upwards with her into the sky.

Stay still, Aryn urged her silently, her gun aimed. But she didn’t. Her body spun, and she slashed out. The Squaller’s scream was distant. He released her. Inej fell, plunging towards the sand. Aryn saw Kaz run towards her without logic or plan.

A blur cut past her. A third Squaller swooped down, snatching her up seconds before impact and dealing her a vicious blow to the skull. Inej’s body went limp.

Aryn leaped forward and managed to grab her limp wrist before the Squaller could pull her out of reach. She tried to pull Inej out of his grip, but he was stronger, and suddenly she was being pulled up into the air with Inej. 

She glanced down at the ground growing farther and farther beneath her feet. There was nothing she could do. The Squaller was too strong.

Aryn made a split-second decision; she let go.

“Bring him down!” roared Matthias.

“No!” shouted Kaz. “Shoot him, and she falls, too!”

The Grisha dodged up and out of range. Inej clutched in his arms. There was nothing they could do but stand there like fools and watch her shape get smaller in the sky – a distant moon, a fading star, then gone.

Van Eck’s guards and Grisha closed in, sweeping the mercher and the trunk of kruge through the air, onto the waiting brigantine. Everything they’d worked for, slipping away in the space of a moment.

“You have one week to bring me the real Kuwei,” Van Eck shouted. “Or they’ll hear that girl’s screams all the way back in Fjerda. And if that still doesn’t move you, I’ll let it be known that you’re harbouring the most valuable hostage in the world. Every gang, government, smuggler, and spy will be after you and the Dregs. You’ll have nowhere to hide.”

“Kaz, I can make the shot,” said Jesper, rifle to his shoulder. “Van Eck is still in range.”

And all would be lost – Inej, the money, everything. Aryn knew what Kaz would choose.

“No,” Kaz said. “Let them go.”

The sea was flat; no breeze blew, but Van Eck’s remaining Squallers filled the ship’s sails with a driving wind.

They watched the brigantine surge across the water towards Ketterdam, to safety, to a fortress built on Van Eck’s impeccable mercher reputation. 

“Van Eck will send soldiers and Grisha to search for Kuwei,” said Matthias.

“He won’t find him. Or Nina.”

Not in the Slat or any other part of the Barrel. Nowhere in Ketterdam. The previous night, Kaz had ordered Specht to take Kuwei and Nina from the Ferolind in the second longboat – the one he’d told Jesper was being repaired. They were safely stashed in the abandoned cages below the old prison tower at Hellgate. Kaz had made a few inquiries when he’d visited the harbour to contact Van Eck. After the disaster at the Hellshow, the cages had been flooded to purge them of beasts and bodies; they’d been empty ever since. Matthias had hated the idea of letting Nina go anywhere without him, especially in her state, but Kaz had convinced him that keeping her and Kuwei aboard the Ferolind would leave them exposed.

Jesper was staring at Wylan, his eyes roving over the black hair, the golden eyes. “Why?” he said at last. “Why would you do this?”

Wylan shrugged. “We needed leverage.”

“That’s Kaz’s voice talking.”

“I couldn’t let you all walk into a hostage exchange thinking I was some kind of insurance.”

“Nina tailored you?”

“The night we left Djerholm.”

“That’s why you disappeared during the journey,” said Jesper. “You weren’t helping Matthias care for Nina. You were hiding.”

“I didn’t hide.”

“You … how many times was it you standing beside me on the deck at night when I thought it was Kuwei?”

“Every time.”

“Nina might not be able to put you back, you know. Not without another dose of parem. You could be stuck like this.”

“Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know!” Jesper said angrily. “Maybe I liked your stupid face.” He turned to Aryn, the betrayal clear on his face. “You knew. Matthias knew. Wylan knew. Inej knew. Everyone but me.”

“Ask me why, Jesper,” Kaz said, his patience at an end.

Aryn hadn’t wanted it to happen like this, but there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Jesper shifted uneasily on his feet. “Why?”

“You were the one who sold us out to Pekka Rollins.” He thrust an accusatory finger at Jesper. “You’re the reason we were ambushed when we tried to leave Ketterdam. You almost got us all killed.”

“I didn’t tell Pekka Rollins anything. I never—”

“You told one of the Dime Lions you were leaving Kerch, but that you’d be coming into big money, didn’t you?”

Jesper swallowed. “I had to. They were leaning on me hard. My father’s farm—”

“I told you not to tell anyone you were leaving the country. I warned you to keep your mouth shut.”

“I didn’t have a choice! You had me locked up in the Crow Club before we left. If you’d let me—”

Kaz turned on him. “Let you what? Play a few hands of Three Man Bramble? Dig yourself deeper in with every boss in the Barrel stupid enough to extend you credit? You told a member of Pekka’s gang you were about to be flush.”

“I didn’t know he’d go to Pekka. Or that Pekka knew about parem. I was just trying to buy myself some time.”

“Saints, Jesper, you really haven’t learned anything in the Dregs, have you? You’re still the same dumb farm boy who stepped off the boat.”

Jesper lunged for him. Kaz let him come like he was spoiling for a fight. But Aryn stepped between them, pushing Jesper back. “Stop. Both of you, stop. Kaz, he made a mistake, a stupid mistake, but he wasn’t trying to betray us. None of this is his fault.”

“You’re right,” Kaz spat, “It’s yours.”

“I didn’t do shit–”

“You let him take Inej. She’s gone because of you. ”

She scoffed. “Are you fucking kidding me? Don’t you dare try to pin this on me. If you had just followed the plan, this wouldn’t have–” 

“You had her,” Kaz snarled, and Aryn could hardly recognize him, his face contorted by anger. “You fucking had her and you let go.” He shoved her, hard. “Because you’re too much of a coward—”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re a coward and you’re weak, always running from a fight, running from everything. It’s why you left Ravka, it’s why it was so easy for Rollins to—”

She punched him, striking him across the face.

Kaz just laughed, spitting blood onto the ground. “Go ahead, hit me all you want, it won’t make you any less of a—”

Aryn grabbed him by the front of his jacket, slamming him against the ruins of the tower. His words had struck home. If he was going to hit her where it hurts the most, then she would do the same to him.  “You bastard. If I’m a coward, then what are you? You gave away your biggest weakness, you handed him exactly what he needed to win, just like you do every saintsforsaken time. And now it’s going to get Inej killed, just like it got Jord—”

His fist collided with her jaw, and she staggered, the taste of blood filling her mouth. She revelled in it. Finally. 

They threw themselves at each other, the fight quickly turning into a graceless brawl. Both of them were letting out their anger, pain, and frustration at anything but each other, in a flurry of fists and elbows. Aryn felt her nose snap. She felt blood dripping from her knuckles. But she didn’t stop, and neither did he. 

Until Wylan and Jesper grabbed her arms, pulling her back.

Kaz grabbed his cane, and pain bloomed across the side of her face, stars flickering in her vision. Matthias knocked his cane out of his hand and stepped between them.

Aryn struggled against Wylan and Jesper, but together they managed to hang onto her. Kaz tried to lunge for her, but Matthias held him back. “Stop. Stop this. Angry as you both are, beating each other up does us no good.”

“Matthias is right,” said Wylan. “We need to think about what’s next.”

“There is no next,” Kaz snarled, shaking Matthias off and stalking away.

He was right. Van Eck would see to that. They couldn’t go back to the Slat or get help from Per Haskell and the other Dregs. Van Eck would be watching, waiting to pounce. He’d turn the Barrel, their home, Kaz’s little kingdom, into hostile territory.

In a few hours, when they’d failed to make contact, Specht would row out for them in the longboat.

For now, there was nothing but the flat grey of the sky and the dead rock of this miserable excuse for an island. And Inej’s absence. 

Now that their fight was over, Aryn felt all her anger towards Kaz drain away. 

Aryn surveyed what remained of the crew. Rotty still hovered by the wreckage of the longboat. Jesper sat with elbows on knees, head in hands, Wylan beside him wearing the face of a near-stranger; Matthias stood gazing across the water in the direction of Hellgate like a stone sentinel. If Kaz was their leader, then Inej had been their lodestone, pulling them together when they seemed most likely to drift apart.

Aryn glanced at Kaz and saw that he was looking south towards Ketterdam’s harbours. The beginnings of an idea in his eyes.

“Scheming face,” murmured Jesper.

“Definitely,” agreed Wylan.

Matthias folded his arms. “Digging in your bag of tricks, demjin?”

“I’m going to invent a new trick,” Kaz said. “One Van Eck will never forget.” He turned to them. “I’ll need the right crew.”

Wylan got to his feet. “For the Wraith.”

Jesper followed, still not meeting Kaz’s eyes. “For Inej,” he said quietly.

Matthias gave a single sharp nod.

Aryn met Kaz’s gaze and knew that she could consider their fight to never have happened.

He wouldn’t apologize, and neither would she; they were both far too prideful for that. But neither of them needed an apology. They had an understanding. Both of them had been spoiling for a fight. That was all. They would move on. There were more important things to be dealt with. She had his back, and she knew he would have hers, at least to the extent he ever had.

 Aryn nodded. “So what’s the plan?”

Chapter Text

Aryn and Matthias stood waiting beneath a darkened doorway on Handelcanal across from Cornelis Smeet’s house. Matthias nudged her, and she looked up to see Wylan and Kaz hurrying toward them. 

“All clear?” Kaz asked.

“All clear,” said the big Fjerdan. “The lights went out on the top floor of Smeet’s house more than an hour ago, but I don’t know if the servants are awake.”

“He only has a daily maid and cook,” Kaz said. “He’s too cheap for full-time servants.”

“How is—”

“Nina is fine. Jesper is fine. Everyone is fine except for me because I’m stuck with a gang of hand-wringing nursemaids. Aryn, let’s go. Matthias, keep a watch.”

Aryn tried not to laugh at Matthias, who looked like he was considering dashing Kaz’s skull against a wall, then hurried along the cobblestones after Kaz. Smeet’s home also served as his office, and it was located on a dark street with sparse foot traffic. The lamps were lit along the canal and candles burned in some of the windows, but after ten bells, most of the neighborhood’s respectable citizens had already retired.

“Are we just going in through the front door?” asked Wylan.

“Use your eyes instead of running your mouth,” said Kaz, lockpicks already flashing in his gloved hands.

And indeed it wouldn’t be hard for him to do so. If one viewed it as a puzzle, the house was an easy solve. The Zelver district was prosperous, but not truly wealthy—a place for successful artisans, bookkeepers, and barristers. Though the houses were well-built and tidy, with views of a wide canal, they were tightly packed together, and there were no grand gardens or private docks. To access the windows of the upper floors, they would have had to break into a neighboring home and go through two sets of locks instead of one. Better to risk the front door, to simply act as if they had every right to be there—even if Kaz was carrying picks instead of keys.

A bare second later, Kaz pressed down on the handle, and the door swung open. Immediately, Aryn heard the patter of paws, claws on hardwood, low snarls, as Smeet’s pack of hounds rushed the door, white teeth flashing, growls rumbling deep in their chests. Before they could realize someone other than their master had come to call, Kaz pushed Smeet’s whistle between his lips and blew. Nina had managed to slip it from the chain the lawyer always wore around his neck, then tucked it beneath an empty oyster shell for Wylan to whisk away.

There was no sound from the whistle—at least not one that they could hear. But the dogs skittered to a halt, bumping into one another in a confused tangle.

Kaz blew again, lips pursing in time with the pattern of a new command. The dogs quieted and flopped to the floor with a disgruntled whine. One even rolled over on its back.

“Now, why can’t people be this easily trained?” Kaz murmured as he crouched to oblige the dog with a belly rub,black-gloved fingers smoothing the short fur. 

“Free will.” Aryn glanced back at Wylan. “Close the door behind you.”

Wylan did and stood with his back pressed to it, keeping a wary eye on the pile of slavering hounds. The whole house smelled of dog—damp fur, oily hides, warm breath moist with the stink of raw meat.

“Not fond of animals?” Kaz asked, catching his dubious expression.

“I like dogs,” Wylan said. “Just not when they’re the size of bears.”

The real puzzle of Smeet’s house had been a thorny one for Kaz to solve. Kaz could pick just about any lock and outthink any system of alarms, but he hadn’t been able to come up with a simple way around Smeet’s bloodthirsty hounds that wouldn’t leave their plan exposed.

During the day, the dogs were kept in a kennel, but at night they were given free run of the house while Smeet’s family slept peacefully in the richly appointed rooms of the third floor, the staircase closed off by an iron gate. Smeet walked the dogs himself, up and down the Handelcanal, trailing after them like a tubby sled in an expensive hat.

Nina had suggested drugging the dogs’ food. Smeet went to the butcher every morning to select cuts of meat for the pack, and it would have been easy enough to switch the parcels. But Smeet wanted his dogs hungry at night, so he fed them in the mornings. He would have noticed if his prized pets had been sluggish all day, and they couldn’t risk Smeet staying home to care for his hounds. He had to spend the evening on East Stave, and when he returned home, it was essential that he find nothing amiss. Inej’s life depended upon it.

Kaz had arranged for the private parlor in the Cumulus, Nina had caressed the whistle from beneath Smeet’s shirt, and, piece by piece, the plan had come together. 

Now, Aryn watched Kaz give the drooling dog a scratch behind the ears and rise. “Let’s go. Watch your feet.”

They sidestepped the pile of dog bodies in the hall and made their way quietly up the stairs. The layout of Smeet’s house was familiar to Aryn. Most businesses in the city followed the same plan: a kitchen and public rooms for meeting with clients on the ground floor, offices and storage on the second floor, and sleeping rooms for the family on the third floor. Very wealthy homes had a fourth floor for servants’ quarters. Aryn had broken into enough such buildings to know them well.

“Not even locked,” Kaz murmured as they entered Smeet’s office. 

“Those hounds have made him lazy,” mused Aryn.

Kaz closed the door, as Aryn lit a lamp, turning the flame down low. The office had three small desks arranged by the windows to take advantage of the natural light, one for Smeet and two for his clerks. Shelves ran from floor to ceiling. They were lined with ledgers and boxes full of documents, each carefully labeled with the names of clients and companies.

“So many pigeons,” Kaz murmured, eyes scanning the boxes. “Naten Boreg, that sad little skiv Karl Dryden. Smeet represents half the Merchant Council.”

Including Jan Van Eck. 

“Where do we start?” Wylan whispered.

Kaz pulled a fat ledger from the shelves. “First, we make sure your father has no new acquisitions under his name. Then we search under your stepmother’s name, and yours.”

“Don’t call her that. Alys is barely older than I am. And my father won’t have kept property in my name.”

“You’d be surprised at what a man will do to avoid paying taxes.”

They spent the better part of the next hour digging through Smeet’s files. They knew all about Van Eck’s public properties—the factories, hotels, and manufacturing plants, the shipyard, the country house and farmland in southern Kerch. But Kaz believed Wylan’s father had to have private holdings, places he’d kept off the public registers, places he’d stash something—or someone—he didn’t want found.

Kaz and Aryn read names and ledger entries aloud, asking Wylan questions and trying to find connections to properties or companies they hadn’t yet discovered. 

“Geldspin?” asked Kaz.

“A cotton mill. I think it’s in Zierfoort.”

Aryn shook her head. “Too far. He won’t be keeping her there. What about Firma Allerbest?”

Wylan searched his memory. “I think that one’s a cannery.”

Kaz glanced over her shoulder. “They’re both practically printing cash, and they’re both in Alys’ name. But Van Eck keeps the big earners to himself—the shipyard, the silos at Sweet Reef.”

“I told you,” Wylan said, fiddling with a pen on one of the blotters. “My father trusts himself first, Alys only so far. He wouldn’t leave anything in my name.”

Kaz just said, “Next ledger. Let’s start with the commercial properties.”

Wylan stopped fiddling with the pen. “Was there something in my name?”

Kaz leaned back and glanced at her. So he’d seen it too. 

Aryn hesitated and then said, “A printing press.”

“I see.”

“He’s not what I would call a subtle man. Eil Komedie is in your name, too.”

“Of course it is,” Wylan replied, bitterly. He looked like he regretted asking.

As the minutes ticked away and they continued reading aloud, Wylan became increasingly agitated. 

Finally, he said, “I’m slowing you down.”

Kaz flipped open another sheaf of documents. “I knew exactly how long this would take, that’s why I brought Aryn. What was your mother’s family name?”

“There’s nothing in her name.”

“Humor me.”

“Hendriks.”

Kaz walked to the shelves and selected another ledger.

“When did she die?”

“When I was eight.” Wylan picked up the pen again. “My father got worse after she was gone. He wouldn’t let me go to her funeral. I don’t even know where she’s buried. Why do you guys say that, anyway? No mourners, no funerals? Why not just say good luck or be safe?”

“We like to keep our expectations low,” murmured Aryn as her gaze swept across a ledger. 

Kaz’s gloved finger trailed down a column of numbers and stopped. His eyes moved back and forth between the two ledgers, then he snapped the leather covers shut. “Let’s go.”

Aryn glanced up. “Did you find something?”

Kaz nodded once. “I know where she is.”

Aryn didn’t think she imagined the tension in the rasp of Kaz’s voice. Kaz never yelled the way her father had, but over the years Aryn had learned to listen for that low note, that bit of black harmony that crept into Kaz’s tone when things were about to get dangerous. 

She’d heard it after the fight at the docks when Inej lay bleeding from Oomen’s knife, then when Kaz had learned it was Pekka Rollins who had tried to ambush them, again when they’d been double-crossed by Wylan’s father. She’d heard it loud and clear atop the lighthouse as Smeet’s clerk screamed for his life.

Wylan watched as Aryn and Kaz set the room to rights. Aryn moved an envelope a little more to the left, pulled a drawer on the largest file cabinet out a bit farther, as Kaz pushed the chair back just so.

When they were done, Aryn scanned the room, comparing it to the image in her head.

Kaz plucked the pen from Wylan’s hands and set it carefully in its place on the desk. “A proper thief is like a proper poison, merchling. He leaves no trace.” Kaz blew the lamp out. “Your father much for charity?”

“No. He tithes to Ghezen, but he says charity robs men of the chance at honest labor.”

“Well, he’s been making donations to the Church of Saint Hilde for the last eight years. If you want to pay your respects to your mother, that’s probably the place to start.”

Aryn narrowed her eyes at Kaz. She’d never known Dirtyhands to share any bit of information that wouldn’t serve him. There was something else going on here, but she couldn’t tell what.

“What—” began Wylan, but Kaz cut him off.

“If Nina and Jesper did their jobs right, Smeet will be home soon. We can’t be here when he gets back, or the whole plan goes to hell. Come on.”

Kaz cracked open the door. They all stopped short.

A little girl stood on the landing, leaning on the neck of one of the massive gray dogs. She had to be about five, her toes barely visible beneath the hem of her flannel nightgown.

“Oh Ghezen,” Wylan whispered.

Aryn stepped forward, but Kaz pushed past her, stepping out into the hall, pulling the door nearly shut behind him. Shit. Aryn wouldn’t put it past him to kill her. Why hadn’t he just let her deal with it?

The girl looked up at Kaz with big eyes, then removed her thumb from her mouth. “Do you work for my da?”

“No.”

Through the crack in the door, she saw Kaz squat down so he could look the little girl in the eye. What the hell was he doing?

“What’s this big fellow’s name?” Kaz said, laying a hand on the dog’s wrinkled neck.

“This is Maestro Spots.”

“Is that so?”

“He has a very fine howl. Da lets me name all the puppies.”

“Is Maestro Spots your favorite?” asked Kaz.

She appeared to think, then shook her head. “I like Duke Addam Von Silverhaunch best, then Fuzzmuzzle, then Maestro Spots.”

“That’s good to know, Hanna.”

Her mouth opened into a little O. “How do you know my name?”

“I know all children’s names.”

“You do?”

“Oh, yes. Albert, who lives next door, and Gertrude on Ammberstraat. I live under their beds and in the backs of the closets.”

Aryn wanted to roll her eyes, but was too worried that he might make good on this act and actually kill the girl, to do so.

“I knew it,” the girl breathed, fear and triumph in her voice. “Mama said there was nothing there, but I knew it.” She cocked her head to one side. “You don’t look like a monster.”

“I’ll tell you a secret, Hanna. The really bad monsters never look like monsters.”

Now the little girl’s lip trembled. “Did you come to eat me? Da says monsters eat children who don’t go to bed when they’re told.”

“They do. But I won’t. Not tonight. If you do two things for me.” His voice was calm, almost hypnotic. “First, you must crawl into bed. And second, you must never tell anyone you’ve seen us, especially your da.” He leaned forward and gave Hanna’s braid a playful tug. “Because if you do, I’ll slit your mother’s throat and then your father’s, and then I’ll cut out the hearts of all these sweet slobbering hounds. I shall save Duke Silverhaunch for last so that you will know it’s all your fault.”

The little girl’s face was as white as the lace on the neck of her nightgown, her eyes wide and bright as new moons. “Do you understand?” She nodded frantically, chin wobbling. “Now, now, no tears. Monsters see tears, and it only whets their appetites. Off to bed with you, and take that useless Maestro Spots along too.”

She skittered backward over the landing and up the stairs. When she was halfway up, she cast a terrified glance back at Kaz. He raised one gloved finger to his lips.

When she was gone, Aryn and Wylan slipped out from behind the door and followed Kaz down the steps. 

Wyaln burst out, “How could you say something like that to her? She’s just a child.”

“We were all just children once.”

“But—”

“It was that or snap her neck and make it look like she fell down the stairs, Wylan. I think I showed remarkable restraint.”

“You could’ve just let me handle it,” put in Aryn.

He shot her a look. “And what could you have done?”

“Not that.” She shrugged as he glared at her. “I’m just saying, we each have our skill sets, next time let me use mine.”

“I don’t remember seeing ‘good with kids’ on your resume,” he shot back.

“It’s called tact, Kaz,” she replied. “Learn to have some.”

They picked their way past the rest of the dogs, who were still flopped down in the hallway. 

“Incredible,” Kaz said. “They’d probably stay like that all night.” He blew on the whistle, and they leapt up, ears pricked, ready to guard the house. When Smeet returned home, all would be as it should: hounds pacing the ground floor; office intact on the second floor; wife snoozing comfortably on the third floor, and daughter pretending to do the same.

Kaz checked the street and then waved Wylan outside. Aryn paused only to lock the door behind them, her fingers fumbling with her lockpicks.

“You’ve gotten slower,” muttered Kaz, when she’d finally gotten it.

“Shut up, Kaz.”

They hurried down the cobblestones. Wylan peered over his shoulder. 

“Stop looking around like you think someone’s following you,” Kaz said. “And stop scurrying. You couldn’t look guiltier if you were performing the role of Thief Number Three in a penny play on East Stave. Next time, walk normally. Try to look like you belong.”

“There isn’t going to be a next time.”

“Of course not. Keep your collar up.”

Wylan didn’t argue. Matthias gave a high birdcall from the other end of the street. Kaz glanced at his watch and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it wildly. “Right on time.” He held out his arm for Aryn. “Shall we?”

She rolled her eyes, but slipped her arm through his.

They rounded the corner and slammed directly into Cornelis Smeet.

Chapter Text

Cornelis Smeet tipped, losing his footing, hat sliding from his nearly bald head. The boy who had run into him stepped forward, offering assistance.

The boy was Kaz, but he was not Kaz. His dark hair was mussed, his manner flustered. He kept his eyes averted, his chin tucked into his collar as if hopelessly embarrassed—a green youth, respectful of his elders. Wylan hovered behind him, shrunken so deeply into his coat that Aryn thought he might actually disappear.

“Watch where you’re going!” Smeet huffed indignantly, resettling the hat on his head.

“Terribly sorry, sir,” Kaz said, brushing the shoulders of Smeet’s jacket. “Curse my clumsiness!”

But Smeet’s anger vanished the moment he saw her. The boy’s female companion, delicate and fragile, who had been sent staggering by the impact of the collision.

Ever the gentleman, he quickly backtracked, “No, it’s my fault. Are you alright, dear?”

She nodded like she was too shy to speak, and he flashed her a warm smile.

Aryn bent to the cobblestones, speaking timidly, “Oh, sir, I think you dropped your wallet.”

“So I did!” Smeet said in surprise. “Thank you. Thank you very much.” He opened his billfold and drew out a crisp five-kruge bill. “There you are, my dear. Pays to be honest.”

Aryn kept her head down but somehow managed to convey humble appreciation as Kaz murmured, “Thank you, sir. Too kind. May Ghezen be as generous.”

The portly lawyer went on his way, hat askew, humming a little tune, oblivious to the fact that he’d just run directly into the card dealer who had sat across from him for two hours in Club Cumulus. 

Smeet arrived at his door and pulled a chain from his shirt, then frantically patted his waistcoat, searching for his whistle.

“You didn’t put it on the chain?” asked Matthias as they joined him in the dark doorway. 

“Didn’t bother.”

Smeet rooted around in his shirt, then fished out the whistle and unlocked the door, humming once more. 

Kaz neatened his hair with his fingers. “Was it really necessary to take the wallet? It draws too much attention.”

“Relax. He didn’t suspect a thing.” She handed the five kruge bill to Wylan. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Matthias ushered them along to the narrow side canal where he’d moored the rowboat. He tossed Kaz his cane, and they clambered down. 

Kaz had been wise not to allow himself the use of his walking stick this night. If someone noticed a boy with a crow’s head cane lurking around the offices of Cornelis Smeet at an unusual hour, if an offhand mention of that fact somehow reached Van Eck’s ears, all their work would be for nothing. To get Inej back, they would need surprise on their side, and Kaz was not the type to leave anything to chance.

“Well?” Matthias asked as the boat slid along the dark waters of the canal.

“Hold your tongue, Helvar. Words like to ride the water. Put yourself to use and help work the oars.”

Matthias looked like he wanted to deck Kaz, but he did as he was bidden, his shoulders flexing as the boat moved against the current.

Once they passed beneath Havenbridge, Kaz tipped his oars, steering them into the murky waters of Beggars’ Bend, where the canal widened, and guided them into the shallows of Black Veil Island. They tucked the boat behind the drooping limbs of a white willow and then picked their way up through the graves that dotted the steep bank.

Black Veil was an eerie place, a miniature city of white marble mausoleums, many carved into the shape of ships, their stone figureheads weeping as they cut across an invisible sea. Some bore the stamp of Ghezen’s Coins of Favor, others the three flying fishes of Kerch that indicated a member of the family had served in the government. A few were watched over by Ravkan Saints in flowing marble robes. There was no sign of Djel or his ash tree. 

Almost all the mausoleums had fallen into disrepair, and many were little more than piles of slumped rock overgrown with vines and clusters of spring flowers. 

“Why don’t they use this place anymore?” Matthias had asked when they’d taken over a vast tomb at the island’s center as their hideout.

“Plague,” Kaz replied. “The first bad outbreak was more than a hundred years ago, and the Merchant Council prohibited burial within city limits. Now bodies have to be cremated.”

“Not if you’re rich,” Jesper added. “Then they take you to a cemetery in the country, where your corpse can enjoy the fresh air.”

Aryn hated Black Veil, but she could acknowledge it had served them well. The rumors of hauntings kept squatters at bay, and the mist that surrounded the twisting willows and stone masts of the graves obscured the occasional lantern light.

Of course, none of that would matter if people heard Nina and Jesper arguing at the top of their lungs. They must have returned to the island and left their gondel on the north side.

Nina’s irritated voice floated over the graves.

“I don’t think you’re showing proper appreciation for what I just went through,” Jesper was saying as he stomped through the cemetery.

“You spent a night at the tables losing someone else’s money,” Nina shot back. “Isn’t that essentially a holiday for you?”

Kaz knocked his cane hard against a gravestone, and they both went quiet, moving swiftly into fighting stances.

Nina relaxed as soon as she caught sight of the three of them in the shadows. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Yes, it’s us.” Kaz used his cane to herd them both toward the center of the island. “And you would have heard us if you hadn’t been busy shouting at each other. Stop gawking like you’ve never seen a girl in a dress before, Matthias.”

“I wasn’t gawking,” Matthias said.

He was absolutely gawking.

“Be quiet, Brekker,” Nina said. “I like it when he gawks.”

“How did the mission go?” Matthias asked.

Nina took the arm he offered, leaning on him slightly as they made their way over the uneven terrain. 

“It’s not a mission; it’s a job,” Nina corrected. “And it went splendidly.”

“Yeah,” said Jesper. “Splendidly. Except that my revolvers are currently collecting dust in the Club Cumulus safe. Smeet was afraid to walk home with them, the hopeless podge. Just thinking of my babies in his sweaty hands—”

“No one told you to wager them,” said Kaz.

“You dealt me into a corner. How the hell else was I supposed to get Smeet to stay at the tables?”

Kuwei poked his head out of the huge stone tomb as they approached.

“What did I tell you?” Kaz growled, pointing his cane at him.

“My Kerch isn’t very good,” protested Kuwei.

“Don’t run game on me, kid. It’s good enough. Stay in the tomb.”

Kuwei hung his head. “Stay in the tomb,” he repeated glumly.

They followed the Shu boy inside. The tomb was constructed to look like an ancient cargo ship, its interior carved into a vast stone hull. It even had stained-glass portholes that cast rainbows on the crypt floor in the late afternoon. The carvings of palm trees and snakes on the walls indicated that the family had been spice traders. But they must have fallen on hard times or simply taken their dead elsewhere, because only one of the vaults had a resident, and the narrow passages on either side of the main hull were equally empty.

Nina pulled the pins from her hair, shucked off the blonde wig, and tossed it on the table they’d set in the middle of the tomb. She slumped into a chair, rubbing her fingers along her scalp. “So much better,” she said with a happy sigh. But they could all see the almost greenish cast to her skin.

“Guess what we saw on our way out of the Lid?” she asked.

Jesper started digging through their food stores. “Two Shu warships sitting in the harbor.”

She threw a hairpin at him. “I was going to make them guess.”

“Shu?” asked Kuwei, returning to where he’d spread his notebooks over the table.

Nina nodded. “Cannons out, red flags flying.”

“I talked to Specht earlier,” said Kaz. “The embassies are full up with diplomats and soldiers. Zemeni, Kaelish, Ravkan.”

Aryn sat up straight. “Ravkan?”

“Your brother isn’t with them. No king would risk the exposure of coming here in person.” His words were off-handed, but he’d known exactly what she was worried about.

Aryn relaxed back into her chair.

“You think they know about Kuwei?” Jesper asked. 

“I think they know about parem,” said Kaz. “Rumors, at least. And there were plenty of interested parties at the Ice Court to pick up gossip about Kuwei’s … liberation.” He turned his gaze on Matthias. “The Fjerdans are here too. They’ve got a whole contingent of drüskelle with them.”

Kuwei sighed mournfully, and Jesper plunked down next to him, giving him a nudge with his shoulder. “Isn’t it nice to be wanted?”

Matthias said nothing. He seemed to be having the same kind of internal turmoil she was currently having.

Wylan reached for one of the crackers Jesper had dumped on the table. It was still disconcerting to see him and Kuwei in the same room. Nina’s tailoring had been so successful that Aryn often had trouble telling them apart until they spoke.

“This is good for us,” said Kaz. “The Shu and the Fjerdans don’t know where to start looking for Kuwei, and all those diplos making trouble at the Stadhall are going to create some nice noise to distract Van Eck.”

“What happened at Smeet’s office?” Nina asked. “Did you find out where Van Eck is keeping her?”

“I have a pretty good idea. We strike tomorrow at midnight.”

“Is that enough time to prepare?” asked Wylan.

“It’s all the time we have. We’re not going to wait for an engraved invitation. What’s your progress on the weevil?”

Jesper’s brows shot up. “The weevil?”

Wylan removed a small vial from his coat and set it down on the table.

Aryn bent to peer at it. It looked like a bunch of pebbles.

“That’s a weevil?” She asked incredulously. She thought of weevils as pests that got into grain stores.

“Not a real weevil,” said Wylan. “It’s a chemical weevil. It doesn’t really have a name yet.”

“You’ve got to give it a name,” said Jesper. “How else will you call it to dinner?”

“Forget what it’s called,” Kaz said. “What matters is that this little vial is going to eat Van Eck’s bank accounts and his reputation.”

Wylan cleared his throat. “Possibly. The chemistry is complicated. I was hoping Kuwei would help.”

Nina translated for Kuwei. He shrugged and looked away, lip jutting out slightly. Whether it was the recent death of his father or the fact that he’d found himself stuck in a cemetery with a band of thieves, the boy had become increasingly sullen.

“Well?” Jesper prodded.

“I have other interests,” Kuwei replied.

Kaz’s black gaze pinned Kuwei like the tip of a dagger. “I suggest rethinking your priorities.”

Aryn leaned forward and said in Shu, “That’s Kaz’s way of saying, ‘Help Wylan or I’ll seal you up in one of these tombs and see how that suits your interests.’”

Apparently, he received the message. Kuwei swallowed and nodded grudgingly.

“The power of negotiation,” sighed Aryn as she leaned back, kicking her feet up on the table.

“Wylan—and the obliging Kuwei—will get the weevil working,” Kaz continued. “Once we have Inej, we can move on Van Eck’s silos.”

Nina rolled her eyes. “Good thing this is all about getting our money and not about saving Inej. Definitely not about that.”

“If you don’t care about money, Nina dear, call it by its other names.”

“Kruge? Scrub? Kaz’s one true love?”

“Freedom, security, retribution.”

“You can’t put a price on those things.”

“No? I bet Jesper can. It’s the price of the lien on his father’s farm.” Jesper looked at the toes of his boots. “What about you, Wylan? Can you put a price on the chance to walk away from Ketterdam and live your own life? Aryn has her price. And Nina, I suspect you and your Fjerdan may want something more to subsist on than patriotism and longing glances. Inej might have a number in mind, too. It’s the price of a future, and it’s Van Eck’s turn to pay.”

Aryn was not fooled. Kaz always spoke logic, but that didn’t mean he always told truth. And Aryn was well used to this particular lie.

“The Wraith’s life is worth more than that,” said Matthias. “To all of us.”

“We get Inej. We get our money. It’s as simple as that.”

“Simple as that,” said Nina. “Did you know I’m next in line for the Fjerdan throne? They call me Princess Ilse of Engelsberg.”

“There is no princess of Engelsberg,” said Matthias. “It’s a fishing town.”

Nina shrugged. “If we’re going to lie to ourselves, we might as well be grand about it.”

Kaz ignored her, spreading a map of the city over the table, and Aryn heard Wylan murmur to Jesper, “Why won’t he just say he wants her back?”

“You’ve met Kaz, right?”

“But she’s one of us.”

Jesper’s brows rose again. “One of us? Does that mean she knows the secret handshake? Does that mean you’re ready to get a tattoo?” He ran a finger up Wylan’s forearm, and Wylan flushed a vibrant pink. 

Aryn grinned. She sometimes suspected they could forgo all of Kaz’s planning and simply let Jesper and Nina flirt the entirety of Ketterdam into submission.

Wylan pulled his sleeve down self-consciously. “Inej is part of the crew.”

“Just don’t push it.”

“Why not?”

“Because the practical thing would be for Kaz to auction Kuwei to the highest bidder and forget about Inej entirely.”

“He wouldn’t—” Wylan broke off abruptly, doubt creeping over his features.

None of them, even Aryn, really knew what Kaz would or wouldn’t do. Sometimes she wondered if even Kaz was sure.

“Okay, Kaz,” said Nina, slipping off her shoes and wiggling her toes. “Since this is about the almighty plan, how about you stop meditating over that map and tell us just what we’re in for.”

“I want you focused on what we have to do tomorrow night. After that, you’ll get all the information you want.”

“Really?” asked Nina, tugging at her corset. 

“Van Eck promised us thirty million kruge,” said Kaz. “That’s exactly what we’re going to take. With another one million for interest, expenses, and just because we can.”

Wylan broke a cracker in two. “My father doesn’t have thirty million kruge lying around. Even if you took all his assets together.”

“You should leave, then,” said Jesper. “We only associate with the disgraced heirs of the very finest fortunes.”

Aryn nodded. “Only the richest of disappointments are welcome here.”

Kaz stretched his bad leg out, flexing his foot slightly. “If Van Eck had that kind of money on hand, we would have just robbed him instead of breaking into the Ice Court in the first place. He could only offer a reward that big because he claimed the Merchant Council was putting city funds toward it.”

“What about that chest full of bills he brought to Vellgeluk?” asked Jesper.

“Bunk,” said Aryn disgustedly. “Probably quality counterfeits.”

“So then, how do we get the money? Rob the city? Rob the Council?” Jesper sat up straighter, hands drumming eagerly on the table. “Hit twelve vaults in one night?”

Wylan shifted in his chair, as did Matthias. 

“No,” said Kaz. “We’re going to make like merchers and let the market do the work for us.” He leaned back, gloved hands resting on his crow’s head cane. “We’re going to take Van Eck’s money, and then we’re going to take his reputation. We’re going to make sure he can never do business in Ketterdam or anywhere in Kerch ever again.”

“And what happens to Kuwei?” asked Nina.

“Once the job is done, Kuwei—and any other convicts, Grisha, and disinherited youths who may or may not have prices on their heads—can lie low in the Southern Colonies.”

Jesper frowned. “Where will you be?”

“Right here. I’ve still got plenty of business that requires my attention.”

Aryn’s gaze darkened along with his. “So do I.”

“Wait a minute,” said Nina. “I thought Kuwei was going to Ravka.”

“Why would you think that?”

“When you sold your Crow Club shares to Pekka Rollins, you asked him to send a message to the Ravkan capital. We all heard it.”

“I thought it was a request for aid,” said Matthias, “not an invitation to bargain.” 

Kaz considered them with some amusement. “It was neither. Let’s just hope Rollins is as gullible as you two.”

“It was a decoy,” Nina moaned. “You were just keeping Rollins busy.”

“I wanted Pekka Rollins preoccupied. Hopefully, he has his people trying to chase down our Ravkan contacts. They should prove difficult to find, given that they don’t exist.”

Kuwei cleared his throat. “I would prefer to go to Ravka.”

“I’d prefer a pair of sable-lined swimming trunks,” said Jesper. “But we can’t always get what we want.”

A furrow appeared between Kuwei’s brows. The limits to his understanding of Kerch had apparently been reached and surpassed.

“I would prefer to go to Ravka,” he repeated more firmly.

Kaz’s flat black gaze fastened on Kuwei and held. Kuwei squirmed nervously. “Why is he looking at me this way?”

“Kaz is wondering if he should keep you alive,” said Jesper. 

“Terrible for the nerves,” added Aryn. “I recommend deep breathing. Maybe a tonic.”

“Both of you, stop,” said Wylan.

“You need to relax.” Jesper patted Kuwei’s hand. “We’re not going to let him put you in the ground.”

Kaz raised a brow. “Let’s not make any promises just yet.”

“Come on, Kaz. We didn’t go to all that trouble to save Kuwei just to make him worm food.”

“Why do you want to go to Ravka?” Nina asked, unable to hide her eagerness.

“We never agreed to that,” Matthias said. 

Nina shrugged. “Maybe we need to rethink our options.”

Kuwei spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. “It’s safer there. For Grisha. For me. I don’t want to hide. I want to train.” Kuwei touched the notebooks in front of him. “My father’s work can help find—” He hesitated, exchanged a few words with Nina. “An antidote for parem.”

Nina clasped her hands together, beaming.

Jesper tipped back farther in his chair. “I think Nina may be about to burst into song.”

Aryn hesitated. “Look, you’re Shu, so it’ll be hard to get you into the country, but if you really want to, I can get you to the Little Palace.”

“To put this knowledge in the hands of one nation—” Matthias began.

But Kuwei interrupted. “My father brought this drug into the world. Even without me, what I know, it will be made again.”

“You’re saying someone else is going to solve the riddle of parem?” Matthias asked. 

“Sometimes scientific discoveries are like that,” said Wylan. “Once people know something is possible, the pace of new findings increases. After that, it’s like trying to get a swarm of hornets back into their nest.”

“Do you really think an antidote is possible?” Nina asked.

“I don’t know,” said Kuwei. “My father was a Fabrikator. I am just an Inferni.”

“You’re our chemist, Wylan,” said Nina hopefully. “What do you think?”

Wylan shrugged. “Maybe. Not all poisons have an antidote.”

Jesper snorted. “That’s why we call him Wylan Van Sunshine.”

“There are many talented Fabrikators. And my brother,” she tried not to let her distaste creep into her voice, “May not be a Fabrikator, but he is a brilliant scientist and inventor. If anyone could help you develop an antidote, they’d be in Ravka.”

Nina nodded emphatically. “It’s true. Genya Safin knows poisons like no one else, and David Kostyk developed all kinds of new weapons for King Nikolai.” She glanced at Matthias. “And other things too! Nice things. Very peaceable.”

Matthias shook his head. “This isn’t a decision to be made lightly.”

Kuwei’s jaw set. “I would prefer to go to Ravka.”

“See?” said Nina.

“No, I do not,” said Matthias. “We can’t just hand such a prize over to Ravka.”

“Look, I have no loyalties to Ravka anymore,” put in Aryn, “But I think we can. If you consider what each of these countries would do with Kuwei’s knowledge– what they would do to him– Ravka is the safest option.”

“Also, he’s a person, not a prize, and he wants to go,” added Nina.

“Do we all get to do what we want now?” asked Jesper. “Because I have a list.”

There was a long, tense pause, then Kaz ran a gloved thumb over the crease of his trousers and said, “Nina, love, translate for me? I want to make sure Kuwei and I understand each other.”

“Kaz—” she said warningly.

“Fine, Aryn, translate.” Kaz shifted forward and rested his hands on his knees, a kind older brother offering some friendly advice. “I think it’s important that you understand the changes in your circumstances. Van Eck knows the first place you’d go for sanctuary would be Ravka, so any ship bound for its shores is going to be searched top to bottom. The only Tailors powerful enough to make you look like someone else are in Ravka, unless Nina wants to take another dose of parem.”

Matthias growled.

“Which is unlikely,” Kaz conceded. “Now, I assume you don’t want me to cart you back to Fjerda or the Shu Han?”

It was clear Aryn had finished the translation when Kuwei yelped, “No!”

“Then your choices are Novyi Zem and the Southern Colonies, but the Kerch presence in the colonies is far lower. Also, the weather is better, if you’re partial to that kind of thing. You are a stolen painting, Kuwei. Too recognizable to sell on the open market, too valuable to leave lying around. You are worthless to me.”

“Even I have limits,” Aryn snapped. “I’m not translating that.”

“Then translate this: My sole concern is keeping you away from Jan Van Eck, and if you want me to start exploring more definite options, a bullet is a lot cheaper than putting you on a ship to the Southern Colonies.”

That Aryn translated.

Kuwei responded in Shu. 

She hesitated, fearing for his safety. “He says you’re cruel.”

“I’m pragmatic. If I were cruel, I’d give him a eulogy instead of a conversation. So, Kuwei, you’ll go to the Southern Colonies, and when the heat has died down, you can find your way to Ravka or Matthias’ grandmother’s house for all I care.”

“Leave my grandmother out of this,” Matthias said.

Aryn translated, and at last, Kuwei gave a stiff nod. 

Nina looked dejected.

Kaz checked his watch. “Now that we’re in agreement, you all know what your responsibilities are. There are a lot of things that can go wrong between now and tomorrow night, so talk through the plan and then talk through it again. We only have one shot at this.”

“Van Eck will set up a perimeter. He’ll have her heavily guarded,” said Matthias.

“That’s right. He has more guns, more men, and more resources. All we have is surprise, and we’re not going to squander it.”

A soft scraping sounded from outside. Instantly, they were on their feet and ready, even Kuwei.

But a moment later, Rotty and Corrin slipped into the tomb.

Aryn released a breath and sheathed her knives. She tried to catch Corrin’s eye, but he refused to look at her.

“What business?” asked Kaz.

“The Shu have set up at their embassy,” said Corrin. “Everyone on the Lid is talking about it.”

“Numbers?”

“Forty, give or take,” said Rotty, kicking the mud from his boots. “Heavily armed, but still operating under diplomatic flags. No one knows exactly what they want.”

“We do,” said Jesper.

“I didn’t get too near the Slat,” said Corrin, “but Per Haskell’s antsy, and he’s not being quiet about it. Without you around, work’s piling up for the old man. Now there are rumors you’re back in the city and had a run-in with a merch. Oh, and there was some kind of attack at one of the harbors a few days ago. Bunch of sailors killed, harbormaster’s office turned into a pile of splinters, but no one knows details.”

Kaz’s expression darkened. He was hungry for more information. Aryn knew he had other reasons for going after Inej, but the fact remained that, without her, their ability to gather intelligence had been severely compromised. Corrin was a good spider, but he couldn’t hold a candle to Inej.

“All right,” said Kaz. “But no one’s connected us to the raid at the Ice Court or parem?”

“Not that I heard,” said Rotty.

“Nope,” said Corrin.

Wylan looked surprised. “That means Pekka Rollins hasn’t talked.”

“Give him time,” said Kaz. “He knows we have Kuwei stashed somewhere. The letter to Ravka will only keep him chasing his tail for so long.”

Jesper tapped his fingers restlessly on his thighs. “Has anyone noticed this whole city is looking for us, mad at us, or wants to kill us?”

“So?” said Kaz.

“Well, usually it’s just half the city.”

Jesper might joke, but Aryn wondered if any of them really understood the powers arraying against them. Fjerda, the Shu Han, Novyi Zem, the Kaelish, the Kerch. These were not rival gangs or angry business partners. They were nations, determined to protect their people and secure their futures. And Aryn had seen firsthand how far each of them would go to do it.

“There’s more,” said Corrin. “Matthias, you’re dead.”

“Pardon?” 

“You were shanked in the Hellgate infirmary.”

The room went quiet. Jesper sat down heavily. “Muzzen is dead?”

“Muzzen?” 

“He took your place in Hellgate,” Jesper said. “So you could join the Ice Court job.”

“I thought you said you had a contact in the infirmary,” said Nina.

“To keep him sick, not to keep him safe.” Kaz’s face was grim. “It was a hit.”

“The Fjerdans,” said Nina.

Matthias folded his arms. “That’s not possible.”

“Why not?” Nina said. “We know there are drüskelle here. If they came to town looking for you and made noise at the Stadhall, they would have been told you were in Hellgate.”

“No,” said Matthias. “They wouldn’t resort to such an underhanded tactic. Hiring a killer? Murdering someone in his sickbed?” 

“Big, blond, and blind,” Jesper said. “The Fjerdan way.”

“Did Muzzen have family?” Matthias asked at last.

“Just the Dregs,” said Aryn.

“No mourners,” Nina murmured.

“No funerals,” Matthias replied quietly.

“How does it feel to be dead?” asked Jesper. The merry light had gone from his eyes.

“What will they do with his body?” he asked.

“It’s probably already ashes on the Reaper’s Barge,” said Kaz.

“There’s something else,” said Corrin. “Someone’s kicking up dust looking for Jesper.”

“His creditors will have to wait,” said Kaz, and Jesper winced.

“No,” Corrin said with a shake of his head. “A man showed up at the university. Jesper, he claims he’s your father.”

Chapter Text

“Corrin! Corrin, wait!” Aryn pushed out the door of the mausoleum, hurrying to catch up with him.

He turned, irritation clear on his face. “What?”

“Can we talk?”

“What is there to talk about?” He wouldn’t meet her gaze.

She stepped in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t give me that bullshit, you know exactly what.”

He clenched his jaw. “I misjudged, okay? I thought you…”

“Had feelings for you?”

He frowned. “No...I was just looking for a distraction, you know, from all the shit that was going on. I figured you needed a bit of fun, too, which I now realize was a bad assumption. What, did you think I was in love with you or something?”

His words stung like a slap in the face, like a knife through her heart. 

A distraction. Did you think I was in love with you or something? 

She forced herself to act normally. “I don’t know, I had nearly drowned, you expect me to be thinking clearly?”

He shrugged. “Fair enough.” 

“You’re not mad at me or anything?” she asked, almost hopefully.

“No, of course not. I thought you were mad at me."

"No, I'm not."

He raised an eyebrow. "So, we're cool?"

It killed her to say it, but she did anyway, "Yeah, we're cool."

“Alright. I’ll see you later.” He turned and walked away through the graveyard.

“Yeah, see– see you.”

It was fine. Everything was fine. This was better than she had expected, at least he didn’t actually have feelings for her. This was what she had wanted. So then why did it hurt so much?

The next morning, Jesper and Wylan went to meet Jesper’s father. 

Rotty had taken a message to the hotel where the man claiming to be Jesper’s father was staying, so they could set a time and place to meet. Jesper had wanted to go himself, but if his father really was in Ketterdam, it was possible he was being used as bait. Better to meet in broad daylight, on neutral ground. The university had seemed safest, far away from the dangers of the Barrel.

But just in case, Kaz and Matthias had taken to the rooftops of the university district while Aryn tailed them through the streets.

They walked past student cafés and booksellers, shop windows crammed with textbooks, ink, and paper. They were less than two miles from the noise and clatter of the Barrel, but it felt like they’d crossed a bridge into another country. Instead of packs of sailors fresh off the boats looking for trouble, or tourists jostling into you from every angle, people stepped aside to let you pass, and kept their conversations low. No barkers shouted from storefronts, hoping to garner business. The crooked little alleys were full of bookbinders and apothecaries, and the corners were free of the girls and boys who lacked an association with one of the West Stave houses and who had been forced to ply their trade on the street.

Jesper and Wylan entered the courtyard of the university. 

The courtyard was beautiful, elegant stonework, stained-glass window, a splashing fountain. Aryn had spent most of her time here for the short time when she’d attended university. That time seemed a world away now.

A man stood near the eastern wall, a crumpled hat clasped in his hands. He wore an elegant suit, his Kaelish red hair, shot through with grey, combed tidily back from his brow. Colm Fahey looked like a farmer on his way to church. Totally out of place. Aryn, Kaz—hell, anyone in the Barrel—would take one look at him and just see a walking, talking target.

Aryn leaned against the wall just out of view, listening, watching.

“Da,” Jesper croaked.

Colm’s head snapped up, and a relieved grin split his craggy features. “Jes!” he cried. 

And then Jesper was crossing the courtyard and hugging him so hard, Aryn thought Jesper’s ribs might break. “All Saints, I thought you were dead. They said you weren’t a student here anymore, that you’d just vanished and—I was sure you’d been stuck through by bandits or the like in this Saintsforsaken place.”

“I’m alive, Da,” Jesper gasped. “But if you keep squeezing me like that, I won’t be for long.”

His father laughed and released him, holding him at arm’s length, big hands on Jesper’s shoulders. “I swear you’re a foot taller.”

Jesper ducked his head. “Half a foot. Um, this is Wylan,” he said, switching from Zemeni to Kerch. 

Thank, Ghezen. Aryn’s Zemeni hadn’t been the best even when she’d first learned it. She hadn’t spoken the language in ages, except for a few times with Jesper here and there. And what with all the other languages she knew, it had started slipping over the years.

“Nice to meet you. Do you speak Kerch?” Colm practically shouted, and Aryn realized it was because Wylan still looked Shu.

“Da,” Jesper said, cringing in embarrassment. “He speaks Kerch just fine.”

“Nice to meet you, Mister Fahey,” said Wylan. 

Bless his merch manners. Aryn almost laughed.

“And you too, lad. Are you a student as well?”

“I … have studied,” said Wylan awkwardly.

The silence that followed was so awkward it was giving Aryn second-hand embarrassment.

Wylan cleared his throat. “Are you hungry, Mister Fahey?”

“Starving,” Jesper’s father replied gratefully.

Wylan gave Jesper a poke with his elbow. “Maybe we could take your father to lunch?”

“Lunch,” Jesper said, repeating the word as if he’d just learned it. “Yes, lunch. Who doesn’t like lunch?” 

“But Jesper, what has been happening? I received a notice from the Gemensbank. The loan is coming due, and you’d given me to believe it was temporary. And your studies—”

“Da,” Jesper began. “I … the thing is—”

A shot rang out against the walls of the courtyard. 

Jesper shoved his father behind him as a bullet pinged off the stones at their feet, sending up a cloud of dust. Suddenly, gunfire was echoing across the courtyard. The reverberation made it hard to tell where the shots were coming from.

Aryn drew her revolver, ducking behind the wall.

“What in the name of all that is holy—” Jesper yanked on his father’s sleeve, pulling him toward the hooded stone shelter of a doorway. Wylan was already in motion, keeping pace beside Jesper in what passed for a reasonable crouch. Nothing like being shot at a few times to make you a fast learner. 

Aryn took a breath and then sprinted across the courtyard, reaching Jesper’s side just as they reached the protective curve of the overhang. 

Colm jerked back when he saw her and her revolver. Aryn raised her hands. “I’m not going to hurt you, Mr. Fahey. I’m a friend of Jesper’s.”

“I– I see.”

Jesper craned his neck to try to see up to the roofline, then flinched back as more shots rang out. He glanced at Aryn. “Any idea who it is?”

She shook her head. “None.”

Another smattering of gunfire rattled from somewhere above and to the left of them, and Aryn could only hope that meant Matthias and Kaz were returning fire.

“Saints!” Colm gasped. “This city is worse than the guidebooks said!”

“Da, it isn’t the city,” Jesper said, pulling the pistol from his coat. “They’re after me. Or after us. Hard to say.”

“Who’s after you?”

Jesper exchanged a glance with Aryn. 

Jan Van Eck? A rival gang looking to settle a score? Pekka Rollins or someone else Jesper had borrowed money from? 

“There’s a long list of potential suitors. We need to get out of here before they introduce themselves more personally.”

“Brigands?”

Jesper restrained a grin. “Something like that.”

He peered around the edge of the door, peeled off two shots, then ducked back when another spate of gunfire exploded.

“Wylan, tell me you’re packing more than pens, ink, and weevil makings.”

“I’ve got two flash bombs and something new I rigged up with a little more, um, wallop.”

“Bombs?” Jesper’s father asked, blinking as if to wake himself from a bad dream.

“Think of them as science experiments?” suggested Aryn.

“What kind of numbers are we up against?” asked Wylan.

“Look at you, asking all the right questions,” said Jesper.  

Aryn knotted her brow. “Hard to tell. They’re somewhere on the roof, and the only way out is back through the archway. That’s a lot of courtyard to cross with them firing from high ground. Even if we make it, I’m guessing they’re going to have plenty more thunder waiting for us outside the Boeksplein unless Kaz and Matthias can somehow clear a path.”

“I know another way out,” said Wylan. “But the entrance is on the other side of the courtyard.” He pointed to a door beneath an arch carved with some kind of horned monster gnawing on a pencil.

“The reading room?” Jesper gauged the distance. “All right. On three, you make a break. Aryn and I will cover you. Get my father inside.”

“Jesper—”

“Da, I swear I’ll explain everything, but right now all you need to know is that we’re in a bad situation, and bad situations happen to be my area of expertise. Trust me, Da.”

“All right, boy. All right.”

Wylan braced himself. The merchling was still so new to all this. Hopefully, Jesper and Aryn wouldn’t get everyone killed.

“One, two…” 

Aryn started firing on three, lending Jesper cover as he leaped into the courtyard, rolling for cover behind the fountain. As Jesper laid down fire, Aryn took her opportunity to follow his path, dropping down beside him.

A bullet struck the fountain’s central statue, mere feet above her head, the book in the scholar’s hand exploding into fragments of stone. Whatever ammunition they were using, they weren’t messing around.

Jesper reloaded and popped up from behind the fountain, shooting.

“All Saints,” he shouted as he shrank back behind the stone lip. He flexed his hand, testing the damage to his arm. He was bleeding all over his new tweed jacket. 

“You alright?” asked Aryn, firing blindly over the edge of the fountain.

“Yeah, fine. This is why it doesn’t pay to try to look respectable,” he muttered. 

Above them, they could see the silhouettes on the roof moving. Any minute, they were going to circle around the other side of the fountain, and they’d be done for.

“Jesper!” Wylan’s voice. Damn it. He was supposed to get clear. “Jesper, at your two o’clock.”

Aryn looked up, and something was arcing through the sky. Jesper aimed and fired. The air exploded.

“Get in the water!” Wylan shouted.

Jesper dove into the fountain, Aryn right behind him, and a second later, the air sizzled with light. When they poked their soaked heads out of the water, they saw that every exposed surface of the courtyard and its gardens was pocked with holes, tendrils of smoke rising from the tiny craters. Whoever was up on the roof was screaming. Just what kind of bomb had Wylan let loose?

Aryn hoped Matthias and Kaz had found cover, but there was no time to stew on it. She bolted for the doorway beneath the pencil-chewing demon, Jesper on her heels. Wylan and his father were waiting inside. They slammed the door shut.

“Help me,” said Jesper. “We need to barricade the entrance.”

The man behind the desk wore gray scholar’s robes. His nostrils were flared so wide in effrontery that Aryn feared being sucked up one of them. “Young man—”

Jesper pointed his gun at the scholar’s chest. “Move.”

“Jesper!” his father said.

“Don’t worry, Da. People point guns at each other all the time in Ketterdam. It’s basically a handshake.”

“Is that true?” his father asked as the scholar grudgingly moved aside and they shoved the heavy desk in front of the door.

“Absolutely,” said Wylan.

“Certainly not,” said the scholar.

Aryn waved them on. “Depends on the neighborhood. Let’s go.”

They pelted down the main aisle of the reading room between long tables lit by lamps with curving necks. Students huddled against the wall and under their chairs, probably thinking they were all about to die.

“Nothing to worry about, everyone!” Jesper called. “Just a little target practice in the courtyard.”

“This way,” said Wylan, ushering them through a door covered in elaborate scrollwork.

“Oh, you mustn’t,” said the scholar, rushing after them, robes flapping. “Not the rare books room!”

“Do you want to shake hands again?” Jesper asked, then added, “I promise we won’t shoot anything we don’t have to.”

He gave his father a gentle shove. “Up the stairs.”

“Jesper?” said a voice from beneath the nearest table. A pretty blonde girl looked up from where she was crouched on the floor.

“Madeleine?” Jesper said. “Madeleine Michaud?”

“You said we’d have breakfast!”

“I had to go to Fjerda.”

“Fjerda?”

“We don’t have time for you to flirt, Jes,” snapped Aryn.

Jesper followed her up the stairs after Wylan, then poked his head back into the reading room. “If I live, I’ll buy you waffles.”

“You don’t have enough money to buy her waffles,” Wylan grumbled.

“Be quiet. We’re in a library.”

Aryn had never had cause to enter the rare books room while she was at school. The silence was so deep it was like being underwater. Illuminated manuscripts were displayed in glass cases lit by golden falls of lamplight, and rare maps covered the walls.

A Squaller in a blue kefta stood in the corner, perusing one of the shelves, but shrank back as they entered. Aryn recognized him, though she couldn’t remember his name. He’d worked for her family before, so she guessed he was probably part of Ravka’s delegation to resolve the parem situation.

“Shu!” the Squaller cried when he saw Wylan. “I won’t go with you. I’ll kill myself first!”

“He’s a friend,” Aryn quickly shouted in Ravkan. “He won’t hurt you.”

The Squaller’s eyes widened when he saw her, and he dropped to one knee. “Moi tsarevna.”

Aryn gritted her teeth, but didn’t stop to deal with it. Colm stared at her in amazement, but Jesper gave him another little push.

“Follow me,” said Wylan.

They raced through the labyrinth of shelves and cases, past the occasional scholar or student crouched against the books in fear.

When they reached the westernmost wall, Wylan stopped in front of a map of Ravka. He looked around to make sure they weren’t being observed, then pressed the symbol marking the capital—Os Alta. The country seemed to tear apart along the seam of the Unsea, revealing a dark gap barely wide enough to squeeze through.

“It leads to the second floor of a printmaker’s shop,” said Wylan as they edged inside. “It was built as a way for professors to get from the library to their homes without having to deal with angry students.”

“Angry?” Jesper’s father said. “Do all the students have guns?”

“No, but there’s a long-standing tradition of rioting over grades.”

The map slid closed, leaving them in the dark as they shuffled along sideways.

“Not to be a podge,” Aryn heard Jesper murmur to Wylan, “but I wouldn’t have thought you’d know your way around the rare books room.”

“I used to meet with one of my tutors here, back when my father still thought … The tutor had a lot of interesting stories. And I always liked the maps. Tracing the letters sometimes made it easier to … It’s how I found the passage.”

“You know, Wylan, one of these days I’m going to stop underestimating you.”

There was a brief pause and then, from somewhere up ahead, she heard Wylan say, “Then you’re going to be a lot harder to surprise.”

From behind them, Aryn could hear shouting from the rare books room. It had been a close call, Jesper was bleeding from his shoulder, they’d made a grand escape. 

But as they walked, all Aryn could think about was the Squaller in the rare books room, who’d called her by her old title. She set her teeth grimly. If Nikolai hadn’t known she was alive, he would now. And it would take just a little asking around for someone to recognize her as the person he was looking for, and then he would know exactly how to find her.

Chapter Text

Aryn couldn’t stop staring at Colm Fahey. She hadn’t gotten a chance to properly study him while they were being shot at, but now it was hard to stop. He was a bit shorter than his son, broader in the shoulders, his coloring classically Kaelish—vibrant, dark red hair and that salt-white skin, densely clouded with freckles by the Zemeni sun. And though his eyes were the same clear gray as Jesper’s, they had a seriousness to them, a kind of sure warmth that differed from Jesper’s crackling energy.

It wasn’t only the pleasure of trying to find Jesper in his father’s features that kept Aryn’s attention focused on the farmer. There was just something so strange about seeing a person that wholesome standing in the stone hull of an empty mausoleum surrounded by Ketterdam’s worst—herself among them.

Colm Fahey stood mangling his hat, and Jesper looked like he’d rather be eating a stack of waffles topped with ground glass than face him. Aryn tried to read Kaz’s expression. Kaz didn’t like surprises or potential vulnerabilities, and Jesper’s father was one very stocky, wind-chafed vulnerability.

But after hearing Jesper’s breathless description of how they’d escaped the university, Kaz simply leaned on his cane and said, “Were you followed?”

“No,” Jesper replied with a decisive shake of his head.

He looked to her. “Aryn?”

Colm bristled. “You doubt my son’s word?”

“It isn’t personal, Da,” said Jesper. “He doubts everyone’s word.”

Kaz’s expression was unruffled, his rough stone voice so easy and pleasant that Aryn felt the hair rise on her arms. “Apologies, Mister Fahey. A habit one develops in the Barrel. Trust but verify.”

“Or don’t trust at all,” muttered Matthias.

“Aryn?” Kaz repeated.

Aryn leaned back against the wall. “If they’d known about the passage, they would have followed us or had people waiting in the printmaker’s shop. We lost them.”

“I counted about ten on the roof,” said Kaz, and Matthias nodded confirmation.

“Sounds right,” said Jesper. “But I can’t be sure. They had the sun at their backs.”

Kaz sat down, his black eyes focused on Jesper’s father.

“You were the bait.”

“Pardon, lad?”

“The bank called in your loan?”

Colm blinked, surprised. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact, they sent me a rather sternly worded letter that I’d become an unstable credit risk. They said that if I didn’t pay in full, they would be forced to take legal action.” He turned to his son. “I wrote to you, Jes.” His voice was confused, not accusing.

“I … I haven’t been able to collect mail.” After Jesper had stopped attending university, had he still managed to receive letters there? Aryn wondered how he’d maintained this ruse for so long. It would have been made easier by the fact that Colm was an ocean away—and by his desire to believe in his son.

An easy mark, she thought sadly. No matter his reasons, Jesper had been conning his own father.

“Jesper—” said Colm.

“I was trying to get the money, Da.”

“They’re threatening to take the farm.”

Jesper’s eyes were firmly fixed on the tomb floor. “I was close. I am close.”

“To the money?” Now Aryn heard Colm’s frustration. “We’re sitting in a tomb. We were just shot at.”

“What got you on a ship to Ketterdam?” Kaz asked.

“The bank moved up the collection date!” Colm said indignantly. “Simply said I’d run out of time. I tried to reach Jesper, but when there was no reply, I thought—”

Aryn wanted to come to Jesper’s defense, but this wasn’t her business.

“You thought you’d see what your brilliant boy was up to here on the dark streets of Ketterdam.”

“I feared the worst. The city does have a reputation.”

“Well deserved, I promise you,” said Kaz. “And when you arrived?”

“I made inquiries at the university. They said he wasn’t enrolled, so I went to the constabulary.”

Jesper winced. “Oh, Da. The stadwatch?”

Colm crushed his hat with fresh vigor. “And where was I supposed to go, Jes? You know how dangerous it is for … for someone like you.”

“Da,” Jesper said, looking his father in the eye at last. “You didn’t tell them I’m—”

“Of course not!”

Grisha. Why won’t either of them say it?

Colm threw down the lump of felt that had been his hat. “I don’t understand any of this. Why would you bring me to this horrible place? Why were we shot at? What has become of your studies? What has become of you?”

Jesper opened his mouth, closed it. “Da, I … I—”

“It was my fault,” Wylan blurted. Every eye turned to him.

“He uh … he was concerned about the bank loan, so he put his studies on hold to work with a…”

“Local gunsmith,” Aryn offered.

She had no idea where Wylan was going with this, but he was clearly in need of assistance.

“Yes!” said Wylan eagerly. “A gunsmith! And then I … I told him about a deal—”

“They were swindled,” Kaz said. His voice was as cold and steady as ever, but he held himself stiffly, as if walking over uncertain ground. “They were offered a business opportunity that seemed too good to be true.”

Aryn tried to meet his gaze, but he wouldn’t look at her. This was his story.

Colm slumped into a chair. “If it seems that way, then—”

“It probably is,” said Kaz. 

“Did you and your brother lose everything?” Colm asked Wylan.

“My brother?” Wylan asked blankly.

“Your twin brother,” Kaz said with a glance at Kuwei, who sat quietly observing the proceedings. “Yes. They lost everything. Wylan’s brother hasn’t spoken a word since.”

“Does seem the quiet type,” Colm said. “And you are all…students?”

“Of a sort,” said Kaz.

“And her?” asked Colm, gesturing to Aryn. “The Squaller in the library, he called her moi…moi tsa-tsarevna.” He struggled to pronounce the Ravkan words. “That’s Ravkan, isn’t it? For princess? Isn’t their princess dead?”

Kaz glared at her and Jesper. “Neither of you mentioned that you got recognized.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll deal with it.” She turned to Colm. “Yes, most think I’m dead. I came to Ketterdam to finish my studies without constantly being recognized.”

“I see….And you all spend your free hours in a graveyard? Can we not go to the authorities? Tell them what happened? These swindlers may have other victims.”

“Well—” Wylan began, but Kaz silenced him with a look. A strange hush fell in the tomb. 

Kaz took a seat at the table. “The authorities can’t help you,” he said. “Not in this city.”

“Why not?”

“Because the law here is profit. Jesper and Wylan tried to take a shortcut. The stadwatch won’t so much as wipe their tears. Sometimes, the only way to get justice is to take it for yourself.”

“And that’s where you come in.”Kaz nodded. “We’re going to get your money. You won’t lose your farm.”

“But you’re going to step outside the law to do it,” Colm said. He shook his head wearily. “You barely look old enough to graduate.”

“Ketterdam was my education. And I can tell you this: Jesper never would have turned to me for help if he’d had anywhere else to go.”

“You can’t be so bad, boy,” said Colm gruffly. “You haven’t been alive long enough to rack up your share of sin.”

“I’m a quick study.”

“Can I trust you?”

“No.”

Colm took up his crumpled hat again. “Can I trust you to help Jesper through this?”

“Yes.”

Colm sighed. He looked around at all of them. Aryn found herself standing up straighter. “You lot make me feel very old.”

“Spend a little more time in Ketterdam,” said Kaz. “You’ll feel ancient.” Then he tilted his head to one side, and Aryn saw that distant, considering look cross his features. “You have an honest face, Mister Fahey.”

Colm shot Jesper a puzzled glance. “Well. I should hope so, and thank you for marking it.”

“It’s not a compliment,” said Jesper. “And I know that look, Kaz. Don’t you dare start those wheels spinning.”

Kaz’s only response was a slow blink. Whatever scheme had been set in motion in his diabolical brain, it was too late to stop it now. “Where are you staying?”

“The Ostrich.”

“It isn’t safe to go back there. We’re moving you to the Geldrenner Hotel. We’ll register you under a different name.”

“But why?” Colm sputtered.

“Because some people want Jesper dead, and they already used you to lure him out of hiding once. I have no doubt they’d be willing to take you hostage, and there’s too much of that going around already.” Kaz scribbled a few instructions to Rotty and handed him a very thick stack of kruge. “Feel free to take your meals in the dining room, Mister Fahey, but I’d ask that you forgo the sights and stay inside the hotel until we contact you. If anyone asks your business, you’re here for a bit of rest and relaxation.”

Colm considered Rotty and then Kaz. He expelled a decisive breath. “No. I thank you, but this is a mistake.” He turned to Jesper. “We’ll find another way to pay the debt. Or we’ll start over somewhere else.”

“You’re not giving up the farm,” Jesper said. He lowered his voice. “She’s there. We can’t leave her.”

“Jes—”

“Please, Da. Please let me make this right. I know—” He swallowed, his bony shoulders bunching. “I know I let you down. Just give me one more chance.” 

Aryn suspected he wasn’t only speaking to his father.

“We don’t belong here, Jes. This place is too loud, too lawless. Nothing makes sense.”

“Mister Fahey,” Kaz said quietly. “You know what they say about walking in a cow pasture?”

Jesper’s brows shot up, and Aryn could hear his thoughts. What did the bastard of the Barrel know about cow pastures?

“Keep your head down and watch your step,” Colm replied.

Kaz nodded. “Just think of Ketterdam as a really big cow pasture.” The barest smile tugged at the furrow of Colm’s mouth. “Give us three days to get your money and get you and your son out of Kerch safely.”

“Is that really possible?”

“Anything can happen in this city.”

“That thought doesn’t fill me with confidence.” He rose, and Jesper shot to his feet.

“Da?”

“Three days, Jesper. Then we go home. With or without the money.” He rested a hand on Jesper’s shoulder. “And for Saints’ sake, be careful. All of you.”

Aryn felt a sudden lump in her throat. Matthias had lost his family to war. Nina had been taken from her family to train when she was just a little girl. Wylan had been as good as evicted from his father’s house. Kuwei had lost his father and his country. Kaz had lost his parents and his brother. Aryn’s family was either dead, dead to her, or she was dead to them.

But Jesper had somewhere to go, someone to take care of him, somebody to say, It’s going to be all right. She had a vision of golden fields beneath a cloudless sky, a clapboard house protected from the wind by a line of red oaks. Someplace safe. 

Aryn wished Colm Fahey could march over to Jan Van Eck’s office and tell him to give Inej back or get a mouthful of knuckles. She wished someone in this city would help them, that they weren’t so alone. She wished Jesper’s father could take them all with him. She’d never been to Novyi Zem, but the longing for those golden fields felt just like homesickness. 

Silly, she told herself, childish. Kaz was right—if they wanted justice, they would have to take it for themselves. That didn’t ease the starved-heart pang in her chest.

But then Colm was saying his goodbyes to Jesper and disappearing through the stone graves with Rotty and Specht.

He turned to wave and was gone.

“I should go with him,” Jesper said, hovering in the doorway.

“You already almost got him killed once,” said Kaz.

“Do we know who set up the ambush at the university?” Wylan asked.

“Jesper’s father went to the stadwatch,” said Matthias. “I’m sure many of the officers are susceptible to bribes.”

“True,” said Nina. “But it can’t be coincidence that the bank called in his loan when they did.”

Wylan sat down at the table. “If the banks are involved, my father may be behind it.”

“Pekka Rollins has influence at the banks too,” Kaz said, and Aryn saw his gloved hand flex over the crow’s head of his cane.

“Could they be working together?” she asked.

Jesper rubbed his hands over his face. “All the Saints and your Aunt Eva, let’s hope not.”

“I’m not ruling anything out,” said Kaz. “But none of this changes what has to happen tonight. Here.” He reached inside one of the niches in the wall.

“My revolvers!” Jesper exclaimed, clutching them to his chest. “Oh, hello, you gorgeous things.” His grin was dazzling. “You got them back!”

“The safe at the Cumulus is an easy crack.”

“Thank you, Kaz. Thank you.”

Any hint of the warmth Kaz had shown Jesper’s father was gone, as fleeting as the dream of those golden fields. “What good is a shooter without his guns?” Kaz asked, seemingly oblivious to the way Jesper’s smile collapsed. “You’ve been in the red too long. We all have. This is the night we start paying our debts.”

* * *

Night had fallen, and they were on their way to do just that, a waxing moon glaring down at them like a white and watchful eye. Aryn rolled her neck. Beside her, Nina shook out her sleeves. The cold snap had broken, and they were in the middle of a proper late spring. Or what passed for that in Kerch—the moist, claustrophobic warmth of an animal’s mouth relieved only by brief, unpredictable storms. 

Matthias and Jesper had left for the docks early to make sure the gondel was in place. Then they’d all headed to the launch point, leaving Kuwei on Black Veil with Corrin and Specht. The boat cut silently through the water. Ahead, Nina could see the gleam of lights guiding them onward.

Jesper’s revolvers were back at his hips, and both he and Matthias had rifles slung across their shoulders. Kaz had a pistol in his coat and that demonic cane, and Aryn saw Wylan rest a hand on his satchel. It was packed with explosives, flash bombs, and who knew what else. Aryn had her knives and revolver as usual.

“We better be right about all this,” Wylan said on a sigh. “My father is going to be ready.”

“I’m counting on it,” Kaz replied.

No one spoke as they reached shore and disembarked as quickly and quietly as possible. Kaz gestured for them to get to their positions. He would approach from the north, Matthias and Wylan from the east. Aryn, Nina, and Jesper would be responsible for the guards on the western edge of the perimeter.

Nina flexed her fingers. Silence four guards. That should be easy. A few weeks ago, it would have been. Slow their pulses. Send them quietly into unconsciousness without ever letting an alarm sound. But now Aryn thought she seemed nervous, who knew what effect parem had had on her power.

She saw the shapes of the first two guards at their post. They leaned against the low stone wall, rifles propped beside them, their conversation rising and falling in a lazy hum. Easy.

“Take ’em shut-eye,” said Jesper.

Nina was hesitating, her arms raised, but nothing was happening..

“What are you waiting for?” said Jesper.

Alerted by some sound or simply their presence, one of the guards glanced in their direction, peering into the shadows. He lifted his rifle and signaled to his companion to follow.

“They’re headed this way.” Jesper’s hands went to his guns.

Aryn reached for her revolver. If they had to shoot, the other guards would be alerted. The alarm would be raised, and this whole endeavor might go straight to hell.

One of the guards faltered, went to his knees.

“Gillis!” said the other guard. “What is it?” But he was not foolish enough to lower his weapon. “Halt!” he shouted in their direction, still trying to support his friend. “Identify yourselves.”

“Nina,” Aryn whispered furiously. “Do something.”

Nina clenched her fist.

“Identify yourselves!”

Jesper drew his gun. Aryn unseathed her knives. The less noise they made, the better.

She caught a movement from the corner of her eye, a dim shape emerging from the shadows—a cloud of dust. It shot toward the standing guard. He swatted at it as if trying to drive away a swarm of mosquitoes, but it whirred faster, faster, a nearly invisible blur. The guard opened his mouth to scream, and the cloud vanished. He let out a grunt and toppled backward.

His compatriot was still balancing woozily on his knees.

They strode forward, and Aryn gave the kneeling guard a whack to the back of the head with the pommel of her knife. The man slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Cautiously, they examined the other guard. He lay with eyes open, staring up at the starry sky. His mouth and nostrils were choked with fine white dust.

“Did you do that?” said Jesper to Nina.

Had she? This shouldn’t be possible. A Corporalnik could manipulate the human body, not inorganic matter. This was the work of a Fabrikator—a powerful one. 

“It wasn’t you?” asked Nina, her voice shaking slightly.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but this was all you, gorgeous.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him.” 

“There are two more guards,” said Aryn, quietly. “And we’re already running late.”

“How about we just knock them over the head?”

“Sophisticated. I like it,” grinned Jesper.

“Come on,” Nina said. “Let’s go get our girl.”

Chapter Text

The siege on the lake house had gone off exactly as they’d planned. Only three days after Inej was taken, Rotty had alerted Kaz to the lights that had appeared on Eil Komedie, and the fact that boats had been seen coming and going there at odd hours, often carrying a young Suli man. He’d quickly been identified as Adem Bajan, a music teacher indentured to Van Eck for the last six months. He’d apparently joined the Van Eck household after Wylan had left home, but Wylan wasn’t surprised his father had secured professional musical instruction for Alys.

“Is she any good?” asked Jesper.

Wylan had hesitated, then said, “She’s very enthusiastic.”

It had been easy enough to surmise that Inej was being kept on Eil Komedie, and Nina had wanted to go after her immediately.

“He didn’t take her out of the city,” she’d said, cheeks glowing with color for the first time since she’d emerged from her battle with parem. “It’s obvious he’s keeping her there.”

But Kaz had simply gazed into the middle distance with that odd look on his face and said, “Too obvious.”

“Kaz—”

“How would you like a hundred kruge?”

“What’s the catch?”

“Exactly. Van Eck’s making it too easy. He’s treating us like marks. But he isn’t Barrel born, and we aren’t a bunch of dumb culls ready to jump at the first shiny lure he flashes. Van Eck wants us to think she’s on that island. Maybe she is. But he’ll have plenty of firepower waiting for us too, maybe even a few Grisha using parem.”

“Always hit where the mark isn’t looking,” Wylan had murmured.

“Sweet Ghezen,” said Jesper. “You’ve been thoroughly corrupted.”

Kaz had tapped his crow’s head cane on the flagstones of the tomb floor. “Do you know what Van Eck’s problem is?”

“No honor?” said Matthias.

“Rotten parenting skills?” said Nina.

“Receding hairline?” offered Jesper.

“General assholery?” suggested Aryn.

“No,” said Kaz. “Too much to lose. And he gave us a map to what to steal first.”

He’d pushed himself to his feet and begun laying out the plans for kidnapping Alys. Instead of trying to rescue Inej as Van Eck expected, they would force Van Eck to trade her for his very pregnant wife. The first trick had been finding her. Van Eck was no fool. Kaz suspected that he’d gotten Alys out of the city as soon as he’d made his false deal with them, and their initial investigations supported that. Van Eck wouldn’t keep his wife in a warehouse or factory or industrial building, and she was at neither of the hotels he owned, nor at the Van Eck country house, nor at his two farms near Elsmeer. It was possible he’d spirited her away to some farm or holding across the True Sea, but Kaz doubted he’d put the woman carrying his heir through a grueling sea voyage.

“Van Eck must be keeping property off the books,” Kaz had said. “Probably income too.”

Jesper frowned. “Isn’t not paying your taxes … I don’t know, sacrilegious? I thought he was all about serving Ghezen.”

“Ghezen and Kerch aren’t the same thing,” Wylan said.

Of course, uncovering those secret properties had meant gaining access to Cornelis Smeet’s office and another series of deceptions. Thanks to Smeet’s files, Kaz had located the lake house, a fine property ten miles south of the city, easy to defend, comfortably appointed, and listed under the Hendriks name.

Always hit where the mark isn’t looking. When you were outgunned and outmanned, you sought the less defended targets. Van Eck had expected a rescue attempt on Inej, so that was where he’d concentrated his forces.

At the lake house, they’d tied up the remaining guards, herded them and the rest of the staff into the pantry, and then swept up the stairs to the second floor wearing the masks of the Komedie Brute. They’d stopped outside the music room, where Alys was perched precariously on the bench of a pianoforte. Though they had expected to find her asleep, she was laboring her way through some piece of music.

Aryn winced. “All Saints, what is that noise?”

“I think it’s ‘Be Still, Little Bumble Bee,’” said Wylan from behind the mask and horns of his Gray Imp ensemble. “But it’s hard to tell.”

When they’d entered the music room, the silky-haired terrier at her feet had the sense to growl, but poor, pretty, pregnant Alys had just looked up from her sheet music and said, “Is this a play?”

“Yes, love,” said Jesper gently, “and you’re the star.”

They’d tucked her into a warm coat, then shepherded her out of the house and into the waiting boat. She’d been so docile that Nina had become concerned. 

“Maybe she’s not getting enough blood to her brain?” she’d murmured to Aryn.

But halfway back to the city, when Nina had bound Alys’s hands and tied a blindfold over her eyes, securing it tightly to the neat braids coiled atop her head, the reality of her situation must have started to sink in. She’d begun to sniffle, wiping her running nose on her velvet sleeve. The sniffling became a kind of wobbly deep breathing, and by the time they’d gotten Alys settled comfortably at the tomb and even found a little cushion for her feet, she’d let out a long wail.

“I want to go hooooooome,” she’d cried. “I want my dog.”

From then on, the crying hadn’t stopped. Kaz had eventually thrown his hands up in frustration, and they’d all stepped outside the tomb to try to find some quiet.

“Are pregnant women always like this?” Nina had moaned.

Matthias glanced inside the stone hull. “Only the kidnapped ones.”

“I can’t hear myself think,” Aryn groaned, debating banging her head against the wall.

“Maybe if we took the blindfold off?” Wylan suggested. “We could wear our Komedie Brute masks.”

Kaz shook his head. “We can’t risk her leading Van Eck back here.”

“She’s going to make herself ill,” said Matthias.

“We’re in the middle of a job,” Kaz said. “There’s a lot that has to happen before the exchange tomorrow. Someone find a way to shut her up, or I will.”

“She’s a frightened girl—” Wylan protested.

“I didn’t ask for a description.”

But Wylan kept on. “Kaz, promise me you won’t—”

“Before you finish that sentence, I want you to think about what a promise from me costs and what you’re willing to pay for it.”

“It’s not her fault her parents shoved her into a marriage with my father.”

“Alys isn’t here because she did something wrong. She’s here because she’s leverage.”

“She’s just a pregnant girl—”

“Getting pregnant isn’t actually a special talent. Ask any luckless girl in the Barrel.”

“Inej wouldn’t want—”

In the space of a breath, Kaz had shoved Wylan against the tomb wall with his forearm, the crow head of his cane wedged beneath Wylan’s jaw. “Tell me my business again.” Wylan swallowed, parted his lips. “Do it,” said Kaz. “And I’ll cut the tongue from your head and feed it to the first stray cat I find.”

“Kaz—” Jesper said cautiously. Kaz ignored him.

Wylan’s lips flattened to a thin, stubborn line. The boy really didn’t know what was good for him. 

“Kaz, stop,” said Aryn sternly, shoving his cane away from Wylan and pushing him back.

She was probably the only one, other than Inej, who could have done so without getting a bullet to the head. Even so, Kaz fixed his shark-like stare on her.

She raised her eyebrows, glaring right back, daring him to start something.

“Someone stick a cork in that girl before I get back,” he said, and strode off into the graveyard.

“Best not to mention Inej,” Jesper said as Wylan dusted himself off. “You know, if you feel like continuing to live.”

Wylan shook his head. “But isn’t this all about Inej?”

“No, it’s all about the grand plan, remember?” Nina said with a snort. “Getting Inej away from Van Eck is just the first phase.”

They headed back into the tomb. Alys had quieted and was sitting with her hands folded on her belly, releasing small, unhappy hiccups. She made a lackluster attempt at removing her blindfold, but Nina had been clever with the knots. Aryn glanced at Kuwei, who was perched across from her at the table. The Shu boy just shrugged.

Nina sat down next to Alys. “Would you um … like some tea?”

“With honey?” Alys asked.

“I, uh … I think we have sugar?”

“I only like tea with honey and lemon.”

Nina looked like she might tell Alys exactly where she could put her honey and lemon, so Matthias said hurriedly, “How would you like a chocolate biscuit?”

“Oh, I love chocolate!”

Nina’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember saying you could give away my biscuits.”

“It’s for a good cause,” Matthias said, retrieving the tin. “Besides, you’ve barely touched them.”

“I’m saving them for later,” said Nina with a sniff. “And you should not cross me when it comes to sweets.”

Jesper nodded. “She’s like a dessert-hoarding dragon.”

Alys’ head had swiveled right and left behind her blindfold.

“You all sound so young,” she said. “Where are your parents?”

Aryn and Jesper burst out laughing. “Why is that funny?”

“It’s not,” Nina said reassuringly. “They’re just being idiots.”

“Hey, now,” said Jesper. “We’re not the ones dipping into your cookie stash.”

“I don’t let just anyone into my cookie stash,” Nina said with a wink.

“She certainly doesn’t,” Matthias grumped, so proudly that Aryn started laughing again.

“So,” Jesper said, throwing an arm around Alys’ shoulder. “Tell us about your stepson.”

Aryn rolled her eyes. Really, Jes?

“Why?” Alys asked. “Are you going to kidnap him, too?”

Jesper scoffed, “I doubt it. I hear he’s twelve kinds of trouble to keep around.”

Wylan crossed his arms. “I hear he’s talented and misunderstood.”

Alys frowned. “I can understand him perfectly well. He doesn’t mumble or anything. In fact, he sounds a bit like you.”

Wylan flinched as Jesper doubled over with laughter. “And yes, he’s very talented. He’s studying music in Belendt.”

“But what is he like?” Jesper asked. “Any secret fears he confided? Bad habits? Ill-conceived infatuations?”

Wylan shoved the tin of biscuits at Alys. “Have another cookie.”

“She’s had three!” protested Nina.

“Wylan was always nice to my birds. I miss my birds. And Rufus. I want to go hoooooome.” And then she was blubbering again.

Aryn knocked her head against the wall behind her.

Nina plunked her head down on the table in defeat. “Well done. I thought we might actually get a moment of silence. I’ve sacrificed my biscuits for nothing.”

“Have none of you people ever encountered a pregnant woman before?” Matthias grumbled. He tore a strip from one of the ragged blankets in the corner.

“Here,” he said to Jesper. “Dip this in water so we can make a cool compress.” He squatted down and said to Alys, “I’m going to take off your shoes.”

“Why?” she said.

“Because your feet are swollen, and it will soothe you to have them rubbed.”

“Oh, now this is interesting,” Nina said.

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“Too late,” she said, wiggling her toes.

Matthias slid off Alys’ shoes and said, “You haven’t been kidnapped. You’re just being held for a brief time. By tomorrow afternoon, you’ll be home with your dog and your birds. You know that no one is going to hurt you, yes?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, you can’t see me, but I’m the biggest person here, and I promise that no one will hurt you.” 

That was probably a lie. Alys was currently having her feet rubbed and a cool towel placed on her forehead in a pit full of some of the deadliest vipers slithering the streets of this city. 

“Now,” he said, “it’s very important that you stay calm so that you don’t make yourself ill. What helps to cheer you?”

“I … I like to go for walks by the lake.”

“All right, maybe we can go for a walk later. What else?”

“I like doing my hair.”

Matthias gave Nina a meaningful look.

She scowled. “Why do you assume I know how to arrange hair?”

“Because yours always looks so nice.”

“Wait,” said Jesper. “Is he being charming?” He peered at Matthias. “How do we know this isn’t an impostor?”

Nina turned to Aryn for help.

Aryn shook her head. “Don’t look at me.”

“Perhaps someone could do your hair,” said Nina grudgingly.

“Anything else?” asked Matthias.

“I like singing,” said Alys.

Wylan shook his head frantically, mouthing, No, no, no.

“Shall I sing?” Alys asked hopefully. “Bajan says that I’m good enough to be on the stage.”

“Maybe we save that for later—” suggested Jesper.

Alys’ lower lip began to wobble like a plate about to break.

“Sing,” Matthias blurted, “by all means, sing.”

And then the real nightmare began.

It wasn’t that Alys was so bad, she just never stopped. She sang between bites of food. She sang while she was walking through the graves. She sang from behind a bush when she needed to relieve herself. When she finally dozed off, she hummed in her sleep.

“Maybe this was Van Eck’s plan all along,” Kaz said glumly when they’d assembled outside the tomb again.

“To drive us mad?” said Nina. 

“Well, it’s working,” sighed Aryn.

Jesper shut his eyes and groaned. “Diabolical.”

Kaz consulted his pocket watch. “Nina and Matthias should get going, anyway. If you get into position early, you can catch a few hours of sleep.” 

They had to be careful coming and going from the island, so they couldn’t afford to wait until dawn to assume their posts.

“You’ll find the masks and capes at the furrier,” Kaz continued. “Look for the golden badger on the sign. Get as close to the Lid as possible before you start handing them out, and then head south. Don’t stay in any one place too long. I don’t want you drawing too much attention from the bosses.”

Kaz met each of their gazes in turn. “Everyone needs to be in final position before noon. Wylan on the ground. Matthias on the roof of the Emporium Komedie. Jesper will be across from you on the roof of the Ammbers Hotel. Nina, you’ll be on the hotel’s third floor. The room has a balcony overlooking Goedmedbridge. Make sure your sight lines are clear. I want you with eyes on Van Eck from moment one. He’ll be planning something, and we need to be ready. Aryn, you’re with me.”

Nina cast a furtive glance at Jesper and then her, but all she said was, “No mourners.”

“No funerals,” they replied.

They were all in position by twelve bells the next day. Aryn and Kaz stood with Alys on Goedmedbridge in West Stave, the grand facade of the White Rose looming behind them. 

Aryn caught sight of Van Eck moving toward the bridge. Someone had broken the merch’s nose. It was crooked and swollen, a dark circle of bruising forming beneath one eye. Aryn suspected a university medik had treated the worst of the damage, but without a Grisha Healer, there was only so much you could do to hide a break like that.

“That man should never play cards,” muttered Kaz so only she could hear.

She made a soft noise of agreement.

Van Eck was trying to keep his expression neutral, but he was working so hard to look impassive that his high forehead was shiny with sweat. His shoulders were fixed stiffly, and his chest jutted forward as if someone had attached a string to his sternum and yanked him upward. He walked onto Goedmedbridge at a stately pace, surrounded by liveried guards in red and gold—now that surprised her. 

Kaz had thought Van Eck would prefer to enter the Barrel with as little pomp as possible. She turned this new information over in his mind. It was dangerous to ignore the details. No man liked to be shown up, and for all his attempts at a dignified promenade, Van Eck’s vanity had to be wounded. A merch prided himself on his business sense, his ability to strategize, to manipulate men and markets. He’d be looking to get a bit of his own back after having his hand forced by a lowly Barrel thug.

Aryn’s eyes found Inej. She was hooded, barely visible between the men Van Eck had brought, but she would have recognized that knife-edge posture anywhere. 

For the briefest moment, Kaz and Van Eck sized each other up from across the bridge. Aryn couldn’t help but be reminded of when they’d faced each other this way seven days ago. She’d thought too much about that meeting. Late at night, when the day’s work was done, she’d lain awake, taking apart every moment of it. Again and again, Aryn had thought of those few crucial seconds when she’d made the choice to let go. If anything had happened to Inej, it would have been her fault. 

No. Nothing was going to happen to Inej.

Kaz and Van Eck exchanged the shortest of nods. Aryn kept a tight hand on Alys’ shoulder. Kaz had said he doubted she would try to run off, but who knew what ideas were pinging around in the girl’s head? Then Van Eck signaled to his men to bring Inej forward, and Aryn, Kaz, and Alys started across the bridge. 

In the blink of an eye, Aryn took in Inej’s odd gait, the way she held her arms behind her back. They’d bound her hands and shackled her ankles. 

“Do you think he’s handsome?” Alys asked.

“What?” Kaz said.

Even Aryn was unsure she had heard her correctly. She’d been humming and singing all the way from the market where Kaz had removed her blindfold, and she’d been doing her best to tune her out.

“Something has happened to Jan’s nose,” Alys said.

“I suspect he caught a bad case of the Wraith,” said Aryn with a smirk.

Alys wrinkled her own small nose, considering. “I think Jan would be handsome if he were not quite so old.”

“Lucky for you, we live in a world where men can make up for being old by being rich,” said Kaz.

“It would be nice if he were both young and rich.”

“Why stop there? How about young, rich, and royal? Why settle for a merch when you could have a prince?”

“I suppose,” said Alys. “But it’s the money that’s important. I’ve never really seen the point in princes.”

Well, no one would ever doubt this girl was Kerch born and raised. Aryn said, “Alys, I’m shocked to find you and I are in agreement.”

Aryn monitored the periphery of the bridge as they drew closer to the center, keeping a careful eye on Van Eck’s guards, noting the open doors of the third-floor balcony at the Ammbers Hotel, the flower barge parked below the west side of the bridge as it was every morning. 

She assumed Van Eck would have people positioned in the surrounding buildings just as they did. But none of them would be permitted to land a kill shot. No doubt Van Eck would love to see them floating facedown in a canal, but Kaz could lead Van Eck to Kuwei, and that knowledge should keep him from taking a bullet to the skull. Aryn, however, had no such safety.

They stopped a good ten paces apart. Alys tried to step forward, but Kaz held her firmly in place.

“You said you were bringing me to Jan,” she objected.

“And here you are,” Kaz said. “Now be still.”

“Jan!” she yelped sharply. “It’s me!”

“I know, my dear,” Van Eck said calmly, his gaze locked on Kaz. He lowered his voice. “This isn’t over, Brekker. I want Kuwei Yul-Bo.”

“Are we here to repeat ourselves? You want the secret to jurda parem, and I want my money. The deal is the deal.”

“I don’t have thirty million kruge to part with.”

“Isn’t that a shame? I’m sure someone else does.”

“And have you had any luck securing a new buyer?”

“Don’t trouble yourself on my account, merch. The market will provide. Do you want your wife back, or did I drag poor Alys here for nothing?”

“Just a moment,” said Van Eck. “Alys, what are we naming the child?”

“Very good,” Kaz said.

Their team had passed off Wylan as Kuwei Yul-Bo on Vellgeluk, and Van Eck had been well fooled. Now the merch wanted confirmation he was actually getting his wife and not some girl with a radically tailored face and a false belly. 

Aryn’s mouth quirked. “Seems an old dog can learn a new trick. Besides rolling over.”

Van Eck ignored her. “Alys,” he repeated, “what name are we giving the child?”

“The baby?” replied Alys in confusion. “Jan, if it’s a boy. Plumje if it’s a girl.”

“We agreed Plumje is what you’re naming your new parakeet.”

Alys’ lip jutted out. “I never agreed.”

“Oh, I think Plumje is a lovely name for a girl,” said Kaz. “Satisfied, merch?”

“Come,” Van Eck said, ushering Alys forward as he signaled to the guard holding Inej to release her. 

As Inej passed Van Eck, she turned her face to him and murmured something. Van Eck’s lips pinched. Inej shuffled forward, somehow graceful, even with her arms bound behind her and shackles around her ankles. Ten feet. Five feet. Van Eck embraced Alys as she let loose a stream of questions and chatter. Three feet. Inej’s gaze was steady. She was thinner. Her lips were chapped. Two feet. And then she was before them, and Aryn heard Kaz release a breath. 

They still needed to get clear of the bridge. Van Eck would not let them go this easily.

“Your knives?” he asked her.

“They’re packed inside my coat.”

Van Eck had released Alys, and she was being led away by his guards. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Kaz said, an oyster knife in his hands to see to her ropes.

“Mister Brekker,” Van Eck said. 

Aryn heard the excitement in Van Eck’s voice and froze, hands twitching toward her knives. Maybe the man was better at bluffing than she’d given him credit for. 

“You gave me your word, Kaz Brekker!” Van Eck shouted in theatrical tones. Everyone within earshot on the Stave turned to stare. “You swore you would return my wife and son to me! Where are you keeping Wylan?”

And then Aryn saw them—a tide of purple moving toward the bridge, stadwatch flooding onto the Stave, rifles raised, cudgels drawn.

Shit. 

“Seal off the bridge!” one of them shouted. Aryn glanced over her shoulder and saw more stadwatch officers blocking their retreat.

Fuck.

Van Eck grinned. “Shall we play for real now, Mister Brekker? The might of my city against your band of thugs?”

Kaz shoved Inej’s shoulder, and she spun around, offering her wrists so Aryn could slash through her bonds as he knelt to deal with her shackles, his picks already sliding between his fingers. Aryn heard the clomp of boots approaching. Inej shouted, “Duck,” and Aryn did just in time as she grabbed Kaz’s oyster knife and threw it, just as the lock gave beneath Kaz’s fingers and the shackles fell free. 

Aryn whirled, saw one stadwatch officer down, the shaft of the oyster knife protruding from between his eyes, and more purple uniforms rushing toward them from all directions.

Kaz raised his cane to signal Jesper.

“West side flower boat,” he said to Inej. That was all it took—she leapt onto the railing of the bridge and vanished over the side without a second guess. Aryn followed, cussing as she leapt off the side of the bridge, landing hard.

The first set of fireworks exploded overhead, pale color in the noon light. The plan was in motion.

Moments later, Kaz swung down, dropping onto the deck of the flower barge beside them.

Two stadwatch boats were already moving toward them quickly as more officers raced down the ramps to the canal.

They hadn’t known what Van Eck would try—they certainly hadn’t expected him to bring the stadwatch into it—but they’d been sure Van Eck would attempt to close off all their escape routes. 

Another series of booms sounded, and bursts of pink and green exploded in the sky above the Stave. The tourists cheered. They didn’t seem to notice that two of the explosions had come from the canal and had blown holes in the prow of one of the stadwatch boats, sending men scurrying for the sides and into the canal as the craft sank. 

Nicely done, Wylan. He’d bought them time—and done it without panicking the bystanders on the Stave. They wanted the crowd in a very good mood.

Kaz heaved a flat of wild geraniums into the canal over the protests of the flower seller and grabbed the clothes Matthias had stashed there earlier that morning. Aryn quickly pulled on her cloak and mask, making sure the latter completely covered her face. Kaz swept a red cloak around Inej’s shoulders in a rain of petals and blossoms as she continued to strap on her knives. She looked almost as startled as the flower seller.

“What?” he asked as he tossed her a Mister Crimson mask that matched his own.

“Those were my mother’s favorite flower.”

“Good to know Van Eck didn’t cure you of sentiment.”

“Nice to be back, Kaz.”

“Good to have you back, Wraith.”

Aryn flashed her a smile. “We missed you.”

Inej returned it warmly. “Me too. Ready?”

“Wait,” Kaz said, listening. The fireworks had ceased, and a moment later, Aryn heard the sound he’d been waiting for, the musical tinkle of coins hitting the pavement, followed by shrieks of delight from the crowd.

“Now,” he said.

Aryn and Inej grabbed the cord tightly, and he gave a sharp tug. With a high-pitched whir, the cord retracted, yanking them upward in a burst of speed. Aryn held on for dear life as the sudden burst nearly jerked the rope out of her hands. They were back on the bridge in moments, but the scene awaiting them was decidedly different from the one they’d escaped less than two minutes before.

West Stave was in chaos. Mister Crimsons were everywhere, fifty, sixty, seventy of them in red masks and cloaks, tossing coins into the air as tourists and locals alike pushed and shoved, laughing and shouting, crawling on hands and knees, completely oblivious to the stadwatch officers trying to get past them.

“Mother, Father, pay the rent!” shouted a crowd of girls from the doorway of the Blue Iris.

“I can’t, my dear, the money’s spent!” the Mister Crimsons chorused back, and tossed another cloud of coins into the air, sending the crowd into freshly delirious shrieks of joy.

“Clear the way!” shouted the captain of the guard.

One of the officers tried to unmask a Mister Crimson standing by a lamppost, and the crowd began booing. They plunged into the swirl of red capes and people scrambling for coins, Aryn in the lead. 

Suddenly, a deep, thunderous boom shook the Stave. People toppled, grabbed at one another, at walls, at whatever was closest. Aryn caught herself on Inej’s shoulder..

When she looked up, it was like trying to peer through a thick veil. Smoke hung heavy in the air. Aryn’s ears were ringing. As if from a great distance, she heard frightened screams, cries of terror. A woman ran past them, face and hair coated in dust and plaster like a pantomime ghost, hands clapped over her ears. There was blood trickling from beneath her palms. A gaping hole had been blown in the facade of the House of the White Rose.

Something was wrong. They’d planned a friendly riot, not a mass disaster, and Wylan wasn’t the type to miscalculate so gravely. Someone else had come to make trouble on West Stave, someone who didn’t mind doing more than a little damage.

She ran for the nearest alley, sprinting through the smoke and the crowds. Only when the White Rose had faded into the distance behind her, did she turn and realize that Kaz and Inej were no longer behind her. She cussed to herself, but they would be fine. 

What she needed to do now was find a place to hole up until nightfall. Kaz had made it clear that no one was to return to Black Veil until then. She considered going back to the Slat, but she knew it was too big a risk. She racked her brain. There was a Dregs safe house that no one had used in years, not too far from where she was. She would lie low there until the sun had set.

Aryn darted through the streets, eager to get there as soon as possible. The safe house was above an old, out-of-use storefront that she suspected had been a bakery. Whatever it might have been, it had yet to acquire a new tenant. She picked the lock on the door and slipped inside. She hurried up and flight of stairs, down a hall, and up another flight of stairs to a narrow, creaky door to a small attic. 

A small window on the far wall let her see the rooftops of the surrounding buildings and the sky above. Other than a few wooden boxes, which she found to be empty, the attic was bare. She slumped to the ground and leaned her back against one of the boxes to wait.

Chapter Text

She wasn’t sure when she fell asleep, but she was jolted suddenly awake by the sound of footsteps in the hall below. She glanced at the window. It was still light outside, so she hadn’t been asleep too long.

The footsteps made their way toward the attic door.

Aryn reached for her revolver and grasped at air. She glanced down. Apparently, the Saints were not in her favor because she appeared to have lost her gun. She must have dropped it during the explosion or when she jumped off the bridge.

She drew a knife instead, cursing her luck, concealing herself behind the door as the footsteps reached it.

The doorknob twisted, the door opening as a man entered. Aryn lunged, swinging her knife.

The man reacted just in time, grabbing her wrist and twisting the knife out of her grip. He slammed her into the attic wall by the front of her shirt, the knife slashing toward her throat.

“Aryn?”

She blinked. “Corrin?”

He stepped back, lowering the knife. “Ghezen, Aryn, I could have killed you.”

“How was I supposed to know it was you?” She took her knife back from him and sheathed it. “How the hell did you even find me?”

“I saw the White Rose explode, and I got worried, so I came looking for you. It wasn’t hard to figure out where you’d go.” He smirked. “You forget, I know you.”

“You weren’t followed?”

He shook his head, but then his expression changed to one of alarm, and he gestured to the side of her head. “Shit, Ari, you’re bleeding.”

She pressed her fingers to her temple and winced as they came away covered in blood.

He pushed her toward the box. “Sit down.”

“I’m fine–”

“Sit down.”

Begrudgingly, she sat. He ripped a piece off his shirt and, stepping between her legs, pressed it to the side of her head. 

Her stomach did somersaults as he gently wiped the blood from her temple, his fingertips resting on her jaw to steady her face.

Finally, he pulled away. “There. It’s not too deep, so you should be fine.”

She nodded, quickly walking to the window just to put some distance between them. “What time is it?”

“Just past four bells, so we’ve got some time to kill.”

She turned back to him. She shouldn’t, but she said it anyway. “Wanna have a little fun?”

She couldn’t read his expression. He stood and made his way over to her. “You sure? This isn’t just ‘cause I wanted to the other day, right?”

She really shouldn’t do this, but fuck, she wanted to. “Yeah, I’m sure. We could both use the distraction.”

One time couldn’t hurt. Just for fun. Just this once.

Corrin moved closer, his deep green eyes fixed on her, and she thought she might just drown in them. 

And then his lips were on hers, soft and so, so sweet. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, melting into the kiss. His hands found her hips and pushed her backwards, pinning her against the attic wall, pressing his knee up between her legs.

She groaned softly as he parted her lips with his tongue, deepening the kiss. He tasted like the candies he was always eating, like cigarettes and sweet vanilla and citrus. She could’ve gotten drunk on the taste of him. 

Every drop of blood in her body felt like it was on fire, and he was the only thing that could extinguish her. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his vest, letting it fall to the floor, his shirt following close behind. Her hands roamed his body, tracing his scars, sliding over the hard muscle beneath his skin.

His hands slid up her body, opening the fastenings of her doublet with practiced ease. Aryn tried not to think about why his fingers moved so smoothly, tried not to think about many other girls he'd done this to.

She broke the kiss, just long enough to pull her shirt over her head, before smashing her lips onto his again. A shiver of heat ran through her as Corrin's hands touched her bare skin. Flames scorched her skin in the trail left by his fingertips.  His hands slid up her back—

She felt him stiffen against her as he felt her scars beneath his fingers. He pulled away.

“Don’t–”

“Show me.”

Aryn shook her head.

“Please.”

She hesitated, but there was no hiding it anymore. She turned around, showing him her back.

She heard his sharp intake of breath. There was a moment of silence. 

“Who- fuck, Ari–” Corrin’s voice shook with barely controlled rage, “Who did this to you?”

Somehow, letting him see her scars felt different from Inej and Nina seeing. She cleared the choke of tears from her throat. “The, uh– The Dime Lions are big on free labor, and what better way to get it than to jump people in back alleys and force them into it. I’d only been in Ketterdam a few weeks, and I didn’t know not to go near that part of East Stave.”

His eyes were dark. “How long were you there?”

“Two months. I wasn’t exactly the most obedient servant. I tried to escape so many times that Rollins gave me those scars himself.”

“Fuck.” Corrin turned away, carding a hand through his hair. His fists were clenched, knuckles white like he wanted to hit something. He turned back to her, and his gaze softened. “Come here.”

He pulled her close, an arm around her waist, and a hand sliding into her hair, holding her tightly.

She froze in surprise. 

But slowly, she let herself relax, hugging him back and hiding her face in his neck. Even if she didn’t quite know what they were to each other, whether he loved her, whether she loved him, whether they were just friends, it still felt good to be held like this. Maybe she didn’t have to strong all the time. Maybe it was okay to be weak. Just once in a while.

Chapter Text

As Aryn approached the tomb, she heard the sound of voices within. The others must already be back.

They whirled around as she entered, hands going for knives and guns, but when they realized it was her they relaxed.

Inej crossed to her. “Are you alright? We weren't sure where you were.”

She nodded. “Fine. You?”

“As good as can be expected.”

Kaz rapped his cane on the stone floor. “If everyone is done cuddling, we have a job to do.”

“Hold up,” said Jesper, arm still slung around Inej. “We’re not talking about the job until we figure out what those things were on the Stave.”

“What things?” asked Inej.

“Did you miss half the Stave blowing up?”

“We saw the bomb at the White Rose go off,” said Inej, “and then we heard another explosion.”

“At the Anvil,” said Nina.

“After that,” Inej said, “we ran.”

Jesper nodded sagely. “That was your big mistake. If you’d stuck around, you could have nearly been killed by a Shu guy with wings.”

“Two of them,” said Wylan.

Inej frowned. “Two wings?”

“Two guys,” said Jesper.

“With wings?” Aryn probed. “Like a bird?”

Nina dragged Inej toward the cluttered table, where a map of Ketterdam had been spread. “No, more like a moth, a deadly, mechanical moth. Are you hungry? We have chocolate biscuits.”

“Oh sure,” said Jesper. “She gets the cookie hoard.”

Nina planted Inej in a chair and plunked the tin down in front of her. “Eat,” she commanded. “There were two Shu with wings, and a man and a woman who were … not normal.”

“Nina’s power had no effect on them,” said Wylan.

“Hmm,” Nina said noncommittally, nibbling daintily at the edge of a biscuit. Aryn had never seen Nina nibble daintily on anything. Her appetite clearly hadn’t returned

Matthias joined them at the table. “The Shu woman we faced was stronger than me, Jesper, and Wylan put together.”

“You heard right,” said Jesper. “Stronger than Wylan.”

“I did my part,” objected Wylan.

“You most definitely did, merchling. What was that violet stuff?”

“Something new I’ve been working on. It’s based on a Ravkan invention called lumiya; the flames are almost impossible to extinguish, but I changed the formulation so that it burns a lot hotter.”

“We were lucky to have you there,” said Matthias with a small bow that left Wylan looking pleased and entirely flustered. “The creatures were nearly impervious to bullets.”

“Nearly,” Nina said grimly. “They had nets. They were looking to hunt and capture Grisha.”

Kaz rested his shoulders against the wall. “Were they using parem?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t think they were Grisha. They didn’t display any powers, and they weren’t healing their wounds. It looked like they had some kind of metal plating beneath their skin.”

She spoke to Kuwei rapidly in Shu.

Kuwei groaned. “Kherguud.” 

They all looked at him blankly. 

He sighed and said, “When my father made parem, the government tests it on Fabrikators.”

Jesper cocked his head to one side. “Is it just me, or is your Kerch getting better?”

“My Kerch is good. You all talk too fast.”

“Okay,” drawled Jesper. “Why did your dear Shu friends test parem on Fabrikators?” He was sprawled in his chair, hands resting on his revolvers, but Aryn did not quite believe his relaxed pose.

“They have more Fabrikators in captivity,” said Kuwei.

“They’re the easiest to capture,” Matthias put in, ignoring Nina’s sour look. “Until recently, they received little combat training, and without parem their powers are poorly suited to battle.”

“Our leaders want to conduct more experiments,” Kuwei continued. “But they don’t know how many Grisha they can find—”

“Maybe if they hadn’t killed so many?” Nina suggested.

Kuwei nodded, missing or ignoring the sarcasm in Nina’s voice. “Yes. They have few Grisha, and using parem shortens a Grisha’s life. So they bring doctors to work with the Fabrikators already sick from parem. They plan to make a new kind of soldier, the Kherguud. I don’t know if they succeeded.”

“I think I can answer that question with a big fat yes,” said Jesper.

“Specially tailored soldiers,” Aryn said thoughtfully. “Before the war, they tried something similar in Ravka, reinforcing skeletons, tampering with bone density, metal implants. They experimented on First Army volunteers. Oh, stop grimacing, Matthias. Your Fjerdan masters probably would have gotten around to trying the exact same thing, given the time.”

“Fabrikators deal in solids,” said Jesper. “Metal, glass, textiles. This seems like Corporalki work.”

Still talking as if he isn’t one of them, Aryn noted. They all knew Jesper was a Fabrikator; even Kuwei had discovered it in the chaos that followed their escape from the Ice Court. And yet, Jesper rarely acknowledged his power. She supposed it was his secret to tend as he wished.

“Tailors blur the line between Fabrikator and Corporalnik,” said Nina. “I had a teacher in Ravka, Genya Safin. She could have been either a Heartrender or a Fabrikator if she’d wanted to—instead, she became a great Tailor. The work you’re describing is really just an advanced kind of tailoring.”

“But you’re telling us you saw a man with wings somehow grafted onto his back?” asked Inej.

“No, they were mechanical. Some kind of metal frame, and canvas, maybe? But it’s more sophisticated than just slapping a pair of wings between someone’s shoulder blades. You’d have to link the musculature, hollow out the bones to decrease body weight, then somehow compensate for the loss of bone marrow, maybe replace the skeleton entirely. The level of complexity—”

“Parem,” said Matthias, his pale blond brows furrowed. “A Fabrikator using parem could manage that kind of tailoring.”

Nina shoved back from the table. “Won’t the Merchant Council do anything about the Shu attack?” she asked Kaz. “Are they just allowed to waltz into Kerch and start blowing things up and kidnapping people?”

“I doubt the Council will act,” he said. “Unless the Shu who attacked you were wearing uniforms, the Shu Han government will probably deny any knowledge of the attack.”

“So they just get away with it?”

“Maybe not,” Kaz said. “I spent a little time gathering intelligence at the harbors today. Those two Shu warships? The Council of Tides dry-docked them.”

Jesper’s boots slid off the table and hit the floor with a thud. “What?”

“They pulled back the tide. All of it. Used the sea to carve a new island with both of those warships beached on it. You can see them lying on their sides, sails dragging in the mud, right there in the harbor.”

“A show of force,” said Aryn.

“On behalf of Grisha or the city?” Jesper asked.

Kaz shrugged. “Who knows? But it might make the Shu a little more careful about hunting on the Ketterdam streets.”

“Could the Council of Tides help us?” asked Wylan. “If they know about parem, they have to be worried about what might happen if the wrong people get their hands on it.”

“How would you find them?” Nina asked bitterly. “No one knows the Tides’ identities, no one ever sees them coming or going from those watchtowers. The Shu won’t stay cowed forever. They created those soldiers for a reason.”

“It’s smart when you think about it,” said Kaz. “The Shu were maximizing their resources. A Grisha addicted to parem can’t survive for long, so the Shu found another way to exploit their powers.”

“Indestructible soldiers who outlive their creators,” said Aryn in disgust.

Jesper rubbed a hand over his mouth. “And who can go out and hunt more Grisha. I swear to the Saints one of them found us by our smell.”

“Is that even possible?” Inej asked, horrified.

“I’ve never heard of Grisha giving off a particular scent,” said Nina, “but I guess it’s possible. If the soldiers’ olfactory receptors were improved … Maybe it’s a scent ordinary people can’t detect.”

“I don’t think this was the first attack,” Jesper said. “Wylan, remember how terrified that Squaller in the rare books room was?” Aryn shifted uncomfortably at the mention. “And what about that merch ship Rotty told us about?”

Kaz nodded. “It was torn apart, a bunch of sailors were found dead. At the time, they thought the crew’s Squaller might have gone rogue, busted out of his indenture. But maybe he didn’t disappear. Maybe he was captured. He was one of old Councilman Hoede’s Grisha.”

“Emil Retvenko,” said Nina.

“That’s the one. You knew him?”

“I knew of him. Most of the Grisha in Ketterdam know about each other. We share information, try to keep an eye out for one another. The Shu must have spies here if they knew where to look for each of us. The other Grisha—” Nina stood up, then grabbed the back of her chair, as if the sudden movement had made her woozy.

Inej and Matthias were on their feet instantly.

“Are you all right?” Inej asked.

“Splendid,” Nina said with an unconvincing smile. “But if the other Grisha in Ketterdam are in danger—”

“You’re going to do what?” Jesper said, and there was a harsh edge to his voice. “You’re lucky to be alive after what happened today. Those Shu soldiers can smell us, Nina.” He turned on Kuwei. “Your father made that possible.”

“Hey,” said Wylan, “go easy.”

“Go easy? Like things weren’t bad enough for the Grisha before? What if they track us to Black Veil? There are three of us here.”

Kaz rapped his knuckles against the table. “Wylan’s right. Go easy. The city wasn’t safe before and it isn’t safe now. So let’s all get rich enough to relocate.”

Nina placed her hands on her hips. “Are we really talking about money?”

“We’re talking about the job and making Van Eck pay up.”

Inej looped her arm through Nina’s. “I want to know what we can do to help the Grisha who are still in Ketterdam. And I’d also like to know how we’re going to make Van Eck suffer.”

“There are bigger issues here,” said Aryn.

“Not for me,” Jesper said. “I have two days left to get right with my father.”

Inej looked confused. “Your father?”

“Yup. Family reunion in Ketterdam,” said Jesper. “Everyone’s invited.”

Inej wasn’t fooled by Jesper’s airy tone. “The loan?”

His hands returned to his revolvers. “Yeah. So I’d really like to know just how we intend to settle this score.”

Kaz shifted his weight on his cane. “Have any of you wondered what I did with all the cash Pekka Rollins gave us?”

 “You went to Pekka Rollins for a loan?” asked Inej.

“I would never go into debt with Rollins. I sold him my shares in Fifth Harbor and the Crow Club.”

“Kaz—”

“Where do you think the money went?” he repeated.

“Guns?” asked Jesper.

“Ships?” queried Inej.

“Bombs?” suggested Wylan.

“Alliances?” said Aryn.

“Political bribes?” offered Nina. 

They all looked at Matthias. “This is where you tell us how awful we are,” she whispered.

He shrugged. “They all seem like practical choices.”

“Sugar,” said Kaz.

Jesper nudged the sugar bowl down the table to him.

Kaz rolled his eyes. “Not for my coffee, you podge. I used the money to buy up sugar shares and placed them in private accounts for all of us—under aliases, of course.”

“I don’t like speculation,” said Matthias.

“Of course you don’t,” scoffed Aryn. “You like things you can see. Like piles of snow and benevolent tree gods.” She spread her arms. “Welcome to the Barrel, Helvar. Speculation is how we run this shit.”

“Oh, there it is!” said Inej, resting her head on Nina’s shoulder and beaming at Matthias. “I missed his glower.”

“Besides,” Kaz said, “it’s hardly speculation if you know the outcome.”

“You know something about the sugar crop?” Jesper asked.

“I know something about the supply.”

Wylan sat up straighter. “The silos,” he said. “The silos at Sweet Reef.”

“Very good, merchling.”

Matthias shook his head. “What’s Sweet Reef?”

“It’s an area just south of Sixth Harbor,” said Inej. “It’s where they keep molasses, raw cane, and the processing plants to refine sugar. We were right near there today. That wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”

“No,” said Kaz. “I wanted you to get a look at the terrain. Most sugar cane comes from the Southern Colonies and Novyi Zem, but there won’t be another crop until three months from now. This season’s crop has already been harvested, processed, refined, and stored in the Sweet Reef silos.”

“There are thirty silos,” said Wylan. “My father owns ten of them.”

Jesper whistled. “Van Eck controls one-third of the world’s sugar supply?”

“He owns the silos,” said Kaz, “but only a fraction of the sugar inside them. He maintains the silos at his own expense, supplies guards for them, and pays the Squallers who monitor the humidity inside the silos to make sure the sugar stays dry and separated. The merchants who own the sugar pay him a small percentage of every one of their sales. It adds up quickly.”

“Such enormous wealth under one man’s protection,” Matthias considered. “If anything were to happen to those silos, the price of sugar—”

“Would go off like a cheap pair of six-shooters,” Jesper said, popping to his feet and starting to pace.

“The price would climb and keep climbing,” said Kaz. “And as of a few days ago, we own shares in the companies that don’t store sugar with Van Eck. Right now, they’re worth about what we paid for them. But once we destroy the sugar in Van Eck’s silos—”

Jesper was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Our shares will be worth five—maybe ten—times what they are now.”

Aryn did some quick math. “Try twenty.”

Jesper hooted. “Don’t mind if I do.”

“We could sell at a huge profit,” said Wylan. “We’d be rich overnight.”

Aryn imagined Pekka Rollins, kneeling at her feet. She imagined the Volkvolny and seeing Sturmhonds broad grin and broken nose once again. “Thirty million kruge rich?” she asked. The reward Van Eck owed them for the Ice Court job.

One he’d never intended to pay.

The barest smile ghosted over Kaz’s lips. “Give or take a million.”

Wylan was gnawing on his thumbnail. “My father can weather a loss. The other merchants, the ones who own the sugar in his silos, will be hit worse.”

“True,” said Matthias. “And if we destroy the silos, it will be clear Van Eck was targeted.”

“We could try to make it look like an accident,” suggested Nina.

“It will,” said Kaz. “Initially. Thanks to the weevil. Tell them, Wylan.”

Wylan sat forward like a schoolboy eager to prove he had the answers. He drew a vial from his pocket. “This version works.”

“It’s a weevil?” Inej asked, examining it.

“A chemical weevil,” said Jesper. “But Wylan still hasn’t named it. My vote is for the Wyvil.”

“That’s terrible,” said Wylan.

“It’s brilliant.” Jesper winked. “Just like you.”

Wylan blushed daylily pink.

“I helped as well,” added Kuwei, looking sulky.

“He did help,” Wylan said.

“We’ll make him a plaque,” said Kaz. “Tell them how it works.”

Wylan cleared his throat. “I got the idea from cane blight— just a little bit of bacteria can ruin a whole crop. Once the weevil is dropped into the silo, it will keep burrowing down, using the refined sugar as fuel until the sugar is nothing but useless mush.”

“It reacts to sugar?” asked Jesper.

“Yes, any kind of sugar. Even trace amounts if there’s enough moisture present, so keep it away from sweat, blood, saliva.”

“Do not lick Wyvil. Does someone want to write that down?”

“As our local impulsive dumbass, you probably should,” suggested Aryn.

Jesper threw a biscuit at her. Aryn caught it and took a bite with a wink.

“Those silos are huge,” said Inej. “How much will we need?”

“One vial for each silo,” Wylan said.

Inej blinked at the small glass tube. “Truly?”

“Tiny and ferocious,” Jesper said. He winked again. “Just like you.”

Nina burst out laughing, and Inej returned Jesper’s grin.

“The weevil will make the destruction of the sugar look like an accident,” said Wylan.

“It will,” said Kaz, “until the other merchants learn that Van Eck has been buying up sugar that isn’t stored in his silos.”

Wylan’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I used half of the money for our shares. I used the rest to purchase shares on behalf of Van Eck—well, on behalf of a holding company created under Alys’ name. Couldn’t make it too obvious. The shares were purchased in cash, untraceable. But the certificates authenticating their purchase will be found stamped and sealed at his attorney’s office.”

“Cornelis Smeet,” Matthias said, in surprise. “Deception upon deception. You weren’t just trying to figure out where Alys Van Eck was being kept when you broke into his office.”

“You don’t win by running one game,” said Kaz. “Van Eck’s reputation will take a hit when the sugar is lost. But when the people who paid him to keep it safe find out he profited from their loss, they’ll look more closely at those silos.”

“And find the remnants of the weevil,” finished Wylan.

“Destruction of property, tampering with the markets,” Inej murmured. “It will be the end of him. Could he go to prison?”

“He’ll be charged with violating a contract and attempting to interfere with the market,” said Kaz. “There is no greater crime according to Kerch law. The sentences are the same as for murder. He could hang.”

“Will he?” Wylan said softly. He used his finger to draw a line across the map of Ketterdam, all the way from Sweet Reef to the Barrel, then on to the Geldstraat, where his father lived.

Jan Van Eck had tried to kill Wylan. He’d cast him off like refuse. But Aryn wondered if Wylan was ready to doom his father to execution. She would've been. She would've swung the sword herself if she had to. But she and Wylan were very different people.

“I doubt he’ll swing,” said Kaz. “My guess is they’ll saddle him with a lesser charge. None of the Merchant Council will want to put one of their own on the gallows. As for whether or not he’ll actually ever see the inside of a jail cell?” He shrugged. “Depends on how good his lawyer is.”

“But he’ll be barred from trade,” said Wylan, his voice almost dazed. “His holdings will be seized to make good on the lost sugar.”

“It will be the end of the Van Eck empire,” Kaz said.

“What about Alys?” asked Wylan.

Again Kaz shrugged. “No one is going to believe that girl had anything to do with a financial scheme. Alys will sue for divorce and probably move back in with her parents. She’ll cry for a week, sing for two, and then get over it.”

“Maybe she’ll marry a prince,” suggested Aryn.

“Or maybe a music teacher,” Inej said. 

“There’s just one small problem,” said Jesper, “and by small, I mean ‘huge, glaring, let’s scrap this and go get a lager.’ The silos. I know we’re all about breaching the unbreachable, but how are we supposed to get inside?”

“Kaz can pick the locks,” said Wylan.

“No,” said Kaz, “I can’t.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard those words leave your lips,” said Nina. “Say it again, nice and slow.”

Kaz ignored her. “They’re quatrefoil locks. Four keys in four locks turned at the same time or they trigger security doors and an alarm. I can pick any lock, but I can’t pick four at once.”

“Then how do we get in?” Jesper asked.

“The silos also open at the top.”

“Those silos are nearly twenty stories high! Is Inej going to go up and down ten of them in one night?”

“Just one,” said Kaz.

“And then what?” said Nina, hands back on her hips and green eyes blazing.

“And then,” said Inej, “I’m going to walk a high wire from one silo to the next.”

Nina threw her hands in the air. “And all of it without a net, I suppose?”

“A Ghafa never performs with a net,” Inej said indignantly.

“Does a Ghafa frequently perform twenty stories above cobblestones after being held prisoner for a week?”

“There will be a net,” said Kaz. “It’s in place behind the silo guardhouse already, under a stack of sandbags.”

The silence in the tomb was sudden and complete. 

“I don’t need a net.”

Kaz consulted his watch. “Didn’t ask. We have six hours to sleep and heal up. I’ll nab supplies from the Cirkus Zirkoa. They’re camped on the western outskirts of town. Inej, make a list of what you’ll need. We hit the silos in twenty-four hours.”

“Absolutely not,” said Nina. “Inej needs to rest.”

“That’s right,” Jesper agreed. “She looks thin enough to blow away in a stiff breeze.”

“I’m fine,” said Inej.

Aryn rolled her eyes. “You always say that.”

“Isn’t that how things are done around here?” asked Wylan. “We all tell Kaz we’re fine and then do something stupid?”

“Are we that predictable?” said Inej.

Wylan and Matthias said in unison, “Yes.”

“Do you want to beat Van Eck?” Kaz asked.

Nina blew out an exasperated breath. “Of course.”

Kaz’s eyes scanned the room, moving from face to face. “Do you? Do you want your money? The money we fought, and bled, and nearly drowned for? Or do you want Van Eck to be glad he picked a bunch of nobodies from the Barrel to scam? Because no one else is going to get him for us. No one else is going to care that he cheated us or that we risked our lives for nothing. No one else is going to make this right. So I’m asking, do you want to beat Van Eck?”

“Yes,” said Inej.

“Soundly,” said Nina.

“Thoroughly and violently,” said Aryn.

“Around the ears with Wylan’s flute,” said Jesper.

One by one, they nodded.

“The stakes have changed,” said Kaz. “Based on Van Eck’s little demonstration today, wanted posters with our faces on them are probably already going up all over Ketterdam, and I suspect he’ll be offering a handsome reward. He’s trading on his credibility, and the sooner we destroy it, the better. We’re going to take his money, his reputation, and his freedom all in one night. But that means we don’t stop. Angry as he is, tonight Van Eck is going to eat a fine dinner and fall off to a fitful sleep in his soft merch bed. Those stadwatch grunts will rest their weary heads until they get to the next shift, wondering if maybe they’ll earn a little overtime. But we don’t stop. The clock is ticking. We can rest when we’re rich. Agreed?”

Another round of nods.

“Nina, there are guards who walk the perimeter of the silos. You’ll be the distraction, a distressed Ravkan, new to the city, looking for work in the warehouse district. You need to keep them occupied long enough for the rest of us to get inside and for Inej to scale the first silo. Then—”

“On one condition,” said Nina, arms crossed.

“This is not a negotiation.”

“Everything is a negotiation with you, Brekker. You probably bartered your way out of the womb. If I’m going to do this, I want us to get the rest of the Grisha out of the city.”

“Forget it. I’m not running a charity for refugees.”

“Then I’m out.”

“Fine. You’re out. You’ll still get your share of the money for your work on the Ice Court job, but I don’t need you on this crew.”

“No,” said Inej quietly. “But you need me.”

Kaz rested his cane across his legs. “It seems everyone is forming alliances.”

“They’re called friendships, Kaz.”

His gaze shifted to Nina. “I don’t like being held hostage.”

“And I don’t like shoes that pinch at the toes, but we must all suffer. Think of it as a challenge for your monstrous brain.”

After a long pause, Kaz said, “How many people are we talking about?”

“There are less than thirty Grisha in the city that I know of, other than the Council of Tides.”

“And how would you like to corral them? Hand out pamphlets directing them to a giant raft?”

“There’s a tavern near the Ravkan embassy. We use it to leave messages and exchange information. I can get the word out from there. Then we just need a ship. Van Eck can’t watch all the harbors.”

Inej said, “I think he can. Van Eck has the full power of the city government behind him. And you didn’t see his reaction when he discovered Kaz had dared to take Alys.”

“Please tell me he actually frothed at the mouth,” said Jesper.

“It was a close thing.”

Kaz limped to the tomb door, staring out into the darkness. “Van Eck won’t have made the choice to involve the city lightly. It’s a risk, and he wouldn’t take that risk if he didn’t intend to capitalize on it to the fullest. He’ll have every harbor and watchtower on the coast on full alert, with orders to question anyone trying to leave Ketterdam. He’ll just claim that he knows Wylan’s captors may plan to take him from Kerch.”

“Trying to get all of the Grisha out will be extremely dangerous,” said Matthias. “The last thing we need is for a group of them to fall into Van Eck’s hands when he may still have a store of parem.”

Jesper tapped his fingers on the grips of his revolvers. “We need a miracle. And possibly a bottle of whiskey. Helps lubricate the brainpan.”

“No,” said Kaz slowly. “We need a ship. A ship that couldn’t possibly be suspect, that Van Eck and the stadwatch would never have cause to stop. We need one of his ships.”

Nina wriggled to the edge of her chair. “Van Eck’s trading company must have plenty of ships heading to Ravka.”

Matthias folded his huge arms, considering. “Get the Grisha refugees out on one of Van Eck’s own vessels?”

“We’d need a forged manifest and papers of transit,” said Aryn.

“Why do you think they kicked Specht out of the navy?” Kaz asked. “He was forging leave documents and supply orders.”

Wylan pulled on his lip. “But it’s not just a question of a few documents. Let’s say there are thirty Grisha refugees. A ship’s captain is going to want to know why thirty people—”

“Thirty-one,” Kuwei said.

“Are you actually following all of this?” said Jesper incredulously.

“A ship to Ravka,” said Kuwei. “I understand that very well.”

Kaz shrugged. “If we’re going to steal a boat, we might as well put you on it.”

“Thirty-one it is,” said Nina with a smile, though if the muscle twitching in Matthias’ jaw was any indication, he wasn’t nearly so thrilled.

“Okay,” said Wylan, smoothing a crease in the map. “But a ship’s captain is going to wonder why there are thirty-one people being added to his manifest.”

“Not if the captain thinks he’s in on a secret,” said Kaz. “Van Eck will write a passionately worded letter calling upon the captain to use the utmost discretion in transporting thesevaluable political refugees and asking him to keep them hidden from anyone susceptible to Shu bribes—including the stadwatch—at all costs. Van Eck will promise the captain a huge reward when he returns, just to make sure he doesn’t get any ideas about selling out the Grisha. We already have a sample of Van Eck’s handwriting. We just need his seal.”

“Where does he keep it?” Jesper asked Wylan.

“In his office. At least that’s where it used to be.”

“We’ll have to get in and out without him noticing,” said Inej. “And we’ll have to move quickly after that. As soon as Van Eck realizes the seal is missing, he’ll be able to guess what we’re up to.”

“We broke into the Ice Court,” said Kaz. “I think we can manage a mercher’s office.”

“Well, we did almost die breaking into the Ice Court,” said Jesper.

“Several times, if memory serves. You know being shot at, nearly drowning twice,” added Aryn.

“Inej and I lifted a DeKappel from Van Eck. We already know the layout of the house. We’ll be fine.”

Wylan’s finger was once more tracing the Geldstraat. “You didn’t have to get into my father’s safe.”

“Van Eck keeps the seal in a safe?” said Jesper with a laugh. “It’s almost like he wants us to take it. Kaz is better at making friends with combination locks than with people.”

“You’ve never seen a safe like this,” Wylan said. “He had it installed after the DeKappel was stolen. It has a seven-digit combination that he resets every day, and the locks are built with false tumblers to confuse safecrackers.”

Kaz shrugged. “Then we go around it. I’ll take expediency over finesse.”

Wylan shook his head. “The safe walls are made of a unique alloy reinforced with Grisha steel.”

“An explosion?” suggested Jesper.

Kaz raised a brow. “I suspect Van Eck will notice that.”

“A very small explosion?” asked Aryn

Inej rolled her eyes. “Blowing things up isn't the solution to everything.”

“Actually…” said Wylan. He cocked his head to one side, as if he were listening to a distant song. “Come morning, there would be no hiding we’d been there, but if we can get the refugees out of the harbor before my father discovers the theft … I’m not exactly sure where I can get the materials, but it just might work.…”

“Inej,” Jesper whispered.

She leaned forward, peering at Wylan. “Is that scheming face?”

“Possibly.”

Wylan seemed to snap back to reality. “It is not. But … but I do think I have an idea.”

“We’re waiting, merchling,” Kaz said.

“The weevil is basically just a much more stable version of auric acid.”

“Yes,” said Jesper. “Of course. And that is?”

“A corrosive. It gives off a minor amount of heat once it starts to react, but it’s incredibly powerful and incredibly volatile. It can cut through Grisha steel and just about anything else other than balsa glass.”

“Glass?”

“The glass and the sap from the balsa neutralize the corrosion.”

“And where does one come by such a thing?”

“We can find one of the ingredients I need in an ironworks. They use the corrosive to strip oxidation off metals. The other might be tougher to come by. We’d need a quarry with a vein of auris or a similar halide compound.”

“The closest quarry is at Olendaal,” said Kaz.

“That could work. Once we have both compounds, we’ll have to be very careful with the transport,” Wylan continued. “Actually, we’ll have to be more than careful. After the reaction is completed, auric acid is basically harmless, but while it’s active … Well, it’s a good way to lose your hands.”

“So,” said Jesper, “if we get these ingredients, and manage to transport them separately, and activate this auric acid, and don’t lose a limb in the process?”

Wylan tugged at a lock of his hair. “We could burn through the safe door in a matter of minutes.”

“Without damaging the contents inside?” asked Nina.

“Hopefully.”

“Hopefully,” repeated Kaz. 

Aryn put her feet up on the table. “We’ve worked with worse.”

“We’ll need to find out which ships are departing for Ravka tomorrow night and get Specht started on the manifest and papers of transit. Nina, once we’ve got a vessel chosen, can your little band of refugees make it to the docks on their own or will they need their hands held for that too?”

“I’m not sure how well they know the city,” admitted Nina.

Kaz drummed his fingers over the head of his cane. “Wylan and I can tackle the safe. We can send Jesper and Aryn to escort the Grisha and we can map a route so Matthias can get Kuwei to the docks. But that leaves only Nina to distract the guards and work the net for Inej at the silos. The net needs at least three people on it for it to be worth anything.”

Inej stretched, gently rolled her shoulders. “I told you,” she said. “I don’t work with a net.”

They stayed up planning well past midnight. Kaz was wary of the changes to the plan as well as the prospect of managing Nina’s pack of Grisha. 

But they couldn’t let this little rescue slow them down. With so many opponents and the stadwatch involved, they couldn’t afford it. Given enough time, the Shu would stop worrying about those dry-docked warships and the Council of Tides, and find their way to Black Veil. Kaz wanted Kuwei out of the city and removed from play as soon as possible.

At last, they put their lists and sketches aside. The wreckage of their makeshift meal was cleared from the table to avoid attracting the rats of Black Veil, and the lanterns were doused.

The others fell soundly asleep but Aryn lay awake long into the night. Finally, when she was sure she wouldn't be able to sleep at all, she stood and crept out of the tomb. 

She wound her way down to edge of the water and sat on the end of the dock. Looking out, she could see the lights and gondels of Ketterdam in the distance. 

Aryn hadn't gotten a chance to process what had happened in the attic. She told herself that she regretted it, that it had been a mistake, but that was far from the truth. She couldn't get him out of her head, couldn't stop wanting him even more than before, couldn't stop thinking about the way his mouth had felt on hers, the way his body had felt beneath her fingers, the way he'd touched her— she needed to stop.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Jesper’s voice, “Couldn't sleep?”

“No.”

“Me neither. Too anxious.”

“Mm…”

He came and sat next to her. “You seem off. You alright?”

“Yeah.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sure, and Wylan plays piano.”

She released a breath. This was Jesper. Barring Linnea, and Corrin himself, he was the one she could confide in the most. 

“Corrin and I kind of…you know…” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Jesper's head snapped around. “You what?! When? Where?”

“After the bomb went off at the White Rose. In that old safe house with the attic at the edge of West Stave.”

“You mean to tell me,” he asked incredulously, “That while we were being chased by invincible Shu soldiers with wings, you were getting action.”

“It wasn't like that– we were just– we had time to kill– it was just for fun, just a hook-up, it didn't mean anything.”

If it was possible, Jesper looked even more incredulous. “The hell do you mean, it didn't mean anything–?!”

“Be quiet.”

At a lower volume, “What do you mean, it didn't mean anything? You're literally in love with him.”

“What– I'm not– are you- no, I- no,” she spluttered. “That's ridiculous.”

Jesper raised his eyebrows. “Ari, anyone with eyes can see how in love with him you are.”

“It's complicated, Jes. I can't have a weakness right now.”

“Why, because of your stupid revenge mission to take down Pekka Rollins? Which I get, but he's taken enough from you already. You can't let him take this too.”

Her eyes went wide, and everything stopped. “How the fuck do you know about that?”

His expression softened. “I’ve known for ages. You, sort of, got drunk about a year ago, and you told me everything. But you didn't remember the next morning, so I figured I should stay quiet.”

Aryn didn't know what to say. She hadn't wanted anyone to know, but Jesper hadn't treated her any differently because of it.

“None of it even matters.”

“Why, was it bad?”

“No.”

“So, it was good?” asked Jesper with a smirk.

Aryn felt her face heat. Really good. “Yeah, but he doesn't love me back.” Aryn felt something in her gut twist. Saying it out loud felt worse than just knowing it.

“How do you know?”

“He told me. He said he'd only tried to kiss me that day in the cabin because he wanted to hook up, just for fun.”

“That doesn't mean he–

“Do you hook up with your friends for fun?”

“Yes.”

“And are you in love with any of them?”

“Well, no–”

“Exactly. That's the whole point. And he made it very clear that that's all it was.” She ran a hand through her long dark hair, swallowing the hard lump in her throat. “It's fine. It's probably better this way.”

Jesper looped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned her head on his shoulder. He didn't say anything but she understood what he meant anyway.

“What about you and the merchling?” Aryn asked.

He waved a hand dismissively. “That's just flirting. I just like making him get all flustered.”

“Okay.”

He glanced down, catching her expression. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“If it's nothing then what's with that face?”

“This is my face.”

“No, it's that look. That I-know-everything-and-you’re-just-a-clueless-child look.”

“Clueless child. Look at you doing some self-reflection.”

He smacked her. “Whatever you have to say, spit it out.”

“All I'm gonna say is I've seen you flirt for fun, and that shit with Wylan, I don't know what it is, but it's not that.”

He nodded slowly. “And what am I supposed to get from that?”

“He's a good kid, too good for us, and far too good for you. Don't screw it up.”

Jesper scoffed. “Isn't that all I'm good at?”

“Jes.”

“Yeah, I know. I won't.”

Aryn lay back on the dock, her feet dangling over the edge. “We're both an absolute mess, aren't we?”

He lay down beside her. “Yup. But that's what makes me so amazing, and you…no, you're just a mess.”

“Prick.”

“Skiv.”

Chapter Text

Aryn felt a rush of relief when Nina and Matthias finally returned.

“Thank the Saints,” said Inej, leaving off her work at the table with Aryn, Wylan, and Kaz. They were assembling the mass of wires and gear Kaz had stolen from the Cirkus Zirkoa. Wylan had spent the last two hours making modifications to ensure Inej’s safety at the silos, attaching magnetized clamps that would grip their metal sides.

“Did you manage to contact the refugees?” Inej asked, waving Nina over to the table and clearing a place for her to sit.

“Everything went smoothly,” said Nina. “Aside from breaking a few windows and nearly getting shot.”

Kaz looked up from the table, his interest secured.

“Big trouble in Little Ravka?” asked Jesper.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Nina said. “Please tell me there’s something to eat.”

“You’re hungry?” said Inej.

They all goggled at Nina. She curtsied. “Yes, yes, Nina Zenik is hungry. Now will someone feed me before I’m forced to cook one of you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Jesper. “You don’t know how to cook.”

Inej was already digging through what remained of their stockpile of food, placing the meager offerings of salt cod, dried meat, and stale crackers before Nina.

“What happened at the tavern?” asked Aryn.

“The refugees are in hiding at the embassy,” said Matthias. “We met—”

“Their leader,” said Nina. “They’ll be waiting for word from us.” She shoved two crackers into her mouth. “These are awful.”

“Slow down,” said Matthias. “You’re going to choke.”

“Worth it,” Nina said, struggling to swallow.

“For crackers?”

“I’m pretending they’re pie. When does the boat leave?”

“We found a shipment of molasses headed for Os Kervo leaving at eleven bells,” said Inej. “Specht is working on the documents now.”

“Good,” said Nina, uncrumpling a piece of paper from her pocket and smoothing it onto the table. A sketch of Matthias looked back at them. “We need to get out of town as soon as possible.”

“Damn it,” Jesper said. “Kaz and Wylan are still in the lead.” He gestured to where they’d pasted up the rest of the wanted posters: Aryn, Jesper, Kaz, and Inej were all there. Van Eck hadn’t yet dared to plaster Kuwei Yul-Bo’s face over every surface in Ketterdam, but he’d had to maintain the pretense of searching for his son, so there was also a poster offering a reward for Wylan Van Eck’s safe return. 

Only Nina was missing. She’d never met Van Eck, and though she had connections to the Dregs, it was possible he didn’t know of her involvement.

“One hundred thousand kruge!” Aryn shot a disbelieving glare at Kaz. “You’re hardly worth that.”

The hint of a smile tugged at Kaz’s lips. “As the market wills it.”

“Tell me about it,” said Jesper. “They’re only offering thirty thousand for me.”

“Well, eighty thousand isn't bad, at least I'm worth more than Jesper,” said Aryn.

“Your lives are at stake,” said Wylan. “How can you act like this is a competition?”

“We’re stuck in a tomb, merchling," said Jesper. "You take the action where you find it.”

Aryn hesitated. “There is something I should probably mention.”

Kaz rounded on her. “What now?”

“Well, now that my face is plastered all around Ketterdam, every diplomatic delegation is going to recognize me, and more importantly, the Ravkans will have proof that I'm alive, and they will come looking for me.”

Nina shrugged. “So? We're sending Kuwei to them, it won't matter if they find us. If anything, they'll help us.”

Aryn shook her head. “Nina, you don't get it. They're going to be coming expecting a hostile reaction because I've been hiding for so long, and they will do whatever it takes to get to me because I pose a direct threat to the throne.”

Jesper looked confused. “Wait, aren't you younger than King Nikolai? You don't have a claim. How are you a threat?”

But Matthias understood. “He doesn’t have a legitimate claim to the throne, does he?”

Nina scoffed. “That's just Fjerdan propaganda. King Nikolai is—”

“A bastard without a drop of Lantsov blood,” said Aryn dryly. “Our father cheated too, with a servant, so I'm part Suli, but I'm still half a Lantsov. Nikolai isn't.”

“Which is why they want you back so bad,” finished Kaz. “Because you are the rightful ruler of Ravka.”

“And Nikolai knows it.”

There was a shocked silence.

“Got any more bombs you want to drop on us?” asked Jesper.

“No, but Kaz, this is—”

“I'll deal with it.”

“Maybe we should all go to Ravka,” said Nina, tapping Inej’s wanted poster. “It isn’t safe for you to remain here.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” said Kaz.

Inej cast him a swift glance. “You’d go to Ravka?”

“Not a chance. I’ll lie low here. I want to see Van Eck’s life come apart when the hammer falls.”

“But you could come,” Nina said to Inej. “Jesper? We could bring Colm too.”

“No way,” said Jesper. “I want Da to get his money as fast as possible and then get back to Novyi Zem. I’m not going to sleep easy until he’s safe on the farm. We’ll hide out at his hotel until Van Eck has been discredited and the sugar market goes crazy.”

Aryn nodded. “I'll probably join you. Or maybe I'll go back to the Slat if it's safe. But I'm not going back to Ravka.”

“Inej?” said Nina.

They all looked to the Wraith—except Aryn. She watched Kaz, curious to see how he would react to the prospect of Inej leaving town. But Kaz’s expression was impassive, as if waiting to hear what time dinner might be served.

Inej shook her head. “When I go to Ravka, it will be on my own ship, piloted by my own crew.”

Jesper’s brows shot up. “Since when are you a seafarer? And what sane person would want to spend more time on a boat?”

Aryn raised a hand.

Inej smiled. “I’ve heard this city drives people mad.”

Kaz drew his watch from his waistcoat. “We’re coming up on eight bells. Van Eck is gathering the Merchant Council at his house for a meeting tonight.”

“Do you think they’ll devote more resources to the search for Wylan?” asked Nina.

“Probably. It’s not our concern anymore. The noise and people coming and going will provide good cover for Wylan and me to get the seal out of the safe. Nina and Inej will hit Sweet Reef at the same time. The guards patrol the silos’ perimeter constantly, and it takes about twelve minutes for them to make it around the fence. They always leave someone to watch the gate, so be smart about the approach.” He placed a tiny stoppered bottle on the table. “This is coffee extract. Kuwei, Nina, Jesper, I want you all wearing plenty of it. If those Shu soldiers really can scent Grisha, this might throw them off.”

“Coffee?” asked Kuwei, popping the cork and taking a tentative sniff.

“Clever,” said Jesper. “We used to pack illegal shipments of jurda and spices in coffee grounds to throw off the stadwatch dogs. Confuses their noses.”

Nina took the bottle and dabbed a generous amount of the extract behind her ears and at her wrists. “Let’s hope the Kherguud work the same way.”

“Your refugees had better be ready,” said Kaz. “How many are there?”

“Fewer than we thought. Fifteen and um … some of the people from the embassy too. A total of seventeen.”

“What people?” asked Aryn sharply.

Nina shrugged. “Just some lower-level ambassadors.”

“Plus you, Matthias, Wylan, and Kuwei. Twenty-one. Specht will forge the letter accordingly,” Kaz said.

“I’m not going,” said Wylan.

“No?”

“I’m not letting my father run me out of this city again.”

“Why is everyone so determined to stay in this miserable town?” Nina grumbled.

“This miserable town is more of a home than Ravka ever was,” Aryn snapped a little more sharply than she meant to. But Nina was getting on her nerves.

Nina quailed slightly at that.

Jesper tipped his chair back, studying Kaz. “You knew,” he said, putting the pieces together. “You knew Wylan’s mother was alive.”

“Wylan’s mother is alive?” said Nina.

“Why do you think I let you two go to Olendaal?” Kaz said.

Wylan blinked. “And you knew I was lying about the quarry.”

Jesper pointed a finger at Kaz. “You shouldn’t have sent him to Saint Hilde blind like that. It was cruel.”

Aryn understood Jesper's rage. It was one thing for Kaz to mess with them, but Wylan wasn’t like the rest of them. Despite the bad hand he’d drawn with his father, Wylan hadn’t let his circumstances or this city knock the goodness out of him. He still believed people could do right. 

“It was necessary.”

Wylan’s fists were clenched. “Why?”

“Because you still didn’t understand what your father really is.”

“You could have told me.”

“You were angry. Angry wears off. I needed you righteous.”

Wylan crossed his arms. “Well, you’ve got me.”

Kaz folded his hands over his cane. “It’s getting late, so everybody put away your Poor Wylan hankies and set your minds to the task at hand. Aryn, Matthias, Jesper, and Kuwei will leave for the embassy at half past nine bells. You approach from the canal.”

“And if I run into anyone at the embassy who's trying to bring me back to Ravka?” asked Aryn.

Kaz held her gaze. “Do what you need to do. Worst-case scenario, Jesper can take the refugees to the harbour by himself.” He turned to Jesper. “You’re tall, brown, and conspicuous—”

“All synonyms for delightful.”

“And that means you’ll have to be twice as careful.”

“There’s always a price to be paid for greatness.”

“Try to take this seriously,” said Kaz, voice like a rusty blade. Was that actual concern? “Move quickly and get everyone to the docks no sooner than ten. I don’t want all of you hanging around, attracting attention. We meet at Third Harbor, berth fifteen. The ship is called the Verrhader. It sails the route from Kerch to Ravka several times a year.” He rose. “Stay smart and stay quiet. None of this works if Van Eck gets wise.”

“And stay safe,” added Inej. “I want to celebrate with all of you when that boat leaves the harbor.”

Aryn wanted that too. She wanted to see them all safe on the other side of this night. 

Jesper raised his hand. “Will there be champagne?”

Nina finished the last of the crackers, licking her fingers. “I’ll be there, and I’m effervescent.”

After that, there was nothing to do but finish packing up their gear. There would be no grand goodbye.

“It’s time,” Kaz said from the doorway.

Aryn caught sight of Jesper and Wylan talking quietly as she moved toward the door.

“Yes, this is what I want,” she heard Jesper say. 

Wylan looped his satchel over his shoulder, and Jesper reached out and untwisted the strap.

He didn’t let go. “But it’s not all that I want.”

Aryn smiled to herself 

“Now,” said Kaz.

Jesper looked like he wanted to beat him over the head with his own cane. He released the strap. “No mourners.”

“No funerals,” Wylan said quietly. He and Kaz vanished through the door. 

Nina and Inej were next. Nina had disappeared into one of the passages to change out of the ridiculous Fjerdan costume and don practical trousers, coat, and tunic—all of Ravkan make and cut. She’d taken Matthias with her and had emerged rumpled and rosy several long minutes later.

“Staying on task?” Aryn couldn’t resist asking.

“I’m teaching Matthias all about fun. He’s an excellent student. Diligent in his lessons.”

“Nina—” Matthias warned.

“Has problems with attitude. Shows room for improvement.”

Inej nudged the bottle of coffee extract toward Jesper. “Try to be cautious tonight, Jes.”

“I’m about as good at cautious as Matthias is at fun.”

“I’m perfectly good at fun,” Matthias growled.

“Perfectly,” Jesper agreed.

 Inej had planted a kiss on his cheek and then hugged Aryn. “Be safe. And take care of him.”

“I will.”

“Why aren't you telling me to take care of her?” complained Jesper.

Aryn had grinned. “Because I can take care of myself, and you need to be taken care of.”

Nina had aimed a single-fingered gesture at the wall of wanted posters, and then Aryn was stuck waiting for half past nine bells, alone in the tomb with a fidgety Jesper, a glum-looking Kuwei, and a pacing Matthias.

Kuwei began reorganizing the notebooks in his pack.

Jesper sat down at the table. “Do you need all of those?”

“You are angry with me?” said Kuwei.

Jesper smiled. “I’m not an angry type of guy.”

“Yes, you are,” said Matthias. “Angry and frightened.”

Jesper looked him up and down. “Beg your pardon?”

“Jesper is very brave,” protested Kuwei.

“Thank you for noticing.” Jesper stretched out his legs and crossed one ankle over the other. “You have something to say, Matthias?”

“Why aren’t you going to Ravka?”

“My father—”

“Your father could go with us tonight. And if you’re so concerned about him, why weren’t you at his hotel today?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“I know what it is to be ashamed of what you are, of what you’ve done.”

“You really want to start this, witchhunter? I’m not ashamed. I’m careful. Thanks to people like you and your drüskelle buddies, the world is a dangerous place for people like me. It always has been, and it doesn’t look to be getting any better.”

Kuwei reached out and touched Jesper’s hand, his face imploring. “Understand. Please. What we did, what my father did … We were trying to make things better, to make a way for Grisha to…” He made a gesture as if he was pressing something down.

“To suppress their powers?” suggested Aryn.

“Yes. Exactly. To hide more easily. If Grisha don’t use their powers, they grow ill. They age, tire easily, lose appetite. It’s one way the Shu identify Grisha trying to live in secret.”

“I don’t use my power,” said Jesper. “And yet…” He held up his fingers, enumerating his points as he made them. “One: On a dare, I ate a literal trough full of waffles doused in apple syrup and almost went back for seconds. Two: A lack of energy has never been my problem. Three: I’ve never been sick a day in my life.”

“No?” said Matthias. “There are many kinds of sickness.”

Jesper touched his hands to his revolvers. 

Apparently, the Fjerdan had a lot on his mind tonight, and Aryn didn't necessarily disagree with all of it.

Kuwei opened his pack and took out a tin of ordinary jurda, the kind sold in every corner shop in Ketterdam. “Jurda is a stimulant, good for fighting fatigue. My father thinks … thought it was the answer to helping our kind. If he can find the right formula, it will allow Grisha to remain healthy while hiding their powers.”

“Didn’t quite work out that way, did it?” Jesper said. But he seemed more relaxed, like he had realised that he was a little angry.

“The tests do not go as planned. Someone in the laboratory is loose in his talk. Our leaders find out and see a different destiny for parem.” He shook his head and gestured to his pack. “Now I try to remember my father’s experiments.”

“That’s what you’re scribbling away at in the notebooks?”

“I also keep a journal.”

“Must be fascinating. Day one: sat in tomb. Day two: sat in tomb some more.”

Matthias ignored Jesper and said, “Have you had any success?”

Kuwei frowned. “Some. I think. In a laboratory with real scientists, maybe more. I’m not my father. He was a Fabrikator. I am an Inferni. This is not what I’m good at.”

“What are you good at?” asked Jesper.

Aryn caught the insult in his tone and shot him a look, but Kuwei didn't seem to notice.

He cast him a speculative glance, then frowned. “I never had a chance to find out. We live a frightened life in Shu Han. It was never home.”

That was certainly something Aryn could understand. 

Jesper picked up the tin of jurda and popped the lid open. “You think if you have a lab and a few Grisha Fabrikators around, you might be able to re-create your father’s experiments and somehow work your way to an antidote?”

“I hope,” said Kuwei.

“How would it work?” asked Aryn.

“Would it purge the body of parem?” asked Matthias.

“Yes. Draw the parem out,” said Kuwei. “But even if we succeed, how to administer it?”

“You’d have to get close enough to inject it or make someone swallow it,” said Matthias.

“And by the time you were within range, you’d be done for,” finished Jesper.

Jesper pinched the blossoms between his fingers, lost in thought.

“The Zemeni don’t just use the blossoms,” he said. “I remember my mother soaking jurda stalks in goat’s milk. She gave it to me when I’d been out in the fields.”

“Why?” asked Matthias.

“To counteract the effects of inhaling jurda pollen all day. It’s too much for a child’s system, and no one wanted me more excitable than I already was.”

“The stalks?” repeated Kuwei. “Most people just dispose of them.”

“The stalks have a balm in them. The Zemeni drain it for ointments. They rub it on babies’ gums and nostrils when they’re burning jurda.” Jesper’s fingers drummed on the tin. 

Could the secret to the antidote for jurda parem be the jurda plant itself? Aryn wasn’t a chemist, she didn't know. “What if there’s a version of the balm that would counteract the effects of jurda parem? There still wouldn’t be a way to admin—”

That was when the window shattered. Jesper had his guns drawn in less than a breath, Aryn's revolver in hand just as quickly, as Matthias shoved Kuwei down and shouldered his rifle. They edged to the wall, and Aryn peeked outside through the smashed stained glass. In the shadows of the cemetery, she saw lanterns raised, shifting shapes that had to be people—a lot of people.

“Unless the ghosts just got a lot more lively,” Jesper said, “it looks like we have company.”

Chapter Text

“Stay down!” Matthias shouted at Kuwei. The Shu boy flattened himself to the floor. A second rattle of gunfire shook the air, shattering another of the stained-glass portholes.

“Either they’re interested in wasting a lot of bullets or those are warning shots,” said Jesper.

In a low crouch, Matthias edged to the other side of the tomb and peered through a thin crack in the stone.

“We’re surrounded,” he said.

Aryn peered through the shattered glass. The people standing between Black Veil’s graves were a far cry from the stadwatch officers she’d expected to see. In the flickering light of lanterns and torches, Aryn glimpsed plaid and paisley, striped vests, and checkered coats. The uniform of the Barrel. They carried equally motley weapons—guns, knives as long as a man’s forearm, wooden bats.

She ducked as gunshots split the air.

“I can’t make out their tattoos,” said Jesper. “But I’m pretty sure that’s Doughty up front.”

Doughty. Pekka’s second in command. “Dime Lions.”

“A lot of them.”

“What do they want?” said Kuwei tremulously.

Aryn could hear people laughing, shouting.

A cheer arose from the crowd as a Dime Lion sprinted forward and hurled something toward the tomb. It soared through one of the broken windows and hit the floor with a clang. Green gas burst from its sides.

Matthias yanked a horse blanket from the floor and threw it over the canister. He shoved it back through the porthole as another stutter of gunfire split the air. 

Aryn's eyes burned, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The Dime Lions surged forward.

Jesper squeezed off a shot, and one of the advancing crew fell, his torch extinguished on the damp ground. Aryn scrambled up to join him, aiming her revolver into the night

Again and again they fired, Jesper's aim unerring, hers nearly as good, as Dime Lions toppled. Their ranks broke as they scattered for cover.

“Keep lining up, boys,” Jesper said grimly.

“Come on out!” bellowed Doughty from behind a grave. “You can’t shoot us all.”

“We can’t hear you,” shouted Aryn. “Come closer.”

“We smashed your boats. You got no way off this island except us. So come quiet or we’ll bring just your heads back to the Barrel.”

“Watch out!” said Matthias. 

Doughty had been distracting them. Another canister crashed through a window, then another. 

“The catacomb!” Matthias roared, and they raced for the opposite end of the tomb, cramming themselves into the passage and sealing the stone door behind them. Jesper tore off his shirt and shoved it into the gap between the door and the floor.

The dark was almost complete. For a moment, there was only the sound of the four of them coughing and gasping, trying to dislodge the gas from their lungs. 

Then Jesper shook out a bonelight, and their faces were lit by an eerie green glow.

“How the hell did they find us?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Matthias. 

He was right. There was no time to think about how Black Veil had been compromised. Aryn didn't dare to think about the implications of Pekka Rollins sending his gang after them.

“What are our assets?”

“Wylan left us with a bunch of those violet bombs in case we ran into trouble with the Shu soldiers, Jesper?”

“I have a couple flash bombs.”

 “Kuwei?”

“I have nothing,” he said.

“You have that damn travel pack,” said Jesper. “There’s nothing useful in there?”

Kuwei clutched the bag to his chest. “My notebooks,” he said with a sniff.

“What about the leavings from Wylan’s work?” asked Matthias.

“It’s just some of the stuff he used to make the fireworks for Goedmedbridge,” said Jesper.

A flurry of shouts came from outside.

“They’re going to blow the door to the tomb,” said Matthias.

“There have to be at least thirty toughs out there looking to skin our hides,” said Jesper. “There’s only one way out of the tomb, and we’re on a damn island. We’re done for.”

Aryn didn't want to agree, but she couldn't seem to think of another way out of here.

“Maybe not,” said Matthias.

“Are you crazy? The Dime Lions have to know how badly outnumbered we are,” said Aryn.

“True,” said Matthias. “But they don’t know that two of us are Grisha.” 

They thought they were hunting a scientist, not an Inferni, and Jesper had long kept his Fabrikator powers a secret.

“Yeah, two Grisha with barely any training,” said Jesper.

A loud boom sounded, shaking the tomb walls and sending Matthias careening into them.

“They’re coming!” cried Kuwei.

But no footsteps sounded, and there was another series of shouts from outside. 

“They didn’t use a big enough charge,” said Matthias. “They want you alive, so they’re being cautious. We have one more chance. Kuwei, how much heat can you produce from a flame?”

“I can make a fire burn more intensely, but it’s hard to maintain.”

“Give Aryn one of the bombs,” he told Jesper. “Aryn, blow the back of the catacomb.”

“Why?”

“To make them think we’re blasting our way out the other side,” Matthias said.

Aryn set the bomb at the farthest end of the stone passage, but hesitated. “Are you sure this isn't going to blow us up with it?”

“No,” admitted Matthias. “But unless any of you have some brilliant idea—”

Jesper began, “I—”

“Shooting as many people as possible before we die is not an option.”

Jesper shrugged. “In that case, go on.”

“Kuwei, as soon as the bomb goes off, get to the front door as fast as you can. The gas should have diffused, but I want you to run. I’ll be right behind you, lending cover. Do you know the tomb with the big broken mast?”

“To the right?”

“Yes. Head straight for that. Jesper, grab up all those powders that Wylan left and do the same.”

“Why?”

“You can follow my orders, or you can ask your questions of the Dime Lions. Now, get down. Aryn, do it.”

He shoved them both against the wall, shielding their bodies, as Aryn lit the fuse. She ran, throwing herself against them just as a thunderous boom sounded from the end of the tunnel.

“Run!”

They burst through the catacomb door. Matthias kept a hand on Kuwei’s shoulder, urging him along as they raced through the remnants of the green gas.

“Remember, head straight to the broken mast.” He kicked open the tomb door and lobbed a flash bomb into the air. It exploded in shards of diamond-white light, and they ran for cover in the trees, blasting at the Dime Lions with their guns as they dodged through the graves.