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Chapter Text

Captain Inej Ghafa woke up to dawn sunlight and the soft conversation between her parents and curled up tighter in her blankets. 

Her journey to Os Kervo had been a long one and the day she spent riding to reach her family’s caravan had been longer. This wagon was as much her home as Ketterdam or her ship, but the early mornings of Suli life on the road were not quite compatible with the late nights on the sea or stealing secrets. 

Her parents were getting ready for the day. She should get up and join them, but fatigue weighed her body down. It felt selfish to spend her limited time with them asleep. 

As if sensing her dilemma, her father spoke softly, “Rest, Inej. I will set up the lines this morning.” 

The doors to the wagon shut softly behind them. 

It was sweet of them, but unnecessary. Every time Inej came home, they would fret and worry beyond reason, as if they were trying to make up for the years of parenting her that they missed. Her father would barely let her out of his sight her first time back and she had to punch a new hole into her belt after her mother cooked a feast for her eighteenth birthday. It is for years fourteen through eighteen, meja, she had insisted, I have learned many new recipes since you left.

Left. 

Like she had a choice in the matter.

It was always when you left us or in the time you were gone . 

Sometimes Inej wished they would just say what happened instead of walking around it with the grace only a Ghafa could manage. 

She knew it was because they worried, but that didn’t stop the ache in her heart. 

She knew it was because they loved her, but their love was so unfortunately unfamiliar to her. It was so different from the gentle understanding and silent but fierce support that she’d grown used to in Ketterdam. Her parents’ love was constant. There was never a moment to exist independent of their thoughts of her. It was warm and cozy. The type of love she dreamed about finding as a kid and the love she prayed her Saints would let her return after she was taken. 

But some days it was too much. 

It was suffocating.

She had written about it to Nina after her last trip, feeling broken. Her response was brief, but Inej had folded the note and safely hid it in her sheath with Sankta Marya for this trip. 

What you went through is so far outside what they could ever imagine happening to their child that their world was shattered along with yours, Inej. They are scared for you, of course. You put yourself in danger everyday to stop people like the men who ruined your life. But to them, you died five years ago. They are holding on to dear life for a miracle. Bring me along next time and I’ll distract them for you. Better yet, drag Kaz away from his ledgers and let them pester him. 

It brought her comfort knowing Nina still made time for her, even with her very busy engagement to the Prince of Fjerda. They hadn’t yet fulfilled all of their life debts of waffle dates, but one day they would. Probably not without saving each other again a few more times first. 

Nina would tell her to stay in bed for more time, to enjoy the moments of peace where she can find them. 

Kaz, Kerch born and raised, would argue that the work to be done would be waiting regardless of how much sleep she got. 

The work in question was not work, but a joy. She would be returning to the high wire today. Unless you count the rigging of The Wraith, she hadn’t walked a wire since the Sweet Reef job. Needless to say, she was eager to replace the experience. 

The thought of her hidden wings and the wind in her hair was enough motivation to finally leave the warmth of her bed and open her eyes.

The scene before her made her hesitate. She had arrived after sunset last night. The wagon had been dark and she had been too tired to take stock of the changes since her visit two months previous. 

Life on the road was in a constant state of change. Repairs were made, keepsakes were exchanged between passing caravans, cutlery and clothing were traded and handed down. The Ghafa wagons always had acrobatic equipment and performance costumes tucked away where there was space.  

The inside walls were once again a bright orange, proving her mother had won the constant debate the last time they needed to purchase paint. It was a pale blue when she left, but she hadn’t remembered it being in need of a new coat. 

Her parents’ altar had shifted some. The white candles and icon for Sankta Alina took up more space than before. The small jeweled lantern for Sankta Margaretha was absent. Perhaps because Inej was no longer a lost child. Perhaps because she divulged a bit too much of her past the last time she visited and they did not want to further encourage her thieving activities. 

The plates were a beautiful set with hand painted geraniums and stars. Inej smiled at the memory of the similar set they had when Inej was a child, which had been a gift from one of her aunts to her parents. Each plate had broken before Inej made her way back home, but she was glad her family found these in the towns they had visited.  

Her younger cousins must have been growing too fast and playing too recklessly, because the table her mother preferred to do her mending at had a small stack of young girls’ shirts. Inej even recognized some that used to be hers. Poor Esme, Inej thought, if she’s still having to wear my old shirts and get them mended.

Maybe a few extra coins would find their way into Esme’s mother’s pockets before Inej left again.

Maybe they’d need it , Inej supposed, as she spotted her old Rose Routine costume, if Esme has taken over the act. Shara had taken the act after Inej, but she was getting a bit too old for it as well. While Shara could walk the wire with confidence, she was not nearly as graceful as Inej. Esme was even less so. She had been only eight when Inej was stolen away, but her talent for acrobatics was about the same as it was now. 

After breathing in the nostalgia of her parent’s home, she turned her attention to what gave her pause at her first once over. 

She may not have been able to see well last night, but she remembered taking off everything but her undergarments and putting them beside her bed. Her mother hadn’t mentioned doing laundry today, but may have decided to after smelling the pleasant aroma of sea-salt, blood, and sweat. 

But her mother knew not to touch her knives. 

The sheathes, harnesses, and the knives themselves were missing. 

Strange.

As she reached under her pillow to grab the knife hidden away there and quietly hopped out of her cot, two unexpected things occurred in the same second. 

First, Inej’s fingers wrapped around, not the handle of Sankt Petyr, but her old icon of Sankta Marya. She used to sneak it off the altar and under her pillow to pray for good luck and safe travels until her father gave up and got a new one for the family altar the next time their caravan sheltered at the Sikurzoi caves. It was one of the first things Inej had owned. She knew each contour and scratch as well as she knew the alleys and roofs of Ketterdam.

A year after she was kidnapped, her parents had buried a box near where she first tried the high wire in memory of her. They only talked about it once, before being overcome by emotion, but Inej knew a few of the items that had been included. 

Like this icon. 

And the quilt currently on her bed.

And the original costume and headpiece for her Rose Routine. 

The Suli didn’t mark their graves.

Once somebody crossed over to the next world, a ceremony was held so the Saints could receive them and memories of the departed’s life could be retold. It was dangerous to travel with a dead body, so they usually were buried near where they died.

Life on the road needed to be flexible. Free. Marking somebody’s resting place would tie their soul to the caravan and the caravan to their soul. The departed would not be able to properly leave this world if they kept being drawn back to the grief of others. The caravan would not be able to be free if tethered by their grief.

Her parents, even if they had wanted to, could not have found the box of her most cherished items.

The second peculiar thing to occur was Inej Ghafa stumbling . The ground was somehow further away than she anticipated. She recovered and it was not something somebody watching her would have noticed, except perhaps Kaz, but Inej had mastered precise control of her limbs, and her feet had not landed where they were expected.

Only then, when her acrobat’s grace failed her, did Inej begin to panic. 

To calm herself, Inej reached for her wrist. Whenever memories threatened to push her mind out of her body once more, the feel of the scarred rough skin steadied her. It was a sign she was safe. It was a reminder of all she had been put through and all she had done since to free herself. This scar was purpose .

And it was missing.

Her skin was smooth. Flawless, the Peacock had said.

There were no scars anywhere on her skin. No callouses from her knives or the rigging. 

Inej started pulling drawers open to find her mother’s mirror. When docking yesterday, there had been a small scuffle with some sailors from a different ship and Inej had been punched in the cheek while trying to get in between Specht and a woman twice his size. It was the kind of punch that bruises for a week, if you’re lucky.

She finally found the mirror and froze at the girl looking back at her. 

Because it was just a girl. 

Her face was unbruised, though it still had a few creases from the pillow. Her cheeks were still round and her eyes bright, unaware of the terror she would face in a different life. She looked innocent. 

Inej stared at her younger self, unsure of what else to do. 

Was she still dreaming? Was she hallucinating? It all felt so real. 

She set the mirror down on the table and picked the carved icon back up. Sankta Marya of the Rock. Patron saint of those far from home. 

Had Sankta Marya and the other Saints sent her back in time? 

Was that within their abilities?

Why would they send her back?

Inej thought of the love she dreamed about when she was young. The dream of growing up and finding a boy like the one her father told her she’d find. They would construct their own wagon, have their own act in the show, and one day, she would teach her kids to balance and fall like her father taught her. A perfect Suli life. 

She could live it now. It was within her reach.

But she had almost been an outcast already amongst the camps. She heard the whispers of Kerch shevrati and ghost . She was the Wraith, so she heard the worse ones that were whispered when she wasn’t around, too. Only a few of her family members knew what she had done in Kerch, but others had guessed. Only her parents knew the full extent of her sins, but it had been clear to everyone that Inej no longer fit into the Suli life. 

Could she do it now? 

Could she ignore the things that would never happen? Could she try to live loudly? Could she grow to exist without knives in her hands and half of her heart in Ketterdam? 

Could she turn her back on the purpose she had found if it meant being safe with her family? 

Would she be able to marry her perfect Suli boy who knew all of her favorite things, but not why intimacy made her freeze up? Would she be able to perform for crowds of people and fly freely across her high wire, knowing without her, Grisha might all become drugged captives for their whole lives? Would she be able to raise her children without thinking of the thousands of children who got bought and sold in her absence?  

Inej Ghafa could not and she did not think her Saints would ask such negligence for her.

That meant the path the set before her was clear and bright. 

So, she set the mirror back in its drawer, tucked Sankta Marya back under her pillow, curled up once more in her blankets, and grinned.

She was both the Wraith and its Captain. Ketterdam and all her villains would be expecting her to be weak, docile, and afraid, but they would face Inej’s claws and learn once more to fear the shadows. 

The moment she closed her eyes, as if on cue, the door slammed open.

The man silhouetted by the early morning light did not know the death sentence he was signing as he dragged a flailing girl through the empty camp.

Chapter Text

The three weeks in the belly of a slaver’s ship passed much faster the second time around. 

Inej knew darkness now in a way she hadn’t before. She knew the sounds and smells of a ship on open water. Though her hands and feet were bound and she was unarmed, she could not bring herself to be afraid. 

Vincent Van Nak, the current first mate, had gotten a promotion to Captain in her past life and met death at the end of Sankt Vladamir. He had been one of the first take-downs on The Wraith’s maiden voyage. The unknown of who had taken her, the thread of fate not yet tied into place, had irked her. She barely hid her vicious grin when she realized who she was dealing with. She already knew where he lived and every asset in his name.

Captain Igor Carpzov was Ravkan. She knew less of him. If he had any assets in Kerch, they were humble enough to not have drawn Kaz’s eye. More likely, his hacking cough took him out before Inej had even left the Menagerie. He would not die a natural death this time.

There were only four other men on the crew. Oleg Havel, Robbert Everink, Rik Veltmate, and Nilbei Yul-Mei. 

Veltmate was the one who had grabbed her from the wagon.

When she wasn’t listening to the slavers for bits of information to use against them, she was talking with the other children. There were fifteen of them, not including Inej, and she wanted to know every piece of identifying information about them that she could. 

Four spoke Ravkan. 

Kalin Popov, son of Leonid and Cara Popov, was snatched from his father’s shipyard in Udova. His mother died giving birth to Kalin, but he has two older sisters who both spin yarn.

Vira Bastova, daughter of Dimitri and Oskana Bastova, was playing in the tide pools and strayed too far from her friends. She was from a town on the coast, about a half day’s ride south of Os Kervo. Her father did the books for the cannery and her mother tended after Vira’s younger siblings and a few of the neighbors’ kids.

Natalya Sokovic, daughter of Petyr and Irina Sokovic, was sold by her older brother, Jared Sokovic, to pay off his gambling debts. Her parents were both dead and left her in his care. He spent their fortune on a trip to Ketterdam and went the way all pigeons go. The slavers also offered their services of debt collectors to the Liddies, apparently. Natalya had nobody at home awaiting her return, but Inej would bet money on where she could be found once in Ketterdam. That was a start at least.

Jana Valev, daughter of Kolya and Milenka Valev, was the oldest of the group and also spoke Kaelish. She was taken from the harbor in Os Kervo when she got lost. Her parents run a cobbler in the poorer side of town.

Conall Duff, son of Cormac and Maisie Duff, was pulled from the streets in Leflin while sent out to get something from the market for his mother. Inej couldn’t understand the words before Jana translated, but she could hear the anguish in his voice. He was the youngest of them all, with dark red Kaelish hair and a chubby pale face. 

Mary Mullen was from Leflin, too. She had lived on the streets for a few months and insisted she didn’t have parents. However, when Inej asked if there was anyone who she’d want to know about her kidnapping, she burst into tears and told her about Patrick and Tara Mullen, farmers from outside the city who she ran away from. 

Linami Zoto, daughter of Iya Zoto, was Zemini. In the bits and pieces Inej had learned from Jesper over the years, she was able to determine Her father was a Jurda farmer near Weddle, but he would not want her back. 

There were two girls from Shu Han. Liltu Kir-Khirta and Te Kir-Yaltem, both from Bhez Zu. There was nobody to translate for them, but they seemed to find comfort in each other. At least they were not entirely alone on this ship.

The other six were either too stunned to speak or too injured to stay conscious. Inej did her best to commit their faces to memory.

By the end of the third week, she had taught each of them a few Kerch phrases. She warned them about indenture contracts and the auction block they would likely face. She knew it wouldn’t change much on the auction block, but it was better than nothing. 

When the ship finally laid anchor, Inej was ready to face Heleen. Her heart raced violently and her hands itched for her knives, but she remained present. She was able to stay in her body as it was stripped and poked and examined. 

This woman had no control over you , she reminded herself, when Heleen pulled on her tangled hair. You’ve bested her already.

“Pretty,” Heleen Van Houden said. Inej kept her head tilted towards the floor, trying to appear shy and ashamed of the display, but her eyes stayed on the diamond choker that Inej had ripped from her neck once before. She would do it again. “Scrawny and flat as a pan, but her skin is flawless.”

Her resolve slipped once and only once. 

Inej had never read her contract with the Menagerie until now. She couldn’t read it when she signed it the first time or when Kaz showed it to her during their first deal. She assumed he had burned it. 

He was right when he called it a sham. Each term and clause was more vile and unlawful than the last. Even with bribed judges, it should not have held up. If Inej prayed to Ghezen, she would have called it blasphemy. 

Her pen hovered over the paper. Her Saints had set her at another crossroads. She could sign her life away to Heleen again, risking a repeat of everything she’d been through. She could refuse, which would either get her beaten until she agreed or sent to the auction block with the rest. She could even jump off the deck and brave the waters. 

In the end, it's better the devil you know than the devil you don’t. She knew the Menagerie. She knew the Barrel and the best ways to survive it. Heleen could not cage her again, regardless of what a piece of paper said. 

Inej Ghafa signed her name on the dotted line and was led to Ketterdam once more.

Cobbet was the only muscle Heleen had brought. He simply picked Inej up and into the longboat and began to row.

Inej must have convinced them enough that she could not speak Kerch because they began to speak like she was not there. Or maybe that is how Heleen wanted her newly acquired girls to feel.

“What do you think of this one, Cobbet? Not quite as luscious as our last lynx, but interesting enough.”

“She’ll certainly bring in the men who want a Suli seer experience. Never seen one of ‘em, but those eyes are too intense for her not to be.”

“Her eyes are certainly a selling point. I’d say they make her look even more lynx-like. With some kohl and powder, we could emphasize them more.”

Her eyes had never been a feature they noted before, but she has seen and done more than the Inej who had sat in this boat, confused and dazed, could have ever imagined. Old eyes , her father said when they reunited on the docks of Fifth Harbor. You both look like you know how many drops of rain there are in the sky because you’ve weathered the storm enough times to count.

Was this what the true fortune-tellers of her people experienced? Was their knowledge divine entirely, or based on a repetition of time to already know the answers?

“Lynx,” Heleen snapped in Ravkan, “are you a fortune-teller?”

Inej furrowed her brow and shook her head, before widening her eyes and letting her face return to a neutral. It was how some of the seers looked when they didn’t wear the jackal masks. Like they could see through the layers of the world in front of them to the next world itself.

Inej didn’t plan on staying with Heleen long. There was no harm in playing along. 

The rest of the ride was uneventful. 

Heleen got out and onto the dock first. When Inej stepped up, Heleen wrapped a Lost Bride’s cape and veil around her. 

Her first time walking West Stave had been a confusing miasma of people, lights, and sounds, all blurred by her veil. The only thing that kept her from being swept away was Cobbet’s hand on her shoulder.

Now, she was drunk at the sight of it. It was far from her favorite part of Ketterdam, but it was familiar. It was busy in a way a Suli camp or a ship could never be and loud in all the right ways. Performers and acrobats dazzled tourists. People sang and laughed with their friends. 

These were the streets Kaz learned to pickpocket on. These were the buildings she learned to climb and fade into a crowd.

It was not as pretty as the Zelver District and she would have much preferred to be walking down East Stave, but Inej felt at home. 

She may have run for the Slat if Cobbet’s hand wasn’t still on her shoulder. 

The Menagerie was the same. 

It was still golden and gilded. It was still a locked cage. The working girls wasting their lives away still smiled and cooed at the greedy clients in the parlor. The hired muscle still sneered at Inej as she followed Heleen to her salon. 

She had not been back in this room since Kaz paid off her indenture. Inej held on tightly to the memory of him to keep the other memories of this office at bay. 

Are you praying to me like one of your Saints, Wraith, he would ask if he saw her now. 

I would not need to pray to you, Kaz, she would respond, to know you would fight with everything you had to save me.  

I would, Inej. 

Then where was he?

In all of her plans, Inej had not considered a world where Kaz Brekker did not know her. 

For the first time, she thought about what might happen if Kaz did not remember their last life together. 

They still had issues to work through and they could only touch or kiss for brief moments without having to fight back their demons. But they were a team, knives-drawn, pistols-blazing and all that. 

If he did not remember, she would arrange a meeting.

Kaz Brekker would not trust a girl in Menagerie silks crawling through his window claiming to be the best spider he’ll ever meet, so she’d need to work out the finer details before going through with it. Too much planning would make Kaz paranoid and too little planning… would also make Kaz paranoid. 

She could escape and survive on the streets well enough on her own, but that didn’t mean she’d want to. 

The first thing she had to do was escape this cage.

Two stylists entered the salon to wash her. Inej took extra care on the ship to keep her hair from matting, so it was not cut off this time. 

A burly man with a tattoo gun entered before she was dressed.

The pain was not as horrible as she remembered. And the fear was non-existent too. The peacock feather would not be on her wrist as long as it had been before. All Inej needed was a Corporalnik or a knife.

When he was done, the stylists smeared oils over her skin and painted spots onto her shoulder before forcing her back into the purple silks. 

She expected to dread wearing them again, back in the Menagerie, but her mind could not rid itself of the memory of her and her friends riding a stolen tank long enough to care. 

As she was made up into the Suli Lynx once more, her plans developed. The guards won’t be a problem, but the locks on her windows and the silks would be. She was a semi-decent lockpick if she had the right tools, but she didn’t. She could hide all she wanted, but until she got her hands on normal clothes and decent shoes, going into the streets or climbing would be pointless. If she was doing this alone, running would mean she was breaking a contract and there would be no going to get help, even from Dirtyhands.

The easiest choice would be to wait until she was seeing a Madman or Mister Crimson, knock them out, and steal their costume, but Inej would not allow herself to be abused again while she waited.

The next easiest choice was to incapacitate her first client, steal his wallet and coat, and throw him out the window to break it. It was not a subtle choice, but it would give her enough time to get across the roofs to the poorer areas of the Barrel and steal an outfit, shoes, and a knife. If he carried enough money in his wallet, she might even be able to buy them instead.

From there, Inej didn’t know and she was out of time to plan.

After Heleen adjusted her silks and gave her final approval to the stylists, she led Inej down to the parlor.

It was the same as her first night last time. She knew each Menagerie girl had a similar one. An uncomfortable day of being stripped by strangers and being made up into a fake caricature of her people, before being introduced to Renaut Versteeg, a West Stave regular who paid a premium for virgins. He didn’t like them experienced and preferred them scared, so Heleen let him have a go at every new girl before she explained the details of the girl’s indenture and her new line of work to her. 

He had a cruel smile and eyes only on her skin. He made a lewd comment in broken Suli, just as he had before. 

Inej had been horrified and embarrassed then. She was beyond furious now. 

“Enjoy yourselves,” Heleen called in her saccharine voice as Versteeg put his hand firmly on below her lower back and guided Inej to her rooms.

He leaned in close enough that she could feel the hairs of his mustache on the shell of her ear. “Do you speak Kerch, beautiful girl?” He emphasized his question with his tongue. 

When Inej flinched away, only partially intentionally, and only responded by staring at him terrified, fully intentionally, he simply grinned. 

Inej could tell he was slowing down his steps intentionally, allowing more time for her fear to build and for his hand to explore above the silk. She chose to use the time ignoring him and planning her escape.

Versteeg was stronger and bigger than she was, especially since she hasn’t trained or eaten properly in three weeks, so any takedown would need to rely on her being clever. 

If she was lucky, the golden carafe of wine would be set on the table below the window. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the heaviest blunt object in her room at any given time. A hit in the head could incapacitate him long enough to snap his neck.

If she was not lucky, she would have to hit pressure points to drop him. It could be difficult with their size difference, but she had faced worse.

If she was unlucky , and he moved her immediately to the bed with no room to evade him, she would have to smother him with the pillows. It could be tricky and he might try to fuck her before she could manage it, but Inej would bite his nose off first, consequences be damned. 

Throwing his body through the windows may be enough to solve that particular issue, but Inej wasn’t sure how reinforced they were. Problem for later, she told herself as they reached the door.

He held it open for her like a gentleman. She didn’t know if he did it out of force of habit or a perverted kindness. She walked in as she was expected to and took stock of the room. 

The draped purple silks, gold ribbons, and pungent incense were to be expected. At least the silks would provide decent camouflage in her current outfit if things went sour. The carafe and crystal glasses were on the table besides a vase of blooming wild geraniums. 

She crossed the room to the table as soon as she saw it, relief and joy flooding her heart. 

“Girl, what are you up to over there?” Versteeg snarled. What a shame that the girl he was with couldn’t speak Kerch. He continued yelling at her regardless. 

Inej quickly, but delicately lifted the flowers out of the vase and set them down on the table. Tied to one the stems was a familiar oyster knife. She slipped it into her palm. The vase itself was ceramic with thick walls and a metal interior that would do a lot more damage than the carafe. More options.

But Inej was most comfortable with the blade in her hand. 

Versteeg had finished stalking across the room to her and roughly yanked her arm to spin her around. 

Inej adjusted her grip on the knife and used the force and momentum of the spin to drag the knife across his throat. It wasn’t deep enough to kill. She had misjudged the length of her arms.

Versteeg staggered back in shock and pain, but Inej was moving again. 

She threw the knife into his carotid artery and turned back around to the table to pick up the vase.

Clients yelling in brothels was far too common to draw attention. Them stopping thirty seconds after entering the room was less common. Luckily, Versteeg had a reputation and Inej would be expected to scream instead.

She started yelling in Suli, pitching her voice and making it panicky like she’d seen Nina do on jobs. She was not yelling for help though. Since the vile excuse of the man in front of her knew enough Suli to talk about putting himself in her, he would catch a few of the words forsaking him and calling upon the Saints to curse him in the next world. 

By the time he pulled the knife out of his neck, idiot , Inej was hoisting the vase up and swung it across his skull. 

His skull and the ceramic shell shattered. 

She kept crying out as she wiped off the knife and started taking Versteeg’s coat off of his corpse. Her words shifted into a prayer for Sankta Vasilka to let the woman this man has violated find peace. 

She asked her Saints for forgiveness, faltering her voice and gasping like a woman being fucked, while she pilfered his pockets then tied back her hair with a ribbon of silk cut from her costume. The window opened easily, all the locks having been picked when the geraniums were left. On the sill outside was a pair of leather circus shoes. They wouldn’t be as good as her rubber soled boots, but the thought was still appreciated.

She sobbed loudly as she took off the bells on her ankles and wrists, pulled on the shoes and wrapped the bloody coat around her. 

By the time the guards broke the door open to investigate the lack of noise from either occupant, the lynx was long gone and the merch was long dead.

By the time the Stadwatch and the Peacock arrived, Inej was flying across the familiar rooftops, already halfway to the Slat.

Chapter Text

As soon as Kaz figured out what was happening, someone was going to die.

A life spent watching his back in the Barrel had taught him to be hyper-aware of his surroundings, even with his eyes closed. 

He knew he went to sleep in the Slat. His bed was far from the plush mattresses of the Van Eck Manor that Jesper loved to bemoan the lack of anytime they had an overnight job, but it was not as stiff as the cold cobblestones of the streets. 

Kaz had slept in hidden alcoves and been knocked down enough in his earlier years to recognize the feeling. 

Scenarios started racing through his mind. 

Nobody had managed to get the jump on him since before he knew about parem . He had precautions against thugs, thieves, and any drugged Tidemakers.

In his room, the assailant would have to either get past three floors of Dregs, the metal dust coated walls, or the custom-designed, Fabrikator-made locks on his window, all without making any sound and waking Kaz up. The only person that silent was in Ravka to visit her family and she had taken the only key to that lock with her. 

He must have been drugged either before going to bed or knocked out forcefully enough to forget the fight. 

They hadn’t bound him, so Kaz subtly moved his hand to drop his knife into the palm of his hand and was faced with a new issue.

He didn’t sleep in his gloves. 

Somehow, someway, somebody had relocated him without his knowing and he had been left vulnerable for it. They had touched him, likely touched his skin directly, and he had not even woken up. 

He was going to bash their heads in.

Knife in hand, Kaz decided surprise would be a good enough ally in the fight since he had no others. 

In a smooth motion, he opened his eyes, jumped up, and went to stab the closest person to him.

His knife met air.

Kaz tried to force his face into neutrality to hide his shock. There was nobody there. He was alone as far as he could tell. 

More confusingly, his mind was clear and he felt no pain. There was no sign of having been drugged. There was no indication of a fight.

There was no ache in his leg.

He reassessed the area around him again and was surprised once more when he realized where he was. 

The alleyway on the outskirts of the Barrel was mostly hidden and unknown, even to well-traveled Barrel Rats. The entries on either side were too narrow and closed off for most stadwatch and bruisers to get into. The buildings on either side had no windows and they teetered and leaned against each other enough that only slivers of sunlight and rain fell through. The alley was nearly invisible from the roofs. 

Kaz had found an alcove in this alley during his first year living on the streets and set up a passable living space in it. He squatted there until joining the Dregs when he was twelve. 

The small amounts of food, supplies, and stolen keepsakes were all familiar to him.

Kaz would have interpreted the situation as a threat if it weren’t for the simple fact that he fit in his hiding space. 

On a hunch, he picked up a rose gold compact. The latch was broken and he had never been able to fence it, but it had a mirror inside. 

His hair was longer than he liked to keep it. The sides weren’t trimmed either. His nose was straighter than usually, likely from a few less breaks. His jaw was not yet sharp, still round with youth. The areas of skin typically marred with scars were smooth. 

There were a few bruises and scrapes on his knuckles. His hands were smaller and less calloused.

Kaz Brekker was a kid again. 

Whatever drug, Grisha power, or head trauma caused this nightmare, he was going to find whoever was responsible and then he was going to kill them. 

The first thing he needed was a pair of gloves. The second was a plan.

The nearest tourist trap on East Stave carried gloves for anyone unprepared for the gloom and chill of Ketterdam winters. Kaz paid for the only pair that would fit him with kruge he had grabbed from pockets and wallets on the way there. They were not his typical gloves and lockpicking would be an issue until he could modify them. 

As he left the shop and pulled them on, a new nightmare began and a new realization dawned. 

Entering the gin shop across the street was a man with florid cheeks and tufty sideburns. Pekka Rollins. The striped pants and Barrel flash vest paired with his typical velvet green coat was as gaudy and garish as the last time Kaz had seen the combination.

Only then, it hadn’t been Pekka Rollins wearing that outfit. It had been Jakob Hertzoon. 

This day was not as ingrained in his mind as the night on the Reapers Barge, but he remembered it all the same. Today was the day Kaz remade his revenge. Today was the day he swore to destroy Pekka Rollins brick by brick and build himself up in the rubble. Today had been the beginning of Rollins’s reckoning, even if he did not know it.

Despite it all, despite the rage and vengeance he held, Kaz could not make himself go towards the gin shop once more to confront him as he had before. 

Want to get anywhere in the Barrel, you’d best learn his name. That’s what the bruiser had said last time. 

Kaz could almost laugh. 

Kaz knew Rollins’s name now. Kaz knew the name of his son who was about to be born if he did the math right. Kaz knew the name of every Dime Lion Pekka had ever employed and he knew as many secrets about them as Inej could gather. 

He had seen Pekka Rollins, King of the Barrel, on his knees before him in the Church of Barter begging for his son’s life. He had seen the reputations of Sweet Shop and the Emerald Palace torn asunder. He had seen his own gambling den born in its place. 

He did not need to learn Pekka Rollins’s name on this day.

Dirtyhands. The Bastard of the Barrel. Kaz Brekker.

These were the names whispered in the Barrel Kaz had gone to sleep in. The names that everyone, from street rat to Barrel boss, knew to be cautious of. 

Kaz Brekker did not need to destroy Pekka Rollins again. He had already gotten revenge for Jordie. 

He still would destroy him, of course. He was merely a dam blocking Kaz’s route to becoming the undisputed Bastard King of the Barrel once more. 

But he would have to wait. 

A power vacuum that big before Kaz was primed to fill it would be too chaotic to plan for or predict. It would be detrimental.

There was the added trouble of the Hellshow. He couldn’t dispose of Rollins before he proposed and established the idea. Kaz didn’t have the capital to support the initial reconstructions required at Hellgate or the manpower needed to staff it and wouldn’t for a while. He was already making a list of profitable investments, trying to recall the way the market had shifted in the past, and rearranging his initial plans to raise the ranks of the Dregs to be more efficient, but the Hellshow would have to be Pekka’s. 

Even if he could pitch it to the Merchant Council before the Barrel Boss, Kaz couldn’t very well wreck his own investment when they broke Helvar out. 

Kaz froze. 

Matthias Helvar.

Dead and gone. 

“No mourners,” Kaz reminded himself in a whisper. The noise was swept away in the hustle of East Stave, leaving Kaz all alone. 

There were no Crows or Dregs with him to finish the phrase. No Inej. No Jesper. No Wylan, Nina or Matthias. 

No Inej . 

Simply thinking of her made her absence so extremely intense Kaz couldn’t breathe for a second. He felt as though he was missing a limb. 

They saw each other infrequently, as of late. But between each of The Wraith’s voyages, there would be small moments. Scheming and exchanging information through the night. Passing a mug of spiced hot chocolate back and forth and trading memories from their childhoods. Stakeouts for her next lead or his next job. A few minutes of holding hands, skin to skin. Trying to comfort the other after their nightmares. Sitting at a booth at the Kooperom, having breakfast with Wylan and Jesper. Scaling the Church of Barter alongside each other and recalling their past antics. Saying goodbye at berth twenty-two every time she set sail. Being without his armor on the streets of Ketterdam for just a moment. Just for her. 

She was not just away at sea right now. She was gone. Entirely out of his reach.

She would be with her family right now. It was spring in Ravka, so they would likely be travelling through the Sikurzoi range to go around the Fold. She wouldn’t make it to Ketterdam for another two, maybe three, years. He didn’t know when she’d arrived last time until he read her indenture contract. 

Shit.

There was no way he could let her suffer in the Menagerie. If it weren’t for the fact that he needed Heleen to take Inej off that slaving ship, he’d go burn the place down without a second thought. 

There was also no way that Inej Ghafa would agree to be his Wraith without experiencing the horrors of the Barrel. 

Perhaps she had managed to make him into a good man after all because Kaz would put her back on a ship to Ravka if that’s what she truly wanted when he helped her escape the Menagerie. 

Then again, if Kaz ever had any conscious or goodness, it was alway Inej. Always for Inej.

He made himself move again, heading south, and let his thoughts shift to Jesper. 

Jesper’s descent into the Barrel life was easier to manage than Inej’s. Kaz would bet money that in any universe Jesper wouldn’t be able to stay away from the allure of the Barrel during his first trip into the city. It was that much of a guarantee.

Kaz simply had to make sure Jesper was playing at his tables and accruing debt at his gambling halls. He had to have him jumped to get him in the Dregs last time and he’d do it again if necessary, but he’d rather Jes not owe money to any rival gangs in the process. 

It would be good, Kaz thought, to walk the Barrel with Jesper again. He was still at his best in a fight and they’d done plenty of jobs together since the auction, but Jesper was gaining notoriety with people who didn’t exactly approve of spending time with infamous criminals. It would be good to have him watching his back again, too.

Wylan couldn’t be recruited until Van Eck kicked him out and Van Eck’s reputation couldn’t be destroyed until then as well. 

Nina’s involvement in the Dregs would have to be adjusted if Inej was gone, but if he could get to her before Pekka, things may still work out.

Helvar was tricky. Freeing him early would lead to him and Nina leaving Kerch or maiming each other. 

The entire Ice Court job would be tricky without Inej to climb the incinerator, but Kaz had time. He could make the proper paperwork for them to go through the embassy gate. He didn’t need Matthias for information and keeping him involved would increase the risk of being seen. He’d like it if Nina were there for security, but he could manage without if she fled with Helvar. He technically didn’t need Wylan for hostage either, but the merchling was good to keep around in case explosions were needed. 

The thought brought his mind into focus once more. 

He didn’t need Wylan as a hostage, with or without his demolition skills.

Kaz could simply not take the job. 

He could turn down Van Eck in Hoede’s study and leave Rollins in his cell in the prison sector to rot. 

He knew enough about future markets, rich tourists and bank layouts to get rich quick without impossible, doomed to fail kidnapping jobs. He would be wealthy beyond belief, the most dangerous boss in the Barrel. 

He had already solved the puzzle of breaking into the Ice Court. He had already outsmarted Jan Van Eck. There was little to gain in attempting it again. 

The image of a pale, sickly boy in Tidemaker blue flashed in his mind. The memory of the Squallors snatching up Inej from Vellgeluk. Nina in the cabin of the Ferolind, shaky with withdrawals and struggling to recover. The khergud soldiers created by Durasts on parem . 

It means ‘without pity’ , Kuwei had said. You will be ensuring slavery and death for Grisha everywhere, Inej had told Van Eck. Am I risking the fate of the world’s Grisha on the honor and abilities of a fast-talking urchin? A king had asked him. 

Jurda parem would become all that Jarl Brum, the Shu Han scientists, and Jan Van Eck wanted it to be if Kuwei was left in the Ice Court. The world would fall apart because of it. 

By the time he reached the Slat, still drafty and in disrepair, Kaz had made his decision. Regardless of the changes he would make in his rise in the Barrel, he would not let the world fall to parem . He just might be insane. 

“What’s a runt like you doing, hanging ‘round here?” Seeger asked with the same old brutish sneer. He was leaning against the wall with all the faith in the world that it would support him. Between his whiskey gut and the rotten wood, Kaz wasn’t nearly as confident in that.

“I’m here to speak with Per Haskell.” 

“And why do you wanna do that, Brekker?” His reputation precedes him, it seems. Last time he did this, Gorka was watching the door and didn’t recognize him. It took a bit of convincing, and a few good punches, to get through the door.

“I want to sign up.”

Surprised, and not smart enough to consider if it was a con or not, Seeger opened the door and let Kaz back into his home. 

Dirtyhands had work to do.

Chapter Text

Kaz couldn’t focus.

He had paperwork to finish for the club, requests and manifests to go through from Fifth Harbor, a handful of investments he needed to revise due to the upcoming Ravkan civil war, and he couldn’t bring his mind to still enough to go through any of them. 

After nearly three years of reliving his past, the day he couldn’t stop thinking about had arrived.

Muzzen brought word last week that the Lynx at the Menagerie had been killed by a client. Roeder overheard talk of a new shipment to Vellgeluk this morning and when he tracked her down, a girl newly indentured to the Liddies mentioned a Suli girl who didn’t make it to the auction block with them.

Inej Ghafa was back in Ketterdam.

Now, all he could do was wait.

He had to wait either for the top of the hour, by then the sedative he’d laced the wine with would surely have gone into effect, or for the hope that he had been holding onto realized. 

It was a thought he rarely let his mind touch, locked up behind too many walls for him to unpick or scale. But it could still be reached in quiet moments like this, when his brain stilled and the only noise was the ticking of his pocket watch.

The first time it occurred to him, six months ago, he had been trying to nab trade negotiations, a signet ring, and a set of diamond jewelry from the room at the Geldrenner being rented out to a rich West Ravkan couple. After finding what he needed, but before he could make his escape, the couple returned early from their dinner. He moved into the bathroom and was set upon by memories. 

I can help you.

It isn’t easy for me either.

Go on.

What happened to you, Kaz?

You don’t ask for forgiveness, Kaz. You earn it.

Don’t do this.

If you ever cared about me at all, don’t follow.

She had followed, though. She always would. Just as he would always come for her, she would always watch over him like a shadow, a Saint.

He hadn’t noticed that the couple had been in the same rooms his crew hid in as their enemies stormed the city in search of them. It was not the lavish Ketterdam Suite.The plush purples and dark wood furniture were absent. It was up far too many stairs to be desirable before the Ravkan lift’s invention. He hadn’t made the connection until standing in the bathroom, unchanged by renovations. Exactly as it was that night.

His heart pounded in his chest. Not from fear of being discovered, but with the overwhelming loneliness he had been fighting off since being in the past. 

The couple started moving through the rooms, so Kaz quietly made his way out the small window and onto the thin ledge, locking it behind him. He could climb down, but it would be easier to go up and take the stairs from the roof down, so he began his ascent.

He would always come for Inej, but would she follow him in this life? He had made his peace with the fact that freeing her from the Menagerie would lead to her leaving Kerch to go back to Ravka, but what if there was another option. What if he was not the only one who regained his memories?

What if Inej remembered?

If she remembered, would she stay? Could he convince her to? Would she want to?

If Inej remembered, would Kaz be able to ask her to stay? He would, he promised himself. Two years alone was enough time for the truth that she was the best thing about this city to settle into his bones. 

He was too lost in his thoughts to hear the click of the window unlocking. 

He was above it by now, so sight lines wouldn’t be an issue, but Kaz had been using the frame as a foothold. 

When the wife threw open the window, Kaz lost his balance and his grip on the stonework.

The fall and the subsequent pain had been familiar.

His broken leg was not the top priority after the fall. He’d dealt with limping enough to keep his weight off of it and grit his teeth through the agony. He had to focus on avoiding the stadwatch looking for him and the hundreds of plans revolving around Inej and the possibility that she might remember him once she arrived. 

He found a university medic to set it and later a Healer to lessen the damage. It couldn’t be completely healed. Kaz couldn’t find it in him to mind. It felt natural, somehow, to be broken. His cane was remade and the legend of Dirtyhands grew, but Kaz ignored all of the whispers to focus on Inej. Inej.

Tonight would be the night where he found out the truth of his situation. 

Either he would go rescue her or she would come and rescue him from the past. He had already visited West Stave earlier in the day to prepare for either outcome. He just had to wait.  

He made no progress on his paperwork as the hour grew to a close.

As the hope he hadn’t wanted to let himself feel slowly died, Kaz took a breath. He’d help her get back to Ravka as he promised himself, but it would be easier if he hadn’t dreamed of a world where she stayed.

Before he could stand to leave, the air shifted. The feeling of being watched raised the hair on the back of his neck. He hadn’t felt this way since standing on Fifth Harbor and watching the Wraith sail away.

“Hello, Inej.” He kept his eyes on the wall. He couldn’t look to see if the window was open. To see if she was there. Everyday, he watched the crows outside his window and could always picture her sitting on the sill with them. If he looked now and she wasn’t there, there might not be any way of recovering after that. 

There was no response and he was about to set his head on his desk to process this new grief, this new pain, when an achingly familiar voice, more accented than he’d last heard it, spoke up.

“Thank you for the flowers, Kaz.”

Like a spell breaking, Kaz was out of his seat and facing the window. 

There she was. She was wearing the stolen circus shoes and the Menagerie silks were mostly hidden under a bloody, too-large wool coat. Her hair was unbraided, but tied back with one of the purple ribbons. Her expression was carefully neutral, but barely hid the hope and fear sparkling in her eyes. She looked like a vision sent from the Saints. 

The fact that Kaz was thinking about Saints at all must really mean she was here. It was enough to make him smile. 

She was here, in the Slat, holding his knife in one hand and the flowers he had left as a sign in the other. He didn’t think she would bring the geraniums with her, but she was always always surprising him. They both stood in silence, taking in the other.

Ghezen, he had missed her.

“I thought you would have appreciated the knife more,” he said when he finally found his words. 

She finally returned his grin as she took a step closer and held the handle of his oyster knife back to him. “Oh, I did, but I assumed it was a loan. The flowers were a gift.”

He took a step towards her, aching without his cane, but hesitated. He slowly took off one glove. Then the other. 

Only then did Kaz allow himself to make his way to her and take the offered knife, letting their fingers touch for a few moments before he pulled away. 

When he did, Inej moved, steps as silent as ever, to pick up a nearly priceless bronze amphora he had been meaning to fence off the floor and went to the wash basin to fill it with water. As she arranged the flowers, she asked, “The wine?”

Kaz flipped the oyster knife back up his sleeve and responded, “A fast acting sedative with a delayed release. If you had been a few minutes later, I would have gone over there to get you. I wasn’t sure if you had your memories.” Their rhythm was easy, natural. It felt good to fall back into it. 

“And if I hadn’t?” She wasn’t facing him. Had she thought about what she would do if he hadn’t remembered her? Had they both worried about life in the Barrel without the other?

“Offer you a spider position and when you inevitably turned that down, I would tell you about the three ships leaving for Os Kervo tomorrow,” he answered honestly. Before he could ask what her plan was, she interrupted.

“What was your plan for this?” Inej asked, turning around and holding up her wrist to display her Menagerie brand. Kaz knew it must have been difficult to get it again. 

Part of him worried that the hint of anger in her voice was meant for him. As if she was asking him how he could let her be bought again. He knew her ire for Heleen went deep enough that it likely wasn’t. Luckily, he had a solution regardless.

Kaz quickly slipped both gloves back on and walked to the door of the office. 

He opened it, rapped his cane against the recently renovated banister, and called out for Muzzen once the noise downstairs had calmed down. 

The older Dregs thought he was a brat, but the newer ones had already started looking to him instead of Haskell. After his promotion to Lieutenant and Floor Boss, almost a year earlier than he had managed last time, Kaz started pushing more to make himself look good at the old man’s expense. It wasn’t a very difficult task. Paying for repairs to the Slat and Fifth Harbor with his own fortune this time helped, especially after Haskell denied his request for both. 

The Dregs were warm, fed, and rich due to Kaz and Kaz alone. 

Muzzen hurried up to the attic, escorting a young woman in a red Kerch-made kefta with a seafoam green ribbon at her lapel. 

When they entered and Muzzen left, leaving the Healer, Inej looked at him.

“Councilman Hoede’s Corporalnik?” she asked him. He knew there was more that she didn’t want to voice in front of someone else, so he nodded at her. He’d answer all her questions later. 

“I’m glad you remember your liveries correctly, Wraith.” He sat back down at his desk. “Anya is a healer. Fairly new to the city, she signed her contract about a month ago.” He busied himself with his papers, to get them out of Anya’s view in case she was clever enough to look at them. He gestured to Inej’s wrist. “Anya, if you would?”

“That is a mark of indenture, no?” Anya asked. Her voice was heavily accented. She was still unfamiliar with Kerch, but Hoede was stubborn and bigoted enough to not want foreign languages in his house and rich enough to hire tutors. “I will not be allowed to remove it.”

“It is,” Inej responded in Ravkan, “but if you do not, I will take a knife to it myself.” Kaz didn’t doubt that she meant it. If that’s how this night was heading, he’d need to grab his Kaelish whiskey to numb the pain and disinfect the wound.

Anya flinched at the threat of self harm, not used to the violence of the Barrel yet. 

“Her indenture is unlawful and illegal,” Kaz responded, also in Ravkan, surprising Inej. It was helpful in negotiations and he had just started to learn it before waking up in the past. If I am going to keep making deals with Lantsov or Nazyalensky, I need to know what they are whispering when they think I can’t understand, he had explained to Inej. If his decision was influenced by the fact he couldn’t talk to her parents when he visited without Inej translating, he wouldn’t admit it. Kaz continued, “I happen to be in possession of both copies of her contract and neither were signed with her correct name.”

Originally, he had just planned on stealing and burning the contracts before they made it into the bank’s records, but when he had ambushed the lawyer carrying the bank’s copy of Inej’s contract he had laughed because it read Inej Nabri . You don’t win by playing one game, Kaz thought. The copy he swiped from Heleen’s safe when she was busy overseeing Inej’s styling read Utvara Ghafa . He had heard utvara enough while talking to her parents about her ship to know it was the Suli word for wraith. 

The fact that Heleen didn’t even check the names was a bit disappointing. 

“Did the copy ever make it to the bank?” she asked, switching back to Kerch. It wasn’t a necessity and Anya would probably be able to follow, but they both knew fast switches could throw off new learners.

“No, not even halfway.”

According to Ketterdam, Inej Ghafa and her indenture contract did not exist.

They looked into each other's eyes, once again relieved to be back in each other’s presence, to have the other guarding their back. 

Anya gently cleared her throat. 

“You’re arm, please.” 

The room was silent as Anya removed the tattoo. Kaz could feel Inej’s gaze on him as she waited.

When they were finished and Inej’s skin was once again bare, Kaz went back to the door. He offered Anya a gloved handshake and then opened the door. “Thank you, Anya. Your payment will be put towards your indenture and should go through by the end of the week. Muzzen will see you back to Councilman Hoede’s safely.”

The first thing Inej said after Kaz closed the door was, “You’re paying off a Grisha’s indenture?” 

“Technically, I am paying for a service. If she decides to stop doing jobs for me, I won’t put more towards her contract.” He once again sat down at his desk, carefully removing and setting aside his gloves.

“And how did you convince Hoede to rent out his Healer?” Inej perched on his desk.

“Easy. I didn’t tell him.”

“Kaz.” She leveled him with a stare.

He sighed, then said, “I pay installments by hiding the extra cash amongst previous payments and only right before a new payment gets added. Hoede trusts his accountant too much and the banks not enough, so there is only one copy of the balance. On days when we need a Healer and the others aren’t available, either Muzzen or I will sneak her out of the Grisha workroom and bring her here in a Komedie Brute costume once we’re away from the Geldstraat.”

“The others?”

“There are two other Healers who have agreed to the same terms. One Heartrender too. Anya isn’t bad at what she does, but she’s not ideal. She’s righteous and hates Hoede, but she’s young and will follow any rules he sets. I also happen to know how her indenture ends and I don’t particularly feel like wasting the money.” 

“Since when have you worked with Grisha?” The question was a valid one. Kaz liked carefully planned operations. He liked what he knew. Working with Grisha without defined loyalty to the Dregs was risky. There were too many places for information to leak or plans to go haywire, but it was worth it in dire cases.

“I’ll let Jesper and Nina know you think so little of them whenever they arrive.” 

“Kaz,” Inej repeated sternly, ignoring the bait for a subject change.

“I’ve spent a great deal of time and money trying to endear myself to Ketterdam’s Grisha. It would be a waste to not bring them on for the occasional job, nothing big and nothing risky.”  

It was true. Last time, he knew the city’s Grisha talked, but not the extent of their network until Nina’s refugee plan. They were a good resource to have on side and Kaz has slowly been building himself into a trusted role in that network. He offered safe jobs for fair pay, made a few rescues, and set up Grisha friendly safehouses around the city for them. 

He didn’t like that his actions might be seen as soft or helpful , but greed and fear were difficult levers to use against a group who either are bought and sold like cattle or are terrified of discovery. It helped that his involvement was still a mystery to the whole city and the few Dregs who knew about the occasional Grisha assistance thought he was blackmailing them. Few of his Grisha contacts knew of his position in the Barrel. Most didn’t even know his name. 

“ A great deal of time, ” she whispered, more to herself than to him. She rested her hand next to his. Not yet touching, but close enough that the opportunity was there for him to take if he needed. “When did you get your memories, Kaz?”

The question was not one Kaz had expected. He thought she would try to figure out his grand reason for collaborating with the Grisha and try to pass verdict on whether it made him good or not. 

“I woke up three years ago. The day I figured out who Jakob Hertzoon really was. The day I joined the Dregs.”

Inej’s breath faltered. 

“I only woke up three weeks ago,” she said softly, as if speaking louder would scare him away, “in the caravan the day the slavers came. I believed my Saints gave me a second chance. I could have hidden or fought off my kidnapper and stayed with my family in Ravka.”

Kaz knew she could have. She was one of the best fighters he knew. 

“Why didn’t you?” When he had pictured the world in which she had her memories, he imagined her regaining them at the same time as him. He imagined her getting to live with her family for years before having to face that decision. If she got them three weeks ago, she gave up her only chance to stay with them before they lost each other and he couldn’t figure out why.

Inej’s lips curved into a faint smile, like she was hiding something only she knew. “We both know that life isn’t for me anymore.” 

Kaz did. After every visit with her family, Inej had returned to Ketterdam restless and lost. Even though the weeks at sea softened the temperament, it took a few days back in the city for her to seem like herself again. He saw the way she looked at the Suli shops in Little Ravka. It was longing for something she could never be a part of. She did not fit anymore. He was the one to shape her into the Wraith, into a killer and a thief. 

It was his fault she could not stay with her family. 

He finally moved his hand into hers. “I’m sorry.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Inej said, both accepting and deflecting his apology. She used her free hand to wave away the somber mood. “Besides, there is more I can be doing here in Ketterdam.”

“Like sharing your great Suli wisdom?”

“Like saving lives, Kaz,” she grinned, happy to be back in familiar territory. “If I remember correctly, I’ve saved your neck more than once.”

“So you have,” Kaz returned the grin. “I’ll probably need more saving, too. It could be a good investment for your life saving business to stick around here.” 

“Oh? And what would this investment cost me?” She teased.  

“For you, Inej, nothing.” 

She paused for a second, pretending to debate. “Alright, ask me and I may say yes.”

“Will you join the Dregs?” 

“ Please. ” 

Kaz moved from the desk to kneel in front of her despite his leg’s protest and took both of her hands in his. It was familiar, but new. It was electrifying. “Inej Ghafa, treasure of my heart,” he said, echoing his request from years ago. This time, the truth and sincerity of the words filled the air between them. “Won’t you please do me the honor of saving my life again and staying by my side?”

They fell into silence and the comfort of each other’s presence once more. After the crows started to caw outside, Inej squeezed his hands and broke the stillness of the moment. 

“Where do we start?”

Chapter Text

Jesper was sick of this boat. 

He wasn’t made for seafaring and he especially wasn’t made for staying out of the way.

At least on the Ferolind , he knew the crew and could bother them when he wasn’t busy watching Kaz plan or worrying about Inej or Nina, depending on which direction they sailed. 

The crew of this boat, Maradi bas Zowasi, or Maradi’s Blessing, was not as lenient with him. He supposed that was for the best. There was no reason a farm-raised boy heading to the university in Ketterdam should be socializing with sailors and no explanation for why he wanted to join their poker games or drink with them. 

The other passengers were hardly more welcoming.

He couldn’t even shoot. His revolvers were tucked nicely away with the cargo. It was making him antsy.

All there was to do was pace until someone told him to stop, contemplate his very strange situation until his brain hurt, or try Fabrikating to dull the ever present itch in the back of his mind. 

When he had woken up five days ago, that itch was one of the first things he noticed. It was the strongest it had been since the auction. 

Wylan and all their friends had been right about the connection between his gifts and his inability to step away from a gamble, no matter how bad. He was not a gifted Fabrikator by any means, but using it on little things everyday helped to clear his mind. 

He would drain color from fabric or fruits while reading reports. He’d refine gunpowder or extract chemicals for Wy. He’d even tried to be more aware while shooting. 

Jesper had always been the best sharpshooter. There was no contest there. But practicing his focus on the bullets made him even better. He could adjust the speed and direction of a bullet in the air, though he had to be more subtle than he was in the Church of Barter. Rumors about bullets turning at ninety degree angles would not do him well.

He had gotten enough precise control of it that he could sometimes slow bullets shot from the opposing side, but that was still a work in progress. It wasn’t easy to practise or test, though. When Jesper mentioned the possibility, Kaz had grabbed for his pistol and was halfway to pulling the trigger before Wylan had tackled Jesper down to the floor. 

He didn’t talk much about his shooting practice with Kaz after that incident. 

Wylan also established the rule that Kaz had to empty the bullets from his pistol before dining with them. 

Regardless, there had been a change in Jesper and either his newly embraced skills, recently acquired wealth, or Barrel-wide gambling ban on him were to blame. It was probably a mix of each, but practicing the small science was likely the biggest factor. 

He had gotten to a point where the restless energy Jesper got during an unnecessarily long Council meeting was just that: restlessness . 

It had been hell to wake up in his childhood bed with that old forgotten itch so intense he hadn’t been able to process his situation. He tried reaching for his revolvers that he always kept on his bedside table while sleeping and promptly lost balance and fell out of the much smaller mattress.

That’s when the panic hit. 

His guns weren’t where they should be. Saints . His bedside table wasn’t even there. This wasn’t the Van Eck residence.

He was at the farmhouse. A place he distinctly remembered not going to sleep in.

Even if he had somehow blacked out and forgot their travels to Novyi Zem for an overdue visit which was, according to Jesper’s memories, a month away still, Wylan would have been with him and he’d have his guns. 

His ability to think was overridden by the need to move, to fight, to bet, to do something , anything . 

His solution of crumpling a fork into a crude metal ball was not the most elegant but it eased his mind. 

Jesper’s old home was exactly as he remembered it. Da never did like change , he thought. The layout, the furniture, even the cutlery was the same as when he’d left. Minus the new ball he had started reworking back into a fork, of course. 

There was no sign of any luggage except a single beat-up, old suitcase, but it was empty. 

His clothes were nowhere to be seen. The simple shirt and pants he woke up with definitely weren’t flashy enough to be his. If they hadn’t fit them as well as they did, he might have suspected them to be his from when he was younger. Jesper had already been tall and lanky when he left for University, but he got even taller and lankier in Ketterdam. 

His trail of thought was interrupted by Colm walking through the front door. 

“Jes,” his father sighed, “I told you that you could skip your morning chores if, and only if, you spent the time packing.”

Jesper, not remembering this agreement, but incapable of not folding at the disappointment in Colm’s voice, felt sheepish. “Sorry, Da. I… I got distracted.” The excuse was a bad one and he was contemplating how to improve it when Colm opened the suitcase and started pulling clothing from the closet to fold and put into it. 

From there, it was a mix of subtle leading questions and trying to figure out what to pack for this mystery trip. The questions got nowhere, but when Jesper deliberately set a teacup in the suitcase, Colm finally noticed.

“Jesper Llewelynn, stop with your games and start packing. Do you really think you’ll need a whetstone, two pairs of workboots, three of my shirts, and your mother’s nice tea set at the University?” He asked as he took the offending items out of this suitcase.

Jesper was a bit stunned at the question. 

Was he really packing for his first trip to Ketterdam? It would explain the clothes and the lack of guns. But that didn’t make any sense.

Colm was still waiting for a response, so Jesper grabbed a notebook and a few of his old ( current? ) shirts and started adding them. “I wanted something to remember you both by?”

The flimsy excuse must have been bolstered by the fact he was actually packing because Colm accepted it and went back outside to prepare their horses. Jesper used his privacy to check his reflection in his mother’s old hand mirror. 

Sure enough, looking back at him was his younger self.

The rest of the morning he spent packing, including taking Aditi’s pearl-handled revolvers from the case they were kept in, just as he had done last year. The afternoon was spent riding and the evening was spent in a small inn near the docks.

Jesper, afraid of Colm seeing, stopped using his abilities on the journey. By the time he was boarding the ship, the lack of it and the anticipation of going back to Ketterdam had blended together so intensely he could barely stand still. 

Three days later and it hadn’t gotten much better.

None of the Fabrikating he was used to could be done on the ship without drawing unwanted attention, so he adapted it. 

Instead of sensing a bullet, he threw his awareness out and tried to catalog every piece of metal in the room. First with his eyes open, looking for what to sense and seeing how it should feel. And then with eyes closed, retracing his process. 

It was a similar practice to what Wylan did when he was anxious. He once told Jesper that he’d look for every detail in a room until his mind calmed. Focusing and naming each grain of wood or thread of fabric until he could exist again. So Jesper focused on and named every stud or nail in the passenger cabin. When he could do that readily, he moved onto the deck and repeated the process. 

Today was the final day on the ship and he had almost reached an unsteady awareness of the ship’s metal. 

It was somehow both overwhelming and strangely calming. 

He could say the same thing about the quickly approaching Ketterdam skyline.

During the journey, he had tried to limit his thoughts about his situation. It didn’t work, obviously, but there was an attempt made. If there was one thing he knew, it was that there were two people in the world clever enough to figure it out. Maybe three if he counted Sturmhond, but the impending Ravkan civil might make getting access to the privateer difficult. The other two he knew he could find in Ketterdam. 

If they didn’t have their memories, Wylan would be difficult to get too and even more difficult to convince him to be confident in his capabilities. Kaz would be easier to get too. Jesper had been a good enough sharpshooter to draw his eye the first time and he was even better now. Getting into the Dregs would be a start, but trying to get Kaz to believe him was a daunting and potentially dangerous task. 

Even if they didn’t remember Jesper, it would be nice to be around them again. Life would be easier if they did remember, though.

The ship docked at First Harbor just before dusk.

There was a representative from the University there to make sure all incoming students made it to campus safely without getting lost or being mugged. Last time, he thought it was overkill. A way to scare them with the rumors of the dangers of Ketterdam. Now, it felt like not enough. There was no way the pasty old man and the singular stadwatch grunt could hold off any particularly motivated gang thug. 

As much as he wanted to make his way to the Crow Club, for cards or friends he wasn’t sure, getting to the University would be for the best. He had to write to Colm to say he had made it safely and he needed to sleep. He would simply sit through a day of orientation before heading into the Barrel.

It was foolproof.

Chapter Text

Jesper was tired of talking to ghosts. 

Sure, they weren’t actually dead and they likely hadn’t been in his last timeline, but it still felt like talking to the dead. 

The people around him were friendly and they had been before, too. He could pick out the exact traits that had drawn him to them in his first week at University, but they all seemed dull now. He would never meet anyone more clever than Wylan, or someone who promised as much trouble as Kaz. 

The newness of these people had been endearing to him when he first met them. He had never met people like them on the farm and it had made him excited. Now, their silly plans and dramatics made him anxious for the weekend. For one of them to suggest going to the Barrel. 

His first three attempts to get there had been foiled. 

On the first day he tried to leave after orientation, but was stopped by a few older students who spent almost an hour lecturing him about the dangers of Ketterdam. Wise words, but Jesper was far too familiar with those exact dangers to take them seriously. 

The second day, Arend, his roommate and self-declared best friend, stuck to his side like glue and made sure Jesper made it to each of his classes. 

On the third day, the stadwatch had closed down the streets and canals around campus. A professor had been found dead in the Boeksplein. Either he wasn’t paying attention during his first week last time he had lived it or something had changed because he didn’t remember this happening last time.

Fate clearly wanted him to stay in the University District and stick to the schedule. 

Jesper spent the fourth day in the library. The crime scene had been cleaned up before he had a chance to see it. The other students must still be wary because it was fairly empty. Jesper had his choice of desks and he picked the one with the clearest view of the entrance to the rare books room. 

If he was stuck on campus, he’d spend his time keeping an eye out for Wylan instead. He had about as much luck in this endeavour as he did everywhere else. 

The most difficult part of being back in Ketterdam, besides being away from his gang and his boyfriend, of course, was going without his revolvers. He couldn’t pack powder while going to class, but he felt fidgety without them. It was more than the itch, though that was also starting to get stronger. 

He felt defenseless. He had been without his guns before, but he either had a different set or someone watching his back. He had neither and it scared him. If he had his memories back, who’s to say that any number of people Jesper had shot, stolen from, or owed money to didn’t also have their memories? Getting to the Barrel meant allies, but it also meant he could fight back.

He had gotten so jumpy that when Arend spoke up from behind him on his fifth day back in Ketterdam, Jesper was on his feet and reaching to where his gun belt would have been before he realized he was still in the courtyard of the Boeksplein. 

“Woah, Jes. Did I startle you?” Jes . His roommate liked using the nickname no matter how many times Jesper asked him not to.

“Not at all,” Jesper replied, allowing his posture to return to the easiness he was used to. “Just wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“You looked a bit lost in thought. What were you thinking about?”

What was Jesper thinking about? The better question was what wasn’t Jesper thinking about. His mind had wandered to almost every topic he could think of in his idleness. 

“I was looking at the gargoyles up there,” he lied smoothly. “Nothing like that on the Frontier.” 

“I haven’t ever noticed them before.” Of course he hadn’t. The poor fool was constantly either sticking his nose in a book or in other people’s business. He was a perfect pigeon. “You know what else they don’t have in Novyi Zem?” Arend asked with the pretentiousness only a Kerch native could manage, even if he was just as much a farm boy as Jesper. 

There wasn’t much Ketterdam had that the largest cities in Novyi Zem didn’t. Organized crime? Sure, not as lethal as the Barrel, but it still existed. Banks and merchants? Of course. Gambling parlours and brothels? They had those too. He couldn’t exactly explain a few of those details, so he settled with “Browboats and subpar Zemeni cooking?”

“Those too,” Arend responded distractedly, “But more importantly, the Barrel.”

“Isn’t that where all the orientation leaders told us not to go?” Jesper asked, playing the part he was supposed to and hoping he wouldn’t accidentally change Arend’s mind.

“It’s the biggest tourist destination in Ketterdam! Not going would be a dishonor to Ghezen. A few other students are going to see the sights, get some drinks, and maybe try to win some money off of the house. Tessa’s been once before and said the street performers threw money at the crowds!”

“Sounds fun.” And it did. There was a reason Jesper had gone in the first place, but he was trying to rein in his excitement so he didn’t look too fresh-eyed and eager. “When do we leave?”

“You’ll come? Great! We were planning to head out in a few hours.”

And so, fate finally seemed to let Jesper take his first step towards the Barrel.

He was surrounded by bumbling freshmen and wearing boring navy blue, but it still felt like a walk home. He had to keep stopping himself from correcting their directions and taking shortcuts that he shouldn’t know about and a few times he nearly called out to a Barrel regular before remembering that he wasn’t a regular too yet. 

By his count, three had already been pickpocketed as they reached the bright shops surrounding East Stave. One young thief didn’t even use a bunk biscuit and the lousy sap hadn’t noticed his wallet was gone. Amateurs. The guns proudly on display at his hips kept the Barrel rats away from his pockets, thankfully. 

The lights, the noise, the crowds. It made Jesper’s heart pound.

This was the place he had been missing.

Sure, he and Wylan had mostly abstained from criminal activities after taking over the Van Eck Trading Company, but the Barrel was his home. And, saints , it was good to be back.

It was packed. People passed dressed in Mercher black, Komedie Brute costumes, or Barrel Flash. There were buskers and barkers. There were people from every nation eager to spend their money and members from every gang happy to lighten their purses.

Their ragtag group had entered the Barrel about a few blocks away from the Crow Club. Now, he just had to keep them focused enough to get to it.

“Oh! Look at this shop. I bet they have stroopwafel,”  

They did, and it was divine, but Jesper said, “If we go after the gambling we can buy twice as much with our winnings!”

“Do you think this music hall will be playing something good?”

They didn’t pay their musicians enough for them to play well and Wylan had complained the whole time when Jesper had brought him there to get his opinions on it. “Why go into some stuffy music hall when there are musicians everywhere on the street? I even heard some of the gambling clubs have brought in international musicians to play.”

“The Kaelish Prince? That sounds exciting!”

All the saints and my Aunt Eva, Jesper thought, Kaz would kill me if I went to the Pekka’s club before his. Luckily, he didn’t have to say anything to convince his group to pass over it. 

As a plainly dressed man glumly walked out of the Kaelish Prince another on the street called out to him. 

“Why the face, Berg? Cards not treating you right?”

“Not a penny made in this place. It’s an insult to Ghezen, I say.”

“How about I buy you a drink to make up for it,” the second man responded, raising his voice to carry over the crowds, “I took more kruge off the house at the Crow Club than I know what to do with. I swear they may just be giving it away!”

“Let’s have that drink at the Crow Club then. I could use the luck!”

The two walked off cheerfully before the bouncers could shoo them off. Kaz really needed to work on his scripting, but it left Jesper feeling even more giddy. 

Kaz hadn’t started that particular scheme against Pekka until they were sixteen. 

Kaz remembered. 

“Why don’t we try out the place those two were talking about?” Jesper asked the group. “If they were right, the Kaelish Prince probably stacks the deck against the players. Nasty business tactic.” His classmates were swayed by this, as were a few passers by who overheard him. Good. 

The Dime Lion watching the door was not as pleased as Jesper, so he made a hasty retreat under the guise of following Kaz’s barkers.

The Crow Club was a sight for sore eyes.

He could hardly stop himself running in. The sound of cheers and laughter and the spin of the Makker’s Wheel reverberated out into the street and it made him feel drunk. He wanted to play, to bet, to gamble, to gossip with Muzzen who was guarding the door, and drink with whichever Dregs were inside. 

Instead, Jesper took a deep breath and centered himself. He cast his awareness out for metal and was almost overpowered by the amount of it around him. He focused just on his guns instead and widened his eyes to match his companions’. 

If he was going to enter Kaz’s turf, he might as well try to figure out the question that always nagged at him: Could he bluff Kaz Brekker? 

It was just a bit of fun and he probably couldn’t pull it off, but Jesper still wanted to try.

Kaz must have prepared for the situation in which Jesper didn’t remember, because as the group entered, looking around like the easiest pigeons to pluck, one of the dealers finished his game and signaled for the table to clear out. 

The dealer who stepped up next did not remove his gloves and nobody questioned him for it. There were a few whispers at the floor boss dealing, but they went unnoticed by the students. 

“Where do we even start?” Arend asked.

“The bar?”

“That one looks fun,” someone suggested pointing to Makker’s Wheel.

“That whole table is empty,” Jesper proposed. “We could all play together.”

They listened to him and made their way over to the table, either because Jesper was that convincing or because even the stupidest marks knew that they should follow along with Kaz’s plans. Jesper supposed that in this particular scheme, he was the mark, but he tried to keep the horror off of his face as he sat down. 

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Care for a game?” Kaz’s voice had the same rasp it always did, but the usual wit and sarcasm was covered up with politeness. It did not suit him.

“Oh yes,” one of them answered. “We’re here for the East Stave experience.” While a University student might view that experience as getting drunk and winning big, Jesper knew it was a bit more bloody. Hopefully, he kept the wince off his face as he dumbly nodded along.

“The East Stave experience,” Kaz mused, “I hope your pockets aren’t too shallow, then.” He began dealing the cards and explaining the game. It was one Jesper had played many times before, so he let his mind drift.

If Kaz remembered, as Jesper suspected, what was he thinking right now? Did he know that Jesper knew or was he making a gamble as well? It was no secret amongst their friends that Jesper had a problem. It had been a night just like this that Jesper first started deeper into that problem. Since the auction, his friends had been helping him with it, each in their own way. Kaz pretended not to care, but Jesper getting banned from every gambling hall on East Stave did not happen without interference. 

Nobody will deal to you, Jes. Maybe it’s a sign to stop seeking out the tables. 

But here he was, Kaz Brekker, The Bastard of the Barrel, Dirtyhands, dealing cards to a bunch of young University students like it was a normal activity for him to do in between cracking open skulls and robbing banks just so he could deal Jesper back into the Barrel. 

His first round of cards was a flush. He thought back to that first spin of the Makker’s Wheel and the joy he felt. There was none of it now. If it had been there, it was undercut by the very real possibility that Kaz, upon seeing Jesper memoryless, was trying to jumpstart his addiction and loyalty to the Dregs. 

The next was a full house. 

The one after that was a straight flush. 

Each hand was a winning one and Jesper could not, despite how poorly he was betting, lose a round. 

He’s had Kaz deal him into a corner before and he wasn’t sure if he liked this one any better. At least he got to keep his guns this time. 

He bought the other students a round of drinks to make up for taking a lot of their money. More accurately , by being given a lot of their money by Kaz. That seemed to soothe their tempers for a time, but eventually they wanted to move on. 

He wanted to say something to Kaz, maybe even stay in the Crow Club as they left, but he wasn’t going to give up his ruse just yet. 

As the group walked out, Muzzen stopped Jesper. 

“Excuse me, sir. Your presence is requested in the back.” 

A few players nearby gasped. 

“In the back?” Jesper feigned confusion, “Why would I be needed there?”

“The boss thinks you were cheating.”

Jesper had been in Muzzen’s place enough times to know what was expected of him, but he couldn’t bring himself to make a scene. “Cheating?” he whispered, as if he had never heard the word before, “I only just learned the game, sir. It was all luck!” 

Muzzen looked relieved to be dealing with a slightly reasonable patron. He raised his hands placatingly, “If you truly did not cheat, you have nothing to worry about.” 

“Can one of my friends come with me?”

The round of drinks must not have endeared him to them as much as Jesper had thought because everyone of them looked ready to bolt. 

“You were requested alone. My colleague will take you there.”

The girl who led Jesper to Kaz’s office was not one he recognized. She was a bit plain but had plenty of freckles. Her walk had an angle to it and as she unlocked the door to the office, he caught a glimpse of the crow and cup on her forearm. 

He didn’t get her name before she shooed him into one of the seats and siddled off somewhere else. 

Kaz wasn’t here yet. He was either scheming, waiting for dramatic effect, or actually finishing his dealing shift. 

Regardless of the reason, Jesper figured he’d be in here for a while so he tried feeling for metal once more. This time he started with his awareness on his guns and slowly expanded it. There was still plenty of metal to get distracted by, but the silence and rush from the cards made it a bit easier to concentrate. The buttons on his shirt, the studs on the chair, the coins and weapons hidden in the desk, the safe behind a DeKappel, the latch on the window and the six sharp knives right outside of it. 

Inej .

His face broke into a grin at the realization. 

It then dropped again as the door swung open. “Mr. Fahey, thank you for joining me.”

Chapter Text

The wind was cool against Inej’s skin. Autumn was still a month away, but the chill had decided to come early this year.

She was perched on the ledge outside of the Crow Club’s office with one ear listening in at the window and the other keeping track of the bustling noise of the Barrel. 

In the two weeks since she had returned to Ketterdam, she was already beginning to make a name for herself once more. The Wraith was not solely a gatherer of information, but a force to be reckoned with. Versteeg was the first, but there was no shortage of people in the city who abused their money and power. When Heleen went to the Stadhall to defend her business and order around the stadwatch to find her missing lynx, Inej was happy to claim the kill. The bloody message left on the wall was the only introduction and warning she would be giving the city.

The Wraith hears all. Your slaves will be freed and their abusers will be punished. 

While the city whispered about a vigilante ghost, the Dregs were introduced to Inej, a Suli orphan that Kaz somehow found on the streets. She was to be their new spider. There was no backstory, no indenture, no stint in the Menagerie, and no loyalty to Per Haskell, despite her new tattoo. 

Her tattoo. Kaz had tried to fight her on the issue. He meant what he said about marking her, even if it was in a different lifetime. Inej was tempted to take his offer, but she had no excuse not to this time. Refusing it would cause problems with Haskell and the gang. Kaz didn’t need a premature coup and Inej didn’t want to be set aside as different again. 

She found that tracing the inked lines helped to calm her in a way she never thought they would. She always considered it another peacock feather. Another mark to claim ownership of her. Another reminder of the indenture papers and loans. 

But it was different. The Dregs hadn’t claimed her with this tattoo. She had claimed them . 

They were her brother’s and sister’s at arms. The people she could probably trust in a fight. 

She knew too much about their loyalties to trust all of them, of course. Plus, there were a handful she hadn’t met before this time, but if they died before she had joined, they were either traitors or loyal with unreliable skills. 

Some traitors she had met weren’t invited into the gang at all. Kaz had turned away Big Bolliger when he showed up on the Slat’s doorstep. He was officially a part of the Black Tips operation. The old gang members, still useless and perpetually loyal to Haskell, couldn’t be turned away, so Kaz was busy stacking the deck.

There were quite a few recognizable faces. The Liddies’ best lockpick, a few spiders from Harley’s Pointers and the Razorgulls, and even some bruisers that had been Dime Lions. They now all had the cup and the crow. More importantly, they were loyal. These were the bastards that couldn’t be bought. They remembered the streets they were pulled from and wouldn’t bite the hand that fed them. Each of them knew Kaz was the one who found them, housed them, and kept the books balanced enough to supply them with whatever they needed. 

Haskell took the new recruits gladly. He was happy to get new talented numbers and too foolish to notice who they looked to for instructions. Kaz’s penchant for bringing in strays made her introduction to the old man far easier than expected. She was honestly hoping he forgot about her. 

Even with the more crowded Slat, there were a few faces she dearly missed. Anika was something of a free agent in the Barrel. Kaz said she had joined a few weeks after Jesper arrived in Ketterdam last time. Dirix hadn’t arrived until after she did. She missed Specht, but when she inquired where her first mate was, Kaz said he was simply in Bellendt for a job and wouldn’t be back for a month. And then there was Jesper.

Even before the Ice Court job, he had been one of her closest friends. The Slat was too quiet, too still , without his chaos. Kaz would never probably never admit it to his face, but Inej knew he missed him too. Jesper was his best friend and she could see the strain his absence was causing Kaz.

How Kaz was able to walk into his office as if he was simply there to scold a card-counter was beyond her. 

“Mr. Fahey, thank you for joining me.” 

Despite knowing the secrets of every rich man in Ketterdam, Inej did not know if using Jesper’s name was an intentional choice to appear threatening, a hint, or a genuine slip up. 

There were two simultaneous plans. From her surveillance since his arrival, Inej was under the impression that Jesper remembered. 

Kaz was less convinced. 

“Say what you want, Wraith,” he had said while changing into a dealer’s suit. She had just returned to the Crow Club with the news that Jesper was leaving the University District. “He has been in the city for almost a week without seeking out us or the merchling. What Jesper does tonight will tell us what we need to know.”

“You mean, if he comes here?” she replied. 

“No. I have confidence in my barkers.”

“Naturally.” She was eager to get back on the streets and get eyes on her friends. Kaz wouldn’t tell her if she pushed, but she had been practicing her menacing silence. 

Kaz lasted five seconds in that silence. “We’ll know he doesn’t remember if he sits at my table.” 

The logic was sound. Kaz had orchestrated Jesper’s Barrel-wide gambling ban. Jesper had sworn never to sit at a poker table with Kaz after the fallout from the auction had settled and they got in another fight about the Club Cumulus job. 

Inej had not been able to convince Kaz that Jesper’s decision might not be made with logic alone. 

Her insistence that Jesper might act on emotions had caused Kaz to uninvite her from the initial meeting. He was being petty and knew as well as she did that the ledge outside his window suited her. He could keep her out of the room, but she was still listening in. 

“Of course, though I’m not quite sure what’s going on,” Jesper had stood to greet Kaz, but was waved back to his seat. “Aren’t you the dealer from earlier?” The question was not accusatory, but confused and curious. 

“I am.” Kaz moved to sit behind the desk. Inej could imagine the stare he would be giving Jesper. “I am also the manager and floor boss of this establishment.”

“That is an impressive list of responsibilities, Mister …?”

“Brekker.” Kaz provided. 

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brekker.” The slight Zemini accent could be an exaggeration. Inej hadn’t spoken to Jesper until after he had been steeped in Barrel Life. The stubborn insistence of holding out his hand so Kaz would shake it was pure, genuine Jesper. When Kaz begrudgingly obliged, he continued, “Please call me Jesper.”

“ Mr. Fahey , I have it on good authority that you are new to the city, so let me explain some ground rules to you. The Barrel is a place full of thieves, cheats, and swindlers. I’m hardly one to dissuade that lifestyle, but you must know that none would dare rob, cheat, or swindle me.” 

“Why is that?”

The sound of the cane hitting the desk cracked through the room. 

His back was to the window, but Inej could imagine Kaz’s sharks eyes gleaming with the threat of violence. “Because I’m the one who leaves the attempts alive and unharmed. The ones who attempt to cross me are not so lucky.”

“I must admit, I’ve always thought myself lucky.” From all Inej knew, Jesper wouldn’t have said that even before getting buried in debt. He had considered his Grisha powers a curse and blamed them for his mother’s death. The only lucky thing that ever happened to Jesper, by his own admission, was meeting Wylan and that was less luck and more Kaz’s schemes. 

“You played well at the table, that’s for sure.” He paused for a bit before standing and leering over Jesper, “but nobody plays that well.”

“Are you accusing me of cheating?” He sounded so much like Colm that Inej almost laughed. Almost. 

“Perhaps I am.”

“Well, I can assure you, I was not.”

At that Kaz grabbed Jesper by his arm and raised his other gloved hand to the cuff of Jesper's coat. “What’s this then?” He withdrew a playing card and held it up to the light. The Six of Diamonds. “I’ve never known an honest man to tuck cards up his sleeves.” 

Jesper sputtered. “That’s not— I didn’t— I swear that’s not mine.”

“As much as you’ve proved your trustworthiness so far, I’m not inclined to believe you. So, here’s what’s going to happen. ” The voice Kaz had to slipped into was not the negotiating businessman, nor the fierce Barrel lieutenant. It was Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel. And it was laced with the promise of violence. “You owe the Crow Club your earnings from tonight.”

“Fine. Take it back,” Jesper said, taking a step back to put some space between him and Kaz and to set the money on the desk. “It isn’t worth the trouble.”

“Smart choice. You also owe an additional three thousand kruge .”

“ What ? What for?”

“Lost profit.”

“Ghezen’s Hand moves the markets as he sees fit.” Inej couldn’t contain her laugh that time. There was no way Jesper would have said that before working with Wylan. It sounded so much like the merchants he was always complaining about. She idly wondered how many times that exact phrase had been said to him in meetings. “It is not my fault it shifted away from you tonight.”

“Good luck trying to leave the building without my say so then, Mr. Fahey.” Kaz threatened. “I think you’d find the experience rather difficult.”

Jesper paused, considering. 

From Inej’s perspective, there were only so many ways this conversation could go. The two were walking around in circles, trying to push each other's buttons. 

“I don’t have that kind of money,” he admitted.

“I could garner your University tuition. Surely, any student there would have the funds. Or someone who pays those funds.” 

“You can’t do that.” 

“And why not?” Kaz asked, pleased with finding his lever. 

“It’s not on the table. What else is there?”

“Those guns.”

Jesper froze. “ What? ” Inej could barely hear the word from her perch. 

“Your. Guns. They look well maintained. That means you either know how to use them or they’ll fetch a good price.” 

Inej thought Kaz was taking it a step too far. If Jesper did have his memories, he was likely to get even more mad at Kaz for suggesting that. 

“I won’t sell them,” Jesper gritted out. 

“Then meet me at this address in two days and you can start working jobs to pay them off.” Kaz handed him a piece of paper and Jesper just blinked. Like he was trying to figure out an old memory.

“I—I don’t know where this is.”

“Then I suggest you figure it out.”

“And if I don’t show?”

“You can find out if you want to test your luck again.”

“Fine. One job.” He paused, then added, “Nothing illegal.”

“I’m afraid that’s not how things work in the Barrel.”

“Then I’m out.”

“Then leave the guns on your way to the door.”

“These guns are worth ten thousand at least.”

“I would only give you three for the pair.”

“They would sell for eight, easily.”

“Four.”

“Seven, if your buyers are cheap.”

“Five.” Kaz was better at bartering than this, but he had set the price exactly where he wanted. He still had the upper hand. 

“Six thousand.” The concession was strained. 

“Leave one on the desk and you’re free to go.”

The only sound that broke through the silence was Jesper carefully removing his revolver from his hip and setting it down gently on the table.

“It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Fahey.”

“Well,” Jesper’s voice was more venomous than Inej had ever heard it. “I hope never to do business with you again, Kaz Brekker. Good day.” He stood sharply and made for the door.

Kaz was out of his seat with his pistol in his hand before he got there. 

The gunshot was followed in quick succession by another. 

By the time Inej slipped through the window, the shouting had started. 

“You shot me! Why would you shoot me, Kaz?” Jesper, despite being shot at, was perfectly intact. He had his remaining revolver in one hand and an undamaged bullet from Kaz’s pistol in the other. 

Kaz’s gun was on the desk, shot out of his hand. “You were being annoying.” 

“So were you, but I didn’t shoot you!” 

“Yes, you did.”

“Not before you shot at me.” 

“The bullet didn’t even reach you.”

“If I hadn’t remembered how to do that trick, it would have!”

“You would have survived. Lower your voice.”

Despite his irritation, Jesper did lower his voice. “I’m sorry if I was expecting a warmer greeting from my closest friend.”

“You’ve pretended not to know me for two hours.” The nonchalance and dryness Kaz said it with did not fully disguise the hurt, Inej noted. It was like they were back on the roof of the Geldrenner, seconds away from a brawl. She had to cut in at some point, she supposed. 

“He means well, Jesper. Sometimes shooting people is how he shows his appreciation,” Inej said from right behind Jesper. There was a warm nostalgia at seeing him jump at her voice. She was pulled into a tight hug within a second and the tension in the room vanished.

“Inej! Thank the Saints you’re back too.” 

“It’s good to see you, Jesper.”

“You say that like you haven’t been following me around all week and listening in from the window.”

That made Inej freeze. “You knew?”

“Eh, not exactly. I only learned when I felt your knives on the windowsill. The following was just a guess.”

“Lucky guess,” Inej said bitterly. She wasn’t used to being known. Nina noticing her while on parem was one thing, Jesper being able to track her knives was another. 

“Just like Kaz shooting me.” Jesper finally released Inej from the hug to turn back around and glare at Kaz. 

“It wasn’t a guess, Jesper. I don’t take risks like that.”

“Then what gave it away?” 

“You used my name, Jes. I never told you and you hadn’t been in the Barrel long enough to hear it either.”

“Fine, apology accepted.” It wasn’t exactly an apology, but nobody wanted to push the issue. “So, is it just us or are the others here too?”

Before either could answer, there was a knock at the door. 

“You good, boss?” 

“Yes, Imogen,” Kaz called. “You can come in.”

Imogen. She was a good enough fighter to have in the Dregs, but Inej didn’t like her. If she was being fully honest with herself, it was because of how she looked at Kaz when she thought nobody was looking. But instead, she told herself it was because she was clumsy, loose-lipped, and reckless. Three very dangerous traits to have in the Barrel.

The door opened slowly, as if expecting to see a dead body on the other side. Not entirely unlikely, but opening a door slower wouldn’t stop a person from bleeding out. 

Imogen’s eyes darted around the room, trying to find the impact of the two shots. She looked from Kaz to Jesper, overlooking where Inej had slipped silently into the shadows. “Sorry, I thought I heard—”

“You did.” Kaz interrupted. “This is our new sharpshooter, Jesper Fahey.”

Any remaining tension drained out of Jesper at the introduction. His posture took on his casual confidence and his face broke into a grin. “Best shot there is on the frontier. Probably the best in Ketterdam, too.”

Kaz tossed something at the girl. She caught it and held up the same playing card from before.

Only now, there was a bullet-sized hole in the direct center. 

Inej didn’t know how he had managed that one and she doubted he’d tell her. 

Imogen was clearly impressed, but still skeptical. “I heard two—”

It was Jesper that interrupted this time. “I shot it twice, but shooting the same exact spot rarely leaves marks.”

Her expression turned to awe as she reexamined the card. Before she could open her mouth to ask more questions, Kaz dismissed her. She left without argument, probably in search of other Dregs to tell the story to. 

If Inej had to guess, that was the whole reason she had been stationed there. A gossip is a useful person to have at your side if you can control the stories they’re telling. 

“So, the others?” Jesper asked again. “What have you learned?”

Chapter Text

“No, Jesper.”

They were sitting in a booth at the Kooperom . In the year since Inej and Jesper arrived in Ketterdam, they have established a tradition of eating breakfast together every first of the month. Kaz would rather be reviewing these plans in private, but they had dragged him along. 

 “Why not?” asked Jesper through a mouthful of eggs. 

“Besides the many reasons I’ve already outlined,” and Kaz had given him many, “because I said so and because we don’t need you on this job.” 

“Those reasons seem arbitrary.”

“He’s trying to be polite, Jesper.” Inej pointed out. She was only half listening to the conversation, though. Despite their booth, and it was theirs , being big enough for double the people and tucked away in the most isolated corner of the restaurant, Inej was on the edge of her seat, carefully observing the people coming in and out, what they ordered, and what they spoke about. 

Kaz had asked why she was looking so intensely last month and she told him that they were approaching the time Big Bolliger first started flaking. It never hurt to be cautious, but Big Bol wasn’t in the Dregs and Fifth Harbor, while technically Dregs territory, had been repaired due to donations by Kaz Brekker and a mysterious benefactor who wished to remain anonymous as to not tarnish their reputation by working with a gang leader. 

Their reputation would have been destroyed far more if any merchants found out Kaz was working with himself. Aliases were easy to fake and Kaz had more than enough. 

“ I said so ,” Jesper said, dropping his voice into a rasp similar to Kaz’s, “is trying to be polite? I would have called it childish”

“And mimicry isn’t?” Kaz retorted. 

“Jesper,” Inej cut in before they could start bickering again. “He's making you stay behind because he’s worried you’re going to mess up the job looking for or at Wylan.” 

That was, in fact, why Kaz wanted to keep Jesper far away from the DeKappel job. There were plenty of good reasons to include Jesper. He knew the house best and a Fabrikator would be helpful with the modifications Kaz was planning. But Jesper had been practically following Wylan around on his day’s off. Not close enough to interfere , he would always protest, just enough that if he gets his memories, he’ll see me and know I have them too .

Taking him into the Van Eck mansion would be disastrous at best. 

There was also no way to justify it to the gang. They didn’t know Inej and Kaz were planning anything, but if Jesper came on for the job, they’d expect something noisy. He was only known for his skill with his guns and Kaz couldn’t explain away taking him on a job with no fight and technically no profit without damaging his reputation. 

“You’ve already helped with the first stages of the job.” It was still a peace offering. Perhaps a poor attempt at one, but Kaz was still learning how to trust his team.

Jesper took a moment to consider before he began sulking in his seat. “I can’t wait for Nina to arrive,” he said, sullenly biting into a waffle, “even if she has no memories, she’ll be able to mock you mercilessly in a way I just can’t manage.” Even though it was lighthearted, the mention of her name brought the mood down.

They were still waiting to hear from the two remaining Crows. 

If he was remembering correctly, and he was, the ship bringing them to Ketterdam docked shortly after the DeKappel job. Jesper had been a bit more jumpy in anticipation and Inej had been checking all ship manifests for the past two weeks just to be certain she didn’t miss their arrival. 

Kaz would never admit it, but he was nervous too. Nina and Matthias would be bringing more information about their time situation to Kerch and Kaz was eager to figure out another piece of the puzzle. The lack of answers was making him weary.

There wasn’t much anyone could say to ease the anxiety of the moment. They all knew better than to discuss their situation in public, even if this was a fairly secure area and the staff were paid, in part, by Kaz. 

Their tense silence was broken by Natalya, their waitress, approaching the table. “Anything else for you lot?” 

Jesper wanted a coffee and Inej wanted more tea. While they ordered, Kaz observed the makeshift map in front of him. Jesper had painted the rough outline of the Van Eck house with the condensation from his drink. A wayward fork marked a guard route. The small jar of jam stood in place of the alarm shutoff. It was fairly incomprehensible. 

He moved his pepper shaker to the northern hall. The carpet would disguise his footsteps better than the hardwood. 

Inej, without turning away from her conversation with Natalya about Ravkan tea shipments, picked up the shaker, sprinkled some pepper onto the small amount of eggs still on her plate, and placed it back down where it had been before he moved it. 

The southern hall then. 

If Natalya had noticed anything suspicious about the interaction, she didn’t comment. She had enough experience serving their monthly breakfast to brush over any strange behavior. Her year in Ketterdam had quickly taught her not to question the Bastard of the Barrel. 

Not through direct experience, of course, but lots of gossip passes through the Kooperoom . 

And Natalya hears it all.

After Inej had escaped the Menagerie, she started a small crusade. She had left a fair amount of blood in her wake, but the children on the same ship as her had been rescued and returned to their homes. Two had opted to stay in Ketterdam. Inej wouldn’t let them join the Dregs, so they became informants. Linami worked as a secretary in the Exchange and Natalya worked here. The two of them had picked up nearly as many tips on incoming shipments of slaves and not-so-legal indentures as Kaz had. 

The network of information had spread since then. 

Every person The Wraith saved was given the option of going home. Those who declined would be found a place to stay in Ketterdam or, more usually, Belendt, where two very thankful parents had opened their home to any children in need of a safe haven. Kaz himself had done the clearance check on them. The few who stayed, the ones burning with righteous fire, were allowed to help. 

Inej, for the most part, kept them out of the Barrel. No one was inducted into the gangs. Some younger ones got put into school. Kaz managed to procure jobs for them as runners and paper boys. The older ones got spider training from Inej and picked jobs they would enjoy and could listen from. At least seven worked at the Exchange. Two managed inventory for the Stadwatch. 

There were a few shops on the Staves with informants, but Inej didn’t want Kaz to know. He did, of course, but he understood that him simply knowing would put them at risk. 

Natalya was one of the main points of contact. She had a knack for keeping track of information. 

He didn’t know the specifics, but Kaz could guess the sailors bringing in a shipment of Ravkan tea would not stay in business for long. 

Just when Natalya brought their drinks, the doors slammed open and the dining room went still.  

Mieke Veldink, or Spike Mieke as she desperately wanted the Barrel to call her, lieutenant and most business minded of the Liddies was standing in the doorway. She had been in many brawls and scuffles during her earlier years, but age and greed had driven her behind a desk to manage the gang’s finances. Her face was twisted with rage.

She was flanked by two bruisers. Inej would know their names, but they were too stupid and too slow for Kaz to consider them a threat to him. They barely fit through the entrance and Kaz idly wondered if she chose backup based only on the broadness of their shoulders.

He had been expecting this confrontation. The eighth of Mieke’s shipments would have just been rejected from docking at Fifth Harbor. Why she kept trying to find berths there, Kaz did not know. He would have preferred dealing with this on the streets, not in front of pigeons, but he could only blame himself, and maybe his Crows, for having a consistent public appearance each month.

“Brekker,” she growled. It was probably meant to sound intimidating. She would have to try harder. 

Instead of groveling and apologizing for any wrongdoings like the old woman would have wanted, Kaz ignored her and dusted a few crumbs from his gloves. Then, he picked up Inej’s tea and took a slow sip. It was warm and the blend was a Suli one, so Kaz didn’t mind it as much as he usually would. It may have been rude, but she had abandoned the cup on the table when she slipped into the shadows. Besides, Kaz was a thief. 

Not so much of a thief that he would handle business before paying his bill. It would hurt his own profits as an investor if he did. He counted out the kruge to cover their meal and threw in a few more for any damages that would come from the next few minutes. He set the money on the table.

Only when the room was about to boil over in anticipation, Kaz grabbed his cane and stood up. Spike Mieke seemed to want a stand off, so Kaz positioned himself across from her. 

Jesper had downed his coffee during Kaz’s dramatics and was by his side the moment Kaz turned to face the Liddies. He had his hands hovering over his pistols and a gleam in his eyes. Kaz couldn’t begin to guess if it was the coffee, the potential fight, or the fact that Kaz had paid for the meal that had him so excited.

Inej was slowly making her way around the restaurant, out of sight and sound. 

Natalya and the other staff had sequestered themselves in the kitchen and the patrons looked like they wanted to do the same. With the brutes blocking the front and Kaz and Jesper by the kitchen doors, the building was effectively sealed.

“Mieke Veldink,” Kaz started. The tea had soothed his voice partially, but the tell tale rasp still carried across the room. “What an excellent surprise.” Kaz knew this meeting was supposed to be a threat. Regardless of the outcome, he’d be acting without consulting the Dregs. When word got back, Per Haskell would start fuming. Kaz couldn’t find it in himself to care. “What business?”

His nonchalance threw Mieke’s temper more than it had before, “ What business ?” She took a step forward, but stopped as Jesper grabbed his guns and Kaz tightened his grip on his cane. “You and your ilk have been interfering with our shipments for too long. Either agree to stop or face the consequences.”

“Well, I’d hate to spoil whatever grandstand you had planned, be it a paid off member of the staff to shoot me in the back or more grunts waiting outside to jump us when I leave victorious.” Her sneer twitched slightly at that. Ambush after a fight was not a bad strategy for one planned so quickly. Kaz might even be impressed. “I suppose that makes sense why they sent you in instead of Rust.”

In his periphery, Kaz saw a previously closed window ease open. If Rust, the most violent of the Liddie’s lieutenants, had been behind the planning of the ambush, there would be more back up than Inej could manage before drawing attention. Kaz estimated two minutes before people started noticing fallen bodies. 

“Here is what’s going to happen, ya?” When Kaz took a step forward, it was not met with the same warning and threat from the opposing party. The bystanders took in a collective breath and the Liddies looked like they were trying their best not to retreat. “You are going to apologize to these lovely diners for interrupting their meals. Preferably by picking up their checks.” Meike tried to object, but Kaz raised his hand to silence her. “Ah. I’m not finished. Then, you will apologize to me and mine for the accusation,” He took another step, slowly prowling towards his prey. The only sound in the restaurant besides his words was the echo of his cane. “If you ever want to deal with any of the Dregs’ business operations in the future.” 

By the time he was standing directly in front of them, their bravado had fully shattered. “And after that, I will beat you three until there are no unbroken bones in your body before heading out that door and shooting any of your associates that are still conscious.”

“You can’t possibly take them all down before one of them gets a shot off on you.” 

Kaz wondered if any gang leaders besides him realized the best way to win a game of cards. They were always dealing with ultimatums, but forgot to stack the deck in their favor. 

This wasn’t like Geels’s attempt at the Exchange. There were witnesses. Too many sources of unpredictability. It might have put Kaz at disadvantage if he cared about those things. Doing this in public only ensured the full extent of his wrath. Dirtyhands couldn’t be seen as merciful in front of so many onlookers.

“I fear you’ve overestimated your number and underestimated mine.” 

All three looked towards Jesper. Meike looked back at Kaz, but the others were frantically searching the tables for any other Dregs. 

“I think you’re too full of yourself, boy.”

“You’re not the first to tell me that.”

“Won’t be the last, either,” added Jesper, unhelpfully.

The first shout outside cut cleanly through the air. 

The second couldn’t be heard over the crack of Spike Mieke’s knee being shattered by Kaz’s cane.

Chapter Text

It was hot.

It was so unbearably hot, but Nina was shivering.

The air around her was cold and damp, but it felt as though someone had poured molten glass into her veins.

In the quick moment of waking up, she was too overwhelmed by the burning sensation to notice the chains around her ankles, the bodies surrounding her, and the bindings keeping her hands from moving. Bindings for a Grisha. Needless to say, she came to her senses quickly.

The room was too dark to make sense of anything, but she knew what it felt like to be stuck in the belly of a ship. Bad memories , Inej had said on their way to Fjerda. It looked like Nina was about to have one more to add to the list. 

She had never known a ship to be this loud before. Nikolai’s airships were powered by Squallers, not machines so they hardly made noise. The Fjerdan military transportation could be loud. Saints, she’d ridden on a tank and only the adrenaline kept their crew from walking away with hearing damage. But they needed to be mechanical to produce this intense pounding sound and the ship was clearly wooden.

Nina took a few breaths to calm her heartbeat. Foolish girl, the voice in her head that sounded like Zoya said, focus on what you can do. Stop getting distracted. She took account of the room as best she could. It would not do her well to dwell on the inconsequential details. 

There were fourteen other people in the cell with her. They were in various states of well-being. One had a bad gash on their leg. Presumably they were all Grisha. Presumably they were all bound like her. 

The situation resembled Grisha treatment from before the new laws. The drüskelle did have a talent for finding the best ways to incapacitate a Grisha, so perhaps an overzealous slaver had borrowed some techniques. Clever, but doesn’t make sense. That annoying voice belonged to Kaz. The next time Nina saw him, she might punch him. You can’t just steal a princess as part of a bulk job and leave her unguarded. Plus, you know damn well how difficult infiltrating the Ice Court would be. Use your brain, Nina.  

The last thing Nina remembered was going to bed in the Ice Court. She was wearing different clothes. These were made for travel and warmer weather. She was on a boat. She didn’t have a lot to work with without light. 

If someone had found out Mila Jandersdat was a Grisha in disguise, perhaps even a Ravkan Grisha in disguise, they would start asking questions and pointing fingers at Ilya. Even more tricky, her going missing, by anyone’s actions, might be enough to strike up the war between her homes again. There were too many things to consider and answers Nina didn’t have and people that could be hurt.

The heat and the pounding became all too overwhelming once more as Nina began to panic. 

Her hands were bound, but she still needed to try. She reached out for that icy river of power in her mind. A ghost to tell her about the ship. Bones of an unlucky passenger she could use as a weapon. Something, anything. 

She found nothing.

She could not sense the death which should be here. 

She could not feel the cool rush of her changed power.

She could feel her own heart rate grow steady as she reached for her power. 

Nina felt the warmth of the gifts she grew up with. She heard the pounding of the fourteen hearts around her, all terrified of their fates. 

Nina felt like a Heartrender. 

The realization was cut short by the door to the hold opening.

The first person to enter was a young drüskelle . Still clean shaven. 

Fjerda, then.

The young boy was not the only one. More drüskelle came in. Their uniforms were pressed and they fell into rank. Surely, if the King or Queen had wanted to torment her, they’d have done so before taking her on a ship. 

The second to last person to enter the room shattered Nina’s world.

All of the boys had looked vaguely familiar. She had seen enough of them around the Ice Court that it would have been strange not to. 

This boy, however, looked exactly as Matthias had when they had first met. All of the features were correct. His hair was the same soft burnished gold. His build was the same. His face held the same stubborn propriety. 

Nina knew that she would have remembered seeing a boy who looked so much like Matthias. Maybe she was hallucinating. 

Hallucinating. That must be it. It would be the only way to explain the change in her power and the boy who both was and wasn’t Matthias Helvar. 

He couldn’t be. 

Because Matthias was dead. 

And if Matthias wasn’t dead, he would have looked at her.

He would have looked at all of the people trapped here and fought to protect them. 

He did neither.

If two things being strange is a coincidence or alternatively a hallucination, three things must have an even crazier explanation.

Jarl Brum was the last to enter the hold. 

But this was not the Jarl Brum she knew. He was unscarred with a full head of hair and a tidy drüskelle beard. He still had the bitter sneer on his face, but his features reminded her of Hanne’s. He was dressed in a commander’s uniform, a position that has long since been stripped from him.

Saints, was this the past?

He walked the length of the hold, then came to a halt in front of the prisoners. Just as he had before.

“How many?” Brum asked Matthias in Fjerdan. 

“Fifteen.” Even his voice sounded the same. Nina felt a sob rise in her chest, but she held it down. 

Brum cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “I am Jarl Brum.”

Nina felt the hearts of the other captives beat faster. She remembered the terror from first hearing that name. This man didn’t scare her anymore. She had destroyed his life twice over, sparing him only for her loved ones' sakes. 

She could only hope her acting skills didn’t get lost in her spontaneous time travel. 

“What stands before you is the next generation of drüskelle ,” he continued in Kaelish, “the holy order charged with protecting the sovereign nation of Fjerda by eradicating your kind. They will bring you to Fjerda to face trial and so earn the rank of officer. They are the strongest and best of our kind.”

Brum had not been, was not wrong. The strongest and best drüskelle was among them, but it was the strength of his heart and his belief in Djel that made Matthias the best. 

“When we reach Fjerda, you will be interrogated and tried for your crimes.”

“Please,” said one of the prisoners. Nina was beginning to grow nauseous with the recurring deja vu. “I’ve done nothing. I’m a farmer. I’ve done you no harm.”

“You are an insult to Djel.” Brum replied. You are the insult to Djel , Nina thought. “A blight on the earth.” A blight on your country. “You speak peace, but what of your children to whom you may pass on this demonic power?” What of your child, who possesses the same gifts? “What about their children? I save my mercy for the helpless men and women mowed down by Grisha abominations.”

Nina could only think of the Fjerdan men being mowed down on the battlefield by Brum’s parem -dosed Grisha. She could only think of the atrocities he committed on the road to cleansing the nation. He was as much a hypocrite as he was a monster. 

Calm down, röed fetla, the voice that could not be Matthias said in her head. 

Brum turned to the drüskelle and addressed them again in Fjerdan. “Good work, lads. We sail for Djerholm immediately.”

The soon-to-be-officers all burst with pride and grew a bit rowdy when Brum left. Matthias seemed to stand separate from them. He was proud, but not celebratory. He did not speak up.

They chatted between themselves. Nina almost forgot herself when one reached through the bars and pulled her close by her hair. 

She was Kaelish, she reminded herself. She was not a Ravkan soldier. She was not a Kerch gang member. She was not a Fjerdan widow-turned-princess. She was a Kaelish girl. 

“I like this one, still nice and round,” he crooned. Would this boy survive the shipwreck like Brum? “Maybe we should open that cage door and hose her down.”

Matthias smacked at his comrade’s hand. “What’s wrong with you? Would you fornicate with a dog?”

The drüskelle started clearing out of the hold, all fun over now. Had Matthias always been a buzzkill, Nina wondered. Amongst the Dregs he was, of course, and he was so stoic compared to Nina and her antics. Was brooding just his natural disposition, even amongst the drüskelle ?

“What crimes?” Nina called out to him. She had been anticipating this moment since Brum began speaking. She was careful, though. Her Fjerdan was not crisp or perfect. Nina was good with languages, but a Kaelish peasant with the same talent would not have the resources of the Little Palace.

He met her gaze. His eyes were full of hate, but Nina was familiar with that. What hurt more was the lack of recognition. 

“How do you come to speak my language? Did you serve on Ravka’s northern border?”

“I’m Kaelish,” Nina replied. The words came easily to her, like a memorized script. “and I can speak any language.” 

“More witchcraft.”

“If by witchcraft, you mean the arcane practice of reading.” Nina let some of the Kaelish lilt into her accent to hide her ire at the next words. “Your commander said we’d be tried for our crimes. I want you to tell me just what crimes I’ve committed.”

“You’ll be tried for espionage and crimes against the people.”

Which people?

The words were almost out of her mouth when the Fabrikator spoke up. “We are not criminals. We are ordinary people—farmers, teachers.” 

“You’ll have a trial. You’ll be treated more fairly than your kind deserve.” 

“How many Grisha are ever found innocent?”

“Don’t provoke him. You will not sway his mind.” But she can. She can and she will. She just needs a broken cup, a storm, and to not throw him into Hellgate. Well, he still managed to change even with Hellgate, so she just needed him not to get shot. Her avoiding parem would be a nice bonus too.

Focus, Zenik.

“How many? How many have you sent to the pyre?” 

Her heart dropped as he turned to leave. 

“Wait!” The panic in her voice was sincere. Nina didn’t know if she could stand him leaving her again. “Wait! Please! Just… just some fresh water. Would you treat your dogs like this?” 

She could practically see the thought of Trassel, chained and starved, pass through his mind. 

“I shouldn’t have said that. Dogs know loyalty, at least. Fidelity to the pack. It is an insult to the dog to call you one.” Loyalty to your crew. Scathing insults. Matthias would have done well with Barrel life if he had gotten the chance. There was no doubt in Nina’s mind that he would hate it though. 

“Water. Please.”

He vanished into the passage and Nina fell to her knees. He was gone. He was gone . 

He should be here with me. 

“Don’t waste your breath on him,” the Fabrikator counseled. Nina was struggling to breathe at all. “He will show you no kindness.”

Nina wanted to snap, to yell, to scream at this old man who did not know who he was talking about. 

She said nothing.

When he returned with the water, she did not taunt him as she had before. “Thank you,” she said softly in Fjerdan. She helped the old Fabrikator drink, then moved to another Grisha who needed it more. 

Her kindness must have been enough to embarrass Matthias on its own because he choked out a dismissal and left as quickly as he could. 

The cup would break tomorrow and the storm would come two days after that. 

She had no interest in conversations with the other Grisha. 

Every minute she was awake was spent relearning her gifts, reminding herself how to regulate blood flow and fighting off memories of the future. 

She and Matthias would survive that storm again.

Chapter Text

“What happens if one of them comes back down here?”

We’ll have to kill him before he can kill us or raise an alarm. Nina’s response last time had caused a bit of a stir when she proposed the idea. The Kaelish farmers and workers were not soldiers and she bet that most of them had never used their powers for violence.

An ambush is one thing. A murder is another, one of the Etherialki had objected. 

It would have been the right choice, though.

It wasn’t anymore.

She didn’t disagree with it, per se. In fact, Nina thought taking out a threat before it became dangerous to you was a very good plan. It was a lesson that hadn’t fully cemented itself in her brain until her sojourn in the Barrel. 

But she couldn’t propose that plan again. 

She also knew more about the drüskelle than she had. The recruits were being manipulated. They may be brash and cruel, but they were taught to be. Most of the people on this ship would be dead by tomorrow, but Nina wasn’t sure if she could outright kill one.

More than that, she could risk any of the other Grisha killing Matthias. 

If there was one person most likely to visit the cells, whether to bring them water or watch them until he could convince himself once more that they were monsters, it was Matthias Helvar. 

“I’ll knock them unconscious,” Nina replied. “Drop their blood pressure so they fall asleep.” 

How down? She was surrounded by cages again. The clamour of waves from the oncoming storm hitting against the hull and the roaring crowds of the Hellshow hungry for blood blended together.

Shut eye . The maneuver had been easy then. Practiced. Natural. Could she do it again? Would she be able to drop a drüskelle , Matthias or otherwise, before they rendered her defenseless?

Her worries and the cacophony from her memories were interrupted by the old Fabrikator. “What makes you think you could take down a witchhunter?”

“Someone has to.”

“We’d be better off trying to shove the cup handle into their chest.” A few of the Grisha shuddered at the thought. “They’ve already condemned us as monsters.” 

“If you can do it without them screaming, I won’t stop you.” It was a lie and she knew it. If it was this man’s life or Matthias’s, she knew who she’d pick. 

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t strong enough to fight off a drüskelle and Nina had made her point about the noise.

The room settled into a silent consensus as all they could do was wait. 

The storm was getting louder and the ship was becoming more and more unstable. 

Nina had been terrified before. She would never admit it, of course. She had not taken her eyes off the hatch leading into the holding area, but all of her attention was focused on calming her pounding heart. 

She was no longer terrified. Scared, sure, but this ship was not the end of her story. If anything, it was a beginning. More so than the Little Palace ever was.  

She still focused on steadying her pulse. The action was foreign to her, somehow. 

Parem had taken too much from her. She knew the loss her powers had suffered. The first few months after returning to Ravka had been a haze of grief and pain, both for Matthias and for herself. She had grown to trust and rely on the coldness of death and decay. It had become comfortable, but there was always a part of her brain that held on to the warmth that Heartrending had brought her. 

Using that power now felt like she’d always imagined a reattached limb to feel. 

The Healers had practiced amputations and reversing them at school. It was more advanced healing than Nina ever managed, but she couldn’t shake the thought of the severing of part from whole. Of disconnecting fully from yourself and being expected to work properly once back together. As if nothing had ever changed. 

Saints , Nina hoped she could make it work properly.

If she couldn’t… 

She didn’t want to think about what would happen if she couldn’t.

The steady rhythm of her heart staggered as a wave crashed into the portside and knocked the ship onto an angle. 

The yells of drüskelle became more and more frantic as the ship began to take on water. Some were shouting orders, others were praying. A few were just screaming. Thunder and the crashing of rain hitting the deck in a torrential downpour drowned out the sound. 

The holding cell was starting to flood. It was up to her knees already. The old man, unable to get up and refusing help from any of the others, was submerged up to his chest. 

“We should go up!” a Tidemaker called over the noise. She had said the same thing last time. “We could help steady the ship.” She was pushing back the water as best she could, but Nina could see the exhaustion already lining her face. 

“They may very well blame you for the storm and kill you for it,” a Healer responded. He was the only other Corporalki amongst the captives and, per his own admission, he had no skill with it. 

Light flashed through the dark cell as lightning hit the mast and thunder cracked through the air. 

It was too hectic. Nina couldn’t remember the exact moves she had made or the exact words she said. There was too much then and there was too much now. 

The ship lurched and the wooden boards started to crack and tear apart. 

What the other Grisha did, Nina could only guess.

As the ship went under, Nina prayed. 

Sankta Ursula, protect my love at sea. Sankt Nikolai, lead us to shore. Sankt Vladamir, keep me from your fate.

Denam danne näskelle ve Djel comenden. 

Wait out the storm, as Djel wills it.

Nina was back in the Ice Court. She was back in the river gorge below the ash tree, freezing cold, blinded, and pulled along by fate and rushing water.

All around her were screaming bodies. Witch or witch hunter, Nina could no longer tell.

Wave after wave pushed at her, making it impossible to keep her head above the torrent. She couldn’t breathe and her lungs were filling with water. 

It was too cold. She couldn’t keep her blood circulating while she treaded the water. She couldn’t keep her lungs working if she couldn’t stay afloat.

The cold felt familiar. Here I am , it called to her. Here is the cold power you have been missing . Had she missed it? The lack of power did not feel like a missing limb or an emptiness within her. Here is death, Nina. Embrace it . 

She would not, could not , give into that voice. 

Instead of pushing herself up towards the sky, she let the waves guide her and push her forward. Swimming had never been a talent of hers, but she could manage this. She had managed it and far more in her life. 

The ship was all but sunken by now. A few corpses floated in her path and Nina had to stop herself from trying to save them. She hadn’t spared them a moment in the last life. She couldn’t waste her power on them now. Dead was dead. She knew that more than anyone, but what if they had been like him? Had they needed a way out of a bad situation? Would they have honored the unsteady agreement to find safety with one another?

She checked each one of their faces before swimming on. 

How much of finding Matthias had been fate and how much had been chance? Had the Saints or Djel guided her struggle towards him or had the waves crashed together at random until they collided?

Just as the fear of losing Matthias again and drowning alone in the sea had settled into Nina’s bones, a wave pushed her under. 

Lightning struck. 

The flash allowed the briefest second of light to see a familiar silhouette sinking deeper into the water, lifeless.

She was diving before she could think. 

Hauling him up to the surface was worse than before. She could barely keep herself warm. Her limbs were protesting and her mind kept flashing to the image of him covered in blood and telling her to save his people. 

Never again. 

Nina broke through the surface and pushed her hand against his chest. She grasped the faint pulse and yanked at it until it was flowing through his veins properly. It was sloppy, but it worked. 

“Wake up, you miserable lump of muscle.” She spoke in Fjerdan again, without the Kaelish lilt this time. The words were familiar. If she stuck to what she said last time, she wouldn’t risk giving away her true feelings.

He startled and stared at her. His eyes were the same piercing ice blue. 

“Move,” she called over the crashing waves. The words were as much to herself as they were to him. Breathing was becoming difficult again. 

She nearly sobbed when he shifted and started to drive them forward through the water. “Thank the Saints. Thank Djel.” The prayer slipped from her lips without meaning too. As Mila, she had used the two phrases together to unify the cultural divide. It was instinct. 

She felt Matthias pause. 

“Swim, you giant oaf.” Nina couldn’t deal with religious realizations right now. She would answer any questions he had once they were on dry land. Maybe not honestly, but she’d answer them.

He followed her instructions, but still asked, “Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. It was true. She had found him and the last time they swam away from the wreckage, they landed somewhere on the coast north of Elling. But she had no guarantee that was where they were now.

He kicked away. 

“Don’t,” she cried. She couldn’t handle it again. This loss. “Don’t leave me!”

He shoved out of her grip and away from her. As her power left him, Nina felt the cold death of the sea surround them both. 

“ Drüsje? ” he called out from the darkness. 

“ Drüsklle! ” she shouted over the waves, swimming in the direction he had gone. 

His hand met hers and pulled her back to him. 

“We have to find land,” Nina gasped, redirecting her power through their bodies. She forced their pulses to keep time with each other. “I can’t swim and keep both of our hearts beating.”

“I’ll swim,” he said. “You… I’ll swim.” He shifted their positions to take better hold of her and Nina shifted all of her focus to their fading heartbeats. 

Eventually the sound of their breath synced up as well. It was a horrible situation, but she was here. He was here. They were together. They would survive this or they would go out together. He may not love her. He didn’t even know her, but Nina loved him with all of her heart and would be fine with an ending if it were in his arms. 

“Why did you save me?” he asked, breaking her train of thought.

“Don’t talk. You’ll waste your energy.” Not to mention it was harder to regulate his lungs, but she didn’t particularly care to remind him of her powers.

“Why did you do it?”

“Because you’re a human being.” Nina had been angry when she had said it before. She could not begin to explain the reasons she saved him now. She didn’t even know how to explain her situation to herself. The response was tender, yet ordinary this time. 

She wanted ordinary more than anything. If they survived, she would make sure they got it this time.

“Giving up already, witch?”

She hadn’t realized she’d faltered. 

“I’ll match your pace, drüskelle ,” she retorted, as she pushed warmth back into their blood. “If we die, I won’t let you forget it in the next life.”

Night was much the same as it was before. She was weaker, but the feeling of safety she lacked before allowed her to stay vigilant. The sound of their breathing, the roll of the waves, and the splash of water was only interrupted when one of them stalled and the other taunted them to keep them going.

The light of dawn was a blessing beyond belief. There was a thin slash of a dark shore against the horizon. 

“Look,” she said, pointing it out, but keeping her attention on him, on them . She rested her head on his shoulder as he continued to push them towards the shore. Nina had forgotten how exhausting their journey was.

When their feet touched the ground beneath, they started to drift away, half swimming, half crawling to shore.

Matthias made it roughly to the rocks, clearly slowed by the strain and the sudden rush of cold. He pulled himself to his feet, but Nina couldn’t manage it. 

She had swallowed too much water and she was on her hands and knees, hacking it up. Every muscle ached. Her body wanted nothing more but to lie down and never get up. 

He took one step, then another. 

You can’t leave me again, she wanted to call out. She was delirious enough that she might have if she was able to speak. 

He turned back, as if he had heard her words anyways.

He did not offer her his hand this time. He did not even give her the choice before making the decision for her.

Instead, he reached down and gently pulled her to her feet, and then they limped together off the beach.

Chapter Text

Matthias was dreaming again. Dreaming of her.

It was the peculiar sort of dream that only happens on the cusp of waking up. Vivid and blurry all at once. He could have sworn he had been resting already.

They were on the ice again, but that is not where the dream had started. 

He had been on the ship as before, but she was not as before. It was a memory, but viewed from the wrong angle. 

Both scenes played in his mind, differing slightly in the words she spoke. The actions she took. The pure joy and relief in her voice when she saved him from drowning. 

He could follow one path. The original, maybe? He couldn’t quite tell. 

That path led them to shore then to safety, but then swiftly to betrayal and hell. That path led back to her, as it always would, and to the embrace of thieves and killers. It led to realizations and leaving his country behind, for they were a poison using the name of his god in vain. It lead to risks and ambushes and working hand in hand with Grisha. It led to safety for the people he had once hated and the hatred of the people who had kept him safe. 

Those memories led to a scared young boy, far too similar to who he had been, and a bullet ripping into his stomach. He couldn’t remember how it felt. He had been too focused on finding her. 

He had found her, he thought. He had said his goodbyes and asked for forgiveness for his country. 

He had left that world, but the vague sense of self persisted. He could not remember what happened next, but he dreamt of the ice, of the wolves welcoming him home, of taking root and returning to the water. 

Had he done those things?

Or was the other path the true one?

The one where recognition lingered in her eyes when their gaze met and she asked once more for water. In her kindness for the other prisoners. Monsters , he had to remind himself when she had thanked him and said nothing more. 

The one where she had thanked not only her Saints, but Djel as well.

After reaching the shore, the him who was only half of who he knew himself to be had not been able to resist bringing it up. 

“You pray to my god?”

“I do,” she responded, hesitantly, as if the answer surprised herself.

“And the Ravkan Saints?” he asked.

“The Ravkan Saints, the Fjerdan Sënj, Djel, even Ghezen on occasion, unfortunately.” She said it as though it was the simplest answer in the world, like she had figured out a great truth and there was no other answer. 

All that Matthias had learned in his life up to this point had preached against the idea. “Why?” 

The witch paused at this, pulling on her lower lip with her teeth as she thought. The movement caught Matthias’s eye and his face flushed against the chill winds. 

“I knew a man who believed Djel worked miracles through the Saints. Through Grisha .” She looked melancholy and her voice had lost the confidence that Matthias had found himself drawn to. Worse, she would not meet his eyes. In the short period they had been walking on the ice, Matthias had started to find comfort in the pale green irises. “He—” her voice caught, but she continued on, “He changed my life. Saved it more than once, too.

“I was raised worshiping the Saints and hating Fjerda. He was raised to follow Djel and hate Grisha.” Finally, she looked up at Matthias. “We found the truth of the world together and I have spent the last few years trying to convince others that the Saints aren’t as separate from the grace of gods as they have been led to believe.”

“But Djel says Grisha are abominations,” said Matthias. It was not a question, but it was not said with the certainty he would have expected.

“Does he?” She raised an eyebrow at him. It felt like a challenge.

“Yes,” Matthias looked away from her. He would not be convinced by her face or her beauty in this matter. He needed to focus. “They are unnatural.” 

“Have you heard the Wellspring say so yourself? Has the Sacred Ash told you?” Matthias froze. How did this witch come to know of the Sacred Ash? It was a religious artifact, not a story told in villages between the Fjerdan and Ravkan border. The girl did not notice that he had stopped walking. “Or did your betters tell you that?

“If Djel hated Grisha,” she continued,  “who bestowed the control over the small science to them? Why would there be Tidemakers to control his waters?” The distance and the wind were making it hard to hear her, so Matthias tried to catch up as he mulled over her arguments. "I’ve heard the Ice Court has Fabrikator made walls and weapons. Is this a work of Djel or his children? Was Sënj Egmond a Grisha or a follower of Djel? I think he was both. There are more people than you know who are both.” Her face grew melancholy once more at that. 

Had she known other Grisha who were raised to believe in Djel? For all of the sermons he’s heard and lessons he’s been taught, Matthias had never considered Grisha who followed Djel. All Grisha hated Djel and Fjerda, or so he’d thought. But there must have been Grisha from Fjerda who were raised with his culture and his beliefs. Were they taught to hate themselves? Why would a Grisha choose to worship a god that hated her?

Even so, did Djel actually hate Grisha? Her arguments were sound. Djel was the god of life. How could he hate what was living? 

They are unnatural , a voice in his head said. 

They are scared , a different one responded.

“Be silent. You are confusing me.”

A smile returned to her face. “It’s good to be confused sometimes, drüskelle ,” she teased. “It keeps you from growing obedient.”

“ Drüskelle are meant to be obedient.” The response was instinct. The warm pitying look he received made it clear he had not helped his argument. 

“If Jarl Brum handed you a pistol and told you to shoot someone, let’s say someone who’s not a Grisha for this example, before they could stand trial would you?”

“I— Are they dangerous?”

“Does it matter?” She asked, plainly.

“Of course it matters. Why would I shoot an innocent? Do you really think we are that barbaric?” 

“Careful, drüskelle . Your conscience is getting in the way of your obedience.”

“It wouldn’t matter anyway,” he retorted after a beat of silence. 

“Why’s that?” She sounded genuinely curious. 

“Commander Brum would never give such an order.”

“I hope you are right about that, drüskelle . I don’t think you are though.”

She looked away from him and back to the storm in front of them. She spoke with such certainty, but with gentleness he could not identify. As though a misstep with the conversation would shatter her fragile heart. 

As they walked in silence through the ice and wind, Matthias had been left to wonder if Commander Brum had met this girl before and if he was to blame for the melancholy and loss of the man who taught her of his god.

He had been about to speak again when the silhouette of a whaling hut appeared on the horizon, so he saved his energy. 

It was deserted—the outposts were only active in the spring—and little more than a round lodge made of bone, sod, and animal skins. But shelter meant they might at least survive the night. 

The door had no lock. They practically fell through it.

“Thank you,” she groaned as she collapsed beside the circular hearth. 

For a moment, he thought about saying nothing. However, as he set about creating a fire with the peat and dry kindling left by the whalers, he could not stay resolutely silent. “Thank you, as well, for—”  His sentence faded off as he was unable to put words to her actions. He couldn’t speak the truth of what he’d allowed to be done to him into this space.

She said nothing and they settled into an easy quiet as Matthias labored over the fire, trying to get it to do more than smoke. His exhaustion was making him tired and clumsy and he was not having much luck.

When he heard a rustling behind him, he turned and almost dropped the piece of driftwood he’d been using to coax the little flames. 

“What are you doing?” he barked. 

She leveled a stare at him, which he was having a difficult time meeting while trying to avoid looking in her general direction. “Is there something I’m supposed to be doing?” She propped her hand on her bare waist and his gaze followed the movement before quickly looking away.

“Put your clothes back on!”

She rolled her eyes and stripped off the rest of her clothes. “I’m not going to freeze to death to preserve your sense of modesty.” She loosely wrapped herself in a grimy reindeer skin from the pile near the door and grumbled to herself about the smell. 

She made a small nest of other furs and pelts near the hearth and joined him on the ground. Everytime she moved, the reindeer cloak parted, revealing a flash of round calf, white skin, the shadow between her breasts. It was deliberate. He knew it. She was trying to rattle him, but he needed to focus on the fire. Without it, they would both die from the cold. If only she would stop making so much damn noise. The driftwood snapped in his hands.

She snorted and lay down in the nest of pelts, propping herself on one elbow. “For Saint’s sake, drüskelle , what’s wrong with you? I promise not to ravish you in your sleep.” The look in her eyes was positively sinful. “Unless you want me to.”

Matthias chose to ignore her and stayed crouching beside the fire as he built up the courage to lay beside her. They would need to, for the warmth, but he was debating freezing to death instead. Eventually, he forced himself to rise and stride towards the blankets. But the witch held out a hand to stop him.

“Don’t even think about getting near me in those clothes. You’re soaked through.” Her Fjerdan was haughty. Her Kaelish accent had disappeared when the storm hit, but now it sounded posher than when they were on the ice. The vowels were crisp, like a princess. 

“You can keep our blood flowing.” 

“I’m exhausted.” she said. “And once I fall asleep, all we’ll have is that fire to keep us warm. I can see you shaking from here.” She shivered as well and pulled her blankets closer. “Are all drüskelle this prudish?”

“Are all Grisha so immodest?” he asked defensively and tried not to cross his arms like a child in an argument.

“I couldn’t possibly speak for all Grisha, but I was raised in close quarters with both boys and girls. There wasn’t a lot of room for maidenly blushing.”

“In the Little Palace?” Matthias asked with a sneer. He wasn’t sure yet if she was Ravkan or not, but if she had training, that was the place she would have gotten it. 

“Yes,” she admitted, “but if you’re going to let that fact stand between you and not freezing to death, then you must be as stupid as you are tall. Did you really swim all that way just to die in this lodge?”

“It’s a whaling hut.” It wasn’t. She had called it by its correct name, but he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

“I’m too tired to argue and I know you are too.” She blew out an exasperated breath and closed her eyes. 

Matthias stood there feeling stupid and hating her for making him feel that way. He turned to face away from her and quickly sloughed off his sodden clothes, spreading them beside the fire to dry. He checked to make sure she wasn’t looking then strode to the blankets and wriggled in behind her, still trying to keep his distance. 

“Closer, drüskelle ,” she whispered. 

He threw an arm over her, hooking her back against his chest. His movements were mechanical and uneasy. He’d been close to girls—not many, it was true—but none of them had made him feel like this. 

“Ease up a bit,” she instructed and when he did, she flipped over to face him. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, 

“Relax,” she cooed as she laid his hands on his chest. His blood began to flow and his body warmed.

She flipped back around and pulled his arm back around her. 

He could not remember sleep coming to him.

He could not remember it leaving either. 

For surely this was a dream still. 

He was dead, but not.

He was asleep, but not.

Matthias lay awake in the cold morning, blessed by Djel with memories of what could have been or what had been before. The measly fire he had built was smoldering and the wind had found its way through the cracks between the door. But, Matthias was warm. 

Drüskelle and drüje were facing each other. His arms were wrapped tightly around her and their legs were tangled beneath the furs. Where her hand rested once more on his chest, he could feel the heat from her power keeping his heart steady.

She was sound asleep, as she usually was. A same smile graced her face, but there was a furrow between her brow that should not be there. Unable to stop himself, Matthias raised his hand to her face and ran his thumb over that crease. If he could take away all of the pain and suffering that was haunting her in her sleep, he would. 

She stirred and opened her eyes the barest sliver. 

“Nina?” he asked. The name was honey on his tongue. It was dawn after a long night and rest after a battle. Her name was beauty and safety and home. 

Her eyes widened and she pushed away ever so slightly. Matthias felt his own heart skip a beat in time with hers. 

“You know my name?” She breathed. The question was a tether and lifeline and the last hope left in the world. 

He could think of nothing else to say. “Nina,” he said once more as he nodded.

“Matthias, I—” She did not finish her thought as she surged forward and into his arms, hugging him tightly.

“Nina, Nina, Nina .” It was a prayer on his lips and answering his call with a prayer of her own.

When the chill began to creep around them and they settled back down around the furs to face each other. Nina did not let go of his hand.

“Are we dead?” she asked. She did not sound scared by the concept.

“I—” He didn’t know. He remembered dying. The first path of his memories ended with a warm welcome back to the ice. The dream had ended, but he did not know how he got back here. “I don’t know.” Matthias admitted.

“What do we do now?” 

“I don’t know that either.” For once, he found himself envious of the insidious mind of Kaz Brekker. Nina and Matthias could orchestrate a battle, but they couldn’t plan when they didn’t know a destination and they couldn’t pull money from air. “We will stick together. And go to Elling.”

“And beyond Elling? As far as we know, parem will still be a threat.”

“Then we travel to Ketterdam. Together, this time, drüje .”

“I don’t want to lose you again, drükelle .” Tears welled in Nina’s eyes. “Please don’t leave me again.” Matthias never wanted to see her cry. His vision blurred with tears as he pulled her close once more. 

“I have only made one vow in my life that transcended death, drüsje .” He kissed her brow softly. “I was not able to protect you before, and Djel, in his wisdom, has seen fit to give me another chance.”

Jer molle pe oonet. 

Even in death, he had found his way. 

Chapter Text

The docks of Elling were quieter at night.

By day, sailors, merchants, fishmongers, and laborers all went about their business. The foot traffic and voices calling out kept the persistent sound of the water hitting the docks from finding its way deep into the minds of those nearby to hear it. 

By night, only a few workers remained to finish up the tasks of the day and prepare for the next. A few guards patrolled, looking for troublemakers to catch and maybe a few bribes to extort. The few who passed the broad shouldered, dusty-haired young man didn’t pay him much attention beyond a spare glance. 

He had arrived in town five weeks ago and had become a regular dockhound, picking up spare jobs where he could for a few coins. Elling was not the biggest harbor town in Fjerda, but it saw enough trade and travel to make anyone who chose to stick around for more than a week old news.

It was strange, Matthias supposed, to have a recognizable face to everyone around him, but not to himself. Each time he passed a mirror or caught his reflection in the water, it took all of his control not to flinch. 

His brows were thinner, cheeks rosier, nose a bit more crooked, and hair a shade darker. 

“You’re still you,” Nina would always tell him when she caught him staring at the altered features. He didn’t feel like himself. Between remembering death—but not fully—and wearing a stranger's skin, Matthias felt disconnected to reality in a way Nina couldn’t know. Even though he ate and slept and lived, there was a sense of falseness and emptiness that followed his steps.

He hated it. In the darker moments, he hated himself.

Nina could understand, though, that pain of losing yourself. Matthias had cried when she gently pulled him away from the mirror in their rented room and held him tightly, whispering reminders of who he was and why she loved him. He did the same for her on the night he came to her sobbing in the bathroom. 

She still wouldn’t tell him why, but Matthias knew better than to push with Nina, even if he had his suspicions. The one time he brought it up afterwards, she stared at him for a moment before declaring his hair was getting golden again and she needed to fix it. 

On the journey to Elling, Nina had begun to tailor what she could with the few supplies they were able to scrounge up from the whaling huts and ice fields. She used charcoal to tint his brows and lashes. The light brown of her hair was transferred to his. She healed the sunburn and tan from the journey from the Wandering Isles back to pale with dried herbs they had found at the bottom of a forgotten pack and snow. 

Matthias hadn’t wanted her to do more extreme tailoring than that. It would waste the energy she needed for the travel, but she had insisted on subtle changes to their facial structure to ensure they would go unrecognized. He had had to carry her that evening, but he suspected her exhaustion was, at least in part,  feigned.

The bigger changes had to be done repetitively, but by the time they made it to Elling, they were strangers.

“We need new names,” Nina said the night before they reached Elling. They had found spare clothes at a more recently abandoned outpost. They were still dressed like weary travellers, but they were no longer a Kaelish peasant and a drüskelle . 

It had been easy for Matthias to abandon the black and silver uniform. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“There are plenty of Matthias’s and probably a few Nina’s,” Matthias pondered. “We should be fine.”

“Nina is a Ravkan name, babink . I don’t want to risk drawing more attention, so I’ll go by Mila again. We don’t want to be trackable, so you need to pick a name as well.” She leveled him with a stare that brooked no argument before adding,  “One you’ll be able to respond to.”

“Benedik, then.”

“Your middle name? I mean it works better than nothing if we don’t have time to practice with it.”

“It was my father’s name, too,” he admitted softly. He still remembered his mother calling it from the other side of the house and neighbors greeting him from across the town square.

So, Benedik and Mila Isefetja, a recently married couple, down on their luck and hoping to buy passage on a ship to Ketterdam, were the talk of the Elling. Some gossiping, eavesdropping, and knowledge of the future pointed Nina towards Marta, a spinster from Djerholm that worked at one of the canneries with a room for rent, and jobs for both of them. 

Nina spent her mornings cutting, processing, and canning fish. It was dreadful work and she despised it. After her first shift, she had talked about jumping back into the freezing ocean, saying if she died at least she’d go to the next world not smelling of fish. Matthias was only half sure she had been joking. 

In the afternoon, she tended to the household, cleaning, mending, and doing all of the other tasks good Fjerdan wives were supposed to. If they hadn’t needed a place to stay, Matthias thought Nina might just have punched Marta when she suggested that. She accepted the chores as gracefully as she could, however, even if Matthias often heard her grumble about how the old woman just didn’t want to do them herself. 

Cooking had also been on the list of chores, but it was swiftly removed after the first dinner she prepared. For someone who loved food as much as she did, her ability to make something edible was dreadful.

Every evening, they spent their little spare time together. Often, Nina would talk and Matthias would listen, interrupting only when it was important. Obeying the social standards of a demure and modest wife was straining and their little room was the only place in Elling she could let the act drop. She ranted about her day, whispered stories of the time after he had gone to Djel, or shared what little gossip she had overheard. It was always in Kerch, all of their private conversations had been since the whaling hut. Sometimes, they would simply rest in each other's arms and try to keep the cold away.

When dawn rose again, Matthias had to leave to get to the docks early. Nobody wanted to hire someone so intent on leaving for a permanent position, which left him picking up the jobs that nobody wanted or nobody lasted long in. His young bones and large frame gave him an advantage, but if he got to the docks late, there would be no opportunities left. If he spent a day not working, he would be down a day’s pay and a day’s worth of information.

Elling’s harbor was not as large as Djerholm, but it was expansive enough to see plenty of Kerch vessels from trading companies or individual merchers. He made sure to always note which was which and get a look at their manifest if he could manage. 

It was a job he was particularly unsuited to.

On their journey, Nina told him a story about Zoya Nazyalensky claiming Nina did not have a subtle bone in her body. As true as that may have been, she had at least been trained for espionage. She had a knack for getting information out of people and making them believe her. Matthias… did not. 

He stuck out in crowds, even when he desperately tried to blend in. Talking with the other workers went smoothly, but he failed every attempt at subtly steering the conversation where he wanted it to go. He didn’t have Inej’s grace to sneak through the shadows and escape notice. He hadn’t appreciated Kaz’s talent of memorization and planning until he had tried to scan over a document before the captain returned. Usually, the most information he brought back to Nina was the names of the ships and where they were sailing to. 

Anytime a Kerch ship docked, Matthias inquired how much it would cost for two passengers to join. Between rent and food, they were far from that amount in their measly savings. After two weeks of no luck, they had debated their options. Between stowing away and signing an indenture, there were no good options. Using the slaver loophole again had been swiftly rejected and, after much debate, writing to Kaz had been thrown out too. 

So they were left in Elling, counting cents and pretending to live normal lives. 

Matthias had almost made his peace with this fate when he spotted a small schooner anchored off the coast on his night home. 

The guards, or kulfisk , as Nina had taken to calling them, had implemented a rule that no ships could dock between dusk and dawn. There was no lack of discussion in town of how it would impact trade during the approaching winter months. The people of Elling weren’t followers of Ghezen by any means, but they still had their livelihoods to look after. 

Matthias’s thoughts turned away from identity and his false face as he hurried back to Nina and wondered if the rule was imposed by an act of the gods, giving them time to prepare for tomorrow. 

“What’s wrong?” Nina asked the moment he stepped inside the home.  He had been working late, but he never came home in such a state on those days. She spoke Fjerdan, so Marta was likely listening in. 

“Nothing, fetla . I just missed you.”

He crossed the room to her, took the uneven knitting project from her hands, and set it down near the hearth. He felt her muscles relax as he wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. Being apart all day made them both nervous. They would not need to be apart much longer. 

As soon as they made contact, the rhythm of their pulses fell into step. Whether it was her doing or not, Matthias didn’t care. He took a shaky breath, ignoring the scent of codfish and salt, before whispering softly, “The Ferolind arrives in Elling tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Despite the fog that sat heavily over the cobblestones and docks, Fifth Harbor was full of people. 

In general, being crowded was good for business. It meant there were plenty of ships bringing in cargo to sell and pigeons to dupe. 

It, on this particular occasion, was not good for Kaz. 

It was rare for Dirtyhands to make an appearance at the docks. Most of his visits were under the cover of night or simply kept out of the public eye. During the rebuilding process, he had ensured there were plenty of places that only he and Inej would be able to find that kept them hidden during their stakeouts.

He did not want to be tucked away in the shadows today. 

He wanted to see and be seen. The influx of people was making it very difficult to do so, especially as those less familiar with gossip from the Barrel kept bumping into him while he stood still in the mass of moving people, hands rested tightly on his cane.  

Since recently transferring more of his shares into his name, it was crucial to be known here. Fifth Harbor was not just Dregs territory, but his territory and he needed that to be known. The bruised and beaten spider from Harper’s Pointers was surely spreading that information by now, provided he had recovered enough to be able to walk again. 

But Kaz was not here on Dregs business, regardless of what Per Haskell thought. He still kept track of the crowds, of course, paying particular attention to the faces of the bruisers leading alleged indentures off a ship or the kid who was doing remarkably well at evading notice despite being a lousy pickpocket. The wannabe thief had good spider potential and Inej would want to hear about leads for new slavers. Most have learned already that the Wraith of Ketterdam had eyes on Fifth Harbor. 

It was strange to stand here without her by his side. Memories of presenting her with her ship and meeting her parents played in his mind, but he pushed them down.  

The last time he stood here, waiting for a ship from Fjerda to dock, both she and Jesper had been with him. While the ship they had been looking for had arrived, the cargo they had been waiting for had not. 

“Are you sure that was the ship?” Jesper had been antsy about the meeting. His hands were dancing across his revolvers despite there being no potential threats in the area. 

“Yes,” Kaz responded dryly. Jesper had been asking him the same three questions all morning. “And, yes, today is the correct date,” He had reviewed the court files enough in the past timeline to know it for certain.

”And if they really aren’t here,” Inej cut in, saving Kaz from answering the final question again , “we move on to Plan B.”

Jesper only grumbled as they watched the last sailors walk off of the ship. ”I don’t like Plan B.” 

Neither did Kaz. 

They needed information from Elling and it was sensitive enough that he couldn’t send a different spy. Kaz himself couldn’t go. With all of his schemes and plans in motion, leaving Ketterdam would be detrimental. Jesper might have been able to, but he wasn’t exactly conspicuous and his powers were still untrained enough that Kaz didn’t like the idea of sending him to Fjerda without backup. Kaz also knew sending his sharpshooter alone on a long sea voyage would provide a bored Jesper lots of time to cause problems. So it had to be Inej.

He arranged for the Ferolind to leave with his Wraith aboard the next day. The last time he saw her she was adjusting the sails as they passed the Tides Watchtower. She took to the rigging like she took to the highwire, with more confidence and grace in every movement than most people would have their entire life. 

It was easy for Kaz to tell himself, as he stood observing Fifth Harbor, waiting for the Ferolind to dock, that the nerves he had been feeling for the past few weeks were because of the risks of a job like this. 

Their papers were forgeries, good ones at that, but Fjerdans weren’t as easy to bribe out of trouble as the Kerch. She was in a foreign country with limited back up. Going under the guise of a merchant ship left vulnerabilities to both attacks at sea and scrutiny ashore.

He could lie and tell himself he was nervous about future plans if she didn’t return with Nina and Matthias. He had been a bit too sure of their arrival so quite a few of his schemes had them involved in ways that would be difficult to work around. 

He couldn’t bring himself to look at the truth. He knew why he was nervous. Scared, even. He had full faith in Inej’s ability to stay alive and beat the odds, no matter what they might be. She would make it back to Ketterdam.

The question was whether she’d stay. 

He wouldn’t stop her if she left again, but Kaz dreaded the idea of her returning to the sea. She was a good captain and was able to save countless lives, but Kaz couldn’t deny the fact that he had missed her.

It was worse this time around. Even though she hadn’t been gone that long, Kaz felt  like he was missing a limb. He couldn’t keep his eyes away from the window whenever he worked in his office and he couldn’t focus on anything whenever he was reminded of her. He had a whole list of ideas and plans to run by her and gossip she’d like to hear once she returned. 

Her absence left him off-kilter. Vulnerable. It would be best if she stayed away and he didn’t have such an obvious weak spot. It was telling enough that he couldn’t even reconcile that simple logic because it was too easily outweighed by his feelings towards her.  

Three days ago, Jesper had declared he was being too mopey, to which Kaz responded by throwing something at him. The resulting brawl had ended with Jesper dragging Kaz away from his office and drinking until they couldn’t feel their bruises and they stopped worrying about the missing members of their crew. 

Kaz cast another glance towards the crowds before checking his pocket watch. Well, until this morning, it had been the pocket watch of a clerk at the Exchange who suggested cutting Kaz out of a deal.

It was ten bells. Jesper was supposed to be here half an hour ago. If Kaz had been lucky, kicking his gambling addiction would have also cured Jesper of his tardiness, but luck was always so fickle where Jesper was involved. 

Kaz’s planning still managed to outdo Jesper’s poor timing because the sharpshooter took his spot at Kaz’s side right as the sails of the familiar schooner came into view. 

“All good at the Nest, boss.”

”I told you not to call it that.”

”Yes, well, you also told me not to wear this vest, but it was too good to pass up. Sometimes style and perfect opportunities outweigh even your preferences, Kaz.” The vest was the height of Barrel flash, a purple and red houndstooth with shiny silver buttons. 

“The suggestion wasn’t about whether I like your vest or not.” He did not, “It was because even a blind maid would be able to tell you don’t belong on the Handelcanal. It would draw attention.”

“Don’t worry,” Jesper responded as he knocked his shoulder against Kaz’s. “I wore a coat.” It was a rare moment of contact for the two of them. Jes never pushed his limits and Kaz never initiated, but reaffirming pokes and nudges had become more frequent between the two. 

The first time Jesper had jokingly shoved Kaz during a debrief in front of a few other Dregs, the room froze. When Kaz didn’t disfigure Jesper in response, it had been the talk of the Slat. He had been forced to listen to Jesper complain about it for hours the following day. They keep asking me how I did it or what info I had on you to stay alive. And when I dodge the question or tell them it’s nothing, they jump to their own conclusions! It’s horrible. 

Inej had gleefully told him that evening that Annika, Imogen, and Dirix kept pestering Jes to see if they were in a relationship or, if not, ask for advice on how to get to that stage of flirting. Kaz made a mental note to hit Jesper with his cane the next time. 

But now, Kaz just nodded and turned his attention back to the Ferolind. 

He could make out Specht’s voice calling orders to the crew to secure the mooring over the bustle of the crowd. When a small figure made the jump from railing to dock to tie up one of the ropes, every muscle Kaz hadn’t known he had been tensing relaxed. 

She was here and she was safe. 

Jesper barked a laugh when, instead of taking the freshly set out gangplank back on board, she simply hopped on the line she just secured and walked across it. She slipped behind the rigging and out of sight as the rest of the crew finished their tasks. 

When she appeared again she was flanked by two passengers. They were lightly tailored, or at least using cosmetics, but they still carried themselves the same.

Nina Zenik, now blonde, was laughing loudly with Inej, not caring for the people around her who overheard or judged them. Even though she seemed engaged in the conversation, Kaz could see her scoping out the crowd, even from the distance.

Matthias Helvar was walking a step behind them. He was also looking through the crowds, either to search for danger or to observe the chaos of the more lawful areas of Ketterdam freely, something he had not been permitted last time. He kept patting his pocket like a pigeon fresh off the boat until Nina looked back to say something and swatted his hand away. 

Instead of leading them towards Kaz and Jesper, Inej caught Kaz’s eye and nodded. She then turned to the left and led them away from Fifth Harbor. 

Kaz took out his pocket watch again and noted the time. They’d make it to the meet point by eleven bells. Taking the bridges and water ways would slow them down, so Kaz had time to spare. 

“Should we go or do you just want us to keep standing here?” Jesper asked after another minute. Kaz had told him to be at the docks and they would go together to discuss things with Nina and Matthias, he just neglected to mention that together just meant the two of them.

“Let’s go,” Kaz said before walking towards the Ferolind. Moving after standing still for so long left an ache in his leg that was only made worse with the autumnal cold front approaching Ketterdam. He didn’t slow his gait, even though the pain of lessening his limp made him want to.

”What?” After a few moments of looking between Kaz walking away and towards where the others disappeared into the city, Jesper followed him. His long legs quickly closed the distance.

“Inej sent a letter the day they got to Elling. It only got delivered yesterday. There was a stowaway on their ship and I need to find out why.” He kept his voice low. There was no need to advertise his business to anyone in earshot, but Jesper’s annoyed groan certainly caught the attention of some passerbys.

The original plan had just been for Inej to send the letter with any ship heading for Ketterdam to warn him of their arrival in advance. Then he would meet them not at the docks, but at the agreed meeting place. He hadn’t been expecting the extra details that hinted at a stowaway and she had been rather tightlipped about details, so his plans were adjusted.   

Specht welcomed them aboard after a moment of surprise when he saw Kaz on the gangplank. He quickly debriefed them on the journey, the cargo, and everything he had gleaned from the stowaway. Inej had probably gotten more information, but Kaz needed her to keep Nina and Matthias out of trouble. He wanted those two to avoid notice in the city and he did not trust them to accomplish that on their own.

“This was not what I had on the agenda today,” Jesper complained, checking over his guns as Kaz picked the lock on the crew quarters the stowaway was being kept in. Specht had offered the key, but they would have wasted more time waiting for him to find where he had put it. 

“You should live more spontaneously, Jesper,” Kaz snarked back as the latch unlocked and he pushed the door open. “You never know how much longer you’ve got.”

Chapter Text

The cellar Inej had led them to, and promptly abandoned them in, was dank and cold. Despite her recent, and far more positive, experiences with ships and Fjerdan weather, Nina was still more partial to places where she could see her surroundings and she didn’t shiver. 

As the cold swept through her again, Matthias pulled her closer into his embrace, trying to keep the chill away. 

It reminded her all too much of those horrible days after the Ice Court job. She wasn’t craving parem this time, thankfully, but her body and abilities still yearned for the dark corrupted power she had grown to love. 

In the first weeks of travel, she had grown comfortable feeling her own again. She even felt glad every time her consciousness picked up on the beating drum of Matthias’s heart, steady and alive. 

But Elling had thrown her off. There was too much noise, too many people. It was always too hot. The constant beating of every heart around her had been so overwhelming, more than once she had thought about stopping every heart around her just for some peace. How had she survived this growing up?

When the Ferolind picked them up, Nina had been relieved, not just to be reunited with one of her dearest friends, but to be away from the rabble.

Ketterdam was far larger than Fjerda’s rundown fishing port. It would have been difficult to stay standing if she had been by herself in that crowd.

Matthias squeezed her hand to draw her thoughts back to the present. Nina hadn’t even noticed when he had taken it. 

His gaze flicked to the door and back before reaching for the pistol Inej had left them and taking a defensive stance. He had positioned himself between her and the door, but Nina didn’t think he’d appreciate her wasting time arguing about that now, so she took a small step to the side to give her a better line of sight and raised her hands.

The cellar door, which was old and rotted enough to creak louder than the plague sirens, opened quietly on freshly oiled hinges. 

The figure in the doorway was silhouetted, but Nina would recognize the sharply tailored overcoat, crow head cane, and tangle of nerves around his knee anywhere. 

“Brekker,” she said, taking no small amount of joy in running his dramatic entrance. 

“Zenik,” he nodded to her, then to Matthias as he descended the few steps, “Helvar. Good to see you breathing again, witch hunter.” 

“Demjin. What business?”

Nina was a bit shocked at the question, even though they had planned out how to deal with Kaz. Kaz grinned like a shark, either as shocked as Nina or pleased to have guessed their strategy ahead of time. 

“I’d be happy to discuss it with you once we’re all assembled.” He sat at the small table in the center of the room and stretched out his leg before taking out a pocket watch to check the time. “Jesper should have been here a few minutes ago.”

“He’s on his way, now,” Inej said, stepping out of the shadows. “It’s not his fault you got impatient and went in without him.” 

The glare she received was enough to put Nina's heart at ease. Inej had revealed a card in Kaz’s hand. Even inconsequential, it was enough to let them all know that Inej was going to keep all parties honest during this meeting. A fact that Kaz Brekker clearly wasn’t happy about, but he settled when he was met with Inej’s own glare in return.

Matthias sat at the table across from Kaz, guiding Nina over as well, though she remained standing. 

“You look well, Brekker. Second chances suit you,” Matthias stated. There was no malice behind the remark, but Kaz’s heartbeat stuttered for just a moment anyways. 

The door to the cellar opened again. It was much louder this time, enough so that Nina began to ponder exactly how Kaz had done it. Her train of thought was cut off when a familiar lanky figure walked down into the cellar. 

Jesper, younger than when Nina had last seen him, was dressed in a rather tame outfit, compared to his usual Barrel flash. His face was split into a grin and he looked healthier than Nina had ever seen him. Not that he looked sickly before, but he now had the intense vigor that blessed Grisha who consistently used their abilities. 

Upon Nina realizing this, she ran across the room and flung herself into Jesper’s arms. 

When she stepped away Matthias was there as well, giving Jesper a friendly pat on the shoulder. Both looked truly happy to be in the other’s presence again. 

Jesper’s smile became crooked as he looked at both of them. “And here I was, thinking I’d have to tell you about the pastries to get such a warm welcome.” He laughed with Matthias and Inej as Nina’s focus zeroed in on the bag he was holding. It smelled like her favorite bakery. The one she had always wanted the chance to take Matthias to.

“Sit, my love,” Matthias instructed her softly in Fjerdan, before switching back to Kerch, “I’m sure Jesper will share with you once we are discussing plans and listening to Kaz’s schemes.” He led her back over to the table and they sat, once again, with the worst criminals in the Barrel—kind of.

The cellar lacked the luxury of the Geldrenner and they weren’t wanted by half of the city—at least, her and Matthias weren’t. She couldn’t speak for the Dregs—and they were still missing Wylan, but this felt familiar. A scene repainted. A meeting that was destined to happen, regardless of the choices they made to get here. 

“What business, Kaz?” Nina asked through a bite of waffle. It tasted so good that she didn’t even care about Kaz rolling his eyes at her antics. 

Saints, she had missed Kerch food.

“Are you not going to thank me for the food first?” Kaz asked, nonplussed.

”Thank you, Jesper, for picking up the food,” Nina said, taking another bite. 

“I paid for it.”

Nina didn’t know if it was because he looked younger or because he was comfortable with the four of them, but she could only compare his grumbling to that of a stubborn child. “I thought that my not mentioning your haircut would have been thanks enough.” It truly was shameful to get a do-over and make the same horrible choices. 

“What do you know about our predicament?” 

“Probably less than you and you wouldn’t like the theories we do have,” Nina responded. Kaz wasn’t exactly pious. He would call them both stupid for believing Djel or the Saints to be the ones who throw them back in time. 

Inej, however, looked very interested in discussing those theories after this meeting.

”Nobody we encountered in Fjerda seemed aware as we are,” Matthias continued. “If Wylan wakes up, so to speak, then it is seemingly limited to the crew of the Ice Court job.”

“You are remarkably calm to see Jesper and I, but not Wylan”

“We may have been informed in advance about what to expect.” Another gift of Inej’s. Dirtyhands may deal in information and secrets but the Wraith held them all as well, and she was not as keen as him to hide them all. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Kaz,” Inej scolded him. She had perched next to him on the table and was taking small bites from a biscuit. “You told me not to answer their questions or give them any information I collected for you. I followed your instructions to the letter.”

“But not much beyond that, I assume.”

“They didn’t ask about Wylan before I told them that two days before I left I was checking on Wylan’s whereabouts at Jesper’s request.” Inej finished her biscuit and then smugly asked Jesper to pass the waffles.

“What are we planning to do about parem?” Apparently, Kaz had kept Jesper in the dark as well. 

“Hringkälla will still be our best chance. We can’t grab Kuwei before then without more variables and more risks. The original plan should work fine with some adjustments. The question you should be asking, Jesper, is what am I planning before that.” 

There was a moment of silence before Matthias sighed and gave in. “What are you planning to do until Hringkälla, demjin?”

“A great many things. Why should I tell the two of you?” Nina saw Jesper stifle a groan and Inej roll her eyes while Kaz kept his focus across the table at them.

“Because we can ruin your life otherwise?” Nina offered. It was true. They knew far more about the mysterious Kaz Brekker and his plans than most could even conceive of. There would certainly be high bidders for that information. But he could just as easily rat them out too. 

“Because it would be easier than finding someone else for the job.” Matthias proposed. He seemed to be weighing the risks in his head, planning out the strategy. “You know we have the skills to do it, the crew trusts us, and we’re the only two that went into the treasury.” 

“And I’ve been plenty more as Mila. We’ll still be your best chance at getting Kuwei.” Whether it was a test and they passed or Kaz was just poking fun at them by withholding information, Nina couldn’t tell. Kaz began to speak, but Nina wasn’t quite done bargaining. “We’ll agree to whatever your plans are—“

“Good,” Kaz interrupted.

“—if,” Nina cut back in, “you agree to a few conditions of our own.”

“And what might these be?”

“No tattoos for either of us.” Nina wasn’t eager about the marks and Matthias had certainly been opposed when they discussed it. Inej’s forearm was on display plenty during their voyage and it had sparked a few conversations about displays of loyalty. 

“The Dregs won’t trust you without them.”

“I doubt they would trust us with them.” She had never been close to the Dregs beyond Jesper and Inej. She could live without getting to know them once more. 

“You’ll lose any protection you’d get if you go to the Barrel.”

“That’s not a big threat for them,” Jesper said, hands hovering over his revolvers. Nina recognized the truth in Kaz’s warning though. 

“We don’t get any tattoos until the old man is ousted,” she amended. “We’ll join the Dregs if and only if you are the one in charge.” He already was in charge, Nina assumed, but Per Haskell would still hold the loyalty of the bruisers.

“Fine. What else.”

“We would like a house.” 

“A house, Helvar? Do you plan on abandoning the job so the two of you can go play husband and wife?” Matthias’s face turned a lovely shade of pink when Kaz suggested such a thing. 

“We are not married.” 

“We want a safe place of our own. We don’t want to live in the Slat or whatever broken down safehouse you’re planning on stashing us away in until you need our services.” Nina pointedly glanced around the cellar to emphasize her point. 

“A house is an unnecessary expense for this job.”

”Exactly how much are you worth in this timeline, Kaz?” Nina asked, changing topics. “I assumed you’d be playing the markets since you got your memories back.”

”Nina darling, I’m priceless,” he drawled with his raspy voice, resting his hands on his cane and leaning forward in his chair. She doubted Kaz Brekker would ever admit to being poorer than he was unless he was on a job. Pride was a good path to either honesty or overexaggeration. 

“Then surely you can afford to get us a house.”

“Want other requests then, since you seem intent on draining my coffers?”

”If you’re inclined to be so generous, I’ll get you a list.” 

Matthias nodded. They didn’t need to make any more requests, Kaz had agreed too easily. He’d either be very accommodating or very strict with any further requests. 

Or just be an ass about whatever plans he had come up with for them. 

“The deal is the deal.” Kaz offered.

”The deal is the deal,” they responded in kind. 

To the surprise of everyone in the cellar, perhaps even Kaz himself, he told them. It was a hairbrained scheme, but the foundations for it were solid, set up by Kaz himself in the years of his second chance. 

It was asking a lot of both Nina and Matthias. His plan would put them in the public eye. While Nina was better at handling attention than Matthias, they both had been looking forward to the anonymity they would have in Ketterdam this time around. 

 A Fjerdan merchant and his Ravkan wife who moved to Kerch to live together away from the dangers of their countries if their love came out. They have been fairly elusive in their business dealings, but are rather sought after trade partners. 

If Nina had to guess, Kaz had been conducting business under Matthias’s new pseudonym since he had gotten back. 

He outlined his expectations, a few notable events, the current trades and deals underway. Kaz kept some details hidden, of course, but Nina saw this as what it truly was: a display of trust. He had no leverage over them. No contracts, debts, or promises of freedom to offer. He didn’t need them for his plans, but he wanted them and the only thing he had to offer to keep them there was trust. 

Trust and waffles. 

When he had finished explaining, Kaz took a bag from where Inej had set it behind his chair and tossed it to Matthias, leaving no time for questions. “Get changed,” he instructed. “We have work to do.” 

Jesper and Inej followed him out of the cellar, chatting quietly.

They did not talk as Nina lightly tailored them and they put on the new respectable black clothes. A few minutes later, they rejoined their crew on the streets of Ketterdam and made their way to the Zelvar District.

Chapter Text

Matthias was shocked to be led to a part of the city he recognized. 

He had been dropped off at a corner near here the night of the Smeet mission by one of the Dregs, Specht, he thinks the man’s name was, to keep watch in case the lawyer left the gambling parlour early. He could see the stoop he had hid by, the corner where Kaz had returned the whistle, and, indeed, the house he had been an accomplice in stealing from. 

The homes were far more dour than those in Elling or Djerholm, each painted a bland gray or white, or left with bare bricks, but they were of a similar construction to the brightly colored townhouses of Fjerda. He supposed they were trying to be respectable, as all Kerch merchants strived to be, as he would now have to pretend to strive for, but Matthias thought they were rather boring. 

In Fjerda, the houses squished side to side were celebrated for their individuality, each boasting personal touches from the family or vestiges to Djel made by their ancestors. Here, there was nothing. As if each house contained a ghost. As if any sense of self was to be tucked away from public view.

Kerch was a backwards country. 

If Kaz Brekker thought Matthias could portray a believable merchant, he was sorely mistaken.

“What are you thinking about?” Inej asked softly. He hadn’t noticed her break off from the group to join him slightly behind, but that was nothing new. 

“Kerch architecture,” he replied and chuckled when her nose scrunched up at the comment. 

“It’s all so overbearing.”

“It suits the lifestyle then,” Matthias responded. He was born into a small village, destined to be a hunter or farmer or fisherman. His life changed again to grieving, training, following orders, and doing good for the world and his people. Or, more accurately, what he had been told was god for the world. A storm and a girl changed the course of his life once more until he was living for revenge and survival. He had died fighting for a cause and seeing the best in people. He had died in Nina’s arms, someone he once thought an enemy, shot by a boy who was so much like he had been. 

He had no place here in a place of scheming thieves and political plots. Every moment he had spent in Kerch he had felt out of his depth. Beyond the fact that he should not be here at all, he had little faith in himself to play the part. He was no merchant. No cut throat businessman. 

He was a man.

Just a man. 

A man whose life had been twisted and guided by fate and Djel’s hand.

He was not perfect, not even close. He had hurt a great deal of Grisha and taken many lives in Hellgate and the Barrel. But throughout it all, he had tried to be good. He had died trying to be better. 

The thought of Kaz’s plan daunted Matthias. Would he even be able to find peace and happiness with Nina and work towards a better world when he would be living a lie? 

Decency, Kaz’s old words echoed in his ears, like cheap cologne. 

Did being a decent man make him a good one? He had lied to Brum in the treasury, but he did it to save Nina. He had sold out the security measures of the Ice Court for a pardon, but he had not been made to lie during all of their schemes. 

So who’s the hardest mark to swindle? Nina had asked in the Ketterdam suite. The toughest mark, Kaz responded, is an honest one. Matthias was either not an honest man or Kaz did not have as much experience tricking and cheating people as he thought. 

Jarl Brum and the drüskelle had manipulated him into becoming hateful. They had taken the fear and grief that came from his family’s death and used it to transform the innocence of his boyhood into a weapon or prejudice. He would like to believe his parents had raised him as an honest man. Would a soul more pure have listened to the terrible lies they told? Was he tricked, or had he just wanted to listen that he hadn’t cared?

He had not been a good man when he met Nina. He knew that now. But he still thought that he had been a decent one. And yet, Nina had tricked him too. She had the best intentions at heart, he knew that now, but he had still been tricked and hurt by her actions. 

Was the man Kaz wanted him to be an honest one? A good or decent man? Matthias wasn’t sure he would even be able to portray one.

“Perhaps, this one will suit you more,” Inej said, pulling him out of his thoughts. Whether she was talking about the townhouse Kaz was unlocking the door to, beige bricks with a dark wooden front door, or the new life he was about to step into, Matthias didn’t know. 

As their small party shuffled through the doors, Matthias found it difficult to focus on the space, like Nina and Jesper were. Their heads swiveled around, taking in every detail. Nina looked like she already had a list of improvements she wanted to make. 

“Give us the tour, Kaz!” Jesper called. He was already halfway down the hallway, opening doors and peering into closets and rooms. 

Kaz simply checked the time and shook his head. “I have a meeting to get to. Inej can show you around.” 

Inej, who was halfway out the door again, probably to tail Kaz for whatever dark deed he was off to commit, turned back around, giddily. She quickly joined Nina and Jesper and started chatting about the different rooms and decorations. 

Matthias was too distracted to hear. He didn’t leave the foyer to join the others.

“Ask your question, Helvar,” Kaz instructed once they had made it upstairs. “I wasn’t lying about the meeting.”

There were a few things on his mind. That Kaz could tell just by looking was another reason he was a bad fit at this plan. He was no actor or spy. He was trained for combat, not espionage. 

Matthias settled on the easiest question first. “Did Cornelius Smeet’s neighbors actually move out or do I need to worry about vengeful ghosts haunting this house?”  It hadn’t escaped his notice that Kaz had bought the property directly adjacent to the lawyer. Whatever brief hope he had harbored of keeping his new home free from too many schemes died the moment Kaz turned onto the path to the door. 

“They decided to move to Zeirfoort to explore more lucrative business options.” Matthias assumed Kaz had a hand in their change of fates, but he decided to call it coincidence for the sake of his conscience. They were alive, and that was a good condition to be left in after being in Kaz Brekker’s way. “Your real question?” Kaz prompted, clearly catching Matthias's deflection. 

“To what end? 

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific, unfortunately.”

Matthias signed and ran his hand through his hair. Kaz was not going to make this easy for him. “I do not belong here.”

“Yes, I think the cold and gloom of Fjerda suit you much better.”

“I am not supposed to be there either,” he amended. “I was supposed to be returned to Djel. I was returned to the waters. If anyone can figure out why, you would have already.” He couldn’t meet Kaz’s eyes, but he could feel the cold consideration.

“Perhaps it was Djel, Ghezen, or the Saints,” Kaz was unserious, but Matthias had considered it.  

“It couldn’t have been Djel.” They were words Matthias had not yet said aloud. He had not been brave enough to voice the thought that had been haunting the dark corners of his mind for weeks. He was afraid to tell Nina. He wasn’t sure why he was telling Kaz now. “It would be… it is unnatural.” 

Maybe that was what bothered him the most. Every thought of second chances and improving the future was dulled and rusted by the inherent sense of wrongness. People were not supposed to live after they died. Even Grisha, the people he had once thought abominations, considered it abhorrent. And now, he was living with that fact as a burden. ”I am a dead man walking, demjin.”

When Matthias met his gaze at last, Kaz’s eyes held the same intensity he calculated odds with, but there was consideration and familiarity he had never seen before. ”Welcome to Barrel life, Helvar. We all are.” 

With that, Kaz turned away and opened the door. 

“Tell Nina to work on your accent,” he added before shutting it behind him. “Your Kerch still sounds like a thug’s.”

Chapter Text

What am I doing here?

The old familiar question rang through Wylan’s head, bringing with it a headache. 

He was in the lab, previously Plumje’s nursery, except it wasn’t either. It was his childhood room.

He remembered going to bed last night in the master bedroom, waiting for Jesper to get back from a stakeout with Kaz. 

He also remembered crawling into this bed after a particularly uncomfortable meal with his father and Alys, even though the other half of his brain remembered throwing it out months ago. 

His father. 

The thought of him brought another wave of contradictory memories. 

Jan Van Eck. One of the most respectable members of the Merchant Council. The delusional and disgraced father of up and coming businessman Wylan Van Eck. 

Unlucky, to have had so many bad investments as of late. 

Unlucky, to have crossed Kaz Brekker. 

Kaz Brekker. That was a name Wylan could have sworn he did not know yesterday. But he knew Kaz.

He knew Kaz Brekker better than most did. And Kaz knew him better than most too. 

They had gone to the Ice Court together, but the last time Wylan had been to Fjerda, it had been for an embassy dinner. 

Kaz had broken into his house and rewrote a will and Wylan’s fate just because he could. 

He knew the way in because he had stolen the DeKappel painting from the Van Eck gallery. Except, that painting was never stolen, not in a way that Wylan’s father could ever report it.

The two conflicting memories fought for dominance in Wylan’s head. One, where he woke up to his father screaming about the missing painting and calling the Stadwatch. One, where he woke up to a rage far worse. His father had destroyed furniture and instead called for his lawyer, but the DeKappel remained on display.  

What am I doing here? 

The question cut through the cacophony of overlapping memories and thoughts. It had taken on a new tone, inquisitive instead of desperate confusion. There was a problem to solve, and, surprisingly, Wylan felt sure enough in his intelligence that he could find the solution. 

Fighting through the headache, he dressed quickly, half expecting a different face in the mirror when he glanced in it. Relief flooded him. He was still Wylan, though he looked a bit younger than he expected. Why would he have been expecting someone else?

The halls to the gallery were the same as they were both yesterdays. The security measures had been removed after either the theft or the non-theft, so Wylan had no trouble getting into the room. 

The painting was there, which answered one question, but left many more. Had the memories of the Barrel and the Ice Court and the Dregs been only a dream? 

As he moved closer to the painting, he began to pick up on details he never would have before.

Wylan enjoyed puzzles. He had a habit of cataloguing information. It kept him calm in crowded situations. Even if, until Jesper, he believed himself too stupid to use it. Until Kaz, he had always looked, but never seen. 

Use your eyes, merchling, he had instructed. So Wylan did. 

He had never seen his father’s DeKappel up close. There was too much security and Jan Van Eck had not wanted his idiot son ruining anything. Luckily, he had seen others. The painter was a master, but his strokes and colors were dour and serious, Kerch to his very soul, even if he pursued art over business. 

The painting before him radiated hope from the lines and figures, even though from a far, it looked the same. Though it was a replica, they didn’t bother hiding any technical mistakes. Of which, there were few. Whoever painted this one, did not do it for money or popularity despite being good at it. They seemed to enjoy the process. 

In the corner was a squiggle. A signature Wylan could never hope to read, but he still recognized it. He had traced the one on the back of the small portrait Jesper had taken from St. Hilda’s enough times to recognize the shape of it. He had seen her finish each painting she had done after returning to Ketterdam with the same swirling flourish. 

Somehow, his mother had painted this. 

Somehow, Wylan amended, Kaz had gotten his mother to paint this and then broke in and still stole the DeKappel. 

Wylan looked at the painting again. He could picture his mother mixing the colors, hopefully far away from Saint Hilde now. Kaz may not have taken the risk, but Jesper would have.  

Jesper. 

Jesper, who was not as inconspicuous as he seemed to believe, had been tailing him for over a year. Not that Wylan had known who he was or even suspected that it was anything more than coincidence that the handsome Zemini boy with perfect lips kept appearing at the edges of crowds. A few times he had thought about introducing himself. 

There were memories without him and the same exact memories with him there too. As if Wylan had lived the same life twice, but in one of them, the Crows had found him sooner. 

Did they remember too?

He wanted to reach out and touch the painting, but he resisted. The section that his eyes hovered over was dark and shadowed, but Wylan could make out the faint outline of a stylized crow. The same crow seen on Dirtyhand’s cane. 

All signs pointed to yes.

He was broken out of his stupor by the gallery doors opening. 

“Mister Wylan, your father has been looking for you,” the servant said, “He wants to see you in his office at once.” 

With no reason to argue, Wylan followed and let his mind wander on the way. Usually the thought of going to his father’s office had terrified him. It meant lessons or shaming or lectures about being a disappointment to the family name. Wylan did his best to recreate that sense of dread outwardly, but that office was his and Wylan could not be scared of it. 

He knew which floorboards creaked. He knew the ones that would break though onto the dining room table if a vial of auric acid was dropped on them. He knew Inej’s favorite hiding spot and Jesper’s favorite spot to lounge while reading Wylan the business reports. Kaz had taught him how to pick the locks outside of the windows before declaring that if Wylan could pick them, they were too easy to crack and Jesper needed to make new ones. 

Wylan focused on the portrait of Martin Van Eck. Despite all of the changes he had made after taking control of the household, he couldn’t bring himself to remove his great-great-grandfather. Not for the prosperity he brought to the family fortunes, but the reminder of the night Kaz changed his fate. Not just with a swapped will and a stolen seal, but with the advice that Wylan might almost consider kindness.

You’re not weak because you can’t read. You’re weak because you’re afraid of people seeing your weakness. Of all of the rooms in the house to be told that, the office his father used to taunt and belittle him was perhaps the most poetic. We can endure all kinds of pain. It’s shame that eats men whole. 

Wylan would not meet his father and feel shame. He had learned through trial and struggle that he was not weak anymore. He had never been weak even when told that he was. 

Jan Van Eck was sitting at his ornate desk, sporting a barely concealed grin. The wide, glossy desk did not survive his remodeling of the office. Not the velvet, throne-like chair that accompanied it. They looked tacky compared to the plain, comfortable furniture that Wylan and Jesper had picked out.

His father cleared his throat, drawing Wylan’s attention back to him. “I’ve secured you a position at the music school in Belendt.”

Oh. At least Wylan knew what day it was now. 

This could work.

“A personal secretary has been hired on,” his father continued, “and will meet you at the school. He will handle any mail or business beyond your capabilities. It is a ridiculous waste of both money and time, but I must accept what is possible where you are concerned.”

“For how long?” Wylan asked. It is what he had asked before and he was too distracted by the plans forming in his mind to think of anything more witty. 

His father shrugged. “As long as it takes people to forget I had a son.” Instinctively, Wylan made a face at that. Not the one that was likely expected. It was more akin to someone’s reaction after biting into a lemon. Jan Van Eck did not notice the difference. “Oh, don’t look at me with that wounded expression, Wylan. I am honest, not cruel—” I am superstitious, not stupid, Matthias had said the first time he saw the man in the private rooms of the Crow Club. You can be both, you know, Kaz had responded. “—This is best for both of us. You’ll be spared the impossible task of trying to step into the role of a merchant’s son, and I’ll be spared the embarrassment of watching you attempt it.”

He pushed an envelope across the desk. Even though he knew it was blank, Wylan still obediently picked it up. He was half tempted to open it to ruin his father’s plan. The small stack of kruge for travel was much easier to take. 

“These are your enrollment papers, and enough money to see you to Belendt. Once you’re there, have your secretary see the bursar. An account has been opened in your name.” The generosity should have been the first hint of something amiss. Wylan was a bit mad at his other self for not noticing, but he wouldn’t have lived the life if he had been the wiser. “I’ve also arranged for chaperones to travel with you on the browboat.”

He knew there would be no convincing his father to allow him to travel alone, but it may be suspicious if he didn’t try. “I can get to Belendt.”

“You’ve never traveled outside Ketterdam on your own, and this is not the time to start.” Wylan had barely traveled within Ketterdam by himself at this point in his life. He had defended himself because of humiliation last time, but on this occasion, his father had a point. “Miggson and Prior have business to see to for me in Belendt. They’ll escort you there and ensure that you’re successfully situated. Understood?”

“Yes, Father,” Wylan said before leaving the room. 

His brief goodbye to Alys went the same, though he added a few more comments about her continuing singing lessons. Anything to annoy his father a bit more. 

After that, he got to work.

The servant quarters weren’t an acceptable place for heirs of great fortunes, but Wylan hid down here enough for the servants to look the other way and he had spent enough time down here with Jesper when he was in charge of the household that he knew his way around.

“Excuse me,” he asked a younger servant looking through one of the cabinets in the laundry room. She was a couple years his senior. “Do you know how to remove these stains? I’m leaving for Belandt tonight and wanted to take it with me.” He had a shirt in his hands, one with fresh paint splattered across it. It was not the most convincing lie, but he was working on a tight schedule. 

When the servant, Lotje, he thought she was called, took the shirt and walked off, Wylan made quick work of grabbing what he needed from the cabinet. 

There were few places one could acquire the chemicals needed for what he had planned, but if he played his cards right, he would have access to all of them without leaving the Van Eck house.

Turpentine and charcoal had been picked up from the old art room where he also stained his shirt. The silver polish and carbolic soap from the butler’s closet had been his second stop. A variety of chemicals and solvents made it into his bag from the laundry cabinet while Lotje was distracted. Wylan’s last stop was the kitchen where he grabbed salt, vinegar, sodium bicarbonate, and brandy. After a moment of consideration, he grabbed a sharp knife as well. 

His old room didn’t have the ventilation it needed for him to do this safely, but he didn’t intend to work in the tannery this time around, so Wylan supposed his lungs would be able to handle one afternoon of breathing in the fumes that the open window couldn’t take care of. 

By eight bells, Wylan was all packed and prepared for his ride on the browboats. His most important belongings were tucked into his suitcase. His satchel had the most raggedy clothes he could find, the kruge, his knife, and all the goodies he spent the afternoon constructing. 

Once more, nobody came to say goodbye, but fortunately, Wylan couldn’t be bothered to care.

Chapter Text

His father was nowhere to be seen. Even his study stood empty when Wylan had knocked on his way to the foyer. It wasn’t unexpected, but this small, final abandonment still struck him as it had before.

Alone once more, Wylan faced down Miggson and Prior as the clock struck  eight bells.

They looked the same as they had, but Wylan found himself unimpressed. They were broad-shouldered and bulky, yes, but no more so than the drüskelle from the Ice Court or Pekka’s thugs. From their glares to their barely concealed scars and tattoos, there was nothing about them that was scarier than the friends he had made in the Barrel. 

If he had to guess, Wylan may have spent more time there than they had. Miggson’s overcoat was pushed up to reveal his forearms and they were both bare. Of course his father would only hire hitmen who weren’t from the Barrel. If he weren’t so pretentious, he may have actually succeeded in getting rid of his son. 

Overall, Wylan was grateful that he hadn’t. A small part of him remained annoyed that his father probably hadn’t bothered to waste the money on better assassins. 

“Are you ready, Mr. Van Eck?” Prior asked. 

“Yes, I believe I am,” he responded. The thugs grinned ever so slightly at the waver in his voice. Snarling was an apter description. Wylan was much better at concealing his glee at the successful deception then they were. 

The walk to the browboat docks was rather uneventful. Miggson begrudgingly offered to take the suitcase, trying and failing to be a good chaperone. Wylan declined, despite struggling with the bag, as he wondered how it had taken him so long last time to figure out the plot against him. 

He kept his eyes towards the roofline for most of the journey. He suspected Inej would be on their tail. There was no sign of her, but that was hardly new. 

Paying the fare went smoothly. As did queueing to board the boat. 

However, once it was Wylan’s turn to board, he lost his balance and stumbled while picking up his suitcase. It splashed loudly as it hit the waters in the canal, but Miggson’s whiteknuckled grip on his arm kept Wylan from joining it. 

“My bag!” Wylan cried out. He thought about Alys crying in the crypt and tried to form his face into the same shape, willing tears to form. 

“Leave it,” Prior demanded, pushing Wylan towards the boat. 

Wylan kept his feet planted. 

“B-but, but…” Wylan blubbered. “My flute was in there!” The other passengers were beginning to look annoyed at the delay. He needed them to be a touch more irritated, so he continued, “How am I supposed to go t-to music school with-without my f-f-flute?” 

He was no actor, but Wylan thought his performance was going quite well. The hiccups might have been pushing it. Nina would be proud.

Both of his escorts were herding him onto the ship so he could no longer resist. 

“Wylan Van Eck,” he said  with shaken breath as he wiped his mostly dry eyes, “a stupid boy who showed up to the music institute without a musical instrument. Is that what you want people to think of me?” He was still shaky, but he knew his voice carried over to the other passengers. 

“Keep your voice down and stop making a scene.”

It was tempting to continue to make a fool of himself just to be stubborn, but Wylan had had his fun, so he sat obediently and waited for the ship to embark. Hopefully, it had been enough for other passengers to remember his name, or at least there was a young boy with two aggressive protectors on his way to music school. 

His bag should be fine if someone fished it out within the next day. He hadn’t had time to fully test the modified baleen he had smeared around the seams, but the case itself was of fine make and would last a good deal of time on its own. The rocks he had thrown in with clothing, valuables, and waterproof lab supplies should be enough to keep it at the bottom of the canal.

His flute sat safely in his satchel, right next to a few smoke bombs. He had tried something new with the bomb casing. In theory, these would not need an ignition, but would slowly activate through contact with water. 

It looked like they worked in practice, as well, because the one he had dropped along with his suitcase was slowly producing a thick fog around the boat. 

Good. An extra bit of cover wouldn’t hurt. 

As he was herded into seats amongst the passengers, the nerves finally started to hit him. There were too many places this could go wrong. He had changed too many details. 

.At the very least, his pale face and shaken hands must have contributed to his performance when he announced he needed to head to the deck for some fresh air. 

He stopped in a supply closet on the way, quickly changing the fine clothing for the spare he had taken. His overcoat would hide most of the changes, but he wasn’t too worried about Miggson and Prior being observant enough to notice the homespun trousers. 

The air was tolerable. He wouldn’t call it fresh. The cigar smoke from the nearby gambling parlours and the exhaust from factories carried on the wind was a scent he hadn’t missed from the Barrel. It was familiar though. 

Wylan scanned the roof tops again, still to no avail, before setting to work. Another water activated smoke bomb was dropped into the canals. He tucked the baleen into his gums. He would have wedged it into his teeth before leaving as he had with Raske’s version, but this one was still a prototype and he wasn’t going to risk it. Then, perhaps most risky of all, he dipped a sewing needle into a small vial and tucked it up his sleeve. 

Slight of hand was a trick he had watched Kaz perform many times, but Wylan could never figure out just how it was done. He had tried to replicate the disappearing pen trick Kaz was so fond of, but he could never get the angle correct. 

This trick would not require showmanship or calculated sightlines. He just needed them not to notice. 

Their lumbering steps brought back the annoyance at his father’s choice of hitman. Sure, nobody could be unnoticeable as Inej, but plenty of assassins could be quiet. 

Or maybe his father had wanted him to die afraid. 

Wylan had given up on trying to live up to his father’s wants.

There was no preamble, no threat, as Prior’s hands wrapped tightly around his throats. 

Wylan croaked and clawed at Prior’s wrists. The man’s iron grip was not a memory he was pleased to relive, especially as he was lifted up and pushed against the railing. 

Black spots began to fill his vision and the sweet voices of his mother and Jesper called to him. 

His panic became real. They had been interrupted last time and Wylan had been assuming it would happen again. If he had miscalculated, if he had interfered too much, what would happen to—

“You there! What’s going on?”

Prior’s grip loosened and Wylan now had two reasons to sign in relief. His toes made contact with the deck, and he steadied his stance.

“Nothing at all,” said Miggson, turning to face the stranger. “We just caught this fellow looking through the other passenger’s belongings.” 

“Shall I … shall I fetch the stadwatch then? There are two officers in the cabin.”

“We’ve already alerted the captain,” said Miggson. “We’ll be dropping him at the stadwatch post at the next stop.”

“Well, I’m glad you fellows were being so vigilant.” 

The man turned to go and the boat lurched. 

When Miggson and Prior turned back around, Wylan had not jumped into the canal. He could have, the mist would make it difficult to track him and with the baleen, he’d have more time underwater than his pursuers. 

But he wanted to be believable.

He wanted to be presumed dead and away from his father’s attention. If tonight was supposed to erase him from the ledger, Wylan would let them. 

It was the perfect setup. Handed to him on a silver platter by his father’s need to maintain his image of loving father.

He was simply going to music school. That’s where Jan Van Eck would claim his son is.

Until everyone forgets I have a son.

It would be a bad reflection on his investments if the guards he hired for a simple trip to Belendt couldn’t protect his son. 

It would spark too much change and paperwork if a councilman’s heir was killed on a browboat. 

So, Wylan struggled as Prior began to squeeze his throat once more. It was only half faked. 

When the breath was almost gone, he gasped as best he could and ceased his movements, feigning unconsciousness. As he slouched against the side of the boat, still held up by the hand around his throat, he slipped the needle out of his sleeve and pierced it into his wrist. 

The effect was almost immediate, which was good for the performance, but bad for his plan.  His muscles felt sluggish and his pulse slowed. When he was released, he collapsed like a ragdoll onto the deck and his lungs barely inhaled. 

One of the thugs, Wylan couldn’t tell though his bleary vision and half opened eyes, checked his pulse. It must have been faint enough or slow enough to be acceptable because Wylan was lifted up like a sack of potatoes and unceremoniously dropped into the canal. 

Water rushed in and with every ounce of strength he still possessed, Wylan clung to his bag and bit down on the baleen, but he was weak from the drug in his veins and he was sinking fast. The last of his breath escaped him and the light filtering through the water began to fade right as the baleen snapped. 

The film covered his mouth and he began to breathe faster as the neutralizer he had added to the capsule began to activate his nerves and muscle control.

It had been a risk, but Wylan figured he had better chances than Kuwei at resisting the full effects of Genya Saffin’s false death poison, on the basis that Wylan probably had better chances than Kuwei at anything. Adjusting the potency and dosage may have helped, of course, but the best way to beat the odds was to cheat. 

There was no other splash in the water. No one was pursuing him. 

Wylan took a moment to orient himself before slowly swimming towards the Barrel. 

The canal is not what he would call sanitary, especially as he got closer to the intersections of East Stave. He tried to be grateful for the murky water because it hid him from the surface and kept him from seeing whatever was lurking at the bottom of the canal. 

He swam until he could the baleen began to loosen. His limbs began to feel numb again, from the cold, this time. He emerged from the waters soaked and coughing a few blocks away from the main thoroughfare. Wylan dragged himself onto the pavement, hidden by the crates waiting to be loaded onto the barge on his opposite side. 

It was good to be on solid land again. 

Wylan shrugged off the sopping overcoat and did his best to wring out his shirt and hair. Walking with wet socks and shoes wouldn’t be enjoyable, but he didn’t want to risk the time it would take for them to dry. 

The block around the Crow Club was bustling with people. Some wore the costumes of the Komedie Brute. Some were in high barrel flash. A few faces even looked familiar.

Keeg was guarding the door tonight with another member of the Dregs Wylan didn’t recognize. He was either a new recruit in this timeline, killed before Wylan started working with the gang, or someone Kaz didn’t trust enough to include in the auction plans.

Wylan followed a group of Mister Crimsons through the entrance, but was stopped by a hand around his arm. 

“Someone dunk you, kid?” The unknown guard asked.

”Something like that,” Wylan replied.

“Tough break,” Keeg added, “but you’ll have to warm up somewhere else. The Crow Club doesn’t serve drowned rats.” Wylan heard tales of not one, but two times Jesper had been tossed in the canal by unhappy creditors and went right back to the tables, so he knew that statement was false. 

But Wylan was unknown. He looked as poor as they come at the moment and welcoming him into the gambling halls would be a mark against the club’s reputation. 

“I’m not here to warm up,” he snapped at them. “Or play the tables. I’m looking for Dirtyhands.”

They froze at that. If he was less observant, he might have missed the way their hands dropped towards their gun belts. Wylan clearly wasn’t a threat but very few people actually sought Kaz out. Most who tried did so at their own detriment. 

“And why would you want to see Brekker?” Keeg asked suspiciously.

Wylan had pretended to be many people today, but slipping into the mask that Kaz always wore may have been the most difficult. He leveled his stare at Keeg and let a bit of the rage he felt towards his father off of its leash. His posture straightened and he pulled his lips back in a snarl. “Why,” he said, coolly, “would I tell you about my private dealings.” 

They weren’t scared or threatened as Wylan had hoped, but they weren’t looking at him like he was worthless anymore. “We still can’t let you in like that.”

”You can and you will, or you’ll have to answer to Brekker for making me late.” 

“How do we even know you have a meeting?”

”Ask him if you must.” Wylan half expected Kaz to turn him away if they asked, but it would be easier to handle one door guard than two. 

“Fine, but if he says you’re lying, be prepared to be beaten until you’re blue and then tossed back into the water”, said the unknown Dreg before retreating into the club. 

Wylan busied himself by looking through his satchel as he stood aside. Keeg was letting other patrons in or out, so he didn’t notice Wylan grabbing the last of the demo work he had in his bag. 

“Boss said he’s not expecting anyone,” said the bruiser as he returned. The gleam in his eye anticipating violence was not one Wylan enjoyed seeing. 

“Bastard,” Wylan muttered under his breath. “Very well,” he addressed the Dregs, raising his voice to carry, “I’ll see you fine gentlemen later.” He took a few steps away, hopefully out of their reach.

”Not so fast,” they both tried to close the distance, but Wylan kept backing away. The crowd parted around them, likely sensing a fight beginning, ”We made you a promise.” 

“Did you? I only heard empty threats.” 

Keeg lunged at him. 

Wylan managed to sidestep the grapple. He squeezed his eyes shut and threw the flash bomb at the ground as hard as he could. The bright light burned behind his eyelids, but he was already moving again. 

The pair had abandoned the door to pursue him and Wylan ran for it. He made it through right as the crowd began to recover. 

Hopefully Kaz would forgive him for the commotion. 

A few dealers and players were looking at him strangely. A couple guards, too. So, he adjusted his pace and walked through the club casually. Like he deserved to be there. 

A hush fell over the crowd when he knocked on the door to Kaz’s office. A few people gasped. Keeg and the other had recovered, but made no move to stop him. He could see their stunned faces out of the corner of his eye, frozen in the doorway.

The office door opened torturously slowly. 

Kaz Brekker didn’t look surprised to see him, but Wylan also thought there was a trace of confusion in  his dark eyes. 

Wordlessly, he opened the door and Wylan stepped inside.