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Chapter Text

Perhaps it is to be widely recognized that a single man, in good faith and good wealth, must be in want of a wife. And while this principle certainly applied to the vast majority of men, let it be known that Lord Brekker was most suitably found within the minority of this group. 

Despite the precarious situations he found himself in at every social gathering he begrudgingly attended, where the daughters of many noble men would bat their lashes and flutter their fans in his presence, he simply could not be bothered to give more than a cursory glare. 

For he had no need, nor want of any companion; much less one as hovering and omnipresent as a wife. His line of work was… sensitive. The hobbies he dabbled in were not ones that were desired by a Lady. His sensitive work kept him from home, awakened him at odd hours, and often had him in a bad mood. No one liked him when he was in one of his moods, which was more often than not. The bitterness and cruelty that had been dealt to him was what was given back. He did not have space, nor time frankly, for any of the sweetness and pleasantness of a Lady. 

That however did nothing to fend off the advances of the fair ladies of the city, many of whom would boldly approach him in ask of a dance. Only after the Lord would simply raise an arched brow and glance pointedly at his cane, would the woman color sheepishly while muttering apologies and niceties, before turning tail and all but running from the conversation. 

“One of these days, you are sure to be knocked off your feet, Lord Brekker, and all the world shall eagerly watch the man you become when the time comes,” chuckles the Count Van Eck, having witnessed the affairs of the young lord. 

“Well then, I do offer my condolences in advance for those waiting on a good show. Surely there are better forms of entertainment for the public to occupy themselves with,” he offers in response. 

“Well if it is better entertainment you look for then let me introduce you to my newest art collection” the man says with pride.

Brekker’s eyes gleam. “Do lead the way, My Lord,” he motions. 

“I do fear we have lost our touch for the finer things in life. The war has stolen so much from us all,” the Count mourns, as he walks under the marble arches and glass chandeliers of his summer home. 

Kaz barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes. “Indeed, ‘tis a shame. Pray, do tell how you managed to acquire such a grand collection. I, myself, have been looking to liven things up at the Manor”.

“Ah, well the most important thing is to know where to find a good seller. Then after that, it is simply security. Can’t be too careful this close to the harbor,” Van Eck boasts.

~

Before long, they enter a room, clad with pure white marble, filled with an array of stone sculptures and hung paintings. 

Lord Brekker takes his time observing each piece with a critical eye. He smiles roguishly when he sees what he’s been looking for. 

“Why, my Lord, do my eyes deceive me or is this a true DeKappel?”

“Your eyes tell no lies, Mr. Brekker! Took me half a year and nearly as much in shipping to bring this beauty to my humble abode in all this madness”.

“I was under the impression that all of DeKappel’s works had been lost to the war,” the Lord recounted.

“As was the impression of much of the world. I fought tooth and nail to bring this back from the clutches of the Ravkan government, insisting that only a Kerchman should hold their prized artist’s most prized piece,” said the Count, crossing his arms in disdain. 

“Those Ravkans would hardly know what to do with such natural talent. Regardless, you must do well to ensure it is kept in safe hands,” said Kaz, smirking at the irony of the Kerch nobility’s idolization of the piece, despite letting its creator die as a penniless sod on the Reaper’s Barge. 

“Indeed, I shall. Whatever I paid to bring it into my hands, I have surely spent triple in its protection. Vaulted glass panel coverings, locks on all corners, and enforced steel securing it to the wall. Any thief lucky enough to get through that will be shot down by rotating guards the second he steps out of this room!” Van Eck laughs boisterously. 

“Well, I am honored to have seen it with my very own eyes, my Lord, and I am confident in–,”

The door opened with a bang as a tall Zemeni man in Van Eck’s Laurel guard marched in.  “My Lord, there has been a disturbance in the ballroom. Duke Hoede is asking for you, most urgently” he says stiffly. The Count sighs, muttering to himself as he begins to exit the room. 

“Some other time, then, Lord Brekker. You, stay put and keep an eye on things here,” Van Eck says to the guard. Shortly after he leaves, the guard shuts the door and pulls off his hat. 

“Well, good to know the Count hasn’t forgotten the pitiful and nefarious upbringing of one Lord Brekker. He’s not even pretending to trust you at this point!” the Zemeni laughs. 

“It’s a good thing, then, that the feeling is quite mutual. Is Helvar still in the ballroom?”

“Yes, he’s waiting to intercept Van Eck and stall for time”.

“Good. Now, get over here and be of some use, Jesper.” 

With a snarky “Yes, my Lord”, Jesper made his way over to Kaz and handed him the lockpicks hidden in his uniform. 

“Where on Earth did you get a copy of Van Eck’s Guards uniform anyway? All the nobility have their own crafters and tailors. It would have been impossible to get a sketch and have it commissioned without someone finding out.” Jesper said, pulling at the too tight jacket.

“The same way I was able to get you on the guards’ roster. All the houses are short staffed after the Council of Tides sent the indentured men off to fight. They were practically lying in the rubbish for my nefariousness, as you put it” He replied, working the locks on the glass covering.  Kaz motioned to Jesper, and together they slowly removed the case and set it down soundlessly. 

“There, now you can deal with the rest of it,” He said, pointing to the steel encasing the edges of the infamous painting. 

Jesper nodded and began focusing his energy on the small particles that were packed together in metal. He deliberated with them, coaxing them out of their stubborn form and into something more malleable. Slowly, a cluster of misshapen steel began leaching out of the frame and into a small ball. 

Kaz, standing by the door with nothing but boredom written about him, glanced at his pocket watch and warned Jesper of the time. 

“Contrary to what you may think, this doesn’t just happen with the flick of a hand you know,” he huffed, sweat building on his forehead. 

Of course Kaz knew this, he was the one who persuaded Jesper into honing his craft under the guidance of a master, saying it would be of more use than simply letting it sit idle. He saw the way Jesper’s restlessness was slowly eating away at him, how his energy drained in all the wrong ways. 

Even in the long years they spent together on the frontlines, Jesper would return to the barracks with an air of unease and refuse to rest. He saw the sunken eyes and jittery limbs, and told himself that should they return home, he would see to it that Jesper no longer hid; at the very least, not from Kaz. 

“That should do it, boss,” Jesper said. 

Kaz peeled the painting off its display and gingerly rolled it up. From his coat, he slipped out a near identical copy and began the process of replacing the original with a very well designed fake. Of course, on close inspection, it was a very obvious fake. The burning lillies in the original painting had been replaced with white laurels, an homage to Van Eck. 

Kaz was rather proud of his work. Jesper thought he was a strange little bastard with a perverse sense of joy, but he’s just glad Kaz has at least one normal hobby that doesn’t lead to violence.

Once the painting was slotted in place, the two meticulously began returning the room to its original state with the fake secured under Van Eck’s many safety measures. 

Kaz handed Jesper the tools and slipped the original painting in his coat. 

“Jesper, return to the ballroom and remain there until the end of your shift. Do remind Helvar that we are to rendezvous at the Manor in four bells time. Should Van Eck ask, tell him I hastily called a carriage and returned to attend to urgent matters in the Manor. By then, I’ll stop by the Slat and lock this up in the vault.” he said, patting his coat. 

Nodding, Jesper shrugged on his coat and made his way to the door. The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall as he left and Kaz made his way down the opposite direction, towards the stables. 

Truthfully, Van Eck hadn’t done much to enter Lord Brekker’s bad books and while this job was not strictly necessary, it had provided a distraction. Jesper, in fact, had suggested it, after returning from the front and seeing the sorry state Kaz was in. 

Kaz hadn’t put up too many objections. He always found peace in the planning and execution of a scheme. When he heard of private discussions between barrel boss Pekka Rollins and uptight mercher Van Eck, well, he found cause to begin investigating. 

And the Dekappel? That was simply to prove that he could.

From what he picked up among the ballroom chatter, the two were partaking in a new business venture together, one that promised great returns and a possible solution to the war between Kerch and Ravka. Of course, royal gossip was largely unreliable, but all tall tales came from a root based in some truth.

~

As he turned the corner, Kaz heard the slight sighs and moans of a man. Rolling his eyes, he continued on, mentally berating couples and their inability to have patience, simply shucking their clothes in any dark hallway with no regard for propriety. 

But then he heard it. 

“No, wait, please stop!” a shrill voice said. 

His steps quickened without his notice. He moved towards the stairwell and was greeted by the sight of a lady, hardly older than himself, clutching the fabric of her corset and blouse to her chest as it began to slip, courtesy of the man unlacing them. Her eyes caught Kaz’s, wild and scared, with an undercurrent of something far darker. 

Kaz was never one to act without careful deliberation. Nothing he did was ever done without having been constructed and deconstructed, at a minimum of three times, for its flaws. He despised people that acted without thought or regard to the consequences, it was simply a guaranteed recipe for disaster. Looking back, oh, how right he was. 

Before his mind made any conscious decision to do so, however, his fist was already sailing towards the man with his hand up the lady’s blouse and his vision clouded with red. 

Chapter Text

Inej hadn’t been all there, to be entirely honest. 

After nearly five years of the same routine provided by Tante Heleen, there was hardly any variety to her life. So when they arrived at Van Eck’s evening soirée, she simply went where the motions took her. 

She knew her role. She readied the Lynx as Heleen liked, with painted spots on her collarbone and dark kohl lining her sharp eyes. She slipped herself a small capsule filled with willow bark powder to dull her senses, keeping her panic at bay, and allow the evening to pass with ease.

She stayed in the private smoking room with the rest of the girls, where the men would mingle and drink, without their sputtering wives and blushing daughters to witness them as they sat pretty girls on their laps and talked business. 

Eventually, a man would be too deep in his cups to stop his wandering hands. They would pull the girls into dark corners of the room, letting their inhibitions drop. At this point, Heleen instructed the girls to insist the man take them into the designated rooms on the second floor. This is how she would take stock of who entered and with which girl.

After the man was satiated and sent home, he would soon find a hefty bill from the Menagerie sitting discretely among his letters. Refusal to pay often led to a public release of the man’s name, bringing disgrace upon his family and social ostracization. If a noble man had no family and no shame, details would be spread regarding his particular taste in bedding practices. 

It was odd, Inej thought as she sat next to a nobleman and laughed prettily at some joke he attempted to make. Most people knew where these men disappeared to when they left the main hall, so why the pretenses of confidentiality and secrecy?

Still, she reasoned, information was a powerful tool, one that allowed Tante Heleen to control powerful men and build an empire atop which she sat. 

Just as Inej was growing slightly comfortable in her role, feigning interest in whatever some mercher would tell her and smiling as they explained things to her as though she was thick, a meaty hand grabbed at her thighs and shifted her away from the crowd. 

Pulling the fabric of her dress aside, sweaty lips pressed themselves against the soft skin of her shoulders and worked their way up her neck. While the man may have heard high breathy sighs and taken them as signs of pleasure, Inej was carefully practicing her breathing to keep herself from shoving the man off her. 

While the willow bark helped her with the pains of her nightly activities and kept her from vomiting on her clients, Inej hated how slow it made her reactions and perceptions. As though wading through muddy water, she noticed her arm being pulled and rose to her feet as fast as she could.

She glanced at the man leading her through the winding halls of Van Eck’s estate. Baron Daalman, son of Sir Willem Daalman, Knighted by the Council merely two years after being sent to the front with no existing family, her mind supplied.  

Miriam was chosen by him last time, Inej suddenly remembered. 

She had been the one to find the previous Fox, sitting bloodied on her silk sheets, after taking the Baron as a client. Inej had been the one to whisper comforting words and stroke her hair when Miriam awoke with screams each night for weeks after. 

She had also been the one to lay her to rest on the bodyman’s boat and watch as Miriam sailed off to the Reaper’s Barge, when the torture of being toyed with each night was too much for the young girl. 

As the stairwell to the second floor came into view, Inej began struggling in the Baron’s hold. 

“My Lord, I beg your pardon, I seem to have forgotten my shawl in the sitting room. If you would wait for me here, I will be sure to retrieve it with haste,” she pleaded. 

Baron Daalman turned abruptly and Inej saw his eyes flash with anger. 

“You ask a Baron to await your return like some lovelorn fool? How dare you think yourself worthy of my patience, you filthy wench” he sneered.

Inej did not mind words. Though they cut harsh and deep, they scabbed over faster than any physical wounds. So when she felt the stinging in her cheeks, she was surprised the baron had decided to use both verbal and physical assaults so readily. The foggy haze of her mind had her tripping over her feet in the recoil of the baron’s slap. 

When she felt the laces of her purple silks being undone and loosened, her heart stuttered in her chest. 

Tante Heleen had ingrained into all her girls that while they may be whores by trade, they were to always maintain propriety in the public eye. Any girl entertaining a man outside of the selected spaces would be stripped and thrown on the doorstep of the Menagerie, relieved of her work and her dignity, with Heleen branding her a “free-for-all”.

Oh Saints, please protect me, she begged.

“Please, my Lord, forgive me. Let us go up to the chambers, I shall do as you wish, you have my word,” she pleaded quietly, careful not to draw attention. 

Still, the baron continued his assault on her laces, pulling both the strings and the hair he hadn’t bothered to move aside, and ripping the dress from the back. 

“No, wait, please stop!” Inej yelled, clutching desperately to the front of the bodice. 

“I shall drag you through the great hall myself. Let the world see how much audacity the girls have these days. Like the last slut who I bedded, with no regard to her station. Nothing more than an insect beneath my shoe,” he muttered. 

Inej felt her blood coursing through her veins in hot white rage. Poor, sweet Miriam. How dare he speak ill of a young girl nary a day past six and ten years of age who he condemned to death.

Death was always a very real threat in her line of work. Whether it be at the hands of a rough client, some incurable disease, or the malfunctioning of the white powder the girls took to ward off undesired children, death was omnipresent and lurked at the door of the Menagerie. Sometimes, even Tante Heleen would go too far in her wicked punishments, starving a girl near to death or forcing her to slit her own wrists. Even then, the Tante would simply sigh and call the bodymen to clean up the mess. 

Tante Heleen had warned Inej that the next toe out of line would rid the girl of her tethers to this world and see her into the next. It frightened Inej, how much the fear of death no longer scared her.

Her first punishment came within two months of her time in the pleasure house, when she fought back against a particularly rough man, bucking him off her and running into the Tante's office, still naive enough to think the older lady would help. Instead, Tante Heleen tied her up in the basement for a month and sent in her most ruthless clients with the promise that they would leave her alive.

Her latest punishment had her feet in shreds after the Tante had sliced up her soles to prevent her from escaping again and effectively robbing her of any freedom she had left. Still, Inej reasoned with herself, those moments of feeling the wind on her skin and sliver of sun on her face had been worth it. Even though months had passed, she still wrapped her feet under her stockings to prevent them from chafing on the ground.

Still , Inej thought wildly as she held tight to the front of her corset and glanced at the stairs behind them, if I can just make it look like an accident…

Just as she was about to turn around and push him down, Inej heard the hurried clicking of a cane on marble and locked eyes with a young Lord dressed for a funeral. 

Before Inej had a chance to placate both men, the man in black rushed forward and delivered a mean uppercut to the baron. Not allowing the man a chance to regain his footing, he followed up with a swing of his silver crow-headed cane.

With his eyes gone wide, Baron Daalman tipped backwards succumbing to the forces of gravity pulling him down the stairs. His hands flailed until they found purchase on Inej’s shoulders and began drawing her into his descent. 

A tight grip encased her wrist and allowed her the balance to regain her footing, while the Baron tumbled the rest of the way down. His head slammed into the corner of a step and he screamed in pain as his limbs rolled under him. 

Inej watched with sick pleasure as he fell, nearly grinning when she heard the crack of what sounded like a bone or two.

“Are you alright?”

Inej’s head whipped back at his voice, the sound of stone on stone. She glanced down at where his hand clasped around her wrist and, as though noticing for the first time, he quickly dropped his hand. Inej tried to pretend the action didn’t hurt something inside her when the man go pale and pull his gloves higher on his hand

“I… Yes, my Lord, thank–,” a gasp cut her off and both turned to see a maid standing in the corridor with a man in pure silk, a ruby red pin on his tie. 

“What on Ghezen’s green Earth has happened here?!” Count Van Eck exclaimed, flanked by two guards, one that seemed to make incredulous eyes at the young lord. 

Inej tried to control her breathing, wrapping her hands tightly around her form to keep herself from breaking down. Tante Heleen would have her head on a silver platter by the end of the night.

“Are you all alright, my dear? Look at you, you’re shaking like a leaf!” the young maid twittered about Inej, inspecting for injuries. She saw the eyes of the young Lord following along in what might have been concern. 

It was only then that Inej took stock of herself, quickly bringing her hands up over her chest as she stood heavily exposed in just her shift. 

Standing in the cold corridor, shivers ran up and down her body, Inej felt the heaviness of wool sitting on her shoulders. Enveloped in a sudden warmth, Inej turned to see the Lord had placed his coat around her; to protect her from the cold or her modesty, Inej was unsure. 

“Gentlemen, I demand an explanation!” 

The baron lifted himself to his feet, holding his crooked hand tenderly, “I think it is fairly obvious what happened here, my Lord.”

“I only did what any honorable young man would have done had he seen what the Baron Daalman was inflicting onto this young lady,” the Lord asserted, ignoring the pointed look on the guard’s face. The Baron opened his mouth to argue before being interrupted.

“You, maid, did you see what happened?” the Count demanded.

“Y-yes, my Lord. I was here only moments before Your Grace hurried over with the guards and witnessed the Baron tumble backwards. I saw the young Lady begin to fall as well, but the good Lord Brekker prevented it,” she said hurriedly. 

“Well, clearly this young Lady’s virtue is in shambles. Rosalia, take the lady to your chambers and find her something suitable to wear. The two of you,” he said, pointing to Daalman and Brekker, “follow me, we have matters to discuss”.

The maid, Rosalia, tenderly guided Inej to the servants quarters and sat her down on the small bed. After ruffling through her dresser, she produced a blouse and shawl for Inej to wear. 

She pointed Inej to the changing screen and allowed her the privacy to dress herself. 

Inej made her way to the wash basin and splashed water on her face in an effort to calm herself, not caring for the make-up she was currently ruining.

It’ll be alright, just keep it out of Heleen’s ears , she thought to herself. Oh who am I kidding, she’ll find out regardless of what I do. 

If nothing else, she had to try and minimize the damage. With a new resolve, Inej wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and made her way out of the room. 

“Do you know where Count Van Eck will be holding his meeting with the Lord and Baron?” she asked Rosalia. 

“They will likely be discussing the matter in the downstairs office, but my lady I do not believe we should intervene. We ought to wait for the Count to inform us of what to do! My lady, please!” she said, chasing after Inej who had already begun walking. 

They don’t recognize me as a Menagerie girl, Inej suddenly realized.

“I will not allow them to speak of matters concerning me without my presence, Rosalia”.

When she finally found the door to her destination, Inej paused. What would she say? How could she salvage her reputation and that of the Menagerie? From inside she heard raised voices and looked through the glass in the door. 

“I will not have news of this spreading and tarnishing my name and this estate!” the Count fumed, pacing from one side of the room to the other. 

Inej opened the door soundlessly and slipped inside with care. She remained unseen in the room, a passive observer to all of her life and now this. 

“The girl’s virtue is in ruins and I will not have that traced back to me. One of you will have to take responsibility for her”. 

“My Lord, you cannot honestly have her assailant take responsibility for her for the rest of her life,” Lord Brekker said cautiously. 

“And who, Sir, do you presume to name her attacker? I won’t stand to be slandered like this, the girl was being pushed around by Lord Brekker. I stepped in and he swept me aside with that blasted cane of his!” Baron Daalman exclaimed. 

“At ease, Gentlemen. No one saw what truly happened so we cannot take anyone’s word on the matter,” the Count sighed. 

“What of my word, my Lord?” Inej asked, stepping fully into the room. 

Nearly all three men jumped out of their coats, and had the situation not been so dire, Inej would have laughed at their faces. 

“My dear, I hadn’t known you were here. Please come, are you alright?” the Count beckoned her to his desk. 

Inej walked silently towards the men and saw the Lord’s eyes travel to the golden bells around her wrapped feet. Standing in front of the Count, she blurted, “Baron Daalman intercepted me as I left the Collection Room. He pushed me against the wall and began assaulting me. It was only when I screamed, did Lord Brekker come to my aid, my Lord”.

She contemplated spinning a story that would save both their images, but the thought of Daalman going free for his actions soured her tongue. 

“Very well then, Lord Brekker shall take you under his wing and bear the responsibility for your virtue. The two of you shall wed by the next fortnight and see to it that nothing of tonight leaves this room,” Count Van Eck decided with finality. 

“I beg your pardon, my Lord!?” 

“My Lord, you cannot honestly expect me to do this?” Both spoke at the same time, making their disbelief known.

“Well Lord Brekker, you said yourself, the poor lady should not be made to marry her assailant and this is the best way to satisfy all parties involved”. Inej glanced at the Lord beside her as the count continued his rant regarding the importance of reputations and protecting one’s name from the ill will of the public. The young lord had his head cocked to one side, his eyes far off, looking to be somewhere else all together. 

“And I for one would not want to take responsibility and marry some run thro-” cries the Baron. 

“Very well, I will take responsibility for this girl” Lord Brekker interrupts. 

 Inej pivoted on her toes and looked as if he grew a second head.

“Excellent! Lord Brekker, please begin making arrangements and we shall reconvene for the wedding. Now, come Gentlemen! There is still a party to attend to,” the Count rose from his seat and began making his way out the door. 

“I don’t pity the position you are in Lord Brekker,” the Baron said, eying Inej like she was a personal offense to him. 

What on Saints' Blessed Earth have I gotten myself into!?