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yesimwriting · 3 years

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Searing Starlight (chapter 3)

A/n I CANNOT believe how many people have supported this story,, I’m so excited to continue it with you guys :))

Just a reminder that while this is based off the show i hope to blend in some book aspects/vibes and this is just a fanfic and it won’t be completely accurate/follow the show 100% and any changes I make/parts I chose not to focus on are for the sake of the story I’m trying to tell

I can’t tell if I wish Kaz had let me go with Inej or not. She’s faster than I am, and considering that I have no real reason to be loyal to them, I’m a flight risk. That means I’m stuck here with only the Kaz Brekker and Jesper, who I tricked. I hadn’t exactly befriended Inej entirely in the few minutes I was alone with her, but she seemed more trustworthy than them. More susceptible to reason. And when she heard where I was from, who was responsible for raising me, something in the way she watched me changed. It was the oddest combination--a look of both tired sympathy and cautious admiration.

“What I don’t understand…” Jesper breaks the silence. “Is why you all go back there. He lets you leave, he gives you money--there’s no reason to return.”

I try not to let the question anger me. I shift awkwardly, scratching at my palm. “We tried leaving.” My stomach knots. “Once.” How do I make them understand? “He caught us because we young and stupid, and then he…” I exhale slowly. They’re just words. They don’t change anything. Whether I speak them or not, the events of my history aren’t different. “He picked the youngest, a girl only six months younger than me, and he slit her throat from ear to ear and took a finger of anyone that flinched as her blood splattered onto them. He said her blood was our penance and to live with knowing what we did to her would be our punishment.”

I don’t tell them that I was twelve. I don’t tell them Anya lied about my birthday on the records. I don’t tell them I’m missing the very tip of my pinky--a small punishment for the twitch of my lip. “When Kenya is truly angry, he never hurts you--he hurts those around you.” No one responds to that. They’re making me seem like such a bummer. “It’s not awful all the time...he borders on agreeable when you listen to him.”

Most days we have peace, left to our own devices as long as we accomplish certain goals. Their silence does little to unnerve me. After speaking so freely of such a nightmare, the desire to be rid of the taste of those words from my mouth is almost overwhelming, but I hold to the silence.

“Why has he never sold you to the grisha that are so desperate for you?”

Of course Kaz Brekker would ask a question like that. “He isn’t the business of money, he’s in the business of creating gods. He indentures people he thinks could one day become saints or something else entirely. He wants to be owed by the heavens.”

I watch Kaz carefully, a part of me curious about how someone like him could react to a goal like that. I can see him understanding the ambition of it all, but I can’t imagine himself a person of faith. Perhaps he’ll think it a clever trick. Perhaps he’ll even agree with Kenya.

He nods once; something I get nothing from.

Whatever. He can be coy and distant this entire time. They all can. I’ll be out of here soon enough, and I’ll find Anya. And if I can stop something bad from happening to Alina then that’s a bonus I’m willing to take risks for.

“That man is awful.”

Inej’s voice comes from right behind me. I snap my head around. “You’re in here.”

She nods once, oblivious to how shocking her sudden appearance is. She hands me a knapsack casually, staring at Kaz. “What’s the plan? We have six hours.”

I look around the room, only seeing one closed window and one closed door. “There’s one door in this room.”

“We take the Inferni to the ship.” He doesn’t even bother looking in my direction.

Okay, they can be mean to be all they want but they can’t ignore me. I don’t think I’ve ever been ignored in my entire life. Gods in the making get attention. It may be the cruel attention of fate, but it’s something.

“Did she come in through the window?”

Again, I am ignored.

“And then what, boss?” Jesper casually crosses the room, sitting down next to me on the small couch. It’s like I’m not even here. “We’d need to break into the Little Palace to get Alina.”

What? “You guys are going to--” No. No. I am not kidnapping Alina. And there’s no way she’d be in the Little Palace. “First off--if you want to kidnap Alina Starkov for whatever insane ploy you’re all playing at, you’d never find her at Little Palace. She’s not a Grisha and second--” I cut myself off, standing from my seat. “Why am I even telling you this? I shouldn’t be helping you kidnap her.”

Kaz’s eyes dart to me boredly. At least it’s some kind of acknowledgement of my existence. “I thought you two weren’t close.”

I seriously consider scorching him. Just a little. Not even enough to scar him, just enough to get him to shut up. “She’s still a person who has a right to her body and what happens to it.”

“Not that it’s any of your concern, but if we pull this off we get one million kruge.”

What does he think I’m going to say? ‘Okay, well as long as you’re doing it for a good reason.’ Is that the response he expects. “Okay, well that makes it fair.”

His eyes narrow skeptically, but Jesper is the one to ask, “Really?”

“No,” I scoff, slumping back into my seat, “I was being sarcastic.”

I drop my head back, neck craning over the back of the small couch. It isn’t exactly comfortable, but at least it makes it easier to ignore them. I’ve kept worse company for less. There’s an odd silence for a long second. I look forward without moving, I see Kaz vaguely gesture in Inej’s direction.

“Y/n,” Inej’s voice is refreshingly measured, “I think after the kinds of things we’ve gone through we understand that there’s some relativity in morality.”

I shift my head to the right so I can look at her. “...Yes, but you’re just forcing another girl into a similar situation.” Why is Alina even worth so much? “And why would anyone pay so much for Alina?”

Inej hesitates, glancing at Kaz and then back at me. “She’s a Sun Summoner.”

On instinct, I straighten entirely, my body rigid. They’re insane. “You all are cracked if you think Alina’s a Sun Summoner.” No. No. It couldn’t be her. “Bless your hearts, seriously, she’s--she was trained to be a map maker--she’s not…” None of them relax, none of them shift in any way. What good would lying about this bring them? They have no reason to lie about this. “Saints, I should have had more to drink while downstairs.”

So what if she’s a Sun Summoner? She didn’t ask to be one. She doesn’t deserve this. I cross my arms. “It doesn’t make this okay.”

“And would it make it okay if you were getting a cut of the profit?” What?

Kaz is looking at me in that tactful way. It takes all of my focus to not let myself become unnerved. “What?”

“If I offered you a cut, would you be able to push aside more protests in order to make working with you easier?”

Could I do it? Could I betray Alina? I drop my gaze away from his, opting to focus on the forgotten lantern on the coffee table in front of me. It flickers to life with no conscious prompting on my part. The flame is low and blue. Still though, Kaz notices it. What doesn’t he notice?

“I can help you do what I agreed to.” I swallow around a lump in my throat, “But I cannot help you kidnap Alina.”

The corner of his mouth tugs downwards. “We’re just going to get her to work with us.”

“Work with you?”

“We never said anything about taking her, and if Alina is really your friend you should know that the entire world is after her. Better us who can get her out of an unwanted situation quickly than the brutal General Kirigan who will hold her hostage until she does what he wants.”

...I guess he has a point. “Oh.” I’m not naive enough to think that their methods will revolve around making Alina comfortable, but perhaps it’s not as dark as I assumed. “Maybe I was a little quick to assume…” I trail off awkwardly, looking at Inej for some type of reassurance. She avoids my gaze.

I scratch the back of my arm, feeling like a spiraling child. I pick up my knapsack and place it on my lap, fiddling with the strap.

“Come on,” Kaz stands, adjusting his grip on his cane, “We only have until sunrise.”

As I stand, I pull down the skirt of my dress, suddenly aware of how inappropriate my clothing is for this late in the night. “Can--can I change first?”

It’s a sheepish question, leaving me feeling like a child.

“Five minutes,” Kaz offers, stepping out of the room with the rest of them.

Inej leaves last, feet more silent than a cat. She offers me the tiniest hint of a smile. Despite my reservations, I beam at her. Something about me finds her politeness endearing despite it all. I think she closes the door loudly on purpose, to assure me of privacy.

Normally changing in a building so full of drunk men would leave me nervous, but knowing Inej is outside leaves me feeling safe. I may not trust her with my life but something about her being tells me she values personal autonomy enough to protect it.

I sift through the belongings Inej brought me. Clean underwear I try not think of her searching for, a thin white dress, comfortable pants, shorts, a few casual shirts, my red hood, and a nightgown. When I get to the bottom of the bag, and I see the personal belongings Inej smuggled back for me, I’m moved so powerfully my hand flies to my mouth on instinct. She had brought the folded up piece of paper with the only information I’ve been able to find about Kamil, the book I left on my nightstand, the small candle holder Alina had given me the day before I was taken away, the blade Mal had given me the day I left, the deck of playing cards Anya had first taught me to play with, and my mother’s necklace. The silver north star on a long chain.

Before I can become too emotional, I take off the Crow’s Club T-shirt Inej had given me when I looked cold. I change into black pants, tucking the small blade Mal had given me into the pocket. The shirt I put on is pale blue, breaking the dark theme of everything around me. I fasten my red hood over my shoulders, basking in the familiar fabric. Lastly, I pull the north star necklace over my head, watching the blue orb with a black dot at its center blink at me in the light. I always found the stone at the pendant’s center odd. I'm quick to walk towards the door, nervous about what wasting their time could mean.

“Let’s do this,” I sigh, pushing open the door.

They all pause. Or maybe they were never moving. I try to imagine them interacting normally, but it’s hard to picture them as anything but intense and unflinching. There’s something odd about them, though, Jesper practically sulking and Kaz dropping his head despite Inej’s harsh stare.

“What kind of stone is in your necklace?”

I swear to the Saints that if Kaz Brekker tries to steal it I’ll melt those leather gloves into his hands. “Try to take it and--”

“That’s what I get for trying to make ‘polite conversation.’” He throws a look at Inej as he speaks the last two words.

Wait--did Inej tell him to try to make polite conversation? Wait--more importantly, did he just kind of, almost say something that borders on casual?

Wrinkling my nose, I let out a slight sigh. “Sorry.”

His eyebrows draw together quizzically. “Did you just apologize for assuming I’d steal from you?”

Great. Now I’m fully embarrassed. “Can we just go?”

“Not before meeting me, I hope.” The stranger’s voice means nothing to me, but the others tense at it immediately. What? The man continues to walk forward, his steps too casual and confident for me to trust. The stranger is quick to respond to the question on my face, “Pekka Rollins.”

Taglist: @ambrosia-v-black @fandomstuffff @boxofteenageideas @losers-club6 @cityofstaars @stillreadingfantasy @slatersbrekker @xoxo-aclown @alzawas-plug @nuwanda-greaser @swearingsolemnly @-thatgirloverthere-

General Taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7

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emmaannaelisabeth · 3 years

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hello it's me again, here to break your hearts with part two of "oh so I killed her?" tw: death

he's gotten used to the sound, the sound of breaking bones, of necks cracking. but somehow, this doesn't feel right. killing an innocent bird feels wrong, it's not what he does. kaz can kill men, countless of them; he's never encountered a man who hasn't sinned, a man who hasn't hurt someone else, who hasn't mistreated a woman, who hasn't cheated or sinned. they had it coming whether they wanted it or not.

but not this bird. kaz looks away. he can hear the crow caw weakly, he can hear the painful fluttering of broken wings, of twisted feathers. what have i done?

blue eyes fall upon the bird again, he looks into it's eyes, watches as it blinks slowly, as it breathes through and open beak. i can't let it suffer.

inej's voice ghosts his mind. mercy. he wanted him to show mercy, to be gently, to be kind. he isn't, he'll never be, not with her gone, but this, this he can do. this he can give her, this, his last gift, his last gently thing inside of him.

he bends down, and for some reason the bird relaxes, it looks... happy. kaz lets his thumb caress its head, he feels the blood on the feathers.

"i'm sorry", he whispers and closed his eyes. with one simple twist of his hand, he breaks its neck. the sound makes him shiver and he turns away.

standing up, he refuses to look behind him, he refuses to look at the bird he killed, he feels like he's killed one of his own. instead, he looks at the men. their bodies doesn't bother him; they took her from him, they deserved to die.

what did their lives mean when hers was lost? what right did they have to live when she had none?

it should've been me, he thinks. if anyone deserves death for what they've done, it's him. not her.

he turns his head and looks over his shoulder.

he stops breathing.

no.

he feels cold.

no, no, no.

his legs fail him, horror flashes through him.

nonononono.

his soul quivers with agony, he falls to his knees.

NO, NO, NO.

there are feathers in her hair, there's blood on her cheek.

"inej", he gasps, crawls to her side. blue eyes scan her desperately, scan her for any sign of life. "no, no, don't-"

she's lying still, her head turned to the side, her neck... saints, no... i did... i- it was...

tears prick in his eyes. "no..." his voice breaks, his ribcage convulses in a sob and his entire being shatters. "no, please no", he begs, puts his hand on her shoulder, shakes her.

her head falls more to the side, more than it should.

kaz feels his whole being want to throw himself away from her, water roars in his ears, he can feel the echoes of death on his skin. but he can't pull away, he can't stop shaking her, he can't stop himself from cupping her cheek, lifting her head so it's bent the right way.

"c'mon", he begs. "don't-" he sobs, and it's ugly, not like him. not even like the boy he was once.

this is the sound of a man in pieces, a man finally embracing the woman he loves when it's too late, a man who slowly realises he's killed himself by twisting his own hand. it wasn't even hard.

inej doesn't listen, she doesn't hear his pleas. and kaz completely falls apart; he pulls her into his arms, even though it makes him want to throw up. he squeezes her tight to his chest, buries his tear striped face in her hair, holds her head up to his shoulder.

"come back to me, come back to me", he sobs. "i swear, i'll do whatever you want, just... just come back. please."

but, just like jordie, she doesn't listen.

his mind is spiralling, his consciousness on the verge of collapsing, his soul disintegrating.

kaz can't think. so he lets his heart bleed onto her skin, as he presses his lips against her neck. "i love you", he whimpers, kisses her again, desperately, almost madly, as if his kisses could heal what his hands broke.

but they can't, he knows it better than anyone.

he lowers her head slightly, looks at her beautiful face. he wants to die. she's beautiful even in death. she's the most beautiful creature he's even seen.

and he blew the life out of her eyes. his only comfort is that it was quick, that it was painless; he knows, he's done it many times, he knows the trick.

he wants to say something, but he can't form the words. instead, he whimpers, closed his eyes and kisses her forehead. if he never had the courage to let his lips entwine with hers when she was alive, he won't do it now. he won't do it now, not when she isn't able to tell him it's okay.

he lets his lips linger at her hairline; he takes every horrid memory of dead hands on his body as they come, he lets his demons run into his arms, he lets them in. there's no point in shutting them out now, not anymore.

crystal tears roll down his cheeks, spill onto her perfect skin. and he bows his head, rests his forehead against hers.

he finds himself doing something he never thought he would. he finds himself doing something he couldn't find the concentration to do when he laid in bed so long ago, thinking about cards and tricks. he finds himself praying.

Saints, if you hear me, take her home.

#death trope #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kaz x inej #kanej #this is so sad omg im sorry #soc #six of crows duology #six of crows #leigh bardugo #crooked kingdom

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musicallisto · 3 years

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Hi, congrats on 800 followers! Can I please get a Six of Crows ship? I’m have short brown hair (I dyed red last week) and green eyes. I don't mind if im shipped with a girl or a boy. I like reading (no romantic novels), music and photography. I'm Aquarius. I’m very curious. I'm a little shy and even cold at first. I’m not good with feelings, I mostly keep them to myself if I can, but I care deeply for my loved ones and would do anything to help them, even if I'm not very good at giving advice. ☆

hi! here’s your vanilla milkshake, I hope you like it! I ship you with jesper fahey!

You don’t imagine the extent of my joy to be able to add a gif of an actual real person for Jesper... however shall I survive until Aprid 23rd?

For the longest time, you thought the world started and ended at your corner of Fjerda, in your frozen estate by the True Sea.

You were descented from minor Fjerdan nobility, and your father, jaded by Court Life and its political intrigues - and, unofficially, penniless after giving his all for the sempiternal wars on Ravka -, had decided to leave the capital and retire to his family’s estate by the sea a few years after you were born.

All you had ever known were the large, marbled corridors you’d spend entire afternoons wandering, daydreaming about adventures in the confines of the country - or living the lavish life of a true Fjerdan princess, in an outrageously enormous bed of satin sheets...

The house was spacious and beautiful, with a marvelous view over the sea, gently carrying its boats to and fro before you - and you’d stay there on the balcony in your flowy white dress, admiring the ocean until you couldn’t fight the chills of the night creeping up your spine anymore; but as tranquil and languid as your existence was, it was also terribly lonely.

All you longed for was a sibling, a friend, a partner in crime, someone you could explore the world and go on quests with...

... until a lighting bolt tore the silence, one night.

You couldn’t sleep, so you had gone on a walk by the shore as you often did - your father was never worried about it, since you knew the rocks and their cracks like the back of your hand, and would know the way back home even with your eyes closed.

But you were so absorbed by the distant twinkling of stars that you didn’t notice the shadows creeping up behind you until it was too late.

Screams in a language you can’t understand; an arm around your neck in a chokehold, another slipping under your knees; you thrash around, slice all you can, bite and claw at all you can grasp...

Your abductors know better than to let Fjerdan nobility get away from their grasp. They don’t know exactly who you are - but they’ve guessed from the distinguished aspect of your house that there’s a fine sum to gain from whoever will be willing to pay for you - your father for a ransom, or anyone else, in Kerch, who’ll make good use of your services.

Those brothels in Ketterdam pay good money for young girls, they hear - even more so for a Fjerdan pearl.

When they throw you on an overloaded carriage like a potato sack, you’re still yelling at the top of your lungs, pleading for your father, for one of your maids, for anyone to help you.

But no one hears.

You shed all the tears you have in the first night, tossed around in a dark chariot, off to somewhere unknown. Your father hasn’t prepared you for this - nothing, not even your books nor your fantastical imaginary adventures...

But you don’t intend on being sold off that easily. So you devise a plan to get away.

The first opportunity to break free presents itself when your kidnappers force you to board a ship; but they manage to catch you before you’ve run very far.

But second time’s the charm; with nothing better to do during the voyage than to bide your time and gnaw at your bonds, you’re able to slip from your captor’s watch, and blindly run through the harbor - just to get as far as possible from the stench of this floating carcass.

The first thing that strikes you is the odor. You’ve known the sea forever - it’s clear and bright as ice, and smells of fresh mornings and cold salt; never of this green rot that festers everywhere in these streets... and all those chimneys, all those people, who stare you down as you run down these grimy streets, barefoot in your off-white dress...

You understand that you’re farther from home than you’ve ever been, and it’s not a thrilling adventure, it’s terrifying and overwhelming, and you want nothing more than to burst into tears.

But you don’t, because a pair of strangers flag you down in a language you don’t understand.

A tall and lanky dark-skinned boy, wearing vibrant fabric and a self-assured grin; and possibly the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen in your life, all bright eyes and genuine frown.

Paralyzed, you open your mouth, once, twice, incapable of making the slightest sound; until the girl notices your visible discomfort, and, eyeing your pale eyes, asks in the slightest of Ravkan accents;

“Are you Fjerdan?”

You nod with all your soul. You’re ready to cling onto them both for dear life.

“What happened to you?”

Your voice fails you - you can’t explain it - you haven’t even comprehended it all. You were curled up in front of the fireplace just the night before...

“Do you have anywhere to go?”

You shake your head with despair, trying to blink back the tears.

“Come with us. We know someone who’ll help you.”

You don’t mull it over very long. Maybe it’s your sheltered uprbinging that has made you naive; maybe it’s the curiously comforting warmth you see in the Ravkan girl’s eyes; but you simply have no better option, and you can’t understand a word of Kerch, or wherever it is that this barbarian folk speak.

Although your two saviors start arguing, probably about whether or not they can reasonably take you in, your tear-stained cheeks and desperate vulnerability are enough to convince them - so you follow them.

Into the lair of the Dregs, of whom you’ve never heard - and of Kaz Brekker, who you know very well.

After all, he’s the infamous gangster who invaded your homeland, broke into the Ice Court, and stole the Shu boy - or so you saw your father read in the papers. To know that you are under the same roof as that lowlife would be enough to give your father a heart attack...

You’re half convinced that he’ll throw you back to the streets, but Nina and, surprisingly, Jesper as well, plead in your favor with a greatly convincing fervor. You learn that it’s probably because Kaz has much greater worries on his mind - the criminal group is planning on retrieving one of their own from the clutches of a treacherous business partner, or so you’ve gathered.

Either way, you’re more than happy that the terrifying and redoubtable Kaz Brekker is leaving you alone, and that you can enjoy Jesper’s company.

You two become unexpectedly good friends overtime. He comes to visit you at the Crow Club, where you’re staying, almost every day. Yet communication is not your strong suit, especially in a language you don’t understand at all, and you don’t fancy yourself a particularly enthralling girl to be around.

Not when one has lived the life of a criminal, a sharpshooter, a wanderer, a playboy... well, all those things that Jesper prises himself on being, and all those words he’s taught you in Kerch.

(That and the curse words, of course, that you’re a bit intimidated to use at first, until they slip out of your mouth one evening when you drop your plate at dinner with the Dregs, and the entire canteen falls dead silent.)

“Did she just say ‘fuck’?”

“I think she just said fuck.”

“See, Matthias, she wasn’t immediately struck by lighting by Djel’s hand. You won’t die if you say it.”

Speaking of Matthias, he’s also a good friend of yours - it’s comforting and refreshing to have a familiar face around, one of Fjerdan roots and mores.

Although the rest of the group says you’re not that Fjerdan.

“You’re one of the feisty ones, at least.”

“I’m not ‘feisty’. Shut up, Jesper.”

“Ah, I see you’ve been working on the vocabulary I taught you!”

Matthias and you both have a lot of soul-searching and unlearning to do about the outside world - you were raised in particularly bigoted environments, you somewhat less than him. The hatred for the Grisha he’s been taught by the Drüskelle is fear in your case; you’ve been brought up on bedtime stories of bloodthirsty Grisha who devour unruly kids, and war and devastation caused by their unstability and blasphemous magic.

It’s even more of a shock to you when you learn Jesper is a Grisha.

Unbeknownst to you, you’ve started to fall a little for him - how could you not? He’s funny, charming, sarcastic and witty; always has the best stories to tell, and despite it all, sincerely cares for you amidst the chaos of their heist and revenge plans.

But to learn he was the kind of monster - no, the kind of creature - no, the kind of person, you force yourself to correct mentally - that you had been taught to fear for your entire life...

“I’m so sorry. You should never have been there.”

He’s pacing back and forth in your room after a shootout has gone awry and you were caught in the crossifre; it’s the first time he’s ever had to use his Durast powers to get you of the mess - and normally he wouldn’t have, because it’s a secret he wishes he could carry to the grave, but the fear of losing you was too strong...

“Thank god that I was there, though. What would you do without me?”

He’s fidgety and restless, nervously playing with his pistols, and his nervous laugh is all but genuine; and you’re huddled up on your bed, staring him down with wide eyes.

“Jesper, you...”

“Yeah, maybe not the best moment.”

“Jesper...”

“It’s like they have a knack for knowing exactly where we’re gonna be and when...”

“Jesper!”

He abruptly turns to look at you, and his eyes widen. He’s starting to understand, almost, but refuses to believe it. Your voice is a murmur, and you can hardly hold his gaze.

“Jesper, are you... going to hurt me?”

His words die in his throat. He remembers where you’re from... the garbage that they must have filled your ears and head with from the day you were born... how feverish Matthias was with Nina... he looks at his hands, and his Materialki magic rumbles like a dark curse.

“Y/N, you’re scared of me?”

The sheer hurt in his voice breaks your heart. Even though you’re trembling, you let him step closer to you, slowly. It’s Jesper in front of you, not some ungodly monster from legends... Jesper, your Jesper...

“I’m... I’m sorry...”

He cups your face in his hands, warm and just a bit moist, and stares into your eyes with a vulnerability you have never seen in him.

“I’d never do anything to hurt you, Y/N, I swear on my life. All I want is you to be safe...”

Safe from me, if that’s what you wish, he thinks for a split second, but you don’t give him time to doubt; you’ve captured his lips in a frenzied kiss, and hold on for dear life onto his lean shoulders.

Fjerda and its blind hatred is very far from you, now. You're locked in Jesper's embrace, and you won't have to hear their lies anymore.

You know you have nothing to fear from him; not now, and not ever.

800 follower sleepover CLOSED!

#sarcasticandfangirl #800sleepover #THIS GOT SO LONG OMG i need to write for six of crows already the inspiration is unquenchable #six of crows #soc #grishaverse #ship request #jesper fahey #jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey headcanons #six of crows headcanons

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noemibalbii · 3 years

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Six of Crows duology quotes

“Many boys will bring you flowers. But someday you’ll meet a boy who will learn your favorite flower, your favorite song, your favorite sweet. And even if he is too poor to give you any of them, it won’t matter because he will have taken the time to know you as no one else does. Only that boy earns your heart.”

“Kaz leaned back. “What’s the easiest way to steal a man’s wallet?” “Knife to the throat?” asked Inej. “Gun to the back?” said Jesper. “Poison in his cup?” suggested Nina. “You’re all horrible,” said Matthias.

“No mourners. No funerals. Among them, it passed for ‘good luck’.”

“The heart is an arrow. It demands aim to land true.”

“When someone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.”

“She’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.”

“He needed to tell her… what? That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near. He needed to thank her for his new hat.”

“I have been made to protect you. Only in death will I be kept from this oath.”

“Please, my darling Inej, treasure of my heart, won’t you do me the honor of acquiring me a new hat?”

“What do you want then?” The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie’s voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome, You, Inej, you.

“Greed is your god, Kaz.” He almost laughed at that. “No, Inej. Greed bows to me. It is my servant and my lever.”

“The easiest way to steal a man’s wallet is to tell him you’re going to steal his watch. You take his attention and direct it where you want it to go.”

“Better terrible truths than kind lies.”

“You’ll get what’s coming to you some day, Brekker.” “I will,” said Kaz, “if there’s any justice in the world. And we all know how likely that is.”

“You can’t spend his money if you’re dead.” “I’ll acquire expensive habits in the afterlife.” “There’s a difference between confidence and arrogance.”

“Stay,” he said, his voice rough stone. “Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me.” She looked down at his gloved hand clutching hers. Everything in her wanted to say yes, but she would not settle for so little, not after all she’d been through. “What would be the point?” He took a breath. “I want you to stay, I want you to… I want you.” “You want me.” She turned the words over. Gently, she squeezed his hand. “And how will you have me, Kaz?” He looked at her then, eyes fierce, mouth set, It was the face he wore when he was fighting. “How will you have me?” she repeated. “Fully clothed, gloves on, your head turned away so our lips can never touch?” He released her hand, his shoulders bunching, his gaze angry and ashamed as he turned his face to the sea. Maybe it was because his back was to her that she could finally speak the words. “I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all.”

“Some people see a magic trick and say, “Impossible!” They clap their hands, turn over their money, and forget about it ten minutes later. Other people ask how it worked. They go home, get into bed, toss and turn, wondering how it was done. It takes them a good night’s sleep to forget all about it. And then there are the ones who stay awake, running through the trick again and again, looking for that skip in perception, the crack in the illusion that will explain how their eyes got duped; they’re the kind who won’t rest until they’ve mastered that little bit of mystery for themselves. I’m that kind.”

“He’d broken his leg dropping down from the rooftop. The bone didn’t set right, and he’d limped ever after. So he’d found himself a Fabrikator and had his cane made. It became a declaration. There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken.”

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

“Facts are for the unimaginative.”

“When we get our money, you can burn kruge to keep you warm.” “I’m going to pay someone to burn my kruge for me.” “Why don’t you pay someone else to pay someone to burn your kruge for you? That’s what the big players do.”

“How do you get your information, Mister Brekker?” “You might say I’m a lockpick.” “You must be a very gifted one.” “I am indeed.” Kaz leaned back slightly. “You see, every man is a safe, a vault of secrets and longings. Now, there are those who take the brute’s way, but I prefer a gentler approach - the right pressure applied at the right moment, in the right place. It’s a delicate thing.” “Do you always speak in metaphors, Mister Brekker?” Kaz smiled. “It’s not a metaphor.” He was out of his chair before his chains hit the ground.”

“A liar, a thief, and utterly without conscience. But he’ll keep to any deal you strike with him.”

“You couldn’t train a falcon, then expect it not to hunt.”

“The life you live, the hate you feel - it’s poison. I can drink it no longer.”

Jesper: “If Pekka Rollins kills us all, I’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.” Kaz: “I’ll just hire Matthias’s ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.” Matthias: “My ghost won’t associate with your ghost.”

“But all he could think of was Inej. She had to live. She had to have made it out of the Ice Court. And if she hadn’t, then he had to live to rescue her.”

“He was going to break my legs,” she said, her chin held high, the barest quaver in her voice. “Would you have come for me then, Kaz? When i couldn’t scale a wall or walk a tightrope? When I wasn’t the Wraith anymore?” Dirtyhands would not. The boy who could get them through this, get their money, keep them alive, would do her the courtesy of putting her out of her out of her misery, then cut his losses and move on. “I would have come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together - knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”

“Fear is a phoenix. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return.”

“Maybe there were people who lived those lives. Maybe this girl was one of them. But what about the rest of us? What about the nobodies and the nothings, the invisible girls? We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to write magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren’t chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway.”

“Crows remember human faces. They remember the people who feed them, who are kind to them. And the people who wrong them too. They don’t forget. They tell each other who to look after and who to watch out for.”

“Has anyone noticed this whole city is looking for us, mad at us, or want to kill us?” “So?” said Kaz. “Well, usually it’s just half the city.”

“She smiled then, her cheeks red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It was a smile he thought he might die to earn again.”

“No mourners. No funerals. Another way of saying good luck. But it was something more. A dark wink to the fact that there would be no expensive burials for people like them, no marble markers to remember their names, no wreaths of myrtle and rose.”

“Have any of you wondered what I did with all the cash Pekka Rollins gave us?” “Guns?” asked Jesper. “Ships?” queried Inej. “Bombs?” suggested Wylan. “Political bribes?” offered Nina. They all looked at Matthias. “This is where you tell us how awful we are,” she whispered.

“We meet fear. We greet the unexpected visitor and listen to what he has to tell us. When fear arrives, something is about to happen.”

“You don’t look like a monster.” “I’ll tell you a secret, Hannah. The really bad monsters never look like monsters.”

Until this moment, Wylan hadn’t quite understood how much they meant to him. His father would have sneered at these thugs and thieves. a disgraced soldier, a gambler who couldn’t keep out of the red. But they were his first friends, his only friends, and Wylan knew that even if he’d had his pick of a thousand companions, these would have been the people he chose.”

“They were twin souls, soldiers destined to fight for different sides, to find each other and lose each other too quickly. She would not keep him here. Not like this.”

“At some point, Jesper realized Kaz was gone. “Not one for goodbyes, is he?” he muttered. “He doesn’t say goodbye,” Inej said. She kept her eyes on the lights of the canal. Somewhere in the garden, a night bird began to sing. “He just lets go.”

“I’ve been nothing but kind to you. I’m not some sort of a monster.” “No, you’re the man who sits idly by, congratulating yourself on your decency, while the monster eats his fill. At least a monster has teeth and a spine.”

“But if you couldn’t open a door, you just had to make a new one.”

“You’re not weak because you can’t read. You’re weak because you’re afraid of people seeing your weakness. You’re letting shame decide who you are. […] It’s shame that lines my pockets, shame that keeps the Barrel teeming with fools ready to put on a mask just so they can have what they want with none the wiser about it. We can endure all kinds of pain. It’s shame that eats men whole.”

“She could feel the press of Kaz’s fingers against her skin, feel the bird’s wing brush of his mouth against her neck, see his dilated eyes. Two of the deadliest people the Barrel had to offer and they could barely touch each other without both of them keeling over. But they’d tried. He’d tried. Maybe they could try again. A foolish wish, the sentimental hope of a girl who hadn’t had the firsts of her life stolen, who hadn’t ever felt Tante Heleen’s lash, who wasn’t covered in wounds and wanted by the law. Kaz would have laughed at her optimism.”

“No matter the height of the mountain, the climbing is the same.”

“But when someone does wrong, when we make mistakes, we don’t say we’re sorry. We promise to make amends.” “I will.” “Mati en sheva yelu. This action will have no echo. It means we won’t repeat the same mistakes, that we won’t continue to do harm.”

“Van Eck promised us thirty million kruge,” said Kaz. “That’s exactly what we’re going to take. With another one million for interest, expenses, and just because we can.” Wylan broke a cracker in two. “My father doesn’t have thirty million kruge lying around. Even if you took all his assets together.” “You should leave, then,” said Jesper. “We only associate with the disgraced heirs of the very finest fortunes.”

“You’re better than waffles, Matthias Helvar.” A small smile curled the Fjerdan’s lips. “Let’s not say things we don’t mean, my love.”

“A proper thief is like a proper poison, merchling. He leaves no trace.”

“She took a shaky breath. The words came like a string of gunshots, rapid-fire, as if she resented the very act of speaking them. “I didn’t know if you would come.” Kaz couldn’t blame Van Eck for that. Kaz had built that doubt in her with every cold word and small cruelty. “We’re your crew, Inej. We don’t leave our own at the mercy of merch scum.” It wasn’t the answer he wanted to give. It wasn’t the answer she wanted.

“I just don’t get it. I’ve spent my whole life hiding the things I can’t do. Why run from the amazing things you can do?”

“She felt his knuckles slide against hers. Then his hand was in her hand, his palm was pressed against her own. A tremor moved through him. Slowly, he let their fingers entwine. For a long while, they stood there, hands clasped, looking out at the gray expanse of the sea.”

“Matthias knew monsters, and one glance at Kaz Brekker had told him this was a creature who had spent too long in the dark - he’d brought something back with him when he’d crawled into the light.”

“She wouldn’t wish love on anyone. It was the guest you welcomed and then couldn’t be rid of.”

“Brick by brick. Brick by brick. I will destroy you.” It was the promise that let him sleep at night, that drove him every day, that kept Jordie’s ghost at bay. Because a quick death was too good for Pekka Rollins.”

“Kaz narrowed his eyes. “I’m not some character out of a children’s story who plays harmless pranks and steals from the rich to give to the poor.”

“Inej had once offered to teach him how to fall. “The trick is not getting knocked down,” he’d told her with a laugh. “No, Kaz,” she’d said, “the trick is in getting back up.”

“It was because she was listening so closely the she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the Barrel and deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted.”

“Our hopes rest with you, Mister Brekker. If you fail, all the world will suffer for it.” “Oh, it’s worse than that, Van Eck. If I fail, I don’t get paid.”

“This isn’t… it isn’t a trick, is it?” Her voice was smaller than she wanted it to be. The shadow of something dark moved across Kaz’s face. “If it were a trick, I’d promise you safety. I’d offer you happiness. I don’t know if that exists in the Barrel, but you’ll find none of it with me.” For some reason, those words had comforted her. Better terrible truths than kind lies. “All right,” she said. “How do we begin?” “Let’s start by getting out of here and finding you some proper clothes. Oh, and Inej,” he said as he led her out of the salon, “don’t ever sneak up on me again.”

“They fear you as I once feared you,” he said. “As you once feared me. We are all someone’s monster, Nina.”

“You still may die in the Dregs.” Inej’s dark eyes had glinted. “I may. But I’ll die on my feet with a knife in my hand.”

“Shame holds more value than coin ever can.”

“None of us move on without a backward look. We move on always carrying with us those we have lost.”

“You came back for me.” “I protect my investments.” Investments. “I’m glad I’m bleeding all over your shirt.”

“Why do you wear gloves, Mister Brekker?” Kaz raised a brow. “I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.” “Each more grotesque than the last.” Kaz had heard them, too. Brekker’s hands were stained with blood. Brekker’s hands were covered in scars. Brekker had claws and not fingers because he was part demon. Brekker’s touch burned like brimstone - a single brush of his bare skin caused your flesh to wither and die. “Pick one,” Kaz said as he vanished into the night, thoughts already turning to thirty million kruge and the crew he’d need to help him get it. “They’re all true enough.”

“You have no finesse,” a gambler at the Silver Garter once said to him. “No technique.” “Sure I do,” Kaz had responded. “I practice the art of ‘pull his shirt over his head and punch till you see blood’.”

“A gambler, a convict, a wayward son, a lost Grisha, a Suli girl who had become a killer, a boy from the Barrel who had become something worse.” [...] “What bound them together? Greed? Desperation? Was it just the knowledge that if one or all of them disappeared tonight, no one would come looking?”

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doorsclosingslowly · 3 years

Text

If This Changed Your Life Did You Have One Before

Kaz is dismayed to learn that for an entire year, the key to a three million kruge pay-out from the Ravkan crown has been hiding right under his nose. Even worse: he’s making excuses not to turn Jesper in, Sun Summoner or not.

4k | Sun Summoner Jesper AU | Jesper Fahey & Kaz Brekker | warning for on-screen torture

The Smirnov home was as easy a target as Kaz predicted. The entire family is out at some gala or other, the staff having used the reprieve to go out dancing, leaving only two guards patrolling in front of the villa. Really, he needn’t have brought in three other Dregs to make copies of the scheduled arrivals of the cargo vessels they have coming over from West Ravka in the next two months. Kaz could have easily done this alone, but his new spider Inej needs all the practice she can get, Anika’s been complaining about getting propositioned in a gambling hall, and Jesper—well, Jesper’s obnoxious when he’s bored.

He’s obnoxious anyway. Kaz has been back with Anika at her watcher’s spot for ten minutes now, Inej materializing out of thin air right after him, and Jesper’s still missing. Probably got distracted, the utter flake, and Kaz has half a mind to go back to the Slat without him. He’ll show up eventually. He always does.

It’s time to discern which lesson Inej needs to learn more at this moment. Should Kaz impress upon her the need for single-minded focus on the job at hand, lest she displease him? Make an example of Jesper that she will not forget? Or should he build her loyalty by implying—not promising—that the Dregs do not leave one of their own behind?

Inej does Kaz’ bidding without question. Only one of these lessons is useful for his new dutiful, terrified spider to learn.

“We could have called it a day early this time,” Kaz rasps, “but unfortunately Jesper has not yet learned the value of punctuality. Let’s hope he hasn’t found another kitchen boy, or we’ll be here all night.”

He hands the copied schedules over to Anika and instructs her and Inej to wait inconspicuously while he retrieves the errant sharpshooter.

The second entry’s just as easy as the first, and this time, he doesn’t take the stairs to the first floor where the office was but explores the ground floor that he ordered Jesper to case out. Useless as Jesper is, surely not even he would dare to diverge from Kaz’ plans that early.

The hallway is dark and empty, and so is the dining room, dark and empty except for—the crack under the door to the kitchen, casting out bright light, light that glints on the pearl-handle of a revolver on the floor. Kaz is almost relieved to see it. The second one, someone’s kicked under a chair, and he quickly picks them up. Guns might come in useful, anyway: Jesper wouldn’t just leave them, ever, he plays loose with money and orders but is far too attached to his weapons, so he must be in danger. He didn’t needlessly complicate Kaz’ plans by being stupid and distractible, after all. To lose a fight is far more excusable than flakiness, and Jesper’s usually a good thief and fighter and a loyal Dreg, so Kaz would hate to have to cut him loose just for his intrinsic character flaws.

It’s not only light that spills out from under the kitchen door. Voices, too, two loud and male and obviously drunk—one Kaz places as mercher Smirnov, who must’ve begged off from the gala, and the other has a similar West Ravkan accent—and then there is someone else, desperately breathless and sobbing and begging, and since Kaz has never heard him sound anything like this before, even though he already knew from the context, it takes him an entire second to recognize the voice as Jesper.

“Please,” Jesper slurs, “I’m sorry,” and then the dull impact of fist against flesh.

“I didn’t tell you to speak you piece of shit crook,” Smirnov hisses, “sorry won’t bring my brother back,” and then Jesper moans in pain again.

Kaz creeps closer, foregoing the use of his cane to avoid any noise despite the discomfort. The mercher sounds much angrier than the situation warrants. This is Ketterdam: the occasional breaking and entering is an occupational hazard for any wealthy person here, and teenage Jesper on his own is hardly a scary sight, unless he’s using his face to make the most hideous shirt look haute couture or he’s landing impossible hits in a shootout, and from the clean smell in the dining room and the fact that Kaz, who must have been a single floor up when Jesper was grabbed, didn’t hear anything, it’s most likely Jesper was taken by surprise before he could fire a single shot. A simple call to the staadwatch would have sufficed. This job was not supposed to involve the risk of torture.

It makes no sense for it to be personal. Kaz has never before targeted Smirnov or his business, and Haskell didn’t recognize the name when Kaz came to him to argue for his plan. Haskell’s not the most talented Barrel boss, to say it lightly, but he does have a good memory for past marks, so it’s most likely the Dregs have never crossed paths with Smirnov in any way. Kaz has never known him to have any siblings, either, and he did observe him for a while before this heist. Jesper, of course, gets into enough scrapes during his off-time, but they’re nearly all about gambling or money he owes from gambling, and if Smirnov was a gambler, Kaz would know. It’s his job to keep track of which merchers are easy targets.

It’s possible, of course, Kaz muses while he silently and gently lowers the handle of the kitchen door—in case this display is an ambush for him—and opens it to a small crack as quickly as he can—he’d prefer to keep his sharpshooter in working condition—it’s definitely possible that Jesper just annoyed the shit out of his captors. Kaz can empathise. He’s also annoyed that Jesper got himself caught by a random sadist on the easiest of jobs.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have enough time to heal up pretty before you get to the Little Palace.”

Or—

The kitchen is bright.

It’s a standard narrow kitchen, very orderly and clean, with a bottle of liquor and two glasses on the work surface. There are three people inside, and it’s ridiculously bright.

Brighter than any room with a single lit candle has any right to be. Brighter than daylight.

And it’s all coming from Jesper.

Jesper, who’s held in the arms of the non-Smirnov drunk, a man who has one big hand pressed to Jesper’s neck and is squeezing so hard that Kaz would probably see Jesper’s face turning blue if he could actually look, squeezing, and then letting go, squeezing again. His other arm is wrapped around Jesper’s waist, pressing both his arms against his body. Jesper’s feet are on the floor, knees bent even; he’s not being held aloft but he’s far too busy sobbing and shuddering to kick his feet against the man holding him captive.

Kaz has always thought Jesper unreasonably tall and lanky—only occasionally with vicious envy—but he looks weirdly small next to his captor, not because he’s shorter because he probably isn’t, just definitely not as broad-shouldered and muscular… Not because the other man is impressive. He’s got a red nose and desperate shallow scratches all over his face (so Jesper’s tried to escape. Kaz makes a mental note to force him to practice grappling and other forms of unarmed combat henceforth. Rotty’s a decent instructor, but he’s still hampered by the ethics taught in childhood boxing practice. Kaz will have to teach a few lessons himself, if he wants his sharpshooter to excel the next time he’s outmanoeuvred and alone). Jesper doesn’t look small for any of those reasons, but because he’s panicking and brutalized and miserably helpless in this mercher’s grasp, and that’s so hard to square with the presence of the flirty, boastful, loud boy he should be.

He lights up every room he enters.

Well, he’s lighting up the room now, just not like that.

All of Jesper’s skin is glowing brightly, every inch that isn’t covered by his hideous outfit (though the glare washes out the vivid contrasts of his chosen colours, rendering the coat slightly less of an eyesore), and the deep bloody slashes down his chest, the cut on his bruised cheek, the gash on his head where someone must have surprise-bashed him—they’re blinding, as if Kaz was looking straight at the sun.

Because that iswhat he’s looking at.

Jesper’s Grisha.

Jesper’s Grisha, and he’s far craftier than Kaz thought he was, because he’s been hiding his secret for a year now, Jesper who can’t keep his fucking mouth shut even when he isn’t drunk, Jesper who pretends to be an open happy book. He’s been hurt before, too, though not often enough for Kaz to give thought to his unarmed defence… so maybe something about the kitchen knife that Smirnov’s using to carve holes into his chest forced him to start burning, or maybe it’s the dazed hopeless terror that permeates every single one of his pleas, his laboured breathing…

“If you’d just gone and destroyed the Fold, instead of stealing from respectable men, this needn’t have happened,” Smirnov says with lethal friendliness, and then he punches Jesper in the face again. The ring he’s wearing tears another gash into Jesper’s cheek: another eruption of sunlight, another sob. “Sun Summoner.”

“Just please—” If Kaz could look at Jesper’s face for more than an instant, he could probably see him flickering through what he might offer—money, information, sexual services, appeals to this man’s mercy or veneration for a mythic Saint or reminders that the Ravkan bounty for the Sun Summoner is alive only. He doesn’t say anything but another “Please,” because it’s plainly useless: these two men have decided he can be hurt just shy of his death, and then he’ll be sold to the Darkling. And if no-one’s come to find him yet, no-one will. It’s over. Jesper knows. Those men know.

Kaz knows, and so he has to figure out a way to get the other West Ravkan to let go of Jesper. Right now, this is intimidation, punishment, and another minute or two while Kaz plots won’t make much of a difference; but once he transforms the nature of this situation by his own attack, Jesper’s safety is far less assured.

No matter how much money the Sun Summoner will fetch (and Kaz knows it’s millions) once they figure out that he means to kill them, and that he came here for Jesper, they’ll use his life to bargain and Kaz is not interested in bartering anything for an excitable fool who’s been lying to Kaz for the entire time they’ve been working together. So he could—

But while he plots, Smirnov walks up to Jesper, a cast iron pan in his hand, and bashes him over the head. The other guy must have known he would, because he lets go, and so Jesper just crumples to the ground, bleeding from yet another burst bruise in his forehead and unconscious and still glowing brightly.

Whatever their plan may have been, they’ve released Jesper. It’s the opening that Kaz was searching for.

He dispatches the other Ravkan with a cane-blow to his face, and then he disarms Smirnov and uses his kitchen knife to slit his throat. Beats the other Ravkan again and again, strategically, so he’ll slowly die from his injuries: killing a mercher is terrible form, especially on a heist he could barely get permission for, but this way, the Staadwatch might believe Smirnov got into a drunken fight with his companion that ended tragically. For good measure (and because Jesper’s still glowing, and he can’t very well bring him back to the Slat this way without attracting attention), Kaz trashes the kitchen as well.

Then, he collects Jesper’s hat from the dining room, and gently places it on his sharpshooter’s head. Jesper’s barely glowing now, and in just a few seconds—

He’s back to normal. Kaz nudges his shoulder with his boot.

“Kaz.” Despite the pain he’s in, Jesper’s face is bright with joy as soon as he realizes it’s Kaz beside him. None of the weird Grisha light—as he turns his head to meet Kaz’ eyes, his skin’s almost gone back to its normal warm brown, although it’s slightly ashen from shock and blood loss and it’s starting to bruise badly, too—but he’s glowing in his own idiot Jesper way, with a happiness no-one sane would feel upon looking at Dirtyhands, not even a Dreg whose life he just saved.

Jesper, though—even when Kaz has called him into his office to chew him out for some indiscretion or other, there’s this fraction of a second where he just looks happy to see him.

“Get up, Jesper. Inej and Anika are waiting.”

“What did you…” And just like during those reprimands in his office, Jesper’s light is dimming as he tries to work out how much trouble he’s in. He probably wants to know whether Kaz knows he’s Grisha, and given the work he put in to conceal it for a year and how brutal Smirnov turned after he found out, it’s a distinct possibility he’ll run away from Ketterdam if he thinks he got made. And deprive Kaz of his reward. That he’ll definitely cash in. In a couple of days, because unlike Smirnov and his friend, he’s not going to assume that the Darkling wants his prize looking a few punches shy of becoming a corpse. Even if he wants to despoil his mythic Grisha, he probably wants to start from something pristine. They all do.

“I found your guns in the dining room,” Kaz rasps. “So I assumed those sadists carried you off into the kitchen to have their fun. You were passed out when I arrived; they were taking a break from inflicting torture, and I need a sharpshooter more than I need to skim from West Ravkan shipments, so I took them out. Who knew these lovely expensive walls conceal such depravity? They’re worse than we are.”

“They didn’t say anything?”

“About why they hurt you? I didn’t give them time. Personally, I think it was your crimes against fashion.”

Jesper attempts a relieved snort, but just groans in pain. Hopefully his ribs are bruised, not broken.

“It’s time to leave now. Get up. I didn’t spend my time constructing the scene of a tragic drunken brawl just for Smirnov’s family to come back early from their gala and catch us in their kitchen.”

Kaz doesn’t offer a hand to help Jesper up, but then, he doesn’t need to. They left his legs and arms alone, apparently, focusing their attacks on his torso and his face for reasons now unknown to all living beings, which means Jesper looks horrifying, ruined, half-dead, but he can still walk unaided. That makes it easier: if there was no choice Kaz could hold him up, but Jesper’s dangerously over-familiar with him as it is, and doesn’t need the encouragement. He keeps Jesper slightly in front, since he’s shaking wildly and his balance is shot from being bashed to unconsciousness twice, but he makes it without incident to the shadowed spot where Inej and Anika wait.

“Jesper kindly volunteered himself to distract the men who stayed inside the mansion,” Kaz tells them, and the look that Jesper shoots him is weirdly—grateful? But then, Kaz just saved his life. “Anika, get a medik to the Slat. No Grisha, no Ravkans, just in case. I know Smirnov was involved in his community, and we should not arouse any unnecessary suspicion.”

“Yes, boss,” Anika says, glaring at him before jogging off.

Inej, too, looks deeply unhappy while they walk back. Almost like… almost like they’re assuming Kazbeat Jesper up in response to his tardiness. Well. That may even be of use to his public image, so he shan’t make a move to dispel the idea, but—

“Thanks, Kaz,” Jesper mumbles the second they meet up with Anika and a young freckled medik at the Slat, “They’d never have stopped if you hadn’t saved me.” Obnoxious, obstinate Jesper, who’s definitely seen the same worried glances. And took it upon himself to wreck any of Kaz’ attempts at reputation management.

Kaz collects the now worthless copied schedules from Anika. He’ll have to grovel before Haskell for this failure. He ignores the eyes burning holes into his back.

Jesper doesn’t stay inside his room for even a day. His face makes him look like he lost several boxing matches in a row, and Kaz assumes the medik sewed shut the cuts on his chest and belly but Jesper’s still wincing, as soon as he thinks he’s unobserved, whenever anyone hugs or touches him during breakfast. His neck is ringed with bruising so severe it looks almost black, and his damaged throat makes him sound, for the moment, uncannily like Kaz himself does. Jesper, being an asshole, of course exploits that fact to recount the sad tale of what happened to him: again and again, then in some flowery monologue he's pretending is from Kaz' perspective, changing details, changing everything, until there's nothing left of the terrified boy who knew the only way out of getting punched and cut because of his imagined crimes against a sadist was the sale to a more mysterious sadist. Until Jesper's story is so funny even Kaz, who was there, can't help but laugh.

Kaz would have preferred him to sleep, rest, or failing that, clean his guns or whatever, since Jesper’s left eye is swollen completely shut and he needs to heal up before he’s anything approaching useful again—that’s why Kaz ordered Jesper to stay in bed for three days—but then, this is Jesper. Jesper does not do bedrest. After that first breakfast, Kaz is careful not to cross Jesper’s path for those three days, so he does not technically know that Jesper’s being stupid and insubordinate. So he doesn’t have to endure, again, Jesper pointing out, with stubborn adoration, that Kaz saved his life. He’s approached Rotty for lessons in unarmed combat, and prepared exercises of his own, but these can wait. As long as Jesper stays inside the Slat, and that, at least, seems likely.

Inej, whenever she’s not working, stops by Jesper’s bed or his table or wherever Jesper is now, listening to Jesper recount his usual Jesper bullshit. Anika comes by, and Roeder and Rotty and Pim and Specht and Big Bol and Luig and whoever else does, too, sometimes enough to gamble Jesper out of yet more kruge and sometimes pretending to feel pity for the current invalid. Kaz can hear their laughter when he limps down from his office to talk to Haskell, and when he returns from the Crow Club to climb up again. He can hear their laughter, far more often than necessary, because he’s passing by far more often than necessary. Taking trips he doesn’t need to, and his leg protests, but it’s simple precaution to watch his future asset.

As long as Jesper’s happy with the Dregs, he’s not running; and as long as he’s not running Kaz can still claim his reward.

It’s a year after Kaz found out that Jesper Fahey’s the mythical Sun Summoner with a three million kruge bounty on his head. A year in which he’s failed to make use of his knowledge. Presently, Kaz is attempting to puke out the last dregs of harbour water (successfully) and also to tune out Jesper’s prattling on about the expensive gorgeous, by which he means mindbendingly ugly coat he just ruined and the hours of maintenance his babies will need before they’re back to peak condition (no success yet, sadly. Jesper’s hard to ignore).

Although Jesper’s pretending to be unhappy, the second Kaz’ lame leg caught on a raised stone when he tried to evade the new sharpshooter the Razorgulls hired, and he tipped over right into the water—the second Kaz fell in, Jesper dove after him, and wrestled him back onto the pier despite Kaz’ mindless panic and despite whatever damage his precious outfit might have sustained. And now, Jesper’s nattering on and on about fripperies while he waits for Kaz to come back from his terror. His left eye’s swelling shut, and Kaz must have been the cause of it with his mindless desperation, but since Jesper doesn’t acknowledge it, neither does he. Whether he was angry at first or not, he probably forgave all when he noticed Kaz’ panic. Jesper’s always been prepared to cover for Kaz’ weaknesses. He’s an integral part of the Dregs’ operations (of Kaz’ life) and his absence will wreck them.

The three million kruge for the Sun Summoner would pay off Inej’s indenture easily, but Inej loves Jesper, and if she ever found out where the money came from she’d never speak to Kaz again. Even if she didn’t find out it was Kaz: she would insist on rescuing Jesper, worse, Sankt Jesper she would call him, and then go off on her own. He’ll lose his sharpshooter and his spider.

Three million kruge will get Kaz much further in his plan to take down Pekka Rollins, but he does need loyal people in order to succeed.

Three million kruge is a lot of money, but Jesper’s so charismatic that all the Dregs adore him: when Kaz claims his bounty with the Little Palace, he’ll have to be as secretive as possible, because it’s hard enough wrangling his recruits now, let alone when they’re all devastated by the loss of Ketterdam’s most flirtatious gambler, and painting Kaz as the villain. Kaz doesn’t mind villainy—he is who he is—but there are reputations that aid his work and those that don’t, and if nothing else this reward would involve taking a genuine risk.

And drenched, swollen-eyed, inimitable secretive Sun Summoner Jesper is still stealing glances at Kaz, like he thinks Kaz won’t notice—and he probably didn’t notice, when he was drowning in corpses just a few seconds ago, before he managed to turn his mind to rewards and their downsides—he’s still looking at Kaz and then carrying on with his minuscule complaints. He’s making no move to get up. He’s looking away again, communicating something silent to Rotty while still talking at Kaz, and then he must see something in Kaz that makes him go, “I smell awful! Let’s get back to the Slat, I need a change of clothes. ‘Gulls are gone now anyway, boss.”

Kaz does not particularly enjoy being cared for, but if needs must then this style of pretend-apathetic easily denied help is certainly his preference, and Jesper his most frequent provider.

So then, if Kaz is going to leave the reward for the Sun Summoner as a back-up plan for when he is dearly in need of money… Kaz isn’t going to make of his knowledge any time soon, since he’s found excuse after excuse not to for the entire last year. Jesper is both an incredible shot and loyal. He does whatever Kaz asks, and even when he gets distracted half-way through, he still tends to deliver whatever Kaz wants. If Kaz is going to keep the Sun Summoner with the Dregs simply for his other uses, it’s time to start planning for a different set of eventualities. He doesn’t need to know exactly who to contact and how to drug Jesper and where to deliver him, anymore.

Jesper, though he’s managed so far, is not the most discreet of people. He’ll mess up at some point, and it’s Kaz’ task to ensure that no-one believes even the plainest, most obvious evidence of the Sun Summoner's presence. Whatever happens—Kaz doesn’t need the worry that someone else might discover Jesper and thereby ruin any heist that Kaz has sent his sharpshooter on.

If Kaz won’t give the Sun Summoner to the Darkling, he will make sure that no-one else can, either.

#jesper fahey #kaz brekker #sun summoner jesper au #dimtraces makes things #a lot of Kaz just starting to figure Jesper out early in their working relationship tbh #shadow & bone #six of crows #shadow and bone

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