★ ° CHAPTER ONE !
──────── A CREATURE RARELY SEEN

* zvezda = star (Ravkan)
* moya zvezdochka = my little star (Ravkan)

"SPARE SOME COIN?"

A stout man grimaced but tossed a few coins into the weathered hat at the edge of the boy's mat. He couldn't have been older than fourteen. Most his age made a living working in one of the harbours, helping ships find their home at the docks and making enough coin to keep a room at an inn. But those shiphands were taller and stronger, and he didn't have that luxury.

This boy's cheeks were gaunt and covered by shaggy, unkempt hair, his arms were thin, and he wasn't as tall as the boys at the docks. His green eyes were dulled by hunger and exhaustion, and his tattered and worn clothes hung loosely from his bony shoulders. Some felt pity for him, offering him coin and a kind smile. Those who were from Ketterdam knew that he'd been keeping a few different corners in the Barrel for two years and heard every little whisper on the street.

The people who frequented the Barrel knew his secret by now—that he disappeared when the clock struck midnight and didn't return until the sun set again. They gave him knowing smiles and a nod of their head, and every once in a while, someone would toss a coin into his hat. In passing, they asked what he'd heard on the street, and if they liked what they'd been told, there were a few extra kruge in his future.

"Thank you, sir!"

The man only gave a slight tip of his hat before disappearing through a portico's black columns, a silver crow sign swinging overhead. He didn't see the boy's grin or the way he scampered to pick up the coin from the hat and tuck it into his pocket, preparing to give a sob story to the next passerby about how he'd received no money that night.

It was easy to play those tricks here. The Barrel was a dimly lit web of narrow streets and waterways that served as a home for betting halls and a den for chaos. The stench of bilge, clams, and wet stone from the harbour was concealed by the pungent fumes of sweat and alcohol. The buildings were painted in bright, gaudy colours, pleading for attention from tourists. Here, people didn't think twice about throwing their money at some poor kid who only needed enough to get his next meal.

From the boy's current corner, he could hear the hawkers from the East Stave luring innocent tourists (pigeons, as they called them) into gambling traps and persuading them to spend all their hard-earned money. Some like him had the same tricks. Some swindled drunks and sympathetic women out of their last few pieces of coin before reporting to gangs like the Dime Lions or the Dregs. Others conned people by predicting inconceivable futures or busking near betting halls.

He quite liked the game he played. Convincing good souls to give up their money was a front for his true trade. Retrieving and selling information in different sections of the Barrel were more than enough to keep him happy and fed. After all, no one suspected a poor orphan to do anything untoward.

"You told me you knew how to get across the Fold."

"I never said that. I said I'd heard stories about it. Not that it had ever been done."

The boy's ears perked up. He tipped up his newsboy cap and left his mat to peer around the corner of the alley. It was mostly empty, but there were two people occupying the centre.

Standing furthest from him was someone the boy had seen several times in the Barrel. A Shu man in his late thirties who swindled unlucky pigeons out of coin by making them bets they couldn't refuse. If they knew how quick he was with his hands, they never would have entertained the thought of a quick card game.

The man across from him was familiar to the boy. He was tall and lanky, long-limbed and brown-skinned. The curve of his jaw and coiled hair was reminiscent of Zemini folk, but the grey storm in his eyes suggested otherwise. He was always strutting through the Barrel with his hands resting against the holstered guns at his hips. The teenager had never seen him use them, and he didn't think he wanted to either.

He'd heard his name before. Jesper. He ran with one of the gangs in Ketterdam.

"That's not what you said."

"It's what I meant."

The Shu turned towards the opposite end of the alley, where the Barrel bled into the East Stave. The sharpshooter stopped him by reaching out for his arm, his other hand reaching into his pocket. Seconds later, he had a few kruge folded between his fingers.

"If you hear anyone with that kind of information—"

"I'll send a letter," the Shu grumbled and took the kruge from the man's hands. He counted it before shoving it into the front pocket of his pants. "Y'know why you'd want to go over the Fold anyway. Way I see it, it keeps those Ravkans and their Grisha in check."

"You know better than to ask a question I can't answer, Nowi."

Jesper turned around, his hands finally leaving the comfort of his hips. He only made it a few steps down the alley before making eye contact with the boy hiding behind the outer edge. He watched as the young child's eyes widened, and he quickly turned to skitter away.

He knows something, he thought.

"Shit."

The sharpshooter was quick to follow, feet threatening to slip on the muddied cobblestone streets. He broke through a crowd of tourists, who gasped and clutched their chests as the man chased the teenager up the twisted streets. Wide avenues were quickly becoming compact, and garish buildings filled with laughter and cheer were being replaced by the sweet sound of music and the scent of expensive perfumes.

The boy was trying to escape to the West Stave. Its streets were compact with crowd-watching tourists who hoped to catch glimpses inside famed brothels. It was a mess of costumed freaks and women dressed in little more than a few scraps of silk and glitter. If the boy made it there, it was likely he was lost until the next time he graced a new corner of the Barrel.

"Wait, I just want to ask you a question!"

That didn't stop him. The crowds were becoming thicker, and yet, the Zemini caught him disappearing into another narrow alley leading to the Stave. He skidded to a halt before changing directions. When he exited the other end of the backstreet, he watched the boy snag a cape (likely from one of the many Mister Crimson costumers in the Stave) off the back of a bench and tug it around his shoulders.

"Dammit," Jesper muttered. He tried picking up his pace, but in the muddled mess of the West Stave, the boy was easily lost, weaving through the crowd and becoming nothing more than just another pigeon.

He made it a few more paces before he spotted the newsboy cap on the ground, flattened by the herd around them. He picked it up and tucked it under his arm, eyes searching the crowd for any sight of the teenager, but to no avail. If he was smart, the boy would've grabbed a mask to further disguise himself now that the sharpshooter knew his face.

Jesper pushed his way through the crowd a little bit more. The women of the brothels called out to patrons like sirens, hoping to steal them for a few gold coins. The Menagerie and White Rose were too far at the north side of the Stave for him to see, but he knew a few of the girls were wandering the streets with a sailor's arm slung over their shoulders, bewitching the drunk men who hadn't seen land in months to hand over their wallets.

He had just about given up on his quest to find the boy, but he spotted a few familiar scarlet capes. The owners were all either too tall or too short, or Jesper was able to catch a glimpse of their faces and thought they were too old. But there was one cape he saw near the Zvezda—the brothel closest to the Barrel's exit to the West Stave, but that hadn't hurt their business. The wearer's head held low as they weaved through the crowd.

He was too far away to try and catch up, but he knew that it was the boy. He could catch glimpses of his pants—the same beige and ivory pinstripe—and the way people dressed in fine fabrics did their best to avoid him.

"Gotcha."

Jesper took a few more steps towards when the boy pushed back the crimson hood of his cape as he neared the Zvezda. But much to the sharpshooter's surprise, the boy was no longer behind the hood.

In his place, there was now a beautiful woman with long black hair that she pulled out from beneath the hood. Her hands tightened the cape around her, but no one else had noticed the change in appearance—no one except the Zemini. Lilac eyes flittered around the Stave, and Jesper quickly slipped the tophat off of his head and crouched to hide within the crowd so she wouldn't see him.

When she finally felt like it was safe, Jesper watched her disappear behind the ebony doors of the Zvezda. If it wouldn't inevitably cause a scene, he would have followed her inside, but this kind of information was better kept close to the chest and whispered to colleagues behind closed doors.

A smirk fell over his lips. "Wait until Kaz finds out about this."

The Zvezda wasn't like other pleasure houses in Ketterdam. It was too close to the Barrel for most people's comfort, sitting far south of the famed brothels near the harbour. Instead, it was nestled near the south end of the West Stave, just a few streets over from the bridge connecting The Barrel to the western portion of Ketterdam.

It didn't belong this far south of the Lid, and yet you could not find a better location. Nestled between the canals, it attracted clientele from all walks of life, enticing pigeons with its miniature spires and intricate carvings reminiscent of the owner's Ravkan home. Against the dreary backdrop of the Barrel, the Zvezda, adorned in gilded accents and vibrant hues of gold and blue, looked more like a miniature palace than a pleasure house.

Perhaps the most enticing part was the pleasure house's speciality. Not only did it give off the air of Ravkan royalty, but it housed what Ravka and the rest of the world (for one reason or another) coveted: Grisha. People flocked to the Zvezda to find the tender ear of a Healer or listen to the sweet, sensual whispers of a Heartrender, and no one knew better than to hand over their wallets and pay for one night of pure bliss.

Soft, sourceless music bled through the halls, loud enough that the soft footfall of a woman was unheard. The patrons behind closed doors didn't want to be disturbed from their sought refuge, and the woman did not wish to disturb them either. Her main goal was the closed door at the end of the hall.

"She's expecting me," she told the two men bracketing either side of the door—hired guards to keep the boss safe.

They gripped the handles to the double doors and pulled them open.

The office at the end of the third floor of the Zvezda was always much smaller than expected, but that doesn't mean it didn't have the same exquisite taste as the rest of the house. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries, and golden lamps cast shimmering reflections that danced across the floor. Books, written in both Ravkan and Kerch, lined the shelves, with little trinkets from the homeland sprinkled in various places. The desk in the centre of the room demanded attention, crafted from the finest mahogany; and just behind the large throne-like seat sat a roaring fireplace, bathing the room in a warm glow.

Sitting in the chair was a middle-aged woman, her chestnut hair pinned back behind her ears. Madame Goranka's face was without a single wrinkle, and her blue eyes were trained on the documents sprawled across her desk. Despite the beauty surrounding her, she'd grown up in Ravka as a farmgirl, not as a royalty. And yet, she exuded the same confidence and command as a general in the Second Army.

She didn't look up as she hurriedly signed another piece of paper. "You're late."

The woman who entered the room huffed. "I got... held up."

Madame Goranka finally looked up and eyed her up and down. "You still have dirt on your face."

She quickly rubbed her hand against her cheek, grimacing when she pulled away to find grey soot still smeared against the side of her face.

Adrijana had not had much time to change her appearance before entering the office, but she'd managed to discard the pinstripe pants and beige vest in favour of a black-and-mauve dress. Being chased from the heart of the Barrel to the West Stave wasn't in her plans for the night. She had been caught eavesdropping before, but never had she had to change her face so quickly to avoid being caught.

When she took her in as a child, Madame Goranka said she'd never seen a Tailor like Adrijana before. At the age of thirteen, the little Suli-and-Ravkan girl was able to change the shape of her nose and the colour of her own hair. Now, with years of practice, she'd been able to change her entire face to resemble someone else for a few hours out of the day. The older Ravkan knew the best way to use her was to let her go out and be her eyes and ears. No one ever suspected the poor little orphan boy in the Barrel or the elderly female stall-keep in Fifth Harbour.

"What's the news of the day?"

"There was a meeting last night in the Exchange. Black Tips and Razorgulls. Apparently, the Tips have been in the Razorgulls' territory without permission."

"No bloodshed?"

"No, but the Black Tips are getting... antsy. Something's wrong."

"One of their lieutenants gets loose lips when he's drunk. I'll be sure to send him an invitation," Madame Goranka said as she stacked a few papers neatly at the corner of the desk. "What else?"

Adrijana took a deep breath and approached the woman, who turned to write a few notes in the margin of another piece of parchment.

"I overheard one of Kaz Brekker's crew. Jesper, I think. Word has it, they're looking for a way to cross the Fold."

Madame Goranka stopped writing and looked up, silently willing her to continue.

"He was talking to Nowi under the bridge near the Crow Club."

"What have I told you about lingering near there?" The woman stood up from her desk and dropped her quill into the inkpot. She might not have sounded angry, but Adrijana could hear the disappointment in her voice. "You're going to get caught."

"It's where I can get the best information, and I'm always careful," she defended. "I don't think Jesper saw me come back here."

Madame Goranka pressed her fingers to her temples. "I need you to do better than think. I need you to be sure."

Adrijana bit her tongue to keep from saying that Jesper had actually chased her from the alley near the Crow Club to the West Stave. She couldn't handle another lecture on how irresponsible she was being with her abilities.

"There's more."

The woman stepped out from behind her desk. "Well, go on then."

"Pekka Rollins is looking for a Heartrender."

She raised her brows. "Pekka Rollins? Why?"

"I don't know, but one of the merchers brought someone into the city from a ship. He took back alleys to get him back to his house in the Garden District. My guess is to avoid attention." Adrijana shrugged her shoulders. "His name is Dreesen."

Madame Goranka gave a heavy sigh and retreated to a small box on the fireplace mantle. She opened it and grabbed a small parchment from inside before handing it off. The note had a mercher house seal, no doubt Dreesen's, on one side and scribbled handwriting on the other.

"That explains this," she said. "I got a letter from Dreesen saying he needs a Heartrender before midnight."

Adrijana turned the note over in her hands and inspected the seal. "Why would Dreesen need a Heartrender?"

"You bring in a Heartrender when someone isn't willing to give you the answer to your questions," Madame Goranka replied.

She walked back over to her desk and grabbed a small piece of paper from the top drawer. On the front was the seal of the Zvezda—a crescent moon with a star hanging in the centre. She used her quill to scribble something on the back before retreating to the door. Adrijana couldn't make out the hushed conversation between the madame and the guards outside the door.

"What are you doing?"

"If Pekka Rollins needs a Heartrender, it's more than likely that his men intercepted the note on its way here," she admitted. "I'd rather send him a formal invitation than have him and his Lions march through the door and demand a Heartrender."

No matter how much she didn't like it, Adrijana understood. She'd seen how ruthless Pekka Rollins could be towards his enemies, and it was a fate she didn't want to befall on the Zvezda or its owner.

As if she sensed her anxiety, Madame Goranka gave Adrijana a gentle smile and walked forward to grab the note from her hands.

"You did well tonight, moya zvezdochka," she reassured her. One of her hands went up to smooth back a loose hair falling in front of Adrijana's eyes. "Go wash your face and tell Mirre we'll be needing her services tonight."

It took every fibre of her being not to argue back. She didn't trust Pekka Rollins as far as she could throw him, and she certainly didn't agree with Mirre being left alone with him. Instead, Adrijana forced herself to give a curt nod and pulled her hands from Madame Goranka's grasp.

"Yes, ma'am," she muttered before she left the room.