BLAZE'S FIRST CONCERN when he showed up to the apartment was that Jay looked as though he hadn't slept in days. He probably didn't look too hot either, but as Jayar struck a match against his palm and lit his alarming fourth cigarette in a row⸻the first two discarded on the table and the third still in his mouth⸻he was sure that however long he'd been putting off actually going to bed, he was pushing it.

"When was the last time you got some rest?"

Jayar exhaled a puff of grayish smoke, bloodshot eyes darting in his direction. The window in the half-kitchen-half-dining-area was propped open, which at least helped with the smell. "None of your business," he answered easily, in a singsongy tone. "Anyone outside?"

Blaze dropped the issue, not caring enough to press it. "In this building? No one hangs around outside unless they wanna get mugged."

Jay shrugged his agreement and wandered to the minifridge to rummage around. "Well, you're the first to the party," he said. "Not noon yet."

"You sure it's such a good idea to tell all these guys where you live?" There was a lot Blaze didn't like about this whole ordeal, and the more time he'd given himself to think about it, the more hesitant he'd become. Jayar was collecting near-strangers like playing cards, some even from opposing gangs.

He mustered a grin, but it wasn't as energetic as usual. The man really could use a shower and a nap. Maybe a spiked coffee. Blaze could go for some coffee with a few shots of rum right about now, himself. "What? You don't trust whores and hitmen? Don't be such a buzzkill."

Blaze rolled his eyes. "One day your stupidity'll catch up to you."

"Oh, don't look so disappointed. I'm sure you'll be there at the betting tables collecting your reward when it does."

"Nah, with four million kruge I'll be long gone by then."

"So you do think we'll survive this little escapade," Jay said triumphantly with a gleam in his eye. He tossed him an orange and kept one for himself. "Catch." Blaze felt as though he could eat an entire barn, but food was just as difficult to access for Jayar as it was for him, so he didn't push it.

Blaze opened his mouth to tell Jayar what he'd learned before coming here, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Three brief taps.

"Speak of the devil."

He'd have to have this conversation shortly. Blaze walked over and undid the locks, of which Jayar had astonishingly few for the reputation of his apartment building, peering in through the peephole before easing the door carefully open. He didn't recognize the girl who had arrived early, but she had a tawny complexion and a highly athletic build, scrutinizing him with keen amber eyes.

Blaze didn't realize they'd been speaking Ravkan until Jayar greeted their new guest in Kerch. He mentally scolded himself⸻again. The two of them really needed to get out of that habit. "Miss Drojher," he said brightly from the kitchen, "welcome to our thirty-million gamble! Watch your step, there might be a thing or two on the floor."

"Glad I made it to the right place." This must have been Jay's backup Ice Court intel. Or his spider. Or both. Or something else entirely. He hadn't been very specific, either because the details were vague in his own mind or because he just didn't feel like telling Blaze anything. Both options were likely. The girl's voice was even and her Kerch fairly impeccable for a Fjerdan, although she didn't look like any Fjerdan he'd seen. She sidestepped a small pile of dirty laundry. Blaze felt queasy looking at it, but Jay didn't seem to mind in the slightest that strangers were being made privy to his less-than-tidy flat. She dropped her hood and nodded to Blaze. "Dagny Drojher; and you?"

"Blaze. Blaze Torrance," he replied, not really knowing what to think of her just yet. She had a pair of twin daggers strapped to her hip, but was otherwise unarmed or else had the appearance of such. Her resting stare was about as intimidating as anyone smaller than him in weight and height could manage to be, although that wasn't to say she didn't look like she could handle herself in a fight. She was light on her feet and walked as though the ground was a jungle filled with anything unseen waiting to pounce.

"He's our demo," Jay told her, coming around to clap Blaze on the shoulder. "Don't let the mean face fool you; he's a real sweetheart." Blaze snorted at the idea and Jayar winked. "Kidding. But none of us are all that nice."

No one else was here yet. Urgency filled him. Blaze pulled Jayar aside, darting glances occasionally at Dagny, who seemed content to stand waiting with her arms folded. He knew Jayar was obsessed with all this Ice Court stuff at the moment, but he was so consumed with it already that he clearly hadn't made time to catch up on anything else. "Jay," he whisper-hissed. "You know Ripper's dead?"

He froze, the hand holding his most recent cigarette hovering just in front of his mouth. For once his voice didn't sound as confident as usual.

"He is?"

"You messed him up real bad."

He nodded slowly before shrugging it off, sharp teeth poking out in a dry smile. "Good riddance, then."

You idiot. There was no 'good riddance' about it. Ripper had been working for Rollins much longer than Jayar had, and maybe even longer than Blaze. The implications of that were nothing to be brushed aside. "Jay. You killed someone up in ranks." Blaze tapped his fingernails on the counter, keeping his voice low for the sake of the girl watching them carefully. "Boss can't possibly be happy about it. It's got me a little worried that Rollins don't intend for us to come back from this job alive."

"It's kill or be killed in the Barrel, golden boy," Jayar drawled. "You of all people should know that. And besides." He blew a puff of smoke in Blaze's face, looking delighted when he scowled. "Rollins doesn't get to decide who comes back alive. We do. Are you gon' survive, Blaze?"

His eyes flickered darkly. "Hell yeah."

"Then no one gives a damn what Pekka Rollins wants."

Blaze's mind reeled, breath catching in his throat. He didn't care. He didn't care. The realization that Jayar had moved beyond Rollins changed everything.

If Rollins didn't matter, what were they really doing here?

Jayar, unaware of Blaze's shock or pretending not to notice, turned back to their guest, leaning back against the counter and folding his hands over his chest. Blaze decided to harp over his motivations later, reminding himself he had good reason to stay. Kruge, kruge, kruge. "So! Drojher. You like death-defying experiences?"

Dagny turned over the response on her tongue before she said it. "Not particularly. As I understand it, I'm here to make a map."

He nodded. "The boring part, but yeah⸻we'll be getting that knocked out today. How well can you shoot?"

"Arrows? I don't miss." She sounded completely and wholeheartedly convinced of this. "Handgun? Not as comfortable."

"Between her and Bjerke we should be fine," Blaze noted with a sigh.

She assessed them both, looking as though she was choosing each and every word with painstaking care. "This Elias Bjerke. What got him working with you two?"

Blaze jerked a thumb in Jayar's direction. "Just works for him."

"Loyalty is easily bought and sold," Jayar added, sounding largely disinterested. "Except for emotional loyalty. But that stuff's gross."

"Speaking of; how'd it go with Black Veil?"

"Like taking candy from a baby. If you don't count the knife he threw at me, anyway. No, he has very good reason to join us. Ack, dammit, that reminds me. Gotta go talk to Khlodonaya again to secure future contact... ugh..."

He was doing that rambling thing, where he forgot other people were in the room with him. Blaze side-eyed him. "Who?"

"Nothing, shut up. I'm thinking aloud. Maybe it was a bad idea to piss her off. Man, I really thought I was rid of that place, but here we go again⸻"

Someone knocked on the door again. Jayar practically jumped up to slam it open. The person who stepped through was the hot Shu chick from the Sweet Shop, who carelessly flicked at him the piece of paper Blaze had provided with the address.

"Miss Erinsin," said Jayar with the sort of tone one might use to begin a diplomatic arrangement. She held out her hand and lifted her chin, and to Blaze's continuously mounting disbelief, he actually leaned down and kissed one of the rings on her fingers. What kind of business relationship did they have? he thought incredulously.

"Oh, please. We're cohorts now. Davi or Your Majesty will do," she replied, her voice sickeningly sugary. Having had precisely one conversation with her, Blaze had already decided she was disgustingly repulsive. Arrogance clouded with an obviously handcrafted sense of mystery wrapped in a golden bow. "A little birdie with a bad temper told me I would be coming into a large sum of money?"

Blaze just grunted and began to peel his orange.

Elias and Black Veil arrived last, both having come up the stairs at about the same stride but Elias bounding in excitedly through the door while the assassin hesitantly stepped through like he was only barely convinced he was going to go through with this at all. "Sonje!" Jayar greeted with enthusiasm so potent it was practically bleeding condescension, having locked the door behind them. "You decided to humor us."

The assassin didn't say anything, and Jayar clapped his hands. "I believe introductions are in order! Everyone, this lovely slightly-shorter-than-me scowling fellow is Mr. Solovei Konstantin. He doesn't talk much. Don't even try that, Elias⸻" Elias froze mid-steal, his hand hovering over the gold bangle Konstantin wore on his left wrist⸻ "I suspect you'll end up with a broken limb."

Everyone had been in the same room for less than a minute and they were already attempting to rob each other. Promising.

Elias retreated and offered Konstantin a goofy, apologetic grin. "Sorry. I like the jewelry. Very classy."

Konstantin's response was some sort of twitchy, half-smiling expression that lasted approximately half a second and might have been an acceptance of apology or a promise of murder; Blaze genuinely had no idea.

Jayar continued on as if nothing was amiss. "The lovely tattooed lass who radiates a slight aura of terror⸻"

"But in an alluring way," Davina added.

"⸻is Davina Erinsin. Our resident Fjerdan informants are Dagny Drojher," he went on, nodding in her direction, "and Elias Bjerke, who promises he'll keep his hands to himself going forward. And this is Blaze, who, be warned, is alarmingly match-happy; and presumably at this point you all already know who I am.

"In terms of the details of the job, here you go: the Dime Lions will provide us with transportation and some resources. The rest is up to us. We need to get in and out of the Ice Court, preferably without being caught, and take Bo Yul-bayur with us. He's the key to jurda parem⸻its release into the market or lack thereof rests entirely in his hands. We leave empty-handed, no payout. And we have competition. The time is ticking for us to reach Yul-bayur before Kaz Brekker and the Dregs do. Our job today is to come up with a plan based on the knowledge we can put together of what the Ice Court looks like and what its weak points are."

The crew looked around at each other, nodding along to what Jay had said or watching the others carefully. He went over and gestured to a roll of paper he'd spread on his small dining table.

"Well?" Blaze said, looking expectantly at the load of strangers in Jay's apartment.

Jayar waved a pen. "Let's get to making maps."

Everyone started moving, some more reluctantly than others. Elias tilted his head and squinted, as if an image of the Ice Court would come to him somewhere in the distance. "'Kay. So... the place is divided into three parts. You know, the embassy, the prison, and that place where they train the drüskelles or whatever. It's like a tree⸻you know how Fjerdans are obsessed with trees? Because Djel is a part of nature, so we've got this massive sacred tree and everything. So anyway. The Court was designed like that, to mimic the innards of a tree. It's got a circle inside of a circle inside of a circle. The middle circle is... I don't remember what it's called, but that's where the sacred ash tree is, and pretty much anything valuable."

Dagny finally spoke up, her voice soft but authoritative. "The White Island."

Elias snapped his fingers. "Oh, yeah, you're right! The White Island."

She uncapped a pen. "It's surrounded by an ice moat used by would-be drüskelle during their ceremonies." Elias turned to her, thinking, because apparently he was capable of such a thing.

"Don't they have a treasury on that island?"

"I'm nearly certain. And there's a bridge that goes across the moat to get to it." She began sketching the description they were putting together, starting from the inside out. The others stood around them, taking in the information silently. Except for Jayar, that is; he leaned over to get a better look at the somewhat rudimentary sketch provided thus far by their two informants and furrowed his brow.

"So they'll be keeping Yul-bayur on the island, then?"

Dagny paused. "What?"

"He's more a prisoner of value than one of danger, right? If I were the Fjerdans, I'd keep him locked up in the tightest spot on the map."

She nodded slowly, mouth forming a small O. "It has to be heavily guarded. Getting in through the front gates is hard enough, but having to reach the White Island really complicates things."

Elias closed his eyes and tapped his pen on the table, trying to conjure up some distant memory. "You have to come in through the northern road. Then there'll be two checkpoints⸻three? No, two⸻at the entrance and a guarded gate at each sector. The prison one will definitely be up and running, so we could maybe get in through there. As for the other gates, there's no guarantee they'll be functioning. When I was there, the drüskelle gate was definitely locked, but I've heard they also bolt down the embassy gate sometimes. If I were to guess, they likely rotate them."

"Prison it is," Jay said.

"The Ice Court is located near the harbor at Djerholm," Dagny added, adding an outer wall and cliffs to the makeshift map, "which should be a surefire way to get our ship close to the front gates.

Jayar traced the sketch languidly with a blackened finger. "Hmm... I'm missing something. We need an in, a distraction."

"Well, there's always Hringkälla," said Davina disinterestedly, examining a chip in her nails. "The Sweet Shop is sending a delegation. I'm on the list, of course," she added with an air of superiority. This was news to Blaze, but she said it as if there were nothing more obvious in the world.

Elias pointed an approving finger gun at her. "She's right! I forgot to mention that. It's two weeks from now. If you wanna sneak into the Ice Court, that's the way to do it. Not that I know from experience or anything," he said cheekily. Jayar nodded slowly.

"So how do the Hringkälla celebrations work?"

"The royal family of Fjerda hosts a celebration and invites as many guests of high political and social status as they can get their hands on," Dagny explained. "The actual purpose is the initiation of new drüskelle."

"And the source of most of the party entertainment comes straight from the whore-houses right here in Ketterdam," Elias finished.

"Saints' sake, don't call them that," Davina huffed, placing a hand on her hip and swaying her weight. "I believe the politically correct term is pleasure houses⸻"

"Who cares?" said Jayar enthusiastically. "Whatever they're called, they might be the key to us getting in. We can send Erinsin in through that pesky gate with the other dancers, if she's already scheduled to go. Elias, is the White Rose going?"

He shook his head. "Not this year. Normally I would say I can maneuver myself into the lineup if I dress up nice, but Onkle kind of had an incident last year with some rich guy and he doesn't want to attend anymore."

"Damn." He tore a hand through his hair. "Well, then, we'll have to make you a guard. A little more of a risk, but you look and talk like a Fjerdan, which is an asset no one else here has. So Davina will arrive with the Sweet Shop, and you'll sneak in as a guard. That way you both can help us from the inside. We'll work through the details on the way, but Blaze and I'll have to get our hands on some resources first."

Dagny folded her arms. "And what of the rest of us?"

His eyes darted about before landing on his answer, which Blaze was pretty sure came straight out of his arse. The words fell out like a jumbled mishmash of alphabet soup that coincidentally accumulated in the single worst idea since Jay's last one. "Prison sector. We'll have ourselves arrested. They don't care who all's coming into prison, do they? So we knock out a few scumbags and steal their identities. The guards won't give a care in hell."

Solovei lifted a single disapproving eyebrow. He still hadn't said a word. Blaze wondered if that rumor about him being mute was true.

Blaze decided now that Jay's ridiculous idea of a plan had been vomited aloud to contribute to the discussion, and he was so incredulous that his voice lodged in his throat for a moment. He cleared it. "I'm sorry. You expect us to willingly step inside the prison walls of this fortress? How are we supposed to get out?"

Jayar waved his hand dismissively, and Blaze got the distinct feeling he didn't actually know just yet. He was projecting confidence for the sake of their guests. "Don't worry about it. I'll handle that. Here's the plan: Davi, you'll go to your employer and make sure all the arrangements are in order for you to join the group of performers, and then you'll explain that you have matters to attend to straight from Rollins and you'll be handling your own transportation. You're traveling with us. We'll all get on a boat and head due north once I've worked with the boss to secure as many resources as I can. When we do get there, Davina will meet with the Sweet Shop delegation, Elias will replace a strategically-placed guard, and the two of them will use their advantage of not being in a jail cell to help us reach the White Island."

"You do realize that when I said there's a ton of guards, I literally meant that there's at least four guards at every post imaginable, right?" Elias said, scratching his head. "I mean, not that I'm not up for a nice one-on-four wrestling match, but still..."

Jay frowned. "You're right. I need intel on the alarm protocol. Who here is an expert on security?"

His gaze trailed across the crew until it landed on Konstantin. He cracked a crooked smile.

"You always know more than you let on, don't you?"

The assassin tightened his jaw before surprising Blaze by flinging some sort of dark powder onto a blank space on the paper on the table. Words began to form quickly in Kerch, the chalky substance etching itself together and soaking into the paper like ink.

ICE COURT PROTOCOL:

Checkpoint 1: 4 guards

Checkpoint 2: 8 guards

Yellow Protocol: Sector disturbance

Red Protocol: Sector breach

Black Protocol: Total fortress shutdown

"Holy mother of Djel," Elias said, gawking at the new information. "How do you know all that?"

Solovei made a series of quick gestures with his hands before freezing, probably realizing he looked like a crazy person. But Elias nodded enthusiastically.

"So you know this shit about tons of places. That's awesome. What'd you say you do again?"

"Kill people," Jayar replied for him.

"Ohhh. Cool, man, cool. Always wanted to do that as a kid. How's the medical coverage?"

"An unglamorous affair, but I bet it pays well," Davina acknowledged, pursing her lips. It was a ludicrous scene, everyone nodding along like kill people was a reasonable occupation description, but that was the Barrel for you. As an arsonist, Blaze didn't exactly have room to judge, but boy, did he wish he did.

Solovei signed something to Elias again, and he waved a hand.

"Yeah, I was friends with a deaf guy in prison. Picked up some handsay. Probably good to have in case someone blows out my good ear in a bad shootout."

"So the rumors are legit," Blaze found himself blurting. He probably shouldn't do anything to accidentally offend the hired knife in the room, but whatever. He wasn't afraid of a skinny ginger who communicated with weird plant powders like some kind of botany nerd. "You can't talk. Or won't."

Solovei stared at him for a long, stretching moment before pulling aside the white leather choker covering his neck. There was a long, thin scar that went from one side to the other. Ah.

"Can't. Got it." Solovei slid the necklace back down.

Dagny, Elias, and Solovei began murmuring about the Ice Court's security system, presumably exchanging the various bits and pieces of information they each had, and Blaze stepped back to where Jayar was leaning against the wall. His focus was somewhere far away. Jayar Kade, always with his head in the clouds.

Blaze considered carefully what Jay might be thinking. "Is that everyone?" he asked him finally.

He shook his head. It had been the right question. "We can't break into the Court without a lockpick. It's the cells. Once we're in the prison, we need a way out so we can meet up with Davi and Elias."

Surely in this festering dung-heap of crime there was someone who knew how to escape a prison cell.

"Who do we know who knows their way around locks?"

Blaze considered the Dime Lions, ticking them off on his fingers. "Keller is on a big job, I heard Rollins pull Eamon for something new yesterday, obviously Eroll is the boss's favorite but he hates you and he's too valuable for Rollins to send him off on a suicide mission like this. A shame that you had to piss off the best safecracker we've got so many times."

Jayar's constant grin widened. "We don't need Eroll Aerts. You know that dealer who works across the Palace, the Ravkan who no one can stand?"

Blaze clucked his tongue. "Yeah. Kira..."

"Kira Lenkov. She's handy with a sword, too."

"That's why Rollins hired her. You think she'll want in?"

"Everyone wants something. If money doesn't do the trick we'll come up with something else. I'll go test the waters before I see Rollins again. Have Davina dig up anything she can on our Ravkan friend." Jayar brought his own cigarette to his lips. He hadn't thought much of Lenkov before, a cold and unreadable dealer who was average at her job and would sooner spit on your shoes than talk to you. He was aware, of course, of what Pekka Rollins really used her for: a bruiser when he needed extra guards posted somewhere and an expert at breaking out anyone who he couldn't afford to stay overnight with the stadwatch. But Jayar and Kira didn't exactly run in the same circles, with the exception of that little fight that had apparently resulted in Ripper's death. And wouldn't it be amusing if he turned up at her flat...?

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Kira Lenkov lived on the ground floor in a flat on East Stave just a street or two past the under-construction Kaelish Prince, on an alleyway so thin among buildings so tall that when she left, it was a comfort to feel so small and close to the ground. She rolled her neck and stretched her back before making her way inside, mentally running through the day's events to ensure she hadn't forgotten to do anything important. Dealing at the Palace, meeting with a client during lunch break, a second shift. Her days were very dreary, really. All she had to do was pull in enough money to survive, slowly storing up savings for passage on a ship to Ravka that felt as if it would never come. The side business helped, marginally, but it was hard enough just to stay alive in Ketterdam, nevermind reach any kind of legitimate goal.

The hairs pricked up on the back of her neck as she approached her apartment, glancing over her shoulder twice before pulling out her key ring and carefully unlocking all five deadbolts, the doorknob, and one latch. She gagged immediately at the smell of cigarette smoke as she stepped in⸻she could have sworn she'd closed the window before she left, but apparently she hadn't. She'd have to go threaten her neighbor again if he kept smoking even though everyone knew how thin the walls were. Being on the ground floor didn't help as she had to see, hear, and smell everything that went on outside.

The floorboards creaked as she discarded her boots and headed through her living room, the leaky pipe going drip-drip-drip as droplets of water plinked into the bucket she'd set up below it. The coffee table gave her pause.

She'd already cleared it of paperwork earlier today, after her client left. Everything she had to hide was stashed away. The table should have been empty.

But it wasn't.

Kira knelt down to examine a playing card⸻an ordinary one, just the kind of thing she dealt at the tables at the Emerald Palace. She flipped it over. A king card. Nothing out of the ordinary. It could have been hers. But she doubted it.

Suddenly she was on even higher alert than before. Could this be alluding to her underground business? Did someone know; were they taunting her?

The smoke. She straightened and made her way over to the large window that looked out on the street. It was closed. Then what...?

"Miss Lenkov," a man's voice said brightly. She spun, meeting the eyes of a stranger sitting in her armchair, his elbow resting on one arm and a cigarette between his fingers. Her first thought was a bucketful of expletives, and her second was If you're going to break into someone's house, at least don't go contaminating the air. With lightning-fast reflexes, Kira whirled around, grabbed one of the swords off the display on the wall, and had it pointed at the intruder in seconds.

"Now, that's no way to treat a houseguest," said the man with an elusive smile.

"If you're a guest, you're the rudest I've ever seen," she responded flatly, waving the weapon in the general direction of his cigarette. "Honestly, who does that? And how did you get in?"

"How..." His voice trailed off, and his attention with it, wandering away into some sort of dreamland she couldn't see. "Unimportant," he decided to say finally. "What silly, silly questions, out of all of them to choose from."

It took her a moment or two to recognize him, but she did. Another Lion. He, too, worked at the Emerald Palace. "You're Kade. Jakob Kade or something like that. You killed Ripper."

His eyes flashed slightly, and she caught it. He didn't like something she'd said. He took another drag of his cigarette. "Jayar Kade, actually," he said, and nothing in his tone revealed annoyance, but it was in his eyes. "And you're Kira Lenkov. Maybe. No one knows these days. We're all liars, I suppose."

Kira stiffened, then remembered that he'd broken into her house. "What do you want before I dump your body in the canal?" she practically spat. She'd never paid attention to this man in her life. Up close he was rough around the edges, everything about him clean-cut and angular⸻except for his clothing choices, which were a mess. On his left forearm he bore the usual Dime Lions tattoo⸻a feral cat curled into a crown⸻but she didn't miss his right wrist, either, which was inked with an odd king of hearts symbol. She quickly connected the dots to the playing card.

Kade blew a puff of smoke in her direction, making her cough. She glared at him but he seemed unfazed. "You're the lockpick, aren't you?" His voice was grating, like the sound of sharpening a dull sword, like boots on gravel. Chainsmokers were disgusting. It was a reminder of the smells and sounds of this vile city and all its habits. Everyone had some addiction or another, of course. Kira could not call herself an innocent. Cheater, cheater, cheater. His presence was putting her on edge, making her sweat.

"Not the lockpick. A lockpick. And you haven't yet stated what you want."

He raised an eyebrow. "Actually, doll, I'm here to offer you something."

Lies. Anyone in Ketterdam with an 'offer' was almost certainly trying to sell you something. But if hearing him out meant getting him out of her house, so be it. So Kira crossed her arms and huffed. "Then get on with it."

"Well, I'm recruiting for a job, you see."

See, she'd been right. Nearly, anyway.

"Comes straight from Pekka Rollins, but he won't be having much of anything to do with it. It's a doozy, but if we survive, the reward collectively is thirty million kruge."

Kira thought then that her eyebrows may very well shoot off her head. Thirty million kruge? It would be divided between several people if it was a job, but still... In her mind's eye she saw herself boarding a ship to Ravka. Oh, to see her sister again, alive and well...

Wait. If we survive. If we survive, he'd said.

"What's the job?"

His expression twitched slightly but she couldn't quite place what emotions were etched across it, even after all this time reading gambling tables. Because at first glance he was easy, too easy: eagerness, greed, arrogance. But Kira always looked past the first glance. He clearly wanted something, but she didn't know what it was he wanted. He was nervous, twitchy, excited, but she had no idea why. She disliked that immediately. This was an individual who either felt far too much or not enough, and someone she couldn't read with confidence meant someone she couldn't trust, even considering the fact that no one could be trusted in this Talamh-forsaken city. "Well, my new friend Kira, join and I'll be happy to tell you."

You have seriously got to be kidding me. "You're out of your mind," she said flatly. Either the job was truly awful enough that she would never agree to it if he told her, or this was some sort of con. Neither were favorable outcomes.

"So I've been told. That's not a no, is it?"

"Obviously it's a no. Clearly you weren't told 'no' enough as a child⸻I've met lots of men like you, Mr. Kade. You think whatever you want will be handed to you if you smile charmingly enough and offer up enough money. I don't want your slimy kruge. Now beat it."

She was pleasantly surprised that he shrugged and got up, taking his clouds of gray with him. But also suspicious. He'd conceded far too quickly.

"Well, if that's how you feel about it. S'pose I'll find someone else," he said evenly, and Kira's eyes narrowed. What was he really doing?

Jayar Kade turned to leave, but just as he reached the doorway, he halted, briefly, and faced her one more time.

"One last thing."

"Be my guest," Kira gritted through her teeth.

"Are you Grisha?"

The question felt like a slap in the face. She hadn't been asked that in a long time. Memories flooded back, awful memories, the nightmares she'd managed to shove down all these years. She was amazed she maintained her composure as she replied, "No. Why?"

Kade shrugged, finally on his way out. His voice echoed down the corridor. "Just curious."

It was then that Kira decided that she hated Kade⸻hated his too-genuine smile, his horrendous taste in dress, his strange, clipped questions, his nasty smoking problem, his nails-on-chalkboard voice. And most of all she hated that she could tell he wouldn't really give up. That bastard was coming back. And he was likely coming back armed, armed with something she wouldn't be able to refuse.

She stared at the series of locks on her door long after clicking them all in place. She couldn't figure it out. He needed a lockpick, which meant he wasn't a talented one himself.

So how had he gotten in?

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Liar, liar. Jayar really shouldn't have been judging Kira Lenkov as harshly as he was. But there was nothing but frustration running through his veins as he distractedly met with his boss to make arrangements to travel abroad and sent word to various contacts for one part of the job or another. He was significantly more bitter than usual, and that was saying something. Bitter enough that it probably showed. Bitter enough that he couldn't be bothered to care.

And now he was locked in the bathroom of his apartment, switchblade in hand, seething at a combination of knowing and not knowing⸻both of which were presently sources of his contempt in different ways.

So he cut a little deeper than usual when he slashed an additional tally on his stomach, swearing under his breath. Typically he didn't notice the pain, or if he did, it was only barely. But this stung. Too aggressive. And too late. Nothing he did now would change what had already been done. But it gave him the illusion of comfort, anyway. The marks added up to something over four hundred already. He was starting to run out of room. But that was fine. That was fine. This would all be over soon enough.

He touched the wound gingerly, the metallic smell overwhelming his enhanced senses as he brought his bloody fingers up to examine them. How long would he have blood on his hands? How long would this have to go on? If he got his revenge, would it all be worth it? Would his brother ever change, ever be willing to forgive him? Would everything go on the same as it had before?

Maybe he would die on this mission to break into the Ice Court. If Kaz survived, maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

He poured liquor on the fresh cut, breathing in sharply and reminding himself this wouldn't be for nothing. The more recent marks around it hurt, too, but it was the good kind of hurt. The kind he needed to keep himself going, the sort of pain that kept a wild man in check. No one got anywhere without a bit of discipline.

Kira Lenkov. She irritated him to no end, he thought as he combed his hair and began to wander about his room. She was lying about being Grisha, obviously. Blaze was doing that too, but it felt⸻different. There had to be something else she was hiding, because it was bothering him hours after having talked to her. And her hair... very nice red. Kaelish red. That checked out; she worked at the Emerald Palace and most of the dealers dyed their hair. But it rubbed him the wrong way anyways.

Her scent was strong, stronger than he was used to. Blaze smelled like a woodfire gone wrong, like chaos, like destruction. Smoky and even slightly metallic. Lenkov had that trademark Grisha scent, but mingled with it was something nothing like his; like the breath before the leaves fall in autumn, like the smell of the air after it rains. That petrichor-esque odor he'd come to associate with Squallers, of which he'd known at least a generous handful, though not enough to be used to it. It could be dismissed as the smell of the city, but no⸻that would be mixed with cigarette smoke and alcoholic breath and sweat and tears and blood and gravel and lost hope. She had to be a Squaller.

They always hid it here in Ketterdam, those Grisha. He shouldn't blame them. He was just in a sour mood.

Sonje was something else entirely, reeking of a sensation that felt faintly familiar though he was certain he'd never experienced before. He didn't have the energy to attack that puzzle.

Kaz Kaz Kaz Kaz Kaz Kaz Kaz. Jordie wondered often what he was like now. They'd never met in person, this new Kaz and new Jordie. There were only rumors to go off of, endless stories varying from almost entirely true to hardly true at all, and he couldn't possibly venture correct guesses as to which were which.

No. He scolded himself for the slip-up. Not Jordie. Jayar. Jordie was dead.

It was difficult sometimes to remember that he'd once been Jordie, and sometimes it was difficult to remember that he'd ever changed. Perhaps Jordan Rietveld was not in fact dead but had curled up in the corner of his mind to whisper in his ear when Jayar wanted to hear from him the least. He wished he would just die. If Jordie would just keel over and die already, he wouldn't be stuck in this mess, this death-defying adventure that awaited him.

But Kaz would be set on going. He would latch onto the promise of thirty million cash and scrape up whatever he needed to get it, because he'd been the type of boy to watch a magic trick and decide to train himself over and over and over again until he could do it too. It was a Rietveld family trait. Kaz would put his mind to something and do it, and not a single soul would be able to stop him. No matter the risk, no matter the effort. So Jayar was following him⸻to his rescue, or to his grave.

The Rietveld brothers would not be separated again, not unless that was truly what Kaz wanted.

Do I haunt him as he haunts me? he wondered idly, opening the door and emerging into his room.

Selfishly, maybe, he hoped so.

Until they reunited he would have to endure the nightmare that was Pekka Rollins.

Furious, he swept a stack of playing cards off his dresser. They fluttered quietly to the floor, all a mess. Pekka effing Rollins. "'Do this, Kade'," he growled aloud. "'Do that, Kade.' 'Be at the docks on time, Kade.' 'Scrub the floors all weekend, Kade.' And while you're at it, gather a crew for the worst, most impossible job you've ever been on, and act like you're okay with it because you're just as much of a pig for money as I am!"

The cards weren't enough. He grabbed the handgun that had been resting beside them and fired aimlessly. Bang. It felt good. He fired again. Bang bang. He hoped it hit someone through the walls. He hoped he scared someone out of their wits. He hoped someone would come knock at the door asking about the commotion just so he could shoot again.

You're being crazy, Jordie. You were never like this before.

"I'm not Jordie!" he snarled, swiveling to face a ghost that had already vanished. He breathed deeply, but it devolved into a cough. No surprise there. His voice felt scratchier than usual. "It made me different. But you don't know that. You might not even like me anymore."

It. Even now, with all this talk of it in regards to the job, he refused to acknowledge it in private, hated the name of it on his tongue.

"It made me different." His voice was softer now, but the itch in his throat remained. "They said it wouldn't. But it did."

There was a reason he always had to smoke something, had to have something in his veins. He would never satisfy the craving that had long strangled him, ever since that first injection on the boat. But he could get close enough. He refused to touch even regular jurda. The smell was enough to make him nauseous.

And if you come into contact with jurda parem, will you be able to control yourself?

"Don't say it!" Jayar screamed, instinctively spinning and pulling the trigger again. The noise made blood trickle down his ears, but pain was good. Pain was good. "All damn day I have to hear it! Don't say it, Kaz!"

But Kaz was nowhere to be found.

Click. Click. Empty. He dropped the gun, falling to his knees and scraping up cards with trembling fingers. He'd gotten into this spiral of talking to himself, and he had to channel it into something less destructive until the episode passed. He fumbled for something, anything. What was he looking for? His sanity? He couldn't remember what he'd been doing before.

He picked up a card, lying down in the mess, and holding it up to look at it. "Davina is the nine of hearts," he mumbled incoherently, "and she'll break dozens more.

"Elias is the five of spades⸻a weapon and odd.

"Sonje is the ace of diamonds, on my strings and up my sleeve.

"Dagny is..." He picked up a random card. "Queen of hearts. She's waiting, waiting, for her time to come to take the power from the men above her...

"Two of hearts for Kira. Because she's a bitch and she's going to need them.

"Blaze can be the jack. Of spades," he went on, lolling his head to the side. "Clever soldier, he is.

"And I'm the king, of course. The king of diamonds⸻" he giggled madly⸻ "Sonje won't like that. K for Kaz. K for everything I've lost. Everything I have left to live for."

His destiny was somewhere in these cards, his brother at the heart of it. Truly he was not the king at all. It had always been Kaz, master of the deck, and Jordie only a fool who had fallen for a faulty contract, a stupid investment. Kaz was the protagonist, the wide-eyed boy whose hardened heart molded him into the future king of the Barrel, the one who fate had chosen. Jordie was simply the brother who died.

And yet. And yet he was here.

So fate must have changed.

Kira. Kira Kira Kira. How to convince her to join his charade of a crew? Maybe if there was nothing she wanted he would have to manufacture something she didn't want. Jayar sat up. But he didn't know a thing about her. What could he possibly work with as blackmail? As far as he knew, she kept her head down and showed up to work on time, went home every night with her measly paycheck and came back the next day. She was never over at the pleasure houses, never in shady back alleys, never seemed to do anything out of the ordinary or even anything morally questionable whatsoever.

Unless.

His mind had rotated back to that day⸻the day of the fight. Missed opportunity for a good throwdown. What had Lenkov said then to the man who insisted his opponent was cheating? You're free to take any complaints up with Pekka Rollins if you like, or you can take your empty wallet and your pride and leave before I give you good reason to. Slowly it came to him.

How many times had angry players cried dirty? He'd never had reason to think anything of it. When people lost their money, it was no surprise that they would take their frustrations out on their opponent or even the dealer. But all the times he'd heard it and seen Kira Lenkov manning the table, seen cards flashing through her fingers too fast to catch what she was doing... She had slick fingers indeed. A lockpick's fingers. Maybe even a cheater's fingers.

Suddenly Jayar was on his feet, buttoning up his shirt and wrenching on a coat.

This could be it. All he needed was proof.