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During her time as the Wraith, Inej had learned and perfected the delicate art of going through things that didn’t belong to her. To put back in place that which had been displaced, to put clothes and trinkets back into drawers the exact way she’d found them, to leave papers littered throughout the desk in the very same pattern their owners had set them in the first place. The meticulous way she executed the task wasn’t strictly necessary, but it was one of the things that had made her such a good spider.
Now, as she went through the papers on Kaz’s desk, she felt as though she was doing nearly the opposite of all that. When Kaz did his paperwork, it was all done in his head. And although she was sure that he knew almost precisely where everything was last put, it appeared that he found organizing said papers rather a moot point. So, instead of putting everything back exactly where it had been previously, she found herself reorganizing his entire desk.
He should count himself lucky I still keep all his secrets, she thought. How might Ketterdam react if they knew that Dirtyhands couldn’t keep his papers in order?
Might bolster the sentiment that he didn’t need a reason, she supposed.
When Inej had made her way to the Slat after making port in Ketterdam, this wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. She hadn’t really had anything in particular in mind in the first place other than the fact that she had missed her favorite Barrel boss over the past few months. She missed their talks while they sat at the windowsill. She missed his determination when they tested the waters with each other, trying new things and testing just how far they could push themselves and each other toward something resembling intimacy. She missed the barely there smile he gave her when they managed to be close, to touch, to hold, to kiss– as though he had figured out another piece of some sort of puzzle. She loved the sea. She loved sailing, and she loved what she did. But she loved Kaz Brekker too.
Which begged the question: where was he?
Granted, this was far from the first time she had come to greet him at the Slat, only to find both his room in the attic and the office he’d claimed from Per Haskell empty. There had been one occasion where she had intended to meet him there, not knowing that he had been well on his way to meeting her at the harbor. For generally being so attuned to each other, it bewildered both of them somewhat that they had managed to go completely around the other. When they were both eventually found by Jesper and Wylan upon breaking into the Van Eck manor, they had managed to pretend that meeting then and there had been planned out. Although Inej would have been surprised if their friends had actually fallen for the lie, the two kindly said nothing. They were not, however, spared the teasing glances from Jesper. After that incident, they had started planning. She had suggested that it might be easier if she just came to the Slat. If she wasn’t there within an hour after making port, then he could go and meet her there.
He’d frowned a bit and said, “I can make the journey there.”
She hadn’t quite known what to say to that. It was a simple statement infused with all the dramatic flair she’d come to expect from him, but it was more than that to them. What had been still budding between them then– still new and frightening and delicate– was so easily summed up by that word. Journey. The path they were painstakingly carving towards each other. His words were about more than the walk.
We never came to an agreement about that, she mused.
The thunk-step step patterned sound of Kaz making his way up the stairs pulled her out of her thoughts. She kept her eyes trained on the papers still before her as the door opened, seeing the information without really registering it anymore. She had seen enough to gather the information she had wanted.
“Hello, Inej.” His voice was like a knife against the whetstone. Saints, she had missed it.
“Three years ago, you started with four million kruge and started building an empire,” she began in lieu of a greeting. “That number has been steadily rising over the past couple of years with regular income from a wide array of ventures— some legal, most not. You could very well be just about the richest man in Ketterdam.”
“Inej, darling, I’m well aware of my financial standing. I’m the bane of every mercher in the city.”
She hummed her acknowledgment, a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“So why,” she asked, finally setting his papers down and looking at him, “with all this money, have you been using the same desk that you’ve been using since you were seventeen? It’s not even a real desk, Kaz.”
Wherever he was expecting her to go with the initial statement, it seemed that that wasn’t it. After barely a moment of silence, he laughed. A soft, gentle laugh. The kind that she knew was meant just for her. She’d heard of the Kerch keeping something of their lover’s likeness inside pieces of jewelry. A lock of hair, a penny portrait made by a street vendor, a hand-written note folded on a tiny slip of paper. She thought she would rather store his laugh in one of these lockets and keep it close to her heart always.
“I hope you didn’t come all this way to berate me about my desk,” he said as he came closer.
“It’s a door. But no, that’s not why I came here. I came all this way because I received an intriguing note from my on-shore associate about some business he thought I might like to take care of. A businessman with close ties to the Merchant Council by the name Gustaaf Van Handel. He seems to think he can barter flesh like any market good, so my associate thought I might like to introduce him to some of my Saints.”
“An associate told you all this, hm?” His voice was softer now that he was standing in front of her. They were close enough now that their breaths intermingled. “Have you scoped out the house yet, or did you want your associate to do so instead?”
“I haven’t yet.” She pitched her voice to match his quiet tone. “Actually, I thought I’d see if he was available to join me. Local rumor would suggest that Mr. Brekker is a difficult man to get ahold of when he’s busy.”
“I didn’t think being the scourge of the entire slave trade industry was willing to work on someone else’s schedule.”
“Calling it a schedule would be a little generous. It’s more of an invitation. Something you’d know more about if you stopped breaking in through Wylan’s windows to drag Jes into your schemes.”
He elected to ignore that particular jibe. When Jesper had sent her a letter on behalf of both Wyaln and himself, he informed her that they had decided that until Kaz could come up with a legal reason to visit them, they were not going to answer the door. He wrote that this had been effective for all of five minutes when Kaz had decided that he could let himself and inform the two that in a world of locked doors, the man with the key may be king, but it was the man with a set of lockpicks who determined the laws of the land. It all sounded very dramatic, and Inej wished she had been there to see it.
His response instead was, “When do we leave?”
She was reluctant to leave this space. The little circle where only they existed. But what was being Ketterdam’s best spider if she wasn’t prepared?
“We have time,” she murmured. She had gone to the Slat with hours to spare. Hours she had every intention of sharing with him.
She hadn’t really meant to look at his leather-bound hands as she said it. But understanding seemed to dawn on him as he caught the glance. He moved to take the gloves off, but in the minimal space that existed between them, Inej reached out, stopping before she touched him.
“May I?” It would be something new for them if they could accomplish what she had in mind.
He placed one gloved hand in hers. A simple gesture that carried so much weight. So much trust. To anyone else, it might have been a small thing. To them, it was the idea that someday, it could be a small thing. Without taking her eyes off of his, she began undoing the buttons at his wrists. When his breath caught and he brought his gaze down to their hands, she worried that they’d gone further than they had meant to. She stopped, ready to withdraw if he indicated discomfort.
“Go on,” he said. Finish the story.
She tugged the glove off his hand.
“Tell me if it’s becoming too much.” She reached for the other one. He met her halfway.
He met her eyes again. She loved his eyes. They reminded her of tea made from Suli herbs and spices. Proper tea, not the imitation stuff the Kerch tried to pass off as the real thing.
The other glove came off, and it was his turn to ask, with one hand hovering at her cheek:
“May I?”
She gave him permission fully and freely.
They were so close to each other now. Some girlish part of her wanted to raise herself on her toes and… and what? Lean into him? Kiss him? Simply be nearer? Those were all still a puzzle they were working through.
She could have sworn she was being pulled in three different directions. Her father had always told her that the heart was an arrow: it demands an aim to land true. She had more than one aim, and she knew them all well. She wanted this. She wanted him and all his broken glass pieces that so nearly matched hers. But the rest of her was still catching up, still coming to terms with the fact that she was being touched because she said he could touch her. How could she want this? How could she want this closeness with a man? How could she stand there and let his hands drift over her?
It’s Kaz. She had half a mind to speak the words out loud as though that could cement them. I am here with Kaz Brekker, and he will not hurt me.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, it registered how ironic it was to be finding safety and surety in the presence of Dirtyhands, but she found that she didn’t really care.
She felt his hand tremor against her skin. This wasn’t easy for either of them. But they were getting there.
He had explained what he called his sickness during her first summer back from the sea. The con, the plague, the Barge. Jacob Hertzoon. Pekka Rollins Jordie. He explained to her that he couldn’t touch human skin without going back to that harbor, without feeling cold, bloated, rotting flesh. He’d told her that somehow, her voice always seemed to drag him back from the unforgiving waters.
“Van Handel is taking his wife out to dinner at six bells tonight.” If talking helped, she’d talk. “We have until then. I was thinking we could go through the house, see what information we could collect, and start tying the noose from there.”
Perhaps it was a dirty trick, distracting him with the job in front of them. But the shadows their pasts cast played dirty tricks too.
“I thought you hadn’t found any information yet.” If his voice was rougher, raspier than it was moments prior, she wasn’t going to say anything.
“No, I said that I haven’t scoped the house yet.”
“How do you plan to tighten this noose?”
“I need to know who he sells to first. Which ports he goes through, where the people he takes come from, and where they go. After I’ve cut off his supply, I think I’ll tie him up and leave him in the rotting underbelly of an old, discharged ship for a few days before setting it on fire.”
This time when she felt him shiver again, she didn’t think it was because of his ghosts.
His hand moved, coming to rest on her back instead of her cheek as she stepped slowly, tentatively nearer, until she could rest her head against his chest and hear the beating of his heart. His arms were wrapped around her, but he did not cage her.
After a moment, she could hardly help the tease:
“Try as you might, Dirtyhands, your heart is still intact.”
He huffed, and she didn’t have to see his face to know that he was rolling his eyes.
“Surely, that joke is going to get old eventually.”
“Not in this life.” She pulled back just enough to grin at him. “Your secret is safe with me.”
They always are.
“I know,” he said.
What they had was not the flamboyant spectacles of affection that were meant to express love. They did not do public displays. They did not lean into each other as they walked through the streets. They didn’t flirt in public, and every touch, every whisper, every lingering gaze was weighed so very carefully before being acted upon.
What they had was just for them. It was I would come for you, and I can help you, and I trust you, I trust you, I trust you. Every moment they fought for was for the promise that they could eventually stop fighting.
They would have a busy evening later. But for now, they were content to stay as they were. Far from the water of the harbor. Far from any gilded cage. Just them, trying to figure out how to fit together.