"You're going to go gray, you know."
Kaz glances up from his desk. Or rather, Jordie's desk. But right now, Jordie stands in the doorway with a smirk on his lips and an extra muss to his hair. There is undone work on the desk, so for now, the desk is Kaz's.
He absently runs a hand through his black locks. "Ghezen forbid I succumb to the demon of aging."
"Aging is reserved for those who have already done away with their lives," Jordie says, taking a few steps into the room. "I wouldn't expect you to join them so soon."
There's a playful lilt to Jordie's voice when he speaks. Kaz scoffs, but he can feel the faintest smile ghosting his lips.
"If that's the case, then you clearly don't have the best judgment." Kaz turns back to the desk, his eyes readjusting from life in motion to ink on paper.
There's a pang of silence, and for a moment Kaz thinks Jordie forgot to shut the door. Then he hears footsteps on hardwood and the soft plop of weight on a cushioned chair behind him.
"I think I already finished most of that," Jordie points out from his armchair.
"You did. I'm just tending to the scraps," Kaz replies.
A low chuckle escapes Jordie. "You know, I hear wine offsets the effects of graying," he says, and Kaz shakes his head.
"It also offsets logic," he points out, then pauses. "I'll take a glass when I finish."
Now it's Jordie's turn to scoff. "By then, it'll have aged a whole new caliber. You'd be smarter to sell it over drinking it."
Despite himself, Kaz feels another small smile cross his lips. His brother is a comfort; the one thing he's come across that lets him soften himself as much as he can. This city may be relentless, but it's much easier to exist in it when are places to relax.
"Kruge in my pocket and files in my drawer. What a shame," Kaz says with a chuckle, barely looking over his shoulder.
If he needed to, Kaz could just keep the books in his head. But most of the people that work for them don't have his savvy for keeping numbers, and Kaz trusts himself far more than any other random merch to take the brunt of the work.
"A shame that you'd be one drink shorter," Jordie replies, the same mischievous lilt to his voice.
"I believe I'd manage," Kaz says simply. Jordie is the only person Kaz tolerates when he's doing his work, so he doesn't mind these little chats.
People like Jordie are what make things tolerable. So he doesn't mind Jordie barging in on his quiet work when his brother has spent the better part of the night out and about.
Because that's simply who Jordie is. Loud and upfront and not afraid to hide it. He's easy to hide behind and allows Kaz to sink into himself and keep to the shadows, protected, and getting things done.
He's his brother, and that makes a lot of things a little bit easier. Not everything, but enough to get by. And for Kaz, that seems to be enough.
There is an ache in Kaz Rietveld's bones.
It's always there, dull and throbbing. Jordie says it's just the old man in him. Neither of them believes in souls, but if they did, Kaz feels he would be ancient.
Strangely enough, he doesn't take much comfort in the idea. There's a reason he doesn't believe in souls. The idea of gods and saints picking what comes and goes with such ease adds a chill to the pang in his body.
Fate is not a welcome friend of his. It is a silver-tongued charlatan, baiting people into docility with pretty lies: telling them that things aren't their fault and luring them into a stagnant sleep.
Kaz had decided a long time ago that this dull pain is his to bear. And as easy as it would be to decide that this is just the way he's made, he knows that's not the case.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce—Tante Heleen and the Menagerie!"
Kaz peers up from over his wine glass. He's not a big fan of Tante Heleen. She reeks of too-much perfume and moves like a wiry old cat. Besides, he's never been a big customer for brothels.
Still, he can't deny her impact in the governing world. Tante Heleen has a hand in every pocket, and it wouldn't be too far fetched to assume that at least a quarter of the merches here have indulged in her services.
So when the time had come to open the invitation for the merchant gala tonight, the Menagerie was right there in black letters. Kaz hadn't complained, but he isn't about to go hitting up doe-eyed fawns and dark-haired serpents.
The crowd hoots as the myriad of girls from all over the world floods in, dressed in eye-bleeding colors and far more skin than must be comfortable in the autumn weather of Kerch.
"Aw, what's wrong," Jordie chuckles from beside Kaz, nudging him gently with his elbow. "Not a fan of exotic girls?"
Kaz only sighs, setting his wine glass on an ornately designed pier table against the wall. "Not a fan of the Menagerie," he mutters. The Menagerie is almost more of a theatre troupe than a pleasure house, with girls dressing up in ridiculous costumes that Kaz would be hard-pressed to take seriously.
Jordie shrugs and leans back in the wall. "Can't even blame you. Never been a big fan of brothels myself."
Kaz knows that Jordie doesn't engage in pleasure houses. He doesn't exactly practice abstinence, but he doesn't go as far as to go purchase ladies who are contractually required to perform for him.
Kaz himself isn't against brothel women. In this city, you make do with what you can. If what you can do is lucrative, then Kaz isn't one to judge. But the Menagerie is one big headache, and Kaz has enough sense to know that most of Tante Heleen's girls aren't exactly in it by choice.
"Hey—check it out," Jordie says with an impish grin, leaning closer to Kaz. He points out across the ballroom, and Kaz follows his gaze to a large man in a dark mercher suit eyeing a pair of Menagerie girls who both look young enough to be his daughters.
Kaz snorts a bit into his drink. He knows the man as Mr. Masek, and he's not surprised in the least that he would be so quick to go for the Menagerie girls.
Jordie calls him Jumbo behind his back, and Kaz doesn't even feel bad about it because the man is a nightmare to be around. Kaz can't imagine any girl going for him in real life.
"Imagine having to cater to a man like that," Jordie remarks with a wince at the Menagerie girls.
Kaz feels his stomach turn at the thought of it. A life under Tante Heleen is certainly not something he would wish on anybody. "I would gouge my own eyes out if that were me," Kaz scoffs, placing down his wine cup.
Jordie gives a small laugh, and Kaz can't help but chuckle with him.
Kaz is fifteen when he drops out of school.
It's not a spur of the moment decision. He had been pondering it for a while, but he spends a week or two seriously thinking about it. He ponders what it could mean and what it could do for him. But in the end, he decides it's for the best.
There's nothing useful left for him in school. He's acing all his tests and levels above the rest of his classmates. It's a pain to attend, and the thought of spending any more years there when he could do something useful makes him sick to his stomach.
Jordie isn't angry when Kaz tells him the news. At that point, he was barely attending anyways, and both of them saw it as a waste of money. Kaz is grateful that it stopped there.
He doesn't want to tell Jordie the other reason that he left school. That deep down, some part of him was antsy being away from the stocks and their trades. Because that meant that Jordie was in charge of their money. And frankly, the thought of that twists a pit in Kaz's stomach.
Jordie and Kaz are lost in conversation when an older man that Kaz can't be bothered to know the name of emerges from the crowd. He's thin and sickly-looking, with a wine glass in his hand and top hat on his head.
"Ah, Mr. Rietveld. Mr. Rietveld," the man says, turning to Jordie and Kaz in turn. "I hope you're enjoying the gala?"
Jordie turns to face the man with a half-intrigued, half-uninterested smile. "It's been...entertaining, to say the least. Wouldn't you agree, Kaz?"
Kaz glances over at a group of men hovering around a young Kaelish girl in a skimpy horse costume. He never understood what was so appealing about dressing like a horse. "...It seems that way."
The man gives another smile, and he can't help reminding Kaz of a canal rat. "That's good to hear! I, uh...I hope that you won't mind meeting an associate of mine?"
Jordie turns to look at Kaz, and Kaz looks at Jordie. They both know how these functions work. While attractions like the menagerie girls certainly liven things up, the real purpose of galas like this is about status.
It's all about being among the elite, mingling with others in your caliber, and making strong connections. To true merchants, everything is a business opportunity if you played your cards right. And Kaz would be lying if he said he hadn't talked to a few important people tonight.
"I don't think we would mind at all," Jordie says with a dazzling smile. And thus, they're off.
The hours melt into each other, Jordie doing a good portion of the talking and Kaz dipping in when he needs to. Kaz isn't much for the partying scene, but when he needs to he can easily turn the charm on.
He could be laughing with girls and drinking the night away, but Kaz finds that this will help him sleep easier tonight. Mingling and making impressions will certainly have better effects than a night spent drowning in pleasure.
He supposes it's easier to keep to himself and stick to business. He's never been the most outgoing of people, which is probably why (on top of being the older one) Jordie is the face most people think of when they hear the Rietveld Brothers.
But Kaz is okay with this. He's always had Jordie in front of him, which gives him room to work unimpeded behind the scenes. Even in their early years, when Jordie was out finding work and making money, Kaz tended to himself. He practiced his magic tricks and studied the world, trying to see what made things tick.
He supposes he's still trying to see what makes things tick. That's what makes him such a good mercher.
The night drags on, hours falling away like grains of sand in an hourglass. Kaz isn't sure what time it is. At some point, he and Jordie step away for a moment, and he stifles a yawn.
Jordie nudges Kaz in the shoulder. "Don't tell me you're getting tired already," he says with a playful smile, rolling a wine glass in his hand.
Kaz rolls his eyes and shoves him back. "Don't be stupid. We've been at this for hours," he shoots back. He looks around to see several people, Menagerie girls included, have already left the ballroom. However, for the most part, the gala is still swinging.
"I'm gonna step out for a moment. I'll be back in pinch," Kaz says, already walking over to one of the arches at the back end of the ballroom. These parties are informative, but taxing nonetheless.
Kaz Rietveld is not an unblemished man. He's had to claw and scrape and scratch at survival, sleeping at night with nothing but his hopes, his wits, and his brother to keep him warm.
The world is a weary place. It leaves jagged paths and steep climbs for anyone unfortunate enough to be tossed at the bottom. To work your way up and stay there leaves scars on the palms and wrinkles on the spirit.
Kaz has seen the ins-and-outs of Ketterdam life. He has endured the venom shot at him and spat it out himself. He is not as kind as he would like or as thoughtful, but on good days, he smiles and he tries.
He supposes the ache in his bones is exhaustion. He's tired of worrying, and the pain of being a quiet cynic has taken a toll on his bones.
But he endures nonetheless, with scars and all. He watches the world with an analytical eye, whispering into his brother's ear as pieces of puzzles only he can see fall into place.
He may not be the first face of the Rietveld brothers, but any citizen with a hand in the market knows that Kaz Rietveld is not one to swindle.
It's much dimmer out in the hall than it is in the ballroom. The lanterns haven't been tended as frequently, leaving lazy shadows barely visible and a thin haze of darkness over everything. In a way, it's almost calming.
Kaz finds that it feels much more natural to be here, among the dark walls and flickering lights. The clamor of the gala fades away behind thick wood-paneled walls and grand archways. Back in the ballroom, everything is loud and pulsing. Here, things are quiet and slow. There are no mind-numbing distractions meant to turn heads and meaningless pleasures to waste time.
Kaz hasn't been out long when he hears the crying. At first, he's not even sure it's crying. There's no sobs or wails or anything even like that. Instead, it's much more discreet—shuddering breaths and low sniffles.
It's so faint, he doesn't even hear it until the party is nothing more than a faint murmur. Kaz might have even believed it was a ghost. Of course, Kaz isn't quite sure what he believes in these days.
On the one hand, he could just go back to the gala. There are connections to be made and handshakes to be had. But on the other hand, he can feel curiosity pricking needles in his skin, making his mind spin and wonder.
He's not going to get involved. But he can hear them just around the corner, breathing ragged in the dark. It sounds like a girl, but most of the merches are men. And anyhow, he's found that most of the female merches would be hard-pressed to let themselves cry in the boys' club.
He's already decided it's one of the Menagerie girls by the time he turns the corner to find a little lynx holding herself in front of a grand painting. She doesn't sit down on the floor—clearly, she doesn't want to let herself go that far.
But her head hunches down towards her chest, her bare arms not quite crossed but holding one another as though she's comforting herself. A purple and gold cat mask lies on the floor, letting her dark hair sweep over her face and hide her behind her own private curtain.
The dim lanterns glow on her soft bronze skin, the black feather of the Menagerie a dark spot on her arm—impure and tainted. Her breaths are quiet, but her chest rises and falls, and when she looks up at Kaz, her cheeks are tearstreaked.
Kaz freezes. Her gaze is a midnight sky devoid of any stars; a universe with no light to fill it. She looks shocked at first, but her gaze quickly settles into what Kaz can only pin as resignation. Her brows settle closer together as she looks at Kaz with her quiet, infinite gaze.
"...I'm assuming you're not enjoying the party," he finally says when the quiet has gone on too long.
He's not sure what he expected, but the girl's face doesn't change. "And how would you expect me to enjoy it?"
Her accent is Suli, but her voice is dull and flat.
"I would guess not hidden away in the hall," Kaz replies. He begins to take a step closer, but the girl tenses, so he decides on staying where he is. This night suddenly got a bit more interesting, and he would hate to scare her off.
"And yet, I see you're here as well," the girl points out.
Kaz only shrugs and gives a small smile that he hopes is comforting. "I suppose we're not meant for the limelight."
The girl doesn't smile back. Her gaze remains steely and cold, but another tear slips down her cheek. She takes a deep breath and turns her head away from Kaz.
"...You'll have to give me a moment to gather myself," she finally says quietly, wiping at her cheek. "I'm sorry. I didn't expect anyone to find me like this."
"I don't want your services," Kaz says quickly as the girl begins to reach for her mask. "I just wanted to get away from the gala for a moment."
The girl freezes. Then, slowly, she straightens herself back up, leaving her mask on the floor. "...That makes two of us," she says warily, looking Kaz up and down.
"I suppose the merches aren't very popular with you," Kaz says, peering up at her.
"How I feel about them doesn't matter," she says, eyeing Kaz for a beat too long. "Suli girls are typically crowd-pleasers."
Kaz clears his throat. He knows this girl doesn't see him as another boy or a party guest. To her, he's another part of the job. Of course, he can hardly blame her for thinking like that.
"So what is a Suli girl when there's no one to please?" He proposes, looking around the empty hallway.
The girl looks Kaz over for a long moment, her dark eyes narrow. "There's always someone to please."
"Humor me."
The girl goes quiet, looking down at herself as though pondering the question. "Free," she decides after a long moment. "Girls are free when they do not have to please." Her voice is as sharp as a wicked blade.
She speaks with more conviction than when Kaz first ran into her. He doesn't know if that's good for him, but it brings him a strange amount of comfort.
"A noble ambition," Kaz comments, leaning against the opposite wall.
"Freedom shouldn't have to be an ambition."
"There are a lot of things in this world that shouldn't be," Kaz points out. "But I've found that musing about it doesn't do much good."
The girl looks up at Kaz. "Oh? Then what exactly do you do?" She arches a single dark brow.
At that, Kaz can only shrug. "What I can do. I seize the opportunities I'm given and make do with anything else."
"The true tongue of a merch."
"People speak the language of those that suit them," he says simply. "You, for example, speak of goodwill and morals. It's a shame it's a dead language around here."
With a silent hand, the girl reaches up and brushes the hair out of her face. Her skin really is flawless. It's no wonder Tante Heleen picked her for the Menagerie. "There have to be a few left to speak it. Otherwise, the world descends into madness."
"I suppose the ignorant would. But the truly conniving would turn to logic. And in most cases, logic means money," Kaz says with a raise of his brows.
The girl sighs. "Then it would seem all the devils are here."
Kaz chuckles lightly. "It seems you're catching on."
The girl knits her brows together. She looks Kaz up and down, as though she isn't quite sure what to make of him. "...So what are you? A devil?" She finally asks.
Kaz bites the inside of his cheek. He's thought about this question more often than he would like, but he's only rarely said it out loud. Then again, he highly doubts he'll see this girl again. "I prefer the term devil's advocate," he finally decides.
"I suppose that's considered a moral high ground around here," she mutters, gazing around at the sprawling mansion.
"Lynx, right now you are an angel compared to most in this house."
"Does this include you as well?"
Kaz pause. "I prefer to think that I'm still a man."
The girl closes her eyes and gives another sigh. "You know, I don't like it when people call me lynx."
"Fair enough," Kaz agrees with a nod. "What would you prefer I call you?"
The girl pauses, then parts her lips. "Most just call me Inej."
First name basis. Whatever this girl is, she certainly isn't stupid. Of course, she's probably been forced to give her name out to plenty of men before him. "Kaz."
"Rietveld, I know. I heard some men talking in the ballroom," Inej says.
Kaz gives a small smile. "Well, Inej, let's hope your good conscience lasts longer than most."
The Suli girl looks at Kaz. She doesn't smile—not even close—but her muscles seem to lose a tiny bit of their tension.
She sighs, her deep black gaze meeting Kaz's. "Let's both hope for that."