A/N: This chapter has the scene that sparked the entire idea for this story. I just had to figure out how to get it there, and it was more fun brainstorming and playing with scenes (and listening to a ton of music to keep the inspiration flowing) than I thought it would be. I hope you readers enjoy this last one. It's longer than the others, and while I still have ideas for this thing, I'll deem it complete for now. Stay safe during this very strange, scary time, everyone!
iv.
"You're telling me that Kaz Brekker has been letting you sleep in his bed every night you're in Ketterdam? Because he asked?" Nina says, eyebrows raised, her lips turning up mischievously.
Inej met her in a Ravkan bakery, one of Nina's favorites. They sipped at their tea and ate their butter cookies at a small, intimate table for two. Nina had hugged her for perhaps five whole minutes, and they had walked around with their elbows locked until they found the bakery. Inej had missed her with an indescribable ache.
Like with every visit to Ravka, Inej is there for business. Fortunately, it is business that can wait. The slaver trade won't occur for another three days, and Nina had answered her letter with a ferocious promptness.
"Yes," Inej says, trying to suppress her blush. "But he sleeps on top of the covers. We don't do anything."
Nina sighs. "Trust me, I would be shocked if you two did do anything." At Inej's frown, Nina continues quickly. "I just mean because it's Kaz. We both know he's a different breed. Do you think he'd ever make the first move?"
It's at that when Inej described to Nina, without any detail over the particulars, about Kaz opening up to her on a rooftop in the middle of the night. Nina's smile is slow, burning, and
radiant.
"He didn't."
Inej feels a prickle of heat fill her chest. "He did."
Nina claps her hands. "You know, I wondered what it would be like for Kaz to love someone. And don't say he doesn't love you, because he does."
Inej isn't sure what to say in response to such a bold statement, but she's saved by Nina continuing with breathless glee.
"What's most shocking is that Kaz did these things, first. He asked you to sleep with him, and he told you about his deep, dark secrets. I'm not even going to try to pry about those, because I don't think I want to know." She shakes her head. "I should have known he would tell you, eventually. Saints know Matthias needed all the help—" Nina stutters at her slip, her voice strangling on the words like a rock had been shoved down her throat. She bravely pushes through. "I mean…he…"
Inej places a hand on hers and squeezes. "I know, Nina. He always watched you so carefully.
You were his gold. He will always be watching over you, now."
"Oh, Inej, this is about you! I'm sorry, I—"
Inej hugs her, and Nina keeps her close.
After a few more cookies, Nina begins to smile and brighten, the shadows of grief shoved behind her.
"So," Nina starts, once more. "Tell me what happens next."
Inej feels herself begin to blush again, and she would have been annoyed about it had she been talking to anyone else. "I wouldn't mind being able to touch his face. Or kiss him. Or…" Inej trails. "But I'm afraid I won't be…enough. After everything, I'm not sure I can be."
"Anything is possible. Kissing. Touching." Nina leans in conspiratorially. "Trust me, Inej. You're more than enough. You're too much in the best way. But it doesn't mean anything until you believe it, too."
Inej nods. There are so many things that are easy to say and yet so hard to accomplish. Nina is kind with her words, and generous, and Inej can't quite receive them completely.
Now, standing in Kaz's room, Inej plucks at the seam of her silk, blue nightgown and has a flash of substantial doubt. She feels…foolish. And bare. Very bare.
Step one: get your hands on that silk bathrobe you mentioned to me. The one Wylan has. Silk is decadent, and I have a feeling he'll like getting to see you in something so rich. And thin.
I don't know if Kaz could be tempted with silks and satin, Nina.
He bought you a warship, Inej. He will look at you like he's in pain, because he will be.
Nina had asked her how she wore her hair the first time Kaz had seen her.
"It was mostly down. Why?"
"Because I've had my suspicions. Kaz offered you a deal because you were quiet and dangerous. I wonder if your attire had anything to do with one of his ulterior motives. He always has one."
Inej had stumbled. "Kaz wouldn't have done something so…juvenile. Or shortsighted."
"Maybe not," Nina shrugged. "But he's still a boy, no matter what hole he crawled through in the Barrel. Matthias really enjoyed when I wore one of those ridiculous Fjerdan shifts, and it certainly didn't do me any favors. If my intuition is correct, Kaz will be affected just the same, even if he's as stoic and stone faced as ever."
Inej fingers the ends of her loose tendrils of hair. It feels too unsecured and free.
Step two: drape yourself on his bed.
Inej rolled her eyes and refused that one. Nina only laughed and said she knew she would. They amended it.
Step two: curl up on his bed and act like you're sleeping.
"That way, you won't be awkwardly dilly-dallying while waiting for him."
It's a rational step, so Inej does just that. She curls up and tries not to feel ridiculous. Never has she wanted to woo anyone, if this is what she truly is doing. Never has she needed to. She still doesn't need to, she thinks. It is a very unnecessary scheme they've concocted.
And even through all of that, she can't help but wonder if Kaz's lips are as rough as his voice, or as dangerous as his hands, or as all-encompassing as his scent.
What if it's all three? What if it's more?
She is as taut as a knocked bowstring. Thirty minutes pass. An hour. She does not hear the telltale creak on the stairs or his uneven gait. By small, steady increments, her body begins to relax. When the moon is at its apex in the nighttime sky, Inej's eyelids begin to droop. Her last thought before sleep takes her is, I'll change if he's not here when I wake.
When her eyes flit open, Kaz is standing in the bedroom doorway. He is a statue gazing upon her, and she blinks a few times to get her bearings.
"Kaz," she mumbles. "What time is it?"
"Late." His voice is a raspy rumble.
He doesn't move from the doorway. As her eyes adjust, she notices that he has a deep scowl on his face. He almost looks angry, bordering on livid. His eyes are not the color of dark chocolate, but the color of a shark's that has smelled fresh blood.
She pushes herself up onto her elbow. "Long night?"
"I had to tie up a few…loose ends."
She thinks his eyes might snag on her hair when he says it, but she's uncertain. She shifts to sit up, and the bathrobe gently slips off her shoulder and down to the top of her right arm. She suddenly remembers everything in a mad rush, with Nina's voice coaching her on the next steps.
But all Inej can concentrate on is the way Kaz's eyes follow the line of silk. His stare is so heavy, she can almost feel it press on her skin.
"What are you wearing?" he finally asks.
"The bathrobe from Wylan's. He gave it to me as a gift."
"You wear bathrobes to bed, now?"
Inej keeps herself from adjusting the lax sleeve back onto her shoulder. "It's comfortable. I must have fallen asleep waiting for you."
His face becomes an inscrutable, smooth slab of granite, but his eyes glint in the moonlight. He goes to his basin, and he begins to undress. He takes off his suit jacket, unbuttons his cuffs and collar, his waistcoat, his dress shirt. Then he dips a washcloth into the basin and begins to wipe himself down. This is his normal nighttime routine after a job, though Inej rarely allows herself to be present for it.
He's doing this on purpose. It's a wild thought that sprints through her mind. She nearly shakes it away, but another thought follows it just as quickly.
He will look at you like he's in pain, because he will be.
His scowl. His black eyes. Is that his pain, concealed behind the creases of his skin? He's too good at hiding, and perhaps it's ingrained in him so deeply, it is no longer a habit, but a tattoo. Ink so deep it touches his bones. Inej has a frantic desire to take one of her knives and cut it out of him, just like her peacock feather. For him to allow her to see what no one else ever will.
He turns so that she sees his side profile. He glances over to her as he runs the cloth over his chest. The moonlight is kind to him, caressing the divots of his figure. Inej lets her eyes roam over him, and he might be doing the same to her.
"When did he give you the robe?" he asks.
For a second, she thinks about lying. It's a knee-jerk reaction, and she suddenly feels the kinship with him, the proclivity to hide. "Today."
He runs the cloth over the back of his neck. His unabashed appraisal of her makes her heart ram against her sternum.
"Did you decide to wear it for me?"
He states it as a question, but it comes out like a blunted statement, daring her to rebuke him.
His arrogance should annoy her like it always does, yet in the dense air of the evening, it spikes her blood instead. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn't think you'd complain."
"I'd never complain about you."
He finishes with the cloth, carelessly tossing it onto the lip of the basin. He walks around to his side of the bed. They watch each other.
"You're not under the covers," he says.
"No," she murmurs. "Not tonight."
He climbs onto the mattress, and he lies on his side to face her. She does the same. Facing one another like this, Inej has noticed how his apprehension has improved. His neck does not tighten. His breaths are even. His cheeks do not pale or turn gray with sickness.
The space between them, only inches, seems oceanic. Vast. Like her silk robe and schemes, unnecessary and unneeded.
Step three, Inej thinks. Challenge him.
She erases the space, scooting into the invisible trench they never pass. He breathes deeply, but his eyes don't leave her. Her robe flutters against him, and his fingers twitch.
His face twists into an expression that is not fully his scheming face, but something. "What are you thinking, Kaz?"
His lips part before he closes them. He smirks. "Do you really want to know, Inej?"
She tastes the spice of desire from his words. "Tell me."
"I'm thinking about all the places I want to touch you. I'm thinking about all the things our bodies could do, if we allowed them. I'm thinking about—" His eyes fall to her lips. "How I don't deserve you. How I've always wanted you."
His words are addicting, and her mind is abuzz with foggy heat. She lifts one hand and hovers above his face. She wants to curl her fingers in his hair and let her palm rest against his cheek.
She does neither.
"What else?" she asks.
"Who's greedy, now, Wraith?"
Her lips turn up in a small smile. "I've been sleeping in your bed too long. You're rubbing off on me."
"You haven't been sleeping here nearly long enough for that," he says. He reaches up, hesitating just briefly before he places his hand on hers. He brings it down to hold the side of his face.
His skin thrums, smooth until her finger snags on a silver scar across his cheekbone. His eyes close, and the wave comes over him, his nightmare, his blackened stain that will forever follow his footsteps. But after a few seconds, his eyes open. They are still black, depthless, and he shudders once and no more.
"I think about impossible things," Kaz states. "I think about undressing you. I think of you on top of me."
"We've done impossible things," she whispers. "What makes those things any different?"
"I'm not as strong as you, Inej."
"You are what you believe, Kaz. You deserve what you expect. You take what you want. You've never been frugal with your desires and your avarice. Why be frugal with me?"
"I'm the worst kind of animal. I will never take from you, Inej. I will never make you feel ready to vanish. I will never take your body and pick it apart. I'll never bar your spirit."
"I know you won't," she says, and she notices that he doesn't say spirit with any tone of mocking or condescension. His jaw moving under her hand is an unfamiliarity, his voice vibrating into her arm in the thick color of night. "That's why this is different, Kaz. My spirit sees your spirit. My soul sees your soul."
"There's nothing within me to see, Inej."
Emboldened by his words, she slips her hand away from him. She sits up and carefully moves her body over his, and he turns with her. She places her hands on either sides of his shoulders, her knees on each side of his waist.
He stares at her with the same heaviness in his eyes. He's never looked at her this way, like she isn't real, like she is a dream.
"I don't want you to suffocate, Kaz. Tell me if this is too much."
His breath shudders, hitting her neck. She sees the artery in his neck pulsating and raging with a tattered rhythm. "It's not enough."
Her already loosened sleeve falls further with the pull of gravity. His gaze follows the curve of her shoulder, and he brings up his hand as if to touch her newly bared skin. He hovers over her like her body hovers over him, one inch, one centimeter. She can feel his fingers brush the fine hairs on her arm.
She lifts one hand and reaches towards his face, towards that manic artery. She can see the thin sheen of sweat forming along the lines of his brow and the planes of his chest, but when her hand gently lands on him, his hand lands on her shoulder, on her collarbone, and his face is not cold and pale. It is flushed, hot and feverish. His hand on her skin is the blooming of a flower, fingers as tender as new petals.
He is still. He no longer moves, only watching her, his chest heaving with quick, sharp breaths. Inej takes her hand away from his face and reaches for the one on her collarbone. She intertwines their fingers.
"You can touch me, Kaz," she says.
"I—" he tries. It is an uncharacteristic stammer, another impossible thing. Inej lowers her head, leaning in and pausing when she sees the speckles of his eyes.
She runs his hand further down, past the border of the bathrobe. She is slow and steady and constant. His dilated eyes suck her into an abyss.
"Inej," he chokes. It is stemmed, his voice reedy and constricted, but constricted without the fear. She knows, because her name sounds like he's uttering a prayer.
His hand trembles against her. He is shaking, shaking, but she lets go of his hand, and it lingers against her. His fingers curl along her chest, his palm fits the curve of her ribs like a frame.
He exhales, and she closes her eyes, relishing the feel of him against her. His touch is delicate.
She's never known a delicate Kaz. He's been forgotten, and now, suddenly, remembered. His face is awash with agony, and Inej asks, "Are you surviving, Kaz?"
"Just barely," he breathes. His hand grips her waist, and it is her turn to tremble. Her elbows almost give, almost buckle.
She places a careful hand upon his chest, and he seizes for a moment, every muscle spindle wound.
"I've always wondered how I would die," he tells her. "I never imagined it would be underneath you."
She leans toward his ear. "You're not going to die."
"I might pass out," he admits.
"I won't let you." She presses her hand deeper into his chest. "I'll take care of this, if you let me."
His grip tightens on her, and she is a deck of cards in his hand, ready to be counted and gambled for riches beyond measure. His hair is damp, and he is not sick with death or bloated bodies. He is sick with the clawing fever. She sees it in the crazed stare he's giving her. He tips his head up, and he comes forward the last centimeters between their faces. His lips brush hers like a bird's wing taking flight. It flutters, the briefest contact. It is shy, almost timid. The press evolves slowly, becomes bolder and rapturous. It becomes risky and prudent, cautious and fearless. It is a bundle of nerves and inexperience all at once. His hand that grips her hip pulls at her, his other coming up to bury into the tendrils of her hair. Her hand stays splayed against his chest, and her body melts down. Her elbow bends until they are too close, too close and not close enough.
Their lips tangle in a frenetic dance. She feels the scar on the knuckle of his lip. His breath fills her lungs. He saved her when he walked into the Menagerie three years ago, and he's saving her again.
They break away messily, ribcages heaving like they've been sprinting from murderous hordes. Kaz is sweating, but the churning, tumultuous fever must have broken, because his eyes are clear and alight with something that is not fear or horror or disgust.
"You have it," he answers her. "You've always had it."
His heart almost seems to push itself into her hand, the force of it so severe.
She isn't sure when he managed it, but he's reached past her sternum, cracking her bone in a gentle viciousness. He's slipped his fingers around her heart, took it with all his greed. And like all great thieves, he has planted something in the ragged emptiness he left inside her.
He has removed her heart and replaced it with his own.
"And you have mine," she tells him.
She lies with him the rest of the night, curled up in the cavity of his abdomen. She sleeps in his bloodstream, and he sleeps in hers.
For the first time, he slumbers with a smooth brow, without a scowl and without a nightmare, his dream tucked in the cradle of his arms.