03 – A Homecoming
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Disclaimer: I do not own any content recognisable as belonging to the Six of Crows series or the Grishaverse. All rights go to the respective owners.
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Inej's room at the Slat was even smaller than she thought it would be, a tiny sliver of space on the third floor with a hole in one of the walls that let the rain through, but it was hers.
The room was furnished simply, with only a cot and a trunk which she had tilted up on one end to create a practical hiding spot if the window should ever cease to be an option. It was decorated with the damp scent of mildew and a mysterious stain on the wall opposite the bed that spilled down the flowering plaster onto the floor. Like other buildings in the Barrel, there wasn't much that could be said for the Slat, but to Inej, it already felt more like home than Heleen's exorbitant mimicry of a Suli caravan ever did. All that Inej had left of that place was a wide strip of false silk she had ripped from the ceiling of her incense-filled prison and draped between two hooks that had been pushed quite forcefully into the splintering wooden beam above her bed.
As soon as she had constructed the makeshift hammock, Pauk had clambered up into it, taking comfort in the familiar scent despite the painful memories associated with it. Inej sat on the cot, her cot, and pulled out the knife Kaz had given to her upon her arrival at the Slat an hour or so earlier.
"Why did you get me out?" Had been her first question as they stood side-by-side, looking up at the sign indicating they were in front of the Slat. The only communication she had received from him following their initial interaction had been a note informing her that her indenture had been bought out and that she was to move to the run-down building now in front of her in three days' time.
"The first three rules of the Barrel." had come the curt response, his clipped tone showing no indication that she would be answered properly. "One: never fold on the first round."
"Number two," he turned to face her. "Never reveal all of the cards in your hand." In the weighted silence that followed, Inej realised he had no intention of telling her the true reason he bought out her indenture.
"And the third?" She prompted.
"Never make a deal without knowing what is on the table," he lowered his gaze until his eyes locked onto hers. "And the price you are willing to pay for it."
With that, he had passed her a small knife wrapped in cloth and directed her towards a rough-looking man with an axe strapped to his back and a black mastiff daemon who loped along behind him. The man, who introduced himself as Dirix with a low grunt, led Inej up to her room, waved a thick arm in the general direction of what she assumed was a washroom, and trudged back down the stairs, leaving her alone at last.
Curling up on her new bed, Inej pulled out the knife and carefully unwrapped it. The weapon was small – easy to conceal – with leather strapping around the handle and a sharp, cold blade which, as she trailed her finger along its length, sent an icy chill down her spine.
"It needs a name." Inej looked up to where Pauk was dozing.
"All good weapons have names." Came a sleepy agreement.
"I don't know what to call it," she admitted. "Nothing feels right yet."
"Don't worry, we'll think of something."
Humming in agreement, Inej held the hilt of the knife to her heart before she wrapped it up once more and tucked it under her pillow. As she curled up on the cot, she clutched the token of Sankta Lizabeta tied around her neck, her last connection to her home and family. Pauk climbed down from his hammock and tucked himself into her arms where she held him as close to her heart as she could.
Their first night at the Slat, Inej and Pauk fell asleep as she whispered to him the stories of the old saints through tears slipping silently down her cheeks. For the first time in years, they were free, but she still felt as lost as the little girl stolen away from her family, falling asleep in a strange place for the first time all over again.
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