fₒᵣ ᵢ ₐₘ bₑcₒₘₑ dₑₐₜₕ, dₑₛₜᵣₒyₑᵣ ₒf wₒᵣₗdₛ
Anastasia Morozova is a kinslayer. Anya Varamyr is a murderer. Anastasia is a decorated soldier. Anya is a backstreet cutthroat. Anastasia would die for her country. Anya would die for her friends.
Anastasi...
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"If you're going to ask me what I'm after don't waste your breath," she groaned, sensing a looming presence behind her.
Kaz propped himself up against the ship railing, cane passing lazily between his gloved hands. "Given that your unrelenting desire to keep every single aspect of your life a mystery may cost me my reward money, I'd say it's a pretty fair question."
"You know plenty about me, Brekker," she said, resting her chin on her forearms as she stared out at the violent waves breaking the surface of the sea.
"I know you like your brandy," he grunted. "And I know that anything else that has come out of those pretty lips is a lie."
"You think I'm pretty?" Anya teased, batting her lashes up at the scowling gang leader. "What's next - a proposal?"
If looks could kill, Anya would have been decaying at the bottom of the True Sea.
"I've never seen your hands," he muttered, watching her as she drummed her fingers against the railing.
"Well I suppose we have that in common, don't we dirtyhands," she smirked. "Would you like to see my hands - they're nowhere near as pretty as my lips, I'm afraid."
"You know what else is pretty about you," he asked, but his tone was devoid of any warmth or humor. "Your accent - far too elegant to be the Kerch of a pirate's daughter. ALmost as though you learnt it from scholars, from books."
Anya ran her tongue over her teeth but refused to let anything through. She had learnt to speak Kerch from books and scholars - the same way she'd learnt Fjerdan and Suli and Shu. "So many questions, Brekker. So many questions - why can't you just put a little faith in me? I am doing this for free after all."
"That's the problem, Anya Varamyr - or whoever you might be," Kaz stepped towards her, eyes searching hers for an answer he'd almost given up on. "Only three things motivate a man - or a woman - love, hate and money. If not money, which one are you?"
Anya met Kaz's gaze and gave him the most bittersweet smile he thought he'd ever seen in his life. "You'd be surprised how thin the line between love and hate is - sentiments so fickle have no place in the war between men," she whispered, running a gloved finger over the handle of his cane.
