Talons⛥Kaz Brekker

⛥𝔉𝔬𝔲𝔯⛥

I felt as if me and Kaz had become two twin soilders, marching on, pretending we were fine, hiding our wounds and bruises from the rest of the crew.

It took two more days to reach the cliffs that overlooked Djerholm, but the going was easier as we moved south and towards the coast. The weather warmed the ground thawed, I began to see signs of spring. Djerholm hadn't changed since I last visited; its harbour was crowded with ships, its tidy streets marched to the water in orderly fashion, and the houses were painted with such colours - red, blue, yellow, pink - as if in defiance of the wild white land and the long winters this far north. Even the warehouses by the Quay were wrought in cheerful colours. It looked in place, candy-hued and in proper place.

Was the Ferolind already waiting at the docks, sung in its berth, flying it's Kerch flag and the distinctive orange and green parti-colour of the Haanraadt Bay Company? If the plan went the way Kaz had planned, tomorrow night we would stroll down Djerholm with Bo Yul-Bayur in tow, hop on our ship and be far gone out to sea before anyone in Fjerda was wiser. But I preferred not to think of what tomorrow night would bring.

After some discussion about the cannons, we slipped into the traffic of travellers and traders. The upper town was a rambling extension of the city below, a sprawling collection of shops, markets and inns who served the guards and staff who worked at the Court as well as visitors.

Signs of Hringkälla celebration were everywhere. The shops had created elaborate displays of pepper cookies baked in the shape of wolves, some hanging ornaments from large, twisting trees, and the bridge spanning the river gorge had been festooned with ribbons in Fjerdan silver. One way into the Ice Court, and one way out. Whether we got out would be the question.

"What are they?" Wylan asked, pausing in front of a peddler's cart laden with wreaths made of the same twisting branches and silver ribbons.

"Ash trees," replied Matthias. "Sacred to Djel."

"There's supposed to be one in the middle of the White Island," said Nina, ignoring the warning look the Fjerdan casted her. "It's where the drüskelle gather for the listening ceremony."

Kaz tapped his cane on the ground, "Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?"

Matthias then explained that the ash is sustained by the spirit of Djel and then explained why it wasn't on the plans; it's the holiest place in all of Fjerda which wasn't essential to our mission.

Upper Djerholm had no real centre, but the bulk of it's tavern, inns, and market stalls were clustered around the base of the hill leading to the Ice Court. Kaz steered us seemingly aimlessly through the streets until he found a run-down tavern called the Gestinge.

Nina helped secure us a table on the tavern's rooftop terrace. It was mostly empty, the weather still too cold to attract many patrons. Or maybe they'd been scared away by the food - herring in rancid oil, stale black bread, and some kind of butter that distinctively looked rather mossy. I wasn't one to judge for people staying away, it looked ghastly.

Jesper groaned as he looked down at his plate, "Kaz, if you want me dead, I prefer I bullet to poison."

Nina scrunched her nose. "When I don't want to eat, you know there's a problem."

I quirked an eyebrow as I moved the food around on the plate, "hopefully we're here for the view and not the food."

We looked around at the view for a little while, "we're going to start looking conspicuous soon." I admitted as I swished my drink around in its glass, "this isn't the kind of places people like to linger."

"Maybe they don't have anyone to take to jail," suggested Wylan.

"There's always someone to take to jail," Kaz replied, then bobbed his chin towards the road. "Look."