TROUBLE , kaz brekker

ix. my life in your hands.

CHAPTER NINE

KAZ BREKKER HATED BOATS. He hated water, he hated every damn thing that swan or sunk or drifted because even the smell of the bitter sea breeze was enough curdle his insides and make him wish he'd never even heard the name Dressen.

They'd boarded the merchant's ship four days ago, with all of twenty-seven minutes to spare before the flirtations of a million kruge slipped away into the undeserving hands of Rollins. It was close, too close. But some part of him couldn't deny the euphoric taste of justice. Brick by brick, he remembered. This was only the start.

The trip to East Ravka would take days, weeks if the tide was not in their favour and, knowing Kaz's luck, it was all but assured. That meant weeks of close quarters, weeks of dodging Jesper's casual touches like they were poison and weeks of hoping that despite the way the smell of saltwater corroded his lungs, he wouldn't join the growing list of passengers to give their stomachs to the sea.

Despite their preference for solid ground, his Crows had adjusted well to life onboard the ship. Inej had become something of a myth amongst the sailors, her talent for disappearing into the shadows fuelling their desire for a good folktale. And Jesper, never one to pass up on a business opportunity, had done little to dissuade the rumours. He took to candlelit card games to tell stories of the Wraith, a ghost that would only be satiated by an offering of five kruge ( paid directly to him, of course ). Kaz had to admire his ingenuity. 

And, as always, Echo watched. She watched the way the sailors would tie their knots and secure their sails, she watched how the stars would trace their delicate patterns in the sky and she'd watch the way grown men would pale at the sight of Inej from across the deck. She'd watch Kaz as his unease festered under his skin and Kaz hated that he didn't care.

But that was days ago. Four days since the Ketterdam silhouette had faded into the horizon and left them with an impossible task: crossing the Fold.

It was well past midnight and Kaz was scheming. The crescent moon had peaked in the inky black sky and painted the ocean the kind of fragile perfection that would never be allowed to survive in Ketterdam. He'd forgotten that something so delicate could exist, but looking out at the ocean, perhaps for a moment he could believe there was still good in the world.

"No rest for the wicked, Brekker?"

And then he wasn't alone. Kaz barely lifted his gaze from his scrawling handwriting as Echo sat down at his side. She moved to the cresting of the waves, slow and purposeful, each step clashing with the thrumming of the sea. He tried not to fixate on that sound, it made the skeletons stir.

Kaz ran a gloved hand through his windswept hair. It was infuriatingly dishevelled - the sea wind did little to help. "Wicked is debatable. I'd call us a driven group of questionable young folk."

Echo laughed at that, a quiet, delicate thing that had no place on her bruised features.

Even with the distance between them, he could hear her chest rise and fall in a regular crescendo, the only thing that had calmed the memories that threatened to swallow him whole as the sea lapped at the frame of the ship. He listened for the stutter and haste of her breath, the sound that would mean danger and yet, it never came. So, his ghosts returned to their watery graves.

If Kaz were to lift his hand, move it the slightest degree to the left, his gloved fingers would rest on the velvet hem of her skirts. He remembered this one. She'd brought it with her first payout. He remembered how the stoic demeanour of the Ravkan refugee had melted underneath the warmth touch of cloth to reveal the flush of youth. It's so soft, she'd whispered, I never knew Ketterdam could make anything so soft. In that moment, he would have scoured the entirety of Ravka for a Fabrikator that could replicate the fabric, if only to keep that idyllic smile on her cheeks.