TROUBLE , kaz brekker

xxi. young, lost and hopeful.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

THE WAY ECHO SAW IT, this was hell. Or the Underworld. Or the Afterlife. Or what ever came after this plane of existence once your body was cold.

She had never given much thought to the more philosophical questions life had to offer because what was the point? She'd find the answers one day or, more likely, the answers would find her. Whether they come on the edge of a sword or in the warm hands of a friend, Echo had long since concluded that what came 'after' was simply none of her concern.

But this was it. This was hell. Silent, soundless hell.

The Darkling's carriage was swift on the cobbled roads of Ravka and before long the Crows had found themselves slowing to a halt at the derelict husk of an old barn.

Jesper had been the first to touch the ground, a ferryman for the sick and injured as he carried first Inej and then Echo into the wooden shelter. Kaz lingered a footstep behind, as he always must, eyeing the blood ( there was just so much blood ) with the eagle eye of a man who was used to the way the sanguine stains seeped in between panes of wood. His cane, now splintered and useless, left him limping in obvious discomfort and if it hadn't been for the way the world spun with every stuttered breath, Echo would have damned his pride and offered her arm instead. Sure, he'd turn it away but there was little harm in trying.

And there they rested, the formidable Crows. Before they had been nothing more than an acrobat, a cripple, a liar, a sharpshooter and something worse but Ravka had stripped everything away. Now they were just tired. Bloody. Bruised.

Homecoming hadn't gone to plan.

The contents of their belongings were strewn onto the floor and what few objects remain clattered onto the wood with a sound that Echo longed to hear. But there was nothing beyond a phantom. She pivoted, shifting her weight until the side of her face that wasn't mottled and marred with gunpowder and blood was facing the source of the noise. Jesper's voice was muted and dull but saints, it was there. Echo could have cried, if she wasn't so numb.

"Is this all we have left?" Inej's disbelief was clear. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who had noticed how monstrously wrong this job had gone: no Sun Summoner, far too many bruises to handle and a suspicious lack of witty quips. Defeat was foreign to the four of them and oh, did they despise the taste.

"Yes" Kaz's voice was the bitterest of all. He'd been silent the entire journey from Os Alta and it wasn't hard to guess why. Like her, all he wanted was revenge, and like her, all he'd gotten for his efforts was trouble.

"Then we need to go back. We've lost Kaz - look! I haven't stopped bleeding for hours, Echo can barely stand." Inej lifted a bloody finger to where the red-head lay. Echo dipped her gaze, she'd been in enough fights today, thank you very much. " Admit it, we've lost."

But Dirtyhands just shrugged, turned and left the barn, his voice carrying away into the wilderness that surrounded them. "Patch yourself up, Inej."

His departure was met by a string of curse words that could have made a pirate blush - Jesper, no doubt. Where did he learn it all?

After having his fill of expletives, the Sharpshooter strolled over to where Echo had found herself, propped up against old crates that hissed and groaned with every movement. His face was pained with concern as his eyes scanned her crippled form, taking in every bruised limb and speck of blood. "How's it going, Red?"