𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹 | 𝑘.𝑏.

13

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U N B E A R A B L Y U N B E A R A B L E
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"MAY DJEL BLESS YOUR KINDNESS!" Feta called in her haste, accent thick. Darting out of an herb shop, frantically clutching a bundled lump to her chest, the moment she turned the corner it was as though the audience blinked. The humble, tripping blonde abruptly became a girl who belonged everywhere, especially striding out and about doing her errands.

But the truth wasn't what the shopkeeper needed to see. What he needed to see was a fresh, flattering Fjerdan damsel who had accidentally arrived in Ketterdam, hardly had coin to spare, and was in desperate need of relief on her aching joints. What the shopkeeper needed to see was an innocent girl looking for someone to lean on.

Feta chuckled now just recalling the shopkeeper's proud and generous expression, tucked the bundled lump closer to her side. Men made it too easy. They always wanted to be the hero, play the lead.

And maybe she had to wear a dumpy yet still tighter-fitting wool vest and longer sleeves to hide her tattoos, and maybe she had to rifle through her shelved Fjerdan, just to pull it off, but she'd done more for less, right?

Maybe not for less. Feta understood the importance of the paraffin without Kaz having to disclose it; she was the one who lathered Jesper's arms up before he trotted around the tables every night, after all. Grisha weren't necessarily banned from gambling, but they were far from welcome. Too much speculation that a Heartender might sneak in and sway the games, so best to cheat the test by applying paraffin to their arms to block the signal.

Regardless, now the Grisha in the crew wouldn't be sacrificed and immediately sentenced to death within the first few hallways of the Ice Court. And now they could do it for the very generous price of free. Kaz had given her some kruge to buy supplies, but again, why pay when it was so easy to ask for something and receive it?

It hadn't crossed Feta's mind until after she'd come within view of the Staves, but they'd used quite a bit of paraffin in the theaters, too, mostly for cosmetics. And the coincidence would be as obvious as ever, just as with the costume pieces that occasionally disappeared after Feta's visits, but Owen wouldn't dare accuse his darling star of any tomfoolery on the off chance Kaz Brekker released her from his evil clutches and she was free to bring glory to his stages once again.

Even if that wasn't the truth. But that was what Owen Marshall needed to believe. That was the truth he got.

Regardless, Feta got the paraffin and that's what mattered. She would just have to tell Kaz to strike that herb shop from the list of places she was allowed to wander; it was crucial to keep up a rouse even when you've forgotten you were staging one.

Although it was planned, Feta still found herself surprised Kaz was actually at the Slat during the dead hours of the afternoon.

He fixed her and her lumpy cargo with a critical eye. The knot of his tie was loose and it crimped, slightly crooked, into his waistcoat. "Weren't you supposed to be scouting boats?"

Feta fixed him with an easy smile. She was wearing vaguely Fjerdan apparel, the sort they'd undoubtedly stash in the back of a theater should a performance ever call for an allusion to a dutiful, modest Fjerdan wife. It didn't suit her. "Specht is seeing to it. I helped him get started."

"I didn't entrust Specht with that job."

"But you entrusted me with two," Feta said, "and I figured I'd make it even. Don't start whining," Feta cut Kaz off as he opened his mouth to protest. "I figured out an opening to get the paraffin and I couldn't wait." She pulled back a corner of the clothed lump in her arms and gave him a peek at the collection of wax-filled glass containers.