𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹 | 𝑘.𝑏.

22

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N O N E O F M Y B U S I N E S S
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AT DAWN THE NEXT MORNING, as they'd stayed one last night on the ship, choosing to creep closer to shore under the shy cover of a rising sun, Feta was assisting Jesper and Inej in distributing the cold weather gear. In setting off to assemble her own uniform, heavy coat already slung around her shoulders to fend off the morning chill, Feta came across Nina cornering Matthias.

Feta would prefer to avoid Matthias. It was much harder than she'd expected to keep her cool around him, and flaunting any more performances, showing off any more than she already had, would give the druskelle a stroke. The definition of being threatened with a good time.

But with Nina, the reason was plenty selfish, and it boiled down to why Feta had put off telling Nina she was a Tidemaker in the first place.

The initial revelation had been met with nothing short of ecstasy, her defiance of Matthias welcomed with intimate pride. But not far behind this common ground was Nina's bleeding heart for duty, for service, her oh so generous offer of recruitment to the war effort for a country that had done little more than roll their eyes when Fjerdans approached their border, no matter that they were on their hands and knees.

The King at the time was nowhere near as open-minded as the Lantsov that had recently stepped up, certain that Feta's family and the other refugees they'd picked up along the way were spies sent by the druskelle.

What a genius scheme, organized by Jarl Brum himself. Clearly.

Feta had not been the only child in that group, though she was the only one who survived — the dejected Grisha had split up at the border, and while Feta was complaining that her father made them take the painstaking, roundabout way back, the other families had been ambushed immediately.

So excuse Feta for not jumping at the chance to join Ravka's Second Army just because things were supposedly more civil now (and because Grisha numbers were decimated by the first war, just ignore that).

At least one good thing about having fled the country when she was a kid was that Feta didn't have to get tailored like Matthias. While her looks were common, traditional, blatant, they ran no risk of anyone recognizing her, although perhaps she could play that up inside the Ice Court. Feta was a well-kept secret, a double take at most. She could represent the blonde-haired, blue-eyed stereotype while Matthias was in disguise.

Feta hadn't paid the odd couple much mind when she came across them in the surgeon's cabin, though she was careful to lighten her steps, time out when she would slip past the open doorway with their movements so as not to draw attention to herself, but—

"What do you intend to do about Bo Yul-Bayur?"

Nina's voice had cheerily carried out into the hall just moments before but Feta could hear her closing herself off. "What do you mean?"

Sometimes Feta forgot Nina still considered herself a soldier before a member of the Dregs, more likely to strategize politically rather than weigh in any financial gain.

"You know exactly what I mean. I don't believe for a second you'll let these people hand Bo Yul-Bayur over to the Kerch Merchant Council."

Nina did not acknowledge this. She changed the subject and began tidying away her tailoring equipment.

Meanwhile, the Siren, keeper of secrets and queen of rumors, let them be.

Perhaps she should warn Kaz he was about to be out a lot of kruge. Perhaps she should see this information as a betrayal.