The Phoenix and the Crow

Criminals

Y/N felt like she and Kaz had become twin soldiers, marching on, pretending they were fine, hiding their wounds and bruises from the rest of the crew.

It took two more days of travel to reach the cliffs that overlooked Djerholm, but the going was easier as they moved south and toward the coast. The weather warmed, the ground thawed, and she began to see signs of spring. Y/N knew what the city looked like, having been before on quick missions. The docks were still crowded with ships, but it's tidy streets marched to the water in orderly fashion, and the houses were painted in such colors- 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 colors. It looked like the city was made by fairies from her children's books, everything was candy-hued and in its proper place.

"Cannon," said Jesper.

Y/N turned and glanced up to where the Ice Court stood like a great white sentinel on a massive cliff overlooking the harbor.

Kaz quinted up at the big guns pointed out at the bay. "I've broken into banks, warehouses, mansions, museums, vaults, a rare book library, and once the bedchamber of a visiting Kaelish diplomat whose wife had a passion for emeralds. But I've never had a cannon shot at me."

"There's something to be said for novelty," offered Jesper.

Y/N pressed her lips together, "Let's say it's not fun. I hope it doesn't come to that."

"Those guns are there to stop invading armadas," Jesper said confidently. "Good luck hitting a skinny little schooner cutting through the waves bound for fortune and glory."

"I'll quote you on that when a cannonball lands in my lap," said Nina.

They slipped easily into the traffic of travelers and traders where the cliff road met the northern road that led to Upper Djerholm. The upper town was a rambling extension of the city below, a sprawling collection of shops, markets, and inns that served the guards and staff who worked at the Ice Court as well as visitors.

Signs of Hringkalla celebrations were everywhere. The shops had created displays of pepper cookies baked in the shape of wolves, some handing like 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. Would they cross this bridge as victors tomorrow?

"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 Y/N, ignoring the harsh glare the Fjerdan threw her way. Her voice was low and hard, the toll of their journey evidently forcing her back into her usual role as a soldier.

"It's where the druskelle gather for the listening ceremony," Nina continued.

Kaz tapped his walking stick on the ground as he stood beside the Inferni, leaning closer to her ever-so slightly. "Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?"

"The ash is sustained by the spirit of Djel," said Matthias. "It's where we may best hear his voice."

"Kaz's eyes flickered. "Not what I asked. Why isn't it on our plans?"

"Because it's the holiest place in all of Fjerda and not essential to our mission."

"I say what's essential. Anything else you decided to leave out in your great wisdom?"

"The Ice Court is a vast structure," Matthias said, turning away. "I can't label every crack and corner."

"Then let's hope nothing is lurking in those corners," Kaz replied.

~

"Here?" Jesper complained, peering into the dank main room of the run-down tavern. The whole place stank of garlic and fish.

Kaz gave a significant glance upward and said, "Terrace."

"What's a gestinge?" Inej wondered aloud as she read the welcome sign.

"It means 'paradise'," said Matthias. Even he looked skeptical.

Y/N helped secure them 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 looked distinctly mossy.

Jesper looked down at his plate and moaned. "Kaz, if you want me dead, I prefer a bullet to poison."

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

"We're here for the view, not the food." Kaz spoke from beside Y/N.

She mousely picked at her piece of bread, nibbling on it slowly. She had to agree with the others, the food was terrible, but it still wasn't the worst she had had to eat before.

"We're going to start looking conspicuous soon," said Nina. "This isn't the kind of place 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 toward the road. "Look."

A boxy wagon was rolling to a stop at the guardhouse. Its roof and high sides were covered in black canvas, and it was drawn by four stout horses. The door at the back was heavy iron, bolted and padlocked.

Kaz reached into his coat pocket. "Here," he said and handed Jesper a slender book with an elaborate cover.

"Are we going to read to each other?"

"Just flip it open to the back." Jesper opened the book and peered at the last page, puzzled. "So?"

"Hold it up so we don't have to look at your ugly face."

"My face has character. Besides- oh!"

"An excellent read, isn't it?"

"Who knew I had such a taste for literature?"

Jesper passed it to Wylan, who took it tentatively. "What does it say?"

"Just look," smiled Jesper.

Wylan frowned and held it up, then he grinned. "Where did you get this?'

Matthias had his turn and released a surprised grunt.

"It's called a backless book," said Kaz as Y/N took the volume from Inej and held it up.

She peered through. To the barmaid and the other patrons on the terrace, it looked like they were handing a book around, discussing some interesting passage. Instead, Y/N had a close view of the gatehouse, and the wagon parked in front of it. She lowered the book and looked at Kaz, a proud smirk gracing her lips. "Clever."

He nodded and turned his head quickly, but not before she could notice the light red painting his cheeks.

"Four guards," she said, nodding towards Matthias confirming what he had shared before.

"They're the first line of defense," said Matthias. "They'll check paperwork and confirm identities, flag anyone they think requires closer scrutiny. By this time tomorrow the line going through the gates will be full of Hringkalla guests and backed up all the way to the gorge."

"By then we'll be inside," Kaz said.

They continued discussing the schedule of the wagons as Y/N lifted the backless book again. The wagon driver wore a gray uniform similar to the ones worn by the guards at the gate but absent any sash or decoration. He swung down from his seat and came around to unlock the iron door.

"Saints," Y/N said as the door swung open. Ten prisoners were seated along benches that ran the wagon's length, their wrists and feet shackled, black sacks over their heads. She felt the group's apprehension rise. Only Kaz seemed unfazed.

"Hooded, chained, and shackled?" said Jesper. "You're sure we can't go in as entertainers?"

"We go in as we are," said Kaz, "as criminals."