RIBBONS • SIX OF CROWS

5

The first time Kaz had killed someone, Violet had been just thirteen.

It was two months after the bank job that badly broke his leg. He could walk now, with a heavy limp and great pain, because Kaz was the type of person to not allow himself time to rest, nor rely on anyone else for help. Showing pain was a weakness, but it also made you inherently human, so for a boy who played at being monster on the streets of Ketterdam, it was just another day.

It hadn't been for Violet, who's stomach turned at the sight of her brother in pain. He hid it well on the outside, but she'd known him a bit too well and recognised every clench of his jaw and the way he leant on things for support while keeping it casual.

She had been searching for nearly two months for a healer who could proprly set the bone. She wasn't good with her bedside manner - actually, she was, just not with someone as stubborn as her brother - so trying to convince him to rest and let it heal was like trying to pry a bone out of a hungry dogs mouth; it would only end with someone getting bit.

Some leads led to complete dead ends, others slightly more promising. But after finding an old woman who claimed her herbal teas could heal anything and practically slamming the door in her face, she had become a bit desperate.

Kaz had found a durast to fix him a decent cane for the time being and although he'd done it under Per Haskells books, she had listened for whispers and followed the Durast to see his usual pathing.

Grisha kept to themselves and wisely in the streets of the Barrel. Any flash of power and greedy men would snatch them up like wolves just to sell them off to the next person for an extortionate price. Safe to say, they were rare, but it was common knowledge to anyone who had a brain that any Grisha would likely stick together or at least be aware of eachother in the bustling city. Strength in numbers was better than faring alone.

Some did underground work for the right price and person, and that was all she needed.

While following her lead and spying for information in a sketchy part of the Barrel only a few twists and turns from the Slat, dressed in her black dress with a switch blade tucked into her boot, she had already been on high alert. To others, she had a wolfish look about her, all sharp teeth and narrowed eyes and shrouded in black - a look that a lot of people compared to her brother.

As the lanterns began to light up at the corners of streets and certain doors began to shut while others opened up for the night life, it had taken nine seconds for the man to overpower her.

She'd had her knife out within seconds but things had happened so fast. She'd been knocked against the wall so hard it must have slipped from her hand in her disorientation.

And that was what Violet had always hated about being small and female.

Back in Lij it had never occurred to her because it didn't serve her purpose at the time.

But Ketterdam bred crime and thrived on wickedness, especially with a good portion of the citys income coming from trade. The sick thing about it was the highest commodity tended to be people, the majority girls and women. The West Stave was just beyond the bend of the canal, and where she had been knocked to the floor she could still hear the gentle lapping of water against stone.

She had had to fight off men before, had been on jobs that required her to resort to violence, and she was good at it. It wasn't something a young girl should ever excel in, but she had grown a tough skin through experience. And Violet was alright with it, she supposed, as something about growing up in the Barrel meant she had to be quick to learn and learning was something she thrived on. She had never been afraid of blood, not since the day Jordie had come running into their farmhouse covered in it while yelling that something happened with their Da.

She had learnt to be quiet and quick and smart about things.

But sometimes, no matter how much she tried, it wouldn't be enough.

She was still just a kid no matter how much she verbally bit the head off of anyone who said so, still small and bony and men would always have some sort of power over her. They laughed in her face when she was brought along on jobs, calling it 'mens business' when Kaz was only two years older than her and barely a man himself.

Now, on her own, she knew no matter how much she kicked and clawed and pleaded, she could not get the man off of her and she could not stop him from doing what he wanted to do.

Suddenly the girl who didn't bat an eye at violence was rendered a panicked little girl, trapped, and something in her mind had shattered.

Violet had fresh blood under her nails, bruises already forming along her skin as she fought back, but fingers wrapped themselves around her upper arms and pressed her back so harshly into the floor she couldn't decipher the pressure on her back from the weight crushing against her front.

She had been thirteen, fingers snatching up a sharp rock and slashing at his face without mercy, aim thrown off by her shaking, and he'd slammed her head so hard into the brick that the world had fallen away from her for a scary moment.

There would be a lot of things about that night she'd recall later on, and a lot she wouldn't.

Never his face - only his vile words, and his hands, and everything he had done while warmth soaked the back of her hair and slipped down her neck.

Kaz Brekker had been fifteen when he'd first killed someone.

And Violet had been thirteen when she'd witnessed it.

Her ears had been ringing so loudly she didn't hear the wet smack as something struck the man in the back of the skull, only felt the sudden relief of his weight off of her.

Violet had scrambled onto her front gasping for breath, feeling as though the floor swayed and rocked beneath her, palm nearly slipping on the blood soaked stone as she half pushed herself up. Her eyes, wide and damp with fear, had fixed on the gruesome sight unable to tear her eyes away.

It took the second hit to stop his body twitching and his agonised howling.

The third and fourth hit had shattered his skull entirely.

The rest had fallen into a blur of blood and mess and shock.

She recalled the murderous, psychotic rage in her brothers cold eyes as he glared down at the body, gloved hands clutching his cane so rigidly she was surprised it hadn't snapped.

The crows beak of his new cane had turned from silver to a deep crimson, globs of brain matter staining it's sharp feathers and the cobbles at his feet. The body lay unmoving. Still.

She had been aware of the pounding sensation at the back of her skull and feeling somewhere out of her body. As though a sheet of ice had slipped through her consciousness and her limbs were pulled by strings.

When Kaz took a step towards her she thought she might have flinched, judging by the sudden pain shooting through his usually stoic expression.

She thought she might have used the wall to pick herself up, and hadn't been able to stop herself from stumbling as a wave of dizziness took over. All she knew was that a split second later, she opened her eyes to find Kaz protectively standing much closer with his gloved hand out as though to catch her arm.

He had been angry, she could tell. If at her, she wasn't entirely sure.

He had said something along the lines of 'let's get back' or 'let's go back to the slat' or 'let's go home', or maybe her fading mind had conjured that last one up out of childlike wishfulness.

The walk back had been a blur. She hadn't recognised the fact she'd even made it up the stairs until she had heard Inej's voice asking after her in the dim corridoors leading to their rooms.

And then she had realised she was crying. Or had been. Or had been and still hadn't managed to stop. She wasn't sure.

She just knew she fell asleep in Kaz's office, curled up against Inej's side on the edge of her bed, under the watchful eye of the two of them.

Inej had spotted the blood on his cane, and for once did not ask about it nor mention it.

And for once, the thought of the vicious violence that might have been caused hadn't phased her.