K az’s first thought when he glimpsed Van Eck moving toward Goedmedbridge was, This man should never play cards . His second was that someone had broken the merch’s nose. It was crooked and swollen, a dark circle of bruising forming beneath one eye. Kaz suspected a university medik had treated the worst of the damage, but without a Grisha Healer, there was only so much you could do to hide a break like that.
Van Eck was trying to keep his expression neutral, but he was working so hard to look impassive that his high forehead was shiny with sweat. His shoulders were fixed stiffly and his chest jutted forward as if someone had attached a string to his sternum and yanked him upward. He walked onto Goedmedbridge at a stately pace, surrounded by liveried guards in red and gold—now that surprised Kaz. He’d thought Van Eck would prefer to enter the Barrel with as little pomp as possible. He turned this new information over in his mind.
It was dangerous to ignore the details. No man liked to be shown up, and for all his attempts at a dignified promenade, Van Eck’s vanity had to be wounded. A merch prided himself on his business sense, his ability to strategize, to manipulate men and markets. He’d be looking to get a bit of his own back after having his hand forced by a lowly Barrel thug.
Kaz let his eyes pass over the guards once, briefly, searching for Inej. She was hooded, barely visible between the men Van Eck had brought, but he would have recognized that knife-edge posture anywhere. And if the temptation was there to crane his neck, to look closer, to make sure
she was unharmed? He could acknowledge it, set it aside. He would not break his focus.
For the briefest moment, Kaz and Van Eck sized each other up from across the bridge. Kaz couldn’t help but be reminded of when they’d faced each other this way seven days ago. He’d thought too much about that meeting. Late at night, when the day’s work was done, he’d lain awake, taking apart every moment of it. Again and again, Kaz thought of those few crucial seconds when he’d let his attention shift to Inej instead of keeping his eyes on Van Eck. It wasn’t a mistake he could afford to make again. That boy had betrayed his weakness in a single glance, had ceded the war for the sake of a single battle, and put Inej—all of them— in danger. He was a wounded animal who needed to be put down. And Kaz had done it gladly, choked the life from him without pause for regret. The Kaz that remained saw only the job: Free Inej. Make Van Eck pay. The rest was useless noise.
He’d thought about Van Eck’s mistakes on Vellgeluk too. The mercher had been stupid enough to trumpet the fact that his precious heir was cooking in the womb of his new wife—young Alys Van Eck, with her milk-white hair and dumpling hands. He’d been goaded by pride, but also by his hatred for Wylan, his desire to clear his son from the books like a failed business venture.
Kaz and Van Eck exchanged the shortest of nods. Kaz kept a gloved hand on Alys’ shoulder. He doubted she would try to run off, but who knew what ideas were pinging around in the girl’s head? Then Van Eck signaled to his men to bring Inej forward, and Kaz and Alys started across the bridge. In the blink of an eye, Kaz took in Inej’s odd gait, the way she held her arms behind her back. They’d bound her hands and shackled her ankles. A reasonable precaution , he told himself. I’d have done the same thing. But he felt that flint inside him, scraping against the hollow places, ready to ignite into rage. He thought again about simply killing Van Eck. Patience , he reminded himself. He’d practiced it early and often. Patience would bring all his enemies to their knees in time. Patience and the money he intended to take off this merch scum.
“Do you think he’s handsome?” Alys asked.
“What?” Kaz said, unsure he had heard her correctly. She’d been humming and singing all the way from the market where Kaz had removed her blindfold, and he’d been doing his best to tune her out.
“Something has happened to Jan’s nose,” Alys said.
“I suspect he caught a bad case of the Wraith.”
Alys wrinkled her own small nose, considering. “I think Jan would be handsome, if he were not quite so old.”
“Lucky for you, we live in a world where men can make up for being old by being rich.”
“It would be nice if he were both young and rich.”
“Why stop there? How about young, rich, and royal? Why settle for a merch when you could have a prince?”
“I suppose,” said Alys. “But it’s the money that’s important. I’ve never really seen the point in princes.”
Well, no one would ever doubt this girl was Kerch born and raised. “Alys, I’m shocked to find you and I are in agreement.”
Kaz monitored the periphery of the bridge as they drew closer to the center, keeping a careful eye on Van Eck’s guards, noting the open doors of the third-floor balcony at the Ammbers Hotel, the flower barge parked below the west side of the bridge as it was every morning. He assumed Van Eck would have people positioned in the surrounding buildings just as he did. But none of them would be permitted to land a kill shot. No doubt Van Eck would love to see him floating facedown in a canal, but Kaz could lead Van Eck to Kuwei, and that knowledge should keep him from taking a bullet to the skull.
They stopped a good ten paces apart. Alys tried to step forward, but Kaz held her firmly in place.
“You said you were bringing me to Jan,” she objected. “And here you are,” Kaz said. “Now be still.”
“Jan!” she yelped sharply. “It’s me!”
“I know, my dear,” Van Eck said calmly, his gaze locked on Kaz. He lowered his voice. “This isn’t over, Brekker. I want Kuwei Yul-Bo.”
“Are we here to repeat ourselves? You want the secret to jurda parem , and I want my money. The deal is the deal.”
“I don’t have thirty million kruge to part with.” “Isn’t that a shame? I’m sure someone else does.” “And have you had any luck securing a new buyer?”
“Don’t trouble yourself on my account, merch. The market will provide. Do you want your wife back or did I drag poor Alys here for nothing?”
“Just a moment,” said Van Eck. “Alys, what are we naming the child?”
“Very good,” Kaz said. His team had passed off Wylan as Kuwei Yul- Bo on Vellgeluk, and Van Eck had been well fooled. Now the merch wanted confirmation he was actually getting his wife and not some girl with a radically tailored face and a false belly. “Seems an old dog can learn a new trick. Besides rolling over.”
Van Eck ignored him. “Alys,” he repeated, “what name are we giving the child?”
“The baby?” replied Alys in confusion. “Jan if it’s a boy. Plumje if it’s a girl.”
“We agreed Plumje is what you’re naming your new parakeet.” Alys’ lip jutted out. “I never agreed.”
“Oh, I think Plumje is a lovely name for a girl,” said Kaz. “Satisfied, merch?”
“Come,” Van Eck said, ushering Alys forward as he signaled to the guard holding Inej to release her.
As Inej passed Van Eck, she turned her face to him and murmured something. Van Eck’s lips pinched.
Inej shuffled forward, somehow graceful, even with her arms bound behind her and shackles around her ankles. Ten feet. Five feet. Van Eck embraced Alys as she let loose a stream of questions and chatter. Three feet. Inej’s gaze was steady. She was thinner. Her lips were chapped. But despite long days in captivity, the sun caught the dark gleam of her hair beneath her hood. Two feet. And then she was before him. They still needed to get clear of the bridge. Van Eck would not let them go this easily.
“Your knives?” he asked. “They’re packed inside my coat.”
Van Eck had released Alys, and she was being led away by his guards.
Those red-and-gold uniforms still bothered Kaz. Something was off. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, an oyster knife in his hands to see to
her ropes.
“Mister Brekker,” Van Eck said. Kaz heard the excitement in Van Eck’s voice and froze. Maybe the man was better at bluffing than he’d given him credit for. “You gave me your word, Kaz Brekker!” Van Eck shouted in theatrical tones. Everyone within earshot on the Stave turned to stare. “You swore you would return my wife and son to me! Where are you keeping Wylan?”
And then Kaz saw them—a tide of purple moving toward the bridge,
stadwatch flooding onto the Stave, rifles raised, cudgels drawn.
Kaz lifted a brow. The merch was finally making it interesting.
“Seal off the bridge!” one of them shouted. Kaz glanced over his shoulder and saw more stadwatch officers blocking their retreat.
Van Eck grinned. “Shall we play for real now, Mister Brekker? The might of my city against your band of thugs?”
Kaz didn’t bother to answer. He shoved Inej’s shoulder and she spun around, offering her wrists so he could slash through her bonds. He tossed the knife in the air, trusting her to catch it as he knelt to deal with her shackles, his picks already sliding between his fingers. Kaz heard the clomp of boots approaching, felt Inej bend backward over his kneeling form, and heard a soft whoosh , then the sound of a body falling. The lock gave beneath Kaz’s fingers and the shackles fell free. He rose, whirled, saw one stadwatch officer down, the shaft of the oyster knife protruding from between his eyes, and more purple uniforms rushing toward them from all directions.
He raised his cane to signal Jesper.
“West side flower boat,” he said to Inej. That was all it took—she leapt onto the railing of the bridge and vanished over the side without a second guess.
The first set of fireworks exploded overhead, pale color in the noon light. The plan was in motion.
Kaz yanked a loop of climbing line from inside his pocket and hooked it to the rail. He snagged the head of his cane on the railing beside it, hauled himself up, and vaulted over the side, his momentum carrying him out above the canal. The cord snapped taut, and he arced back toward the bridge like a pendulum, dropping onto the deck of the flower barge beside Inej.
Two stadwatch boats were already moving toward them quickly as more officers raced down the ramps to the canal. Kaz hadn’t known what Van Eck would try—he certainly hadn’t expected him to bring the stadwatch into it—but he’d been sure Van Eck would attempt to close off all their escape routes. Another series of booms sounded, and bursts of pink and green exploded in the sky above the Stave. The tourists cheered. They didn’t seem to notice that two of the explosions had come from the canal and had blown holes in the prow of one of the stadwatch boats, sending men scurrying for the sides and into the canal as the craft sank. Nicely done, Wylan. He’d bought them time—and done it without
panicking the bystanders on the Stave. Kaz wanted the crowd in a very good mood.
He heaved a flat of wild geraniums into the canal over the protests of the flower seller and grabbed the clothes Matthias had stashed there earlier that morning. He swept the red cloak around Inej’s shoulders in a rain of petals and blossoms as she continued to strap on her knives. She looked almost as startled as the flower seller.
“What?” he asked as he tossed her a Mister Crimson mask that matched his own.
“Those were my mother’s favorite flower.”
“Good to know Van Eck didn’t cure you of sentiment.” “Nice to be back, Kaz.”
“Good to have you back, Wraith.” “Ready?”
“Wait,” he said, listening. The fireworks had ceased, and a moment later he heard the sound he’d been waiting for, the musical tinkle of coins hitting the pavement, followed by shrieks of delight from the crowd.
“Now,” he said.
They grabbed the cord and he gave a sharp tug. With a high-pitched whir, the cord retracted, yanking them upward in a burst of speed. They were back on the bridge in moments, but the scene awaiting them was decidedly different from the one they’d escaped less than two minutes before.
West Stave was in chaos. Mister Crimsons were everywhere, fifty, sixty, seventy of them in red masks and cloaks, tossing coins into the air as tourists and locals alike pushed and shoved, laughing and shouting, crawling on hands and knees, completely oblivious to the stadwatch officers trying to get past them.
“Mother, Father, pay the rent!” shouted a crowd of girls from the doorway of the Blue Iris.
“I can’t, my dear, the money’s spent!” the Mister Crimsons chorused back, and tossed another cloud of coins into the air, sending the crowd into freshly delirious shrieks of joy.
“Clear the way!” shouted the captain of the guard.
One of the officers tried to unmask a Mister Crimson standing by a lamppost, and the crowd began booing. Kaz and Inej plunged into the swirl of red capes and people scrambling for coins. To his left, he heard
Inej laugh behind her mask. He’d never heard her laugh like that, giddy and wild.
Suddenly a deep, thunderous boom shook the Stave. People toppled, grabbed at one another, at walls, at whatever was closest. Kaz almost lost his footing, righted himself with his cane.
When he looked up, it was like trying to peer through a thick veil. Smoke hung heavy in the air. Kaz’s ears were ringing. As if from a great distance, he heard frightened screams, cries of terror. A woman ran past him, face and hair coated in dust and plaster like a pantomime ghost, hands clapped over her ears. There was blood trickling from beneath her palms. A gaping hole had been blown in the facade of the House of the White Rose.
He saw Inej lift her mask, and he pulled it back down over her face. He shook his head. Something was wrong. He’d planned a friendly riot, not a mass disaster, and Wylan wasn’t the type to miscalculate so gravely. Someone else had come to make trouble on West Stave, someone who didn’t mind doing more than a little damage.
All Kaz knew was he’d invested a lot of time and money in getting his Wraith back. He sure as hell wasn’t going to lose her again.
He touched Inej’s shoulder briefly. That was all the signal they needed. He raced for the nearest alleyway. He didn’t have to look to know she was beside him—silent, sure-footed. She could have outpaced him in an instant, but they ran in tandem, matching each other step for step.
