I told you not to move. [ with his injured arm, too. if kaz could see his wounds the way nikolai can, he'd be still. maybe. unlikely. if he stops, the water will cloud with blood. how much will kaz brekker bleed before this is over? you mean how much blood will you take. there's the guilt again, barbs digging deeper. he shouldn't be here. he should have taken himself off this job the second the demon returned. this can't happen again. kaz might not survive a third time.
just get him to the shore. just keep moving. it feels so far. he slows, paces his breath. lets out a dry laugh. ] Fjerda? A visit to the land of ice and inbreeding? Not really what I wanted to hear.
[ their volatile neighbors to the north have ceased to be as disastrous a problem under their new leadership (thank the saints for nina zenik), but nikolai doubts he will ever be enthused about setting foot there, even with their peace talks in place. thinking of his father always comes with complicated feelings. joy that he got to meet him, however fleeting. an ache for something he never had, a hunger for more. it's impossible not to imagine the different paths his life could have taken if he'd just known him, an endless series of what-ifs. then i wouldn't be here. he hasn't yet decided if that's a good or bad thing.
the confession that follows startles him. guilt. he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be wading through the one thing that haunts kaz brekker's dreams. his arm tightens — then loosens. kaz is tense enough to snap in two. ]
Bad habit, that penchant for almost drowning. You should really consider relocating the Crow Club to the middle of a giant field at least a few thousand miles away from any pesky harbors. [ he can hear it in kaz's voice. he was on the ship for you. he takes a breath and abruptly falters, pain lancing through his side. he shivers. cold. the least this damnable water could do is numb him. keep going. he glimpses blood from kaz's still-seeping wounds and presses on, his eyes stinging. he doesn't allow entry to the thought trying to knock its way into his head — you're not going to make it.
you are not leaving brekker stranded here to die. better. he won't give form to his nightmares. ]
Brekker. [ it comes out ragged as he slows, then stops, treading water as he catches his breath. ] Can you — [ he winces, eyes closing. not a request. ] I need you to take off the weight. My ankle, the fetter. It's — too heavy.
[ he could make this easy if not for the pain in his side. he can do underwater somersaults, dive like a swan, he's even navigated his way through a giant school of jellyfish without getting stung simply to prove that he could. but right now he feels if he goes underwater, he won't come back up. for a brief moment, he nestles in the curve of kaz's good shoulder, his arm sliding down to circle his waist. ]
Will you? [ not can you. of course he can. kaz always been able to reach his bars, follow his stones, even if he stumbles. he shudders out a breath against his throat, tired. not yet. ] I need — to get rid of this weight. Get it off. I won't — [ make it. no. his fingers press into the line of kaz's hip, solid and real. ] Won't let you go.
no subject
just get him to the shore. just keep moving. it feels so far. he slows, paces his breath. lets out a dry laugh. ] Fjerda? A visit to the land of ice and inbreeding? Not really what I wanted to hear.
[ their volatile neighbors to the north have ceased to be as disastrous a problem under their new leadership (thank the saints for nina zenik), but nikolai doubts he will ever be enthused about setting foot there, even with their peace talks in place. thinking of his father always comes with complicated feelings. joy that he got to meet him, however fleeting. an ache for something he never had, a hunger for more. it's impossible not to imagine the different paths his life could have taken if he'd just known him, an endless series of what-ifs. then i wouldn't be here. he hasn't yet decided if that's a good or bad thing.
the confession that follows startles him. guilt. he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be wading through the one thing that haunts kaz brekker's dreams. his arm tightens — then loosens. kaz is tense enough to snap in two. ]
Bad habit, that penchant for almost drowning. You should really consider relocating the Crow Club to the middle of a giant field at least a few thousand miles away from any pesky harbors. [ he can hear it in kaz's voice. he was on the ship for you. he takes a breath and abruptly falters, pain lancing through his side. he shivers. cold. the least this damnable water could do is numb him. keep going. he glimpses blood from kaz's still-seeping wounds and presses on, his eyes stinging. he doesn't allow entry to the thought trying to knock its way into his head — you're not going to make it.
you are not leaving brekker stranded here to die. better. he won't give form to his nightmares. ]
Brekker. [ it comes out ragged as he slows, then stops, treading water as he catches his breath. ] Can you — [ he winces, eyes closing. not a request. ] I need you to take off the weight. My ankle, the fetter. It's — too heavy.
[ he could make this easy if not for the pain in his side. he can do underwater somersaults, dive like a swan, he's even navigated his way through a giant school of jellyfish without getting stung simply to prove that he could. but right now he feels if he goes underwater, he won't come back up. for a brief moment, he nestles in the curve of kaz's good shoulder, his arm sliding down to circle his waist. ]
Will you? [ not can you. of course he can. kaz always been able to reach his bars, follow his stones, even if he stumbles. he shudders out a breath against his throat, tired. not yet. ] I need — to get rid of this weight. Get it off. I won't — [ make it. no. his fingers press into the line of kaz's hip, solid and real. ] Won't let you go.