[ how many times can he make the same mistake? it’s telling inej that he can and will replace her until she believes it in her heart, more vicious than a killing blow. it’s punishing jesper brutally for an easy, honest mistake that saps him of his humour. or fighting with jordie forever and ever in his mind when neither of them knew better. you should be relieved. one last thread cut loose. you got what you needed, not what he wanted. that’s enough. that’s the job.
he is a boy, in some ways, stifled without a constant at his side to help him grow or measure his progress. until jesper and inej — and then they left, too. at least the crew, the slat. you can’t make people stay. they’re not things. they have to want to come back. kaz locks eyes with nikolai and knows then that he won’t want to return. for a moment, he crumples, features twisting. you said you were with him, that he wouldn’t let go, that he was wanted. more than anything. hadn’t said that. should’ve. if nikolai has a honeyed mouth, full of promises and hope, his throat is filled with poison. no, no, no, no —
his back hits the wall, shoulder alight with pain, leg throbbing from the rush across the floor. surprise in the arc of his brows, mouth torn open by a gasp. prove it. how? by hitting him or slashing a knife? he could reach the one in his trousers, but what would that do? brekker, not kaz. he only had it for a moment, and the loss feels cavernous, possibilities sinking with it. let him go. he catches nikolai’s arm in his hand and twists, his other hand coming up against his chest to reverse their positions. the force of it lances back through his shoulder and shakes the creaking wall of the inn. sweat beads on his brow, a fever building in his skin. ]
Don’t — [ he looks wounded (feels it, granted). go. days, weeks, months, years gone in an instant. he speaks rapidly, desperately in a rush of breath before nikolai shoves him away. nikolai may indeed be stronger than him tonight, with the demon or without it, but kaz is quick, clever, and in horrible pain. those factors tend to enable his best and worst performances. ] This isn't — I don’t want to lose you — Nikolai, I can’t. [ you have. he doesn’t know that broken, halting speech is a tell of his honesty because he so rarely tries to share the truth. ] I just don’t know how to keep you here and keep you with me. [ here, on the job; here, in his hands. nikolai goes away inside to somewhere kaz can’t reach him, giving himself to the demon or fighting it so terribly that he hurts himself in the process. his voice rises, breaking in the middle of his speech. ]
Do you think I’d still be here, on this job — that I’d go to fucking Fjerda, if not for you? [ it’s about the job insomuch as the job is about nikolai, the greater good and the queen’s payment be damned. his grip curls tighter in nikolai's shirt, sinew and bone throbbing with the strain. ] You, the demon. [ his eyes shutter, too long to be a mere blink, opening again with all the fierceness he'd displayed in their clash on the beach. ] There’s little difference to me. [ a sharp tilt of his head, regaining some of his usual edge. ] You’ve used it to scare me and save me. I’ve seen it in your eyes even when you’re not calling the shadows. [ a mean streak of the vengeful kind, born of hurt. nikolai had advanced on him in the captain’s quarters, too, when he knew kaz was already rattled, weakened by their encounter the night before. he slackens his grip, mirroring nikolai without meaning to, hoping that a retaliatory swing or bite never comes when he lacks the strength to block it. ]
You can’t trust me or anything I say. [ never, not in this room or in his quarters. perhaps only in the revealing crash of the waves. ] But I should have said I needed you — because I do. Both of you.
[ he almost says that he wishes he didn't, but nikolai has already swallowed too many of his lies tonight. ]
no subject
he is a boy, in some ways, stifled without a constant at his side to help him grow or measure his progress. until jesper and inej — and then they left, too. at least the crew, the slat. you can’t make people stay. they’re not things. they have to want to come back. kaz locks eyes with nikolai and knows then that he won’t want to return. for a moment, he crumples, features twisting. you said you were with him, that he wouldn’t let go, that he was wanted. more than anything. hadn’t said that. should’ve. if nikolai has a honeyed mouth, full of promises and hope, his throat is filled with poison. no, no, no, no —
his back hits the wall, shoulder alight with pain, leg throbbing from the rush across the floor. surprise in the arc of his brows, mouth torn open by a gasp. prove it. how? by hitting him or slashing a knife? he could reach the one in his trousers, but what would that do? brekker, not kaz. he only had it for a moment, and the loss feels cavernous, possibilities sinking with it. let him go. he catches nikolai’s arm in his hand and twists, his other hand coming up against his chest to reverse their positions. the force of it lances back through his shoulder and shakes the creaking wall of the inn. sweat beads on his brow, a fever building in his skin. ]
Don’t — [ he looks wounded (feels it, granted). go. days, weeks, months, years gone in an instant. he speaks rapidly, desperately in a rush of breath before nikolai shoves him away. nikolai may indeed be stronger than him tonight, with the demon or without it, but kaz is quick, clever, and in horrible pain. those factors tend to enable his best and worst performances. ] This isn't — I don’t want to lose you — Nikolai, I can’t. [ you have. he doesn’t know that broken, halting speech is a tell of his honesty because he so rarely tries to share the truth. ] I just don’t know how to keep you here and keep you with me. [ here, on the job; here, in his hands. nikolai goes away inside to somewhere kaz can’t reach him, giving himself to the demon or fighting it so terribly that he hurts himself in the process. his voice rises, breaking in the middle of his speech. ]
Do you think I’d still be here, on this job — that I’d go to fucking Fjerda, if not for you? [ it’s about the job insomuch as the job is about nikolai, the greater good and the queen’s payment be damned. his grip curls tighter in nikolai's shirt, sinew and bone throbbing with the strain. ] You, the demon. [ his eyes shutter, too long to be a mere blink, opening again with all the fierceness he'd displayed in their clash on the beach. ] There’s little difference to me. [ a sharp tilt of his head, regaining some of his usual edge. ] You’ve used it to scare me and save me. I’ve seen it in your eyes even when you’re not calling the shadows. [ a mean streak of the vengeful kind, born of hurt. nikolai had advanced on him in the captain’s quarters, too, when he knew kaz was already rattled, weakened by their encounter the night before. he slackens his grip, mirroring nikolai without meaning to, hoping that a retaliatory swing or bite never comes when he lacks the strength to block it. ]
You can’t trust me or anything I say. [ never, not in this room or in his quarters. perhaps only in the revealing crash of the waves. ] But I should have said I needed you — because I do. Both of you.
[ he almost says that he wishes he didn't, but nikolai has already swallowed too many of his lies tonight. ]