[ it’s as galvanising as he thought it would be, to kiss that stupid grin from his handsome face. everything. it shouldn’t surprise him but it does. second son, boy king, privateer, life stolen by shadows — of course he’s greedy. for things he can’t have; for the things he, inexplicably, can. nikolai hadn’t been shy about his wants, had kissed and touched him, pushed him for more without treating him like a fragile, broken thing. and kaz had risen to the challenge, hadn’t he? answering every question with yawning want. the same as nikolai does for him, straining against his hold in a way that sets his limbs on fire. he wants to release his hands and let them have everything they touch. he wants to keep them pinned beneath him forever. the enormity of his desire overwhelms him, a hundred contradictory and layered wants wrapped inside it.
his nails drag back down nikolai’s throat to thumb over the mark he left earlier. he meets every kiss, dizzy from the contact, from the words nikolai says and can’t mean. every demand stokes the heat in chest. the parts that haven’t, can’t, will. (the r on his bicep, the violence in his hands, the pale skin beneath his protective armour.) a shocked, broken sound climbs his throat. higher, hotter. the chill of the dead and the sea forgotten, at least for as long as nikolai consumes him. doubts cling to the rungs of his ribs, like to be smoked out. how many pretty tales has nikolai lantsov spun before? for ravkan pigeons. the arm pinning him trembles. kaz forces it to keep hold. why would he lie? then, quieter: why would this be true?
because nikolai has more hunger than sense. a man with dwindling self-preservation, caught in a love affair with death, looking and sounding as affected by kaz as kaz is by him. you were all that kept me here today. he knew that, but hearing it aloud is another thing entirely, a blade plunged somewhere vital. the thought of losing him —
it tips the scales. their vulnerability is split, divvied between them months ago. do you think i would ask for more than you can give? yes. are you afraid that there isn’t enough? yes. nausea roils low in his stomach. he’s fucking terrified, and he looks it, features slacker and slacker with each of nikolai’s confessions, brows high and lips parted. his knee digs into nikolai’s arm, barely on the right side of rough. kaz could break it, could crush his windpipe and release him from his suffering. dirtyhands would. he lifts his ungloved hand from nikolai’s throat to curl in his golden hair, forcing his head back and leaving him bereft of his mouth. thief. ]
Of course it’s too much. [ the drag of stone on stone, bitten back with surety. but what does that mean? when he’d said there was no such thing, not in the matter of nikolai. ] Of course I want it. [ a shake infiltrates his voice, but he won’t let it overtake him. ] Everything. You. [ can’t say, i’ve never given that much — not to anyone. it still feels significant to hush, ] Just you, Nikolai.
[ a deliberate, conscious choice after agonising over it for hours in his skull, in his room, retching over the side of the volkvolny. why would this be true? because they’re the same in an essential way. greed is their lever. greed for attention, revenge, love, power. different aims, all controlled by the same mechanism. ]
All of you.
[ a brief hesitation, watchful for a rejection of those terms through his lashes. (everything for everything.) he releases the hand pinning nikolai and eases his leg back, inviting his touch. they need to find shelter and a healer before one of them passes out, but first — kaz bends to kiss him desperately again, to tug his bottom lip between his teeth, one bloody hand in his hair and the other cupping his cheek. ]
[ he's going to say no. the thought moves through him like something sharp, and still he keeps his expression open, his eyes level. it would be a lie. he knows it would be a lie. and yet he can't argue his way into this if kaz resists. the back of his head settles into the sand when kaz grips his hair, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest every time kaz takes something he's done and makes it his own. isn't that the whole point of this? to stretch this tether until he no longer needs it at all?
of course it's too much. immediately, he opens his mouth to disagree, but the words wither on his tongue when kaz goes on, the barest tremor in his voice. nikolai's eyes fall shut. just you. it sounds foreign, like a mistake. he can't possibly be enough. he doesn't know any better. what does he want? too many thoughts, too many questions, the fever pitch of his mind reaching a crescendo. too much has happened tonight for this conversation to be happening, he realizes. he threw kaz into the sea and fished him out, nearly died in the process. that weight hits him again. is this shock? it can't possibly be.
he opens his eyes at all of you, at the easing of the pressure at his limbs, and he tilts his mouth willingly, parting his lips when kaz kisses him again, reveling in the feeling of his palm at his cheek. it's heavenly. it's dizzying. they're both still drenched and it doesn't matter, both bloody and it doesn't matter. how is he supposed to give this up? one day, he'll have to. his scarred fingers curl into kaz's tattered shirt, then splay gently across his bare skin. traces the curious tattoo at his arm, one letter. he takes a breath against his mouth to ask, then —
shoves kaz off, rolling onto his side to cough out a mouthful of blood. the pain returns so fiercely that his first instinct is to laugh, an utterly unhinged sound that he tries to bury in the crook of his arm. he imagines zoya's scowl as he casts a watery-eyed glance at kaz. ]
I'm fine. [ it sounds faint. he nestles into the sand, blearily watches the waves roll in. even now, his fondness for the sea is still strong. ] Let me stay here. You're bleeding. What is the — the R for? Ravishing?
[ throughout it all, he watches nikolai’s eyes, opening and closing the way the rest of him does. tugged by the other end of that pesky string. everything he sees is coloured by his own perspective, he knows that. a flash of uncertainty, amber flecks of hope, sparking across the backs of his own eyelids when they shutter. the kiss tastes like a deal well made — like a promise.
endless questions remain, but the most central one has been clarified. if kaz knows what someone wants, he can navigate their terrain. lucky that in this singular instance, he wants the same thing. and badly enough that earnest, daring nikolai gets the jump on him.
steadier and stronger on land, kaz follows the momentum. less of a drop than last time, so the soft thud into the sand only warrants a faint grunt, pain radiating outward from his shoulder. for once, both corners of his mouth crook upward, a smile more genuine than any other. there and gone, carried away by nikolai’s withering voice on the sea wind. go get him. ]
You’re delirious. [ aren’t they both? the moment feels unreal. he hitches himself up onto his elbows, worsening the ache in his body. a shuddering breath of salty air, the smell too fresh to truly remind him of ketterdam, yet the twinge of longing for his city comes, even so. kaz boxes it up and pushes himself into a sitting position. swiveling his head, he takes in the deserted shoreline, the stars and the lights of the harbour in the distance. too far to seek the ship. quicker to try the lonely houses dotting the road into town. from the map, he recalls an inn with a zowa healer in residence along the route, and he has coin hidden away in what remains of his clothes to assuage any doubts regarding their ghostly appearances.
one ear still twigs nikolai’s observations. ravishing. a short, barked laugh eclipses any apprehension over this particular line of inquiry. ]
[ neutrally, ] Ravka. [ the secret of where he’s from, perhaps. only it sounds like a lie because it is one. it takes all his remaining energy to stand, leaning heavily on his good leg. ah, there it is. a rush of blood to the brain. ] Raissa. [ a kerch woman’s name. he limps over to nikolai, bending to seize his arm even though his still-bleeding wound won’t appreciate the gesture. better the new injury suffer than the old. ] Rat. [ canal rat. barrel rat. ]
On your feet, Lantsov. [ firmer than what might have been teasing, just now. kaz will ensure he complies, even if it means shouldering his weight. ] If you wanted to be left alone, you should have flung a nice boy into the sea.
[ ravka. it's uproariously funny, proven by another bout of laughter that feels like someone is sawing into his side. he can't even contend with the thought. kaz brekker and ravka feel like opposite sides of a spectrum, lacking any sense. ]
Ravka has been my greatest lover. [ he grins, still bloody. his beloved, demanding, infuriating country. his boyhood obsession, one a part of him will never let go of no matter his title. ] Never worked harder or been so mistreated in my life. Never loved a thing more.
[ something he shouldn't admit to, perhaps. there should be a person that fills that role — if not a lover, then some close familial bond. he nearly starts laughing again, but it turns into a groan when kaz manhandles him to his feet. the shore tilts, and he shuts his eyes quickly before he can lose his balance, kaz's solid weight against him. sand falls from his hair, and he notices a smudge of red in the locks that flop into his eyes. from kaz's hand, when it was nestled in his hair. ]
You never stop bleeding. [ you never stop giving him wounds. ] So I should have flung myself into the sea? Noted, for the next time I need a nap.
[ he tries to tell himself not to allow kaz to bear his weight. tries to tell his demon to be useful. blinks and they're no longer on the shore but trekking down a road with the blur of lantern lights ahead. how is kaz still walking? nikolai feels faint, like his body and mind are separating. blood presses against his teeth. he catches sight of the crow etched onto kaz's forearm. how did he stand the close contact? what the hell does the R mean? ]
Tell me. [ how much time has passed? he turns his face, ends up nestled in dark, wet hair. seawater. his mouth brushes clumsily against kaz's ear while his mind picks apart his name. friend? family? a lost bet? he shudders, his heated forehead dropping to kaz's shoulder. is this familiar to him now, or is he fighting off his terrors? ] Am I hurting you? What does — [ he sucks in a breath, regrets it immediately. ] Tell me what it means.
[ they’re both prone to hiding truth in metaphors, so kaz listens to everything he says with seriousness, hanging on each word and heartbeat. it does and doesn’t surprise him that ravka is nikolai’s life, further shading in the person beside him. ketterdam is his, after all, but she loves him no more or less than any other ambitious skiv.
whether it’s this city or the next one, kaz knows you can always bleed a little more for her favour. his arm winds tighter around nikolai, settling low at his hip to avoid his injury. every third step, pain stabs up his leg. he ignores it. this close, nikolai might notice a thin rope of scar tissue where the underside of his jaw meets his neck. you walked farther in ketterdam, a shambling collection of sinew and bones. that had been without nikolai’s drenched, fading warmth at his side, however, heavy like a pox ridden corpse. ]
The water can’t have you. [ there’s the rock salt rasp, aching in his razed throat. his grip flexes, possessive at nikolai’s waist, hard enough to bruise. ] You already made a deal with me.
[ a contract with a kind of devil, to be sure.
the light brightens ahead. won’t be long now. as his heart frays inside him, exhausted from all the drowning and touching, he isn’t prepared for the warm brush of nikolai’s mouth at his ear. should have been, revulsion and longing churning together. a shiver skids down his spine. of course nikolai is incorrigible even while stumbling away from death’s door. no, you’re hurting yourself goes unsaid. all he can do is force one foot in front of the other. tell me what it means. should he feign ignorance and wait for nikolai to faint?
saints, he only just agreed to this deal and already he resists its terms. nikolai promised him days, weeks, years of attention (impossible, dizzying — he refuses to think the softer word, romantic). would it be so bad to let him have this now? something to show he meant it; that kaz brekker will pull himself together for someone who matters. ]
You only get so many chances to play a card, Nikolai. [ an offer, a warning. does he want the truth now, when he might not remember it? perhaps that’s the best time to share it. in this liminal space, kaz might try groping for truths that elude him under the light of the sun — the full force of nikolai’s gaze. why had he gotten the tattoo in the first place? a sentimental, dangerous clue burned into his skin. to what? kaz rietveld has no family, no friends, no one who would know the name besides those who heard him spit it at rollins. nikolai has fought for him again and again. he wouldn’t use it to hurt you.
kaz doubts he’ll be able to deny nikolai a third time, if he asks. he never seems to be able to deny him for long.
fortunately, the inn and a nearby tavern rise from the gravel. at this late hour, only the drunkards linger outside the former, so that’s where kaz props nikolai, going through the considerable effort of untangling their limbs to sit the former ravkan king down in a damp, filthy alley. life’s small wonders. ]
Keep your eyes open, Lantsov. [ with a gloved pat to his cheek, kaz departs to approach a man retching but a few feet away (nikolai still visible out of the corner of his eye). although his skin crawls, kaz gives a reassuring clap to his shoulder and bites back his own bile, let me help, sir, there you are, relax, i’ll fetch water. in seconds, he slips his coat and hat free, both reeking of brandy. pigeons everywhere. he opens the purse held within an interior pocket — relieving it of coin that his mark will no doubt blame himself for spending at the taps — before he tucks it back into the man’s sagging trousers. already beside nikolai again in precious moments, draping the coat across his shoulders before he searches the other pockets and strikes gold. gloves. it is decidedly more difficult to slide said gloves onto a wet, incoherent man, but he manages it, aided by the oversized mitts of his mark. wouldn’t do to alert anyone of nikolai’s affliction, especially a zowa healer (zowa, grisha, witch, all superstitious things) or tip them off to his identity somehow.
the cap is for him, since the haircut he insists upon maintaining has begun appearing in wanted posters after the kuwei affair. (they never get his bones right, but the hair, well, they seem to manage). kaz hoists nikolai’s arm back over his shoulders and makes a grand show of faltering through the entryway at the inn. can’t say if nikolai passes out before or after they cross the threshold, but compliments on the performance, regardless, lantsov. nevermind the fear that spreads like blood in water, as soon as kaz realises he’s gone. ]
Help! [ a word he knows in all languages but he tries zemeni first, then switches to halting kaelish. ] We were attacked at the docks. They took everything, even our boots. Please, he needs a healer!
[ thanks to his wailing about a mugging, the inn gives him a discount on the room and a bargain on two sets of spare clothes from the innkeepers’ husband. the zowa makes no such accommodations for his theatrics, and he respects her for it.
her room first, where she tends to nikolai’s wounds in full under the harsh lamplight and regards kaz dubiously all the while. corporalnik often do. is there a tell in the controlled beat of his heart? no, not tonight. tonight, his heart thuds a miserable, percussive beat. he hovers close until she snaps and sends him to sit at a distance, cap pulled low over his eyes. when she finishes, he inspects her work, bare fingers soft at nikolai’s wrist to check his pulse before he allows himself to be healed. you lie, she tells him, upon seeing the punctures. yes, he lies, about the source of his injuries and everything else. she tips her head, mouth thin and eyes sharp, but you care very much about this one. a glimmer of the genuine in a fraud. it makes him feel ill, even before she lays hands on him.
as is his way, he lets her ease the pain in his leg and heal the damage in his shoulder but not the scar. nikolai won’t like to look at it, he thinks stupidly. then, he’d like it even less if he thought you hid it from him. more marks of the demon, it is. hours melt away under the zowa’s care.
eventually, kaz carries nikolai back to their room, spare clothes waiting for them on the bed. only now does he notice the passable accommodations, too occupied with finding them somewhere, anywhere safe to land. dumb luck. despite the healer’s efforts, his leg aches for his cane. don’t you stop now, brekker. kaz gentles nikolai into a chair in the corner of the room, removing his ill-fitting gloves and peeling back his still-damp shirt. the gloves, he takes for himself, anything to provide a reprieve from the wanted and unwanted touches of the day.
after he tugs a dowdy brown shirt over nikolai’s head and drops his hands to the button of his trousers, he notices movement. a twitch of lashes. hope fizzes against his teeth like carbonation. when he speaks, the rough edges have been sanded down, the weary lines of his face smoothed by relief. ]
Before you get any ideas, [ about where his hands are. ] I’m putting you to bed. [ steady now. his brow creases. ] Your demon won’t fly tonight.
[ a fool’s assurance. they don’t know that, though nikolai seemed to have subdued it again on the beach. no matter. kaz lifted a revolver off another visitor at the front desk for use in plans d through g, and he has plenty of stolen coin left for a return trip to the nosy zowa (if he actually shoots nikolai this time). he can stay awake until they’re back on the ship tomorrow. ]
Edited (pls do not perceive ) 2021-06-22 08:38 (UTC)
[ he doesn’t get an answer to his question, can’t find the energy to pursue it. what does it mean? blinks and kaz is setting him down, letting him go, something he is absurdly upset by but can’t say why. can’t say much of anything when the pain keeps dragging him under.
he wakes once beneath harsh lamplight, blood forcibly drawn from his lungs by a healer. excruciating. he’s quick to lose his grip on consciousness once more, catching one blurred glimpse of kaz glowering from a distance. watching over him. he’s never needed that. he finds it comforting anyway.
the next time his eyes weakly flutter open is in a dimly lit room, propped in a rather comfortable chair. the worst of the pain is gone, only a dull ache remaining when he moves carelessly, which is the first thing he does. the exhaustion is a tremendous weight. he can hear zoya in his head, the sharp edge of her voice. grisha practice the small sciences, not magic. you will not heal if you're too stubborn to rest. that voice is abruptly replaced with dry stone, his hands automatically catching kaz's wrists in a pitifully weak grip. when was the last time he was wounded this badly? the thorn wood. no, when he tried to save princess ehri from her tavgharad, clutching her body while every inch of her skin burned. he shuts his eyes again, loosening his grip. ]
Kaz. [ a whisper. less than a whisper. his voice seems small even to him. brekker. but he likes the way his name sounds in the privacy of this room, something just for them, just as how he knows this feeling of coming apart can only happen right here. there's no place for it once they step outside these doors. he's sinking underwater, laughing on the shore, gouging his claws into kaz's flesh, savoring the freedom of the skies. all of it happening at once, none of it fitting together. his chest pulls tight. what is he doing? nothing that makes sense.
your demon won't fly tonight. is he making a joke? a twinge in his chest, a leftover ache as he pushes out a tired chuckle. no, not a joke. maybe brekker is trying to be comforting. he is terrible at it and should not try again. ] Your faith in my control is categorically absurd.
[ his trousers. that's what he was doing. he — gently — knocks kaz's hands away. gloved, now. for once he tempers his unrelenting desire to prod at kaz's limits, but then — can't, because there are things coming back to him. the curious scar where his jaw meets his neck. the conundrum of that tattoo. he doesn't even remember coming here. did kaz drag him all this way? his eyes settle on his weary face, the tousled fall of his dark hair. seawater. the bed can fit them both, and he's gripped with the desire to have kaz curled against him, held in his arms. he shakes the mawkish thought away. the idea of sleep once again fills him with dread. back to the start, then.
go sit down is what he means to say, so sure that those are the words coming from his mouth, but instead — ] The tattoo. Is it something that you love? Something that you miss? Tell me. It won't leave my thoughts.
[ kaz, he says, like a lightning strike. no, a lesser shock. this quiet, this close. no scorched earth. warmth permeates his gloves, his hands, even as nikolai counters him.
no, comfort isn’t his strong suit — least of all with words (and touch, beyond him, or so he thought). he could protest, you managed it already or chastise him for giving in again, but he decides against action, straightening up when his hands are knocked away. too shattered to press the issue with any immediacy. a roll of his good shoulder constitutes a lop-sided shrug. ]
It would be hard for it to clear the roof, if I shot it. [ simple, unkind (or maybe it’s the kindness nikolai has been asking for all along). in any case, the dry remark informs nikolai of the precautions taken during his nap. the stolen revolver is tucked under his stolen coat (filled with stolen coin), now draped over a dressing table.
change your clothes and sit down. he stays, hovering over nikolai until he asks that same question, as kaz knew he would. ]
You’re like a puppy. [ biting annoyance, but his mouth tugs sideways. ] Give him a scrap, and he hounds you all day. [ he settles one hand on each arm of the chair, so nikolai can’t dart about the room. the least you can do is rest without sleep, princeling, he should say. unsmiling, kaz leans over him and relieves some of the weight on his leg. even through the fatigue and lingering pain on his face, his features sharpen, eyes honed on nikolai. ]
Someone I used to be. [ murmured low, the words come from a place inside himself that he understands little. a boy who liked magic but despised tricks; who trusted his brother to protect him, as if anyone could shelter him from the storm. your faith in my control is categorically absurd. maybe his faith in nikolai himself is absurd. a tip of his head. ] Someone I didn’t want to lose. [ jordie, whose voice he thought would finally fade once he crushed rollins but continues to haunt him. what more do you want? to warn him about this connection? yes, he should know better than to let himself want for closeness. the tattoo is a reminder of their mistake, too, of what people can take from you if you trust them — if you want what they offer you too much. his gaze flickers, as if he might leave it at that. ]
Rietveld. [ naming it aches in a way he never thought it would. without all his anger as protection, the loss threatens to engulf him. can’t look at nikolai looking at him any longer, so he rights himself, turning his back to fetch his own change of clothes from the bed. if he were less concerned for nikolai and his demon’s shared wakefulness, he would close himself in the washroom for privacy, solitude, the faraway comforts of his lonely attic at the slat.
for now, he ungloves and starts plucking the leftover buttons of his ruined shirt. another for nikolai’s tab. ]
Nikolai — tell me something like that. [ abrupt and unthinking, yet no less demanding than usual. a pointed glance over his shoulder, seeking nikolai’s gaze. ] Something true.
[ he only holds it for a moment before he looks away, back to his ritual. spares a fleeting thought for the bandages wrapped obliquely over his shoulder and under his arm, the claw marks less receptive to the healer’s attention than even he would like. he hadn’t wanted as much help with the scar on his hand, but now he wonders if the demon can inflict damage of a different kind. inej would be appalled. and nikolai would guilt himself over a papercut. there's no sense in stalling or hiding.
having removed his shirt under the healer’s care, it’s easier to peel the damp fabric off his shoulders and down his arms. ]
[ his glaze flickers up at that. if i shot it. something cruel hits his tongue, something he might say aloud if it were anyone but kaz. your judgment is clouded. and it is. kaz brekker has yet to use the force that nikolai deserves, has yet to let the infamous dirtyhands come out to play even when faced with death. but he won't say it. he won't punish brekker for his tentative exploration of something he once thought impossible. nikolai realizes now it's the only reason he's here, a liability to the job in every other way but in holding the opposite end of this fragile tether. in his heart, he knows he must let go. he knows he might not be able to honor his feverish promises made on the shore. he does not know what kaz's disappointment looks like, but he can wager that it's an ugly, wrathful thing driven by pain he doesn't want to feel. ]
I haven't been shot since the end of my reign. I might appreciate the reminder. [ kaz cages him then, and nikolai fights the urge to simply tip him into his lap. they both need the rest. ] Do you know many puppies? I would peg you as more of a bearded dragon man. Something to ride around on your shoulder and glower at people when your attentions are otherwise occupied. Did you know I was called sobachka in my youth?
[ nonsensical chatter. he watches kaz's eyes, the tightening of his expression before he answers in terse, barely-there sentences. he doesn't explain in detail, and nikolai knows better than to push this time, but he turns the name over in his mind. rietveld. someone he used to be, someone he didn't want to lose. jordie, the brother, the name he heard so desperately torn from kaz's lips in the water. jordie rietveld. kaz brekker. someone i used to be. kaz rietveld. is it his name? the name of the boy he used to be before he became intimately acquainted with death and robbed of his ability to be close to others?
kaz withdraws, but not before he sees the loss in his eyes, deep as an ocean. vast enough to drown in. for a brief moment there is the barest flicker of understanding, that kaz spends every second staying afloat, not just when he feels a brush of skin against his. the sudden pulse in his chest almost makes him wince, and already his mind is racing for solutions to fix this, to make it better, to soothe it over in some way. but there is no way. not for formative wounds like this.
what can he say in return? that his father resented him, that vasily tried to poison him when he was twelve, that he genuinely loved his mother and it hurt him to send her away, to see her ready to speak out against his parentage? his childhood was lonely, yes, but he never feared for death, never wanted for food or shelter, never found a risk too foolhardy for a privileged prince to take. his maddening behavior and tireless mischief could not be kept in check until his parents and tutors realized the only way to control him was through the pain of other people. he blinks away dominik's smiling face. dominik's bloody, dying face.
kaz already knows so many of his secrets, something he did not foresee becoming true. his demon. his fears. his darkest moments. what is there left to confess, except that he knows none of this will end well? ]
My father is here in Novyi Zem. [ the first thing that comes to mind. ] My biological father. He sought me out once, just before disappearing, and I never wished more to be an ordinary man than in that moment. I think — everything good in me came from him. [ he pauses, huffing out a chuckle. ] Or I'm just overcome by sentiment. The only thing I know for a fact is that we're both very handsome. Is Rietveld your —
[ but the question dies on his tongue when kaz strips off his wet shirt, haphazard bandages scantly covering the jagged wounds at his shoulder. they look ugly and painful, barely any better than before. nikolai comes to his side immediately, hand lifting to touch him before he stops himself, fingers hovering inches away from his shoulder. why hasn't he gotten this healed? he sucks in a breath as the veins darkening his hands suddenly seem to pulse. a sickening feeling rises in his chest. ]
She couldn't heal them. [ he levels his gaze at kaz, his glib demeanor replaced by something hard, heart racing as he speeds through the implications of this, one terrible thought after another. ] Could she?
[ sobachka. of course. excitable, affectionate, troublesome. kaz has no doubt he gave the court mischief. it almost makes him smile before he plunges into the depths with mere words, the past encroaching once it’s given form. speaking aloud the name invites the ghosts inside.
as nikolai surmises, it takes kaz time to drag himself back to the surface. the rumble of nikolai’s voice draws him here, now, plucking on their thread. the true father, who kaz admittedly thought would be found, used to destabilise nikolai’s claim to the throne, then violently executed — perhaps in the ice court (as he would have done, if he were the courtly sort). an unexpected choice of truths, though still related to how family unspools the longing in your chest. a brief thought of his own mother, shapeless in his mind, and his father, whose memory was destroyed by the bloody ribbons of his person, strewn across the farm. kaz hasn’t wanted for them in years — they’re too faraway in his mind, unlike jordie, frightfully close — but it’s an understandable thing. such an alternative would appeal to nikolai, especially, given the rumours about the lantsov family and their willingness to betray their son; the expectations of a king, soldier, consort that sit heavy on his head even now; the alliances he never solidified with marriage.
an ordinary man. does nikolai have it in him to be that in any timeline? likely not, but maybe the one with his father, on a ship where he belongs, made him more ordinary than most. maybe the one where kaz was a sweet little merchling, too. it’s a moment that can’t last, like all moments between them. kaz commits it (the sound of nikolai’s ache, his chuckle) to memory.
rietveld in nikolai’s mouth, a strange sound — he hates it, he doesn’t hate it at all — ah, he should have anticipated this. well, a part of him did. the part that didn’t leave the gun somewhere nikolai might see, and that has him turning to hang his wet shirt on nikolai’s waiting hand to buy time. after smoothing his expression into neutrality, kaz does him the courtesy of meeting his gaze. ]
[ then, evenly — ] She didn’t want to attempt it. [ truth but not the whole of it. he grabs a fresh shirt, a blue so dark it's near black, and then steps back to face nikolai again, allowing him to view the wound’s dressing from the front as kaz knows he’ll want to do, a subtle pivot that also puts him in the path of the door. with no windows in this interior room, it’s the sole exit. and despite kaz’s reliance on nikolai (he won’t think stronger words), he recognises the man and demon both as uncontrolled variables, likely to disrupt his plans. can’t say what he’ll do in a given moment. can only run the scenarios. ] But she couldn’t achieve much even when she was persuaded to try, no.
[ unease in the purse of his mouth, though not over what he says aloud. you care very much about this one. the same tell come back to kill him. he thinks of genya safin, the member of the triumvirate who had healed him when he truly pushed himself to near-collapse. this is nothing. with her skill, surely she could remove those scars — unless she didn’t want to — no, unless she couldn’t. the darkling made nikolai his demon, and kaz underestimated it like a halfwit. his little sulu idealist would have warned him that his skepticism had a price. he misses her terribly. ]
The bandages stay until the morning, when they’ll need changing. [ a crisp command. none of the access he provided last time, when nikolai begged him to see his wounded hand. part strategy but largely necessity — the bandages do need to remain, if he’s to heal at all. the zowa made it clear how careful he should be, with wounds of a darker kind. he pulls on one sleeve and then the other, ignoring how his shoulder smarts with the movement. ] She won’t help me again.
[ it frightens her, in a different way than dirtyhands showing up on your doorstep would. holy terror. she had barely managed to touch him the first time, caught between looking at him with murder and fear in her eyes. the rotten task of changing the dressing will be nikolai’s, fittingly. kaz can’t reach one-handed and certainly can’t afford to let his wounds fester, not when they need to return to their crew and change course.
he folds back and fastens each cuff at his wrist. not preparing for sleep, then. tonight, he only means to rest his leg. there would be little relief in sleep, which would no doubt return him to the watery halls of the dead. ]
You know why. [ a slight arch of his brows, a harsh edge in his voice. he expects that’s what nikolai will need him to be — punishing for information withheld about the secret he keeps safe. grounding only in the aftermath. ] Explain.
[ he hardly notices when kaz sets his shirt in his hand, but does notice that he strategically blocks the door. if he could muster it, he would be impressed at this ability to predict his potential movements — he is thinking of walking out the door, removing himself at least temporarily from this situation. he wants to talk to the healer even if he knows it would be of little use. he wants to be alone because it’s the wise, necessary thing to do. he wants to do this entire night over so he can put a bullet in his head before he ever gets the chance to sink his claws into kaz’s shoulder. he finds anger mixing with his despair and fatigue, unease settling in the center of his ribs. his jaw tightens as he begins pacing around the small room, still sightlessly clutching the ruined shirt. ]
It’s merzost. [ he is no expert, despite harboring a creature of it, but knows the damage done is lasting. genya, he thinks, casting another glance at kaz when he passes him. a bout of dizziness grips him; he slows abruptly, his scarred hand settling on the back of a chair. a caustic laugh bubbles out of him, a brief, quiet sound. ] There’s no real cure, that I know of. The scarring will stay no matter what. But your wound will heal properly when I — and the monster — die.
[ and so here we are again. he resumes pacing, his brow furrowed and his eyes refusing to settle, pointed downward as if seeing nothing at all, like he’s trying to work out a problem in his head. sleep weighs on him, the need for sleep, but he won’t. he stops again to shut his eyes, to steady himself. how can he make this right? is there a way? ]
Take my crew and go to Fjerda. Finish the job. [ he remembers what kaz said in the water, his unwillingness to go back to fjerda alone. but there’s simply no way. ] I can’t come with you. You know it’s too much of a risk. I’ll put Tamar in command of the ship, and — don’t try to argue with me, Brekker, not when you’ve been making excuses for me from the start.
[ he doesn’t mean for the last part to come out. don’t punish him. kaz has already slipped on a dark shirt, his wound out of sight, but nikolai sees it each time he blinks — ugly, painful. he looks at the rest of his unmarked skin, his clear blue eyes. there is still so much room for it to get so much worse. he swallows, lifting his chin as he meets kaz’s gaze again, a command in his tone. something he knows kaz will chafe against. ]
Give me the gun. I’ll guard myself tonight. I can’t trust you to do it.
Edited (ignore that i forgot to copy pasta the last word ) 2021-06-24 12:17 (UTC)
[ his eyes never leave nikolai, even as his hands climb each button. merzost, a word that would mean little to him if not for the manner in which nikolai shares it. kaz wishes he could take a long walk to the white rose alone and pick the brain of one nina zenik, her mouth full of cakes and, occasionally, wisdom. never thought he would look back on the ice court as a far simpler job.
that laugh twists something inside him, so far from the warm sound he likes. although kaz knew this would be devastating for nikolai, he hadn’t accounted for the answering twinges in his heart. but your wound will heal properly when i — and the monster — die. so he thinks that’s how it will end, the man and monster together. had nikolai thought as much when he tamed it, or only since it revolted? does he really think he’ll out-live someone half-dead and hell-bent on taking impossible jobs? ]
[ slung back swiftly, ] I’m familiar with the concept of permanent ailments. [ like his leg, like his affliction. he’s stronger for having been broken in the first place; that much, he knows to be true. scars will make him no more monstrous than he already is under the skin, and no one will have occasion to see them. not even nikolai, if this argument unfolds the way he anticipates — the way he needs it to, to finish this job. to save him, he hopes. a slight but stubborn flame.
watchful even from afar, kaz awaits nikolai’s move before making any of his own. there, a royal decree from korol rezni. admittedly, there is some thrill in it, when so few have ever challenged him, but he doesn’t savour the fight. has he been making excuses for nikolai? hurt flashes across his face, quick but there. maybe. an urge sourced from the same place as his unwillingness to give nina or jesper jurda parem and raze the field, as his insistence on providing inej with a net. riskier plays of his hand than he would advise (or admit) to anyone else, but they’d let him keep all his treasured cards and win the prize, in the end. ]
You can trust me to do it, but you won’t — which is irrelevant, since I don’t trust you with it, and I’m the one who stole it.
[ a thief’s right to his haul. he gloves his hands and tests the flex of the left, where nikolai injured him the first time. best to be prepared to grapple with nikolai, if it comes down to that. ]
No. [ flat. ] I can’t be certain what we’ll find in Fjerda, but I know it won’t be an aging collector of holy relics with a rusty safe, awaiting my clever hands. It will be a mark of a different caliber. Merzost, saints, unknowns. [ far from the merchants and thieves he knows intimately. ]
I can steal anything, but only with the right crew. [ he levels with nikolai, gaze made cold by practice, and thieves every detail of his face. the crease in his brow that shouldn’t be there, that he might never be able to smooth under his fingers. he wonders how few scenarios in which they find the heart will end with nikolai still wanting to look at him. the set of his jaw and burn of his voice don’t betray him. ] And for this job, I’ll need the monster more than I need you.
[ payback, perhaps, for that withdrawal of trust. never met a dagger he won’t turn back on the person who used it against him. ]
[ he is expecting an argument, but arguing with one kaz brekker is an ill-fated task to begin with. two stubborn liars who always believe they're right. he can think of nothing more irksome. more pacing while he shuffles through things to say, immediately discarded, none of them compelling enough. perhaps the only thing brekker will find compelling is a weapon in his face, but nikolai will not allow this to come to that. at least he doesn't want it to come to that. if it needs to, he can hardly protest.
i'm not familiar or comfortable with the concept of being the source of one of your permanent ailments is what he wants to say, but it's too unwieldy, too vulnerable. not productive. did he imagine that flash of hurt? nikolai studies his face, tries to understand the thoughts moving behind his eyes. he might as well try to scale a fjerdan mountain range with one hand tied behind his back.
the refusal to hand over the gun is also expected, but far more frustrating. he doesn't want brekker watching over him like an uncaged animal. he wants to feel as if he is in control again, regain some semblance of the man he knows himself to be. this is like zoya with his shackles all over again, even though she never did him the disservice of a pitying glance. i'm the one who stole it. he can't help the incredulous huff of breath that escapes his teeth, half laugh. brekker is only a few years younger than him — though perhaps his senior in terms of certain experiences — but sometimes he can still catch glimpses of the boyhood he was never properly allowed to have.
and another outright refusal in this entirely wretched undertaking. nikolai wonders if testing the hardness of the walls with his own skull would be a more worthwhile endeavor than this, ready to force his way to the door and take his chances on the bluffs overlooking the water, but then kaz spits out an unexpected truth and nikolai does something he never, ever does. he flinches, eyes swinging up sharply, silently, to meet kaz's cold gaze.
say something. laugh it off. end this. and yet for perhaps the first time, no words come. the validity of the statement settles in his bones, that he is not needed and has not been needed in quite some time. he has spent his entire life vastly overstating his importance, and now he's adrift in what is supposed to be a sense of freedom, a reward for his long days and nights without rest or comfort. a reward he doesn't know what to do with. kaz knows how to twist a knife harder than he could ever hope to.
the demon gives a rumbling stir in his chest. preying on your weakness, just like always. a spark of ire, a rush of despair. his jaw tightens. ]
Prove it to me. Prove that I can trust you. [ he closes the distance between them with impossible speed, fisting his hand in kaz's shirt and shoving him gracelessly against the wall. his shoulder. but his eyes are already bleeding to black, dark veins spreading across his face. with a snarl, he bares his sharpening teeth but goes no further, looking at kaz hungrily, holding himself eerily still.
what are you doing, nikolai thinks frantically. what are you asking him? he doesn't know the answer. doesn't even know the question. kaz's heartbeat thunders through him as he closes his eyes, barely breathing. he can't purge himself of this. without it, he really will become nothing. maybe he's known that all along, and kaz is just the thing forcing him to accept it. payback for all the demands he's made of him, balancing the scales in one precise blow.
kaz brekker does not need you. you only convinced yourself that he does. with that comes a despondent sort of relief. he wants this too much, wants to nurture this fragile blossom not yet unfurled, thinking himself the only one to do it. you did the same thing with ravka. and in the end his country didn't need him, either.
his eyes are clear hazel once more when he opens them, his fractured skin becoming whole, his teeth smooth when he smiles. his grip loosens. ]
You'll have the monster. [ he ignores the way his hand wants to linger, wants to smooth over kaz's tired lines and aching muscles, withdrawing it instead. ] Whatever you want, Brekker. This is your job.
[ 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. ]
[ worse than anything else is watching kaz falter like this and knowing that it's because of him. he wants to shake him, wants to yell that he's not worth whatever pain he keeps putting himself through. nikolai wants to close his eyes to the rawness in his gaze, the pain from his shoulder, his hand, from being thrown into the sea, from all the things that nikolai won't say. all of it because of him. if he keeps going like this then there will be nothing left of kaz to salvage, none of the promise that nikolai sees in him, his wit, his mind, his extraordinary hands. he won't want anyone else to see him or touch him after nikolai is done dragging him across these coals over and over and over again.
why do you do this? why does he bleed out every bit of the things he cares for? too much, always too much. he wants to take kaz's face in his hands, but doesn't; he's been through enough tonight, felt enough terror and revulsion to last him the rest of this job and far beyond. stop him. he doesn't have to do this. he doesn't have to bleed anymore for you. nikolai is not in the habit of telling the truth any more than kaz is — the real truth, the ugly things that don't go with his disarming smile, the things that can't be glossed over with a joke or a laugh. i don't want to lose you and i don't know how to keep you here are problems he has to confess that there are no solutions to. worse than being a liar, at this point, is that he's being cruel. it's cruel to let kaz think that somehow, somewhere, there is an answer to any of this. that he has ever been the answer to anything. ]
Kaz. Kaz, stop. [ his hands come up to cradle his elbows, guilt tightening his throat, and his chest gives a twinge, a reminder that neither of them should be doing anything but resting right now. he can't take this wounded look. even the knowledge that he and the demon are the same, two halves inextricably tied together, isn't something that he wants to face right now. but it's true. he's lived with it for years, nearly died with it more than a few times. there's no way it hasn't made an indelible mark on his soul by now. you don't even believe in souls.
he draws in a breath in an attempt to steady himself, to brace himself for what might come next. kaz might hit him. he almost wishes he would. where is this damnable gun? his hands skate gently up kaz's arms, his grip barely there, and he wants to keep going up and up, until he brushes the line of his jaw, can nestle his fingers into his dark hair, but he doesn't. he stops moving and he wants to stop breathing. ]
You don't. You don't need me. [ spoken gently, like kaz is a skittish foal. his mouth curves into the smallest of smiles. ] I've made this mistake before, and I can't — [ a breath. he swallows. ] I can't do it with you. I can't be what you think you need. I'm not.
[ i'm not anything anymore. not ravka's savior. not kaz's shelter. not a lantsov but not anything else, either. the only thing he might still be is a monster. he wants to look away but refuses to allow himself that small grace, keeping their eyes level. ] I made you promises that I can't keep. For that I'm sorry. I'll do what you need me to do for this job, but I can't give you anything more than that. The only thing you'll find with me is a slow death. And —
[ and what? there's so much more he wants to say. that he needs to say. he doesn't want to be the reason that kaz doesn't ever try to push his limits with anyone else, but doesn't have the right to tell him otherwise. or maybe he's just overstating his importance again. he drops his hands, slumping back against the wall. and what? that he's proud of kaz for the things they shared? that he wishes he could be more? his chest sinks around an exhale, his eyes finally dropping as he smooths his expression into something neutral. coward. ]
I don't want to hurt you anymore. I don't want to do this with you.
[ i don’t want to do this with you anymore amounts to i don’t want you. at least not enough to pull himself together the way kaz tried to do for him. it is, as it was always going to be, a shattering. everything raw and open in kaz (the exposed nerve, the aching want) snaps shut, as if slapped. his grip tightens then loosens all over again. he straightens up, resisting the urge to take nikolai’s hands in his own, when they would surely shake. his eyes dart over nikolai’s features, searching for answers in the tired lines of his face. had he intended this all along? to make him want something and then rip it from him in a burst of blood and flesh. no, he decides, and that’s worse. kaz brekker fell for the con artist who hadn’t even meant to run him in the first place. collateral damage. murder in those shark eyes of his, but there’s no use kindling it. it sparks and sputters out in a flutter of his lashes.
he wants to argue, to throw back everything nikolai asked of him and promised him to his face. you kissed me you tore me open you promised you lied. to say that nothing would hurt more than this, the pain of separation and absence after having something this precious in his terrible hands. and that he hadn’t even known he wanted half the things he did, does, will until nikolai showed him with careful words and touch. what is he supposed to do with all that want, now that it has nowhere to go? no one will take it.
his hands fall to his sides. you can’t keep people. they’re not things. they have to want to come back. a bob of his chin, defeated. can’t keep the hurt from his voice. ]
As the little princeling commands it. [ a bitter laugh bubbles out his throat. mistake after mistake. no, he reminds himself, it wasn’t — ] But don’t pretend it’s for my sake, [ to stop hurting him. ] and don’t speak to me of death. [ not when he knows her like an old friend. with considerable effort, he cuts the tremble from his throat. ] You’re not my pain, and you’re not my martyr. [ he knew pain intimately long before nikolai touched him and will know it long after. the world will find ways to wring more of it from him before he dies a thief’s death on this job or the next. of that, he’s certain. ]
You’re being steered by shame, Lantsov. [ anger made quiet. the cool burn of disappointment. ] That’s why you’re weak. Not because you can’t control your demon; because you think it’s easier to stop trying. That you’re not worth the effort. [ a pause. he searches for another fatal slash, like the one he delivered moments earlier and finds none. they wouldn’t be true. ] You are.
[ kaz steps back and jerks his chin over his shoulder, ignoring the way even that gesture aches. ]
Go sit on the bed. [ firmer. ] Sit. Don’t move. Eyes to the ceiling. Stand without my permission before sunrise, and I’ll re-break your ribs.
[ a moment of observation, waiting to see if nikolai complies. regardless of whether he does, kaz limps his way to the chair and drags it into the path of the door, a barricade of sorts. from there, he walks to the side table to throw his stolen coat across his shoulders, revolver hidden beneath the wool by light fingers. it wouldn’t surprise him if nikolai guessed he had the gun under there. it matters not, since he has it secure in his reach now. once he sits, all the pain he’d been holding back floods his leg. closing his eyes briefly, he extends it to ease the ache. ]
If you want to be an untrustworthy, unreliable thing this badly, then you’ll be treated like one. [ exhaustion finally seeps into his rasp. he hears nikolai saying kaz and rietveld over and over again, caught on a groove at the back of his skull. his gaze hunts for nikolai’s wherever he is in the room, a glimmer of danger in his blues. ] Speak of this night to anyone, and I’ll take your lying tongue.
[ he neither expects nor wants a promise of silence and protection. an untrustworthy thing can’t offer him that security, so he’ll have to take precautions of his own. ]
[ it hurts as much as he expects. worse, because it's kaz. because he knows the amount of courage it took to get this far, to allow hands and lips and whispered words against his skin. he remembers every tentative touch, every eager kiss, the press of his hips and the salt of his skin. he remembers the spill of blood, the terror of his pulse, the scent of his fear. all of it tangled together. you told him you hoped he'd try again. and this is the reward you give him.
the pain between them is a living thing. if tossing kaz into the roiling waves of his worst nightmare was cruel, then this is another sin he can't atone for. better for kaz to hate him, to finish this job and return to ketterdam with his life than to die in a foreign country on a foolhardy mission from a queen he doesn't even particularly like. but he liked you. a foolish thought. kaz must hate him now — and if he doesn't, he will. when the sting of this subsides into something more manageable, he'll see him for what he truly is: a man with a thousand different faces and none of them true, none of them real. he says what he needs to say in the moment. and those moments pass as quickly as breathing.
except for this one. this one looms over them like an eternal sentence, like his time with elizaveta and her damnable bees. he finds his voice, miraculously steady. ] I am tired of tasting your blood, Brekker. I may not understand the deaths you've lived, but you don't understand mine. Don't pretend that you do.
[ you are cuts into him too deeply for remarks. he doesn't want this kindness. maybe it's why kaz forces it on him, knowing that it will hurt more than another spurning. or maybe he really believes it. somehow, that's worse.
a king doesn't take orders is on the tip of his tongue, as he takes kaz's direction without comment. he wants the chair instead, but kaz is already in it, barring the door that nikolai wants desperately to walk through. and there's the gun, too distracted to have realized it was in plain sight all along. not his best night. he doesn't keep his eyes on the ceiling, instead watching the way pain flickers across kaz's face. he would sit on the floor and try to ease some of the ache with his hands if he didn't think kaz would kick him in the face first. or shoot him for deigning to stand.
a rough breath escapes him, shaking his head around what sounds like a chuckle. ] What part of the night? The part where I almost killed you? The part where you wanted to kill me?
[ he raises his bare hands in a gesture of surrender before carefully sliding from the bed to the floor, his back resting against the wooden frame. easier to stay awake this way. he turns his eyes to the window. now that the room is still, his own pain creeps up on him. not the pain in his lungs. there's an ache right beside his heart. his fingers curl around the memory of dark hair. he does need the sleeping tonic despite vowing never to take such a vile thing again, because otherwise his nights will be full of nothing but kaz. kaz and the demon, an endless loop of his botched failures.
morning will always come. morning is as far away as it always is. ]
[ tilting back in his chair, kaz replays every moment that led to this and wonders which parts were true. this one? if it’s true what nikolai says now, if there’s nothing to be done, he should crawl back to ketterdam — can’t, because he needs to find the heart for infuriating, achingly mournful nikolai — but nikolai gives him one last revelation, sinking into the skin. only hurt and fatigue dull his response. i am tired of tasting your blood, brekker. maybe that’s what he missed. that nikolai didn’t just want him — that he cared about him, too. he never said that, not in so many words. why would he care? his first thought is that there’s no accounting for taste.
you don’t understand mine. no, he doesn’t understand, as much as he gathers evidence and makes guesses. a pathetic, miserable thought: i would if you’d tell me. nikolai won’t allow him inside that guarded vault, locks impenetrable, so kaz refuses to engage with it further. as the king wills it. he tries to reorient his understanding of nikolai and the job both, stripping out all the tender, witless pieces.
at what part? his face cracks open again, exposed until annoyance tightens the furrow of his brows. nikolai keeps looking, like he has any right to see this pain — and then bloody well ignores his orders by sliding the ground. fine. not a shootable offense, though if he were to stand now, kaz would aim for the legs. the zowa likes him not, but she won’t let a boy who seems human die. ]
You know which part. [ does he? or is he as obtuse as he pretends to be sometimes? if it’s true that nikolai doesn’t want him, not enough, and cares in a way that prevents him from staying, then kaz has nothing left to lose. in the aftermath of a sigh, his reply sounds empty. ]
The only other person I’ve told that name [ that name, not mine. ] is the man who killed my brother, so he’d remember exactly who came back from the dead to ruin him.
[ there’s an air of finality to it, resignation to their distance. a last truth before they part, so nikolai knows what it meant, to speak it aloud. even if all his other threats prove idle, this one won’t. a secret that has been rarely told and never in a moment of trust like that. inej had heard it then, too, but it was rollins he was telling. pekka fucking rollins, who hadn’t even remembered the rietveld boys, their names and faces lost in a sea of marks. wouldn’t have known kaz’s own name, if he hadn’t taught it to him with a hundred cuts to his empire. he came back to take everything from rollins and then stopped short of the final theft of what he loved most.
because a monster needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing, and it wouldn’t bring his brother back from the dead, but it would have driven an immovable wedge between him and inej (and jesper and wylan and nina) if he killed the rollins' boy. the lines they've crossed tonight aren't as close to the jutting ledge as that one. a flicker of hope. they might yet find their way back. and they might not.
no matter the outcome, kaz decides that he will gift nikolai with the heart of sankt feliks, so that he can choose where he goes, even if it leads him away. ]
Edited (made up fantasy languages smh x 2) 2021-06-25 08:21 (UTC)
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his nails drag back down nikolai’s throat to thumb over the mark he left earlier. he meets every kiss, dizzy from the contact, from the words nikolai says and can’t mean. every demand stokes the heat in chest. the parts that haven’t, can’t, will. (the r on his bicep, the violence in his hands, the pale skin beneath his protective armour.) a shocked, broken sound climbs his throat. higher, hotter. the chill of the dead and the sea forgotten, at least for as long as nikolai consumes him. doubts cling to the rungs of his ribs, like to be smoked out. how many pretty tales has nikolai lantsov spun before? for ravkan pigeons. the arm pinning him trembles. kaz forces it to keep hold. why would he lie? then, quieter: why would this be true?
because nikolai has more hunger than sense. a man with dwindling self-preservation, caught in a love affair with death, looking and sounding as affected by kaz as kaz is by him. you were all that kept me here today. he knew that, but hearing it aloud is another thing entirely, a blade plunged somewhere vital. the thought of losing him —
it tips the scales. their vulnerability is split, divvied between them months ago. do you think i would ask for more than you can give? yes. are you afraid that there isn’t enough? yes. nausea roils low in his stomach. he’s fucking terrified, and he looks it, features slacker and slacker with each of nikolai’s confessions, brows high and lips parted. his knee digs into nikolai’s arm, barely on the right side of rough. kaz could break it, could crush his windpipe and release him from his suffering. dirtyhands would. he lifts his ungloved hand from nikolai’s throat to curl in his golden hair, forcing his head back and leaving him bereft of his mouth. thief. ]
Of course it’s too much. [ the drag of stone on stone, bitten back with surety. but what does that mean? when he’d said there was no such thing, not in the matter of nikolai. ] Of course I want it. [ a shake infiltrates his voice, but he won’t let it overtake him. ] Everything. You. [ can’t say, i’ve never given that much — not to anyone. it still feels significant to hush, ] Just you, Nikolai.
[ a deliberate, conscious choice after agonising over it for hours in his skull, in his room, retching over the side of the volkvolny. why would this be true? because they’re the same in an essential way. greed is their lever. greed for attention, revenge, love, power. different aims, all controlled by the same mechanism. ]
All of you.
[ a brief hesitation, watchful for a rejection of those terms through his lashes. (everything for everything.) he releases the hand pinning nikolai and eases his leg back, inviting his touch. they need to find shelter and a healer before one of them passes out, but first — kaz bends to kiss him desperately again, to tug his bottom lip between his teeth, one bloody hand in his hair and the other cupping his cheek. ]
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of course it's too much. immediately, he opens his mouth to disagree, but the words wither on his tongue when kaz goes on, the barest tremor in his voice. nikolai's eyes fall shut. just you. it sounds foreign, like a mistake. he can't possibly be enough. he doesn't know any better. what does he want? too many thoughts, too many questions, the fever pitch of his mind reaching a crescendo. too much has happened tonight for this conversation to be happening, he realizes. he threw kaz into the sea and fished him out, nearly died in the process. that weight hits him again. is this shock? it can't possibly be.
he opens his eyes at all of you, at the easing of the pressure at his limbs, and he tilts his mouth willingly, parting his lips when kaz kisses him again, reveling in the feeling of his palm at his cheek. it's heavenly. it's dizzying. they're both still drenched and it doesn't matter, both bloody and it doesn't matter. how is he supposed to give this up? one day, he'll have to. his scarred fingers curl into kaz's tattered shirt, then splay gently across his bare skin. traces the curious tattoo at his arm, one letter. he takes a breath against his mouth to ask, then —
shoves kaz off, rolling onto his side to cough out a mouthful of blood. the pain returns so fiercely that his first instinct is to laugh, an utterly unhinged sound that he tries to bury in the crook of his arm. he imagines zoya's scowl as he casts a watery-eyed glance at kaz. ]
I'm fine. [ it sounds faint. he nestles into the sand, blearily watches the waves roll in. even now, his fondness for the sea is still strong. ] Let me stay here. You're bleeding. What is the — the R for? Ravishing?
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endless questions remain, but the most central one has been clarified. if kaz knows what someone wants, he can navigate their terrain. lucky that in this singular instance, he wants the same thing. and badly enough that earnest, daring nikolai gets the jump on him.
steadier and stronger on land, kaz follows the momentum. less of a drop than last time, so the soft thud into the sand only warrants a faint grunt, pain radiating outward from his shoulder. for once, both corners of his mouth crook upward, a smile more genuine than any other. there and gone, carried away by nikolai’s withering voice on the sea wind. go get him. ]
You’re delirious. [ aren’t they both? the moment feels unreal. he hitches himself up onto his elbows, worsening the ache in his body. a shuddering breath of salty air, the smell too fresh to truly remind him of ketterdam, yet the twinge of longing for his city comes, even so. kaz boxes it up and pushes himself into a sitting position. swiveling his head, he takes in the deserted shoreline, the stars and the lights of the harbour in the distance. too far to seek the ship. quicker to try the lonely houses dotting the road into town. from the map, he recalls an inn with a zowa healer in residence along the route, and he has coin hidden away in what remains of his clothes to assuage any doubts regarding their ghostly appearances.
one ear still twigs nikolai’s observations. ravishing. a short, barked laugh eclipses any apprehension over this particular line of inquiry. ]
[ neutrally, ] Ravka. [ the secret of where he’s from, perhaps. only it sounds like a lie because it is one. it takes all his remaining energy to stand, leaning heavily on his good leg. ah, there it is. a rush of blood to the brain. ] Raissa. [ a kerch woman’s name. he limps over to nikolai, bending to seize his arm even though his still-bleeding wound won’t appreciate the gesture. better the new injury suffer than the old. ] Rat. [ canal rat. barrel rat. ]
On your feet, Lantsov. [ firmer than what might have been teasing, just now. kaz will ensure he complies, even if it means shouldering his weight. ] If you wanted to be left alone, you should have flung a nice boy into the sea.
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Ravka has been my greatest lover. [ he grins, still bloody. his beloved, demanding, infuriating country. his boyhood obsession, one a part of him will never let go of no matter his title. ] Never worked harder or been so mistreated in my life. Never loved a thing more.
[ something he shouldn't admit to, perhaps. there should be a person that fills that role — if not a lover, then some close familial bond. he nearly starts laughing again, but it turns into a groan when kaz manhandles him to his feet. the shore tilts, and he shuts his eyes quickly before he can lose his balance, kaz's solid weight against him. sand falls from his hair, and he notices a smudge of red in the locks that flop into his eyes. from kaz's hand, when it was nestled in his hair. ]
You never stop bleeding. [ you never stop giving him wounds. ] So I should have flung myself into the sea? Noted, for the next time I need a nap.
[ he tries to tell himself not to allow kaz to bear his weight. tries to tell his demon to be useful. blinks and they're no longer on the shore but trekking down a road with the blur of lantern lights ahead. how is kaz still walking? nikolai feels faint, like his body and mind are separating. blood presses against his teeth. he catches sight of the crow etched onto kaz's forearm. how did he stand the close contact? what the hell does the R mean? ]
Tell me. [ how much time has passed? he turns his face, ends up nestled in dark, wet hair. seawater. his mouth brushes clumsily against kaz's ear while his mind picks apart his name. friend? family? a lost bet? he shudders, his heated forehead dropping to kaz's shoulder. is this familiar to him now, or is he fighting off his terrors? ] Am I hurting you? What does — [ he sucks in a breath, regrets it immediately. ] Tell me what it means.
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whether it’s this city or the next one, kaz knows you can always bleed a little more for her favour. his arm winds tighter around nikolai, settling low at his hip to avoid his injury. every third step, pain stabs up his leg. he ignores it. this close, nikolai might notice a thin rope of scar tissue where the underside of his jaw meets his neck. you walked farther in ketterdam, a shambling collection of sinew and bones. that had been without nikolai’s drenched, fading warmth at his side, however, heavy like a pox ridden corpse. ]
The water can’t have you. [ there’s the rock salt rasp, aching in his razed throat. his grip flexes, possessive at nikolai’s waist, hard enough to bruise. ] You already made a deal with me.
[ a contract with a kind of devil, to be sure.
the light brightens ahead. won’t be long now. as his heart frays inside him, exhausted from all the drowning and touching, he isn’t prepared for the warm brush of nikolai’s mouth at his ear. should have been, revulsion and longing churning together. a shiver skids down his spine. of course nikolai is incorrigible even while stumbling away from death’s door. no, you’re hurting yourself goes unsaid. all he can do is force one foot in front of the other. tell me what it means. should he feign ignorance and wait for nikolai to faint?
saints, he only just agreed to this deal and already he resists its terms. nikolai promised him days, weeks, years of attention (impossible, dizzying — he refuses to think the softer word, romantic). would it be so bad to let him have this now? something to show he meant it; that kaz brekker will pull himself together for someone who matters. ]
You only get so many chances to play a card, Nikolai. [ an offer, a warning. does he want the truth now, when he might not remember it? perhaps that’s the best time to share it. in this liminal space, kaz might try groping for truths that elude him under the light of the sun — the full force of nikolai’s gaze. why had he gotten the tattoo in the first place? a sentimental, dangerous clue burned into his skin. to what? kaz rietveld has no family, no friends, no one who would know the name besides those who heard him spit it at rollins. nikolai has fought for him again and again. he wouldn’t use it to hurt you.
kaz doubts he’ll be able to deny nikolai a third time, if he asks. he never seems to be able to deny him for long.
fortunately, the inn and a nearby tavern rise from the gravel. at this late hour, only the drunkards linger outside the former, so that’s where kaz props nikolai, going through the considerable effort of untangling their limbs to sit the former ravkan king down in a damp, filthy alley. life’s small wonders. ]
Keep your eyes open, Lantsov. [ with a gloved pat to his cheek, kaz departs to approach a man retching but a few feet away (nikolai still visible out of the corner of his eye). although his skin crawls, kaz gives a reassuring clap to his shoulder and bites back his own bile, let me help, sir, there you are, relax, i’ll fetch water. in seconds, he slips his coat and hat free, both reeking of brandy. pigeons everywhere. he opens the purse held within an interior pocket — relieving it of coin that his mark will no doubt blame himself for spending at the taps — before he tucks it back into the man’s sagging trousers. already beside nikolai again in precious moments, draping the coat across his shoulders before he searches the other pockets and strikes gold. gloves. it is decidedly more difficult to slide said gloves onto a wet, incoherent man, but he manages it, aided by the oversized mitts of his mark. wouldn’t do to alert anyone of nikolai’s affliction, especially a zowa healer (zowa, grisha, witch, all superstitious things) or tip them off to his identity somehow.
the cap is for him, since the haircut he insists upon maintaining has begun appearing in wanted posters after the kuwei affair. (they never get his bones right, but the hair, well, they seem to manage). kaz hoists nikolai’s arm back over his shoulders and makes a grand show of faltering through the entryway at the inn. can’t say if nikolai passes out before or after they cross the threshold, but compliments on the performance, regardless, lantsov. nevermind the fear that spreads like blood in water, as soon as kaz realises he’s gone. ]
Help! [ a word he knows in all languages but he tries zemeni first, then switches to halting kaelish. ] We were attacked at the docks. They took everything, even our boots. Please, he needs a healer!
[ thanks to his wailing about a mugging, the inn gives him a discount on the room and a bargain on two sets of spare clothes from the innkeepers’ husband. the zowa makes no such accommodations for his theatrics, and he respects her for it.
her room first, where she tends to nikolai’s wounds in full under the harsh lamplight and regards kaz dubiously all the while. corporalnik often do. is there a tell in the controlled beat of his heart? no, not tonight. tonight, his heart thuds a miserable, percussive beat. he hovers close until she snaps and sends him to sit at a distance, cap pulled low over his eyes. when she finishes, he inspects her work, bare fingers soft at nikolai’s wrist to check his pulse before he allows himself to be healed. you lie, she tells him, upon seeing the punctures. yes, he lies, about the source of his injuries and everything else. she tips her head, mouth thin and eyes sharp, but you care very much about this one. a glimmer of the genuine in a fraud. it makes him feel ill, even before she lays hands on him.
as is his way, he lets her ease the pain in his leg and heal the damage in his shoulder but not the scar. nikolai won’t like to look at it, he thinks stupidly. then, he’d like it even less if he thought you hid it from him. more marks of the demon, it is. hours melt away under the zowa’s care.
eventually, kaz carries nikolai back to their room, spare clothes waiting for them on the bed. only now does he notice the passable accommodations, too occupied with finding them somewhere, anywhere safe to land. dumb luck. despite the healer’s efforts, his leg aches for his cane. don’t you stop now, brekker. kaz gentles nikolai into a chair in the corner of the room, removing his ill-fitting gloves and peeling back his still-damp shirt. the gloves, he takes for himself, anything to provide a reprieve from the wanted and unwanted touches of the day.
after he tugs a dowdy brown shirt over nikolai’s head and drops his hands to the button of his trousers, he notices movement. a twitch of lashes. hope fizzes against his teeth like carbonation. when he speaks, the rough edges have been sanded down, the weary lines of his face smoothed by relief. ]
Before you get any ideas, [ about where his hands are. ] I’m putting you to bed. [ steady now. his brow creases. ] Your demon won’t fly tonight.
[ a fool’s assurance. they don’t know that, though nikolai seemed to have subdued it again on the beach. no matter. kaz lifted a revolver off another visitor at the front desk for use in plans d through g, and he has plenty of stolen coin left for a return trip to the nosy zowa (if he actually shoots nikolai this time). he can stay awake until they’re back on the ship tomorrow. ]
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he wakes once beneath harsh lamplight, blood forcibly drawn from his lungs by a healer. excruciating. he’s quick to lose his grip on consciousness once more, catching one blurred glimpse of kaz glowering from a distance. watching over him. he’s never needed that. he finds it comforting anyway.
the next time his eyes weakly flutter open is in a dimly lit room, propped in a rather comfortable chair. the worst of the pain is gone, only a dull ache remaining when he moves carelessly, which is the first thing he does. the exhaustion is a tremendous weight. he can hear zoya in his head, the sharp edge of her voice. grisha practice the small sciences, not magic. you will not heal if you're too stubborn to rest. that voice is abruptly replaced with dry stone, his hands automatically catching kaz's wrists in a pitifully weak grip. when was the last time he was wounded this badly? the thorn wood. no, when he tried to save princess ehri from her tavgharad, clutching her body while every inch of her skin burned. he shuts his eyes again, loosening his grip. ]
Kaz. [ a whisper. less than a whisper. his voice seems small even to him. brekker. but he likes the way his name sounds in the privacy of this room, something just for them, just as how he knows this feeling of coming apart can only happen right here. there's no place for it once they step outside these doors. he's sinking underwater, laughing on the shore, gouging his claws into kaz's flesh, savoring the freedom of the skies. all of it happening at once, none of it fitting together. his chest pulls tight. what is he doing? nothing that makes sense.
your demon won't fly tonight. is he making a joke? a twinge in his chest, a leftover ache as he pushes out a tired chuckle. no, not a joke. maybe brekker is trying to be comforting. he is terrible at it and should not try again. ] Your faith in my control is categorically absurd.
[ his trousers. that's what he was doing. he — gently — knocks kaz's hands away. gloved, now. for once he tempers his unrelenting desire to prod at kaz's limits, but then — can't, because there are things coming back to him. the curious scar where his jaw meets his neck. the conundrum of that tattoo. he doesn't even remember coming here. did kaz drag him all this way? his eyes settle on his weary face, the tousled fall of his dark hair. seawater. the bed can fit them both, and he's gripped with the desire to have kaz curled against him, held in his arms. he shakes the mawkish thought away. the idea of sleep once again fills him with dread. back to the start, then.
go sit down is what he means to say, so sure that those are the words coming from his mouth, but instead — ] The tattoo. Is it something that you love? Something that you miss? Tell me. It won't leave my thoughts.
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no, comfort isn’t his strong suit — least of all with words (and touch, beyond him, or so he thought). he could protest, you managed it already or chastise him for giving in again, but he decides against action, straightening up when his hands are knocked away. too shattered to press the issue with any immediacy. a roll of his good shoulder constitutes a lop-sided shrug. ]
It would be hard for it to clear the roof, if I shot it. [ simple, unkind (or maybe it’s the kindness nikolai has been asking for all along). in any case, the dry remark informs nikolai of the precautions taken during his nap. the stolen revolver is tucked under his stolen coat (filled with stolen coin), now draped over a dressing table.
change your clothes and sit down. he stays, hovering over nikolai until he asks that same question, as kaz knew he would. ]
You’re like a puppy. [ biting annoyance, but his mouth tugs sideways. ] Give him a scrap, and he hounds you all day. [ he settles one hand on each arm of the chair, so nikolai can’t dart about the room. the least you can do is rest without sleep, princeling, he should say. unsmiling, kaz leans over him and relieves some of the weight on his leg. even through the fatigue and lingering pain on his face, his features sharpen, eyes honed on nikolai. ]
Someone I used to be. [ murmured low, the words come from a place inside himself that he understands little. a boy who liked magic but despised tricks; who trusted his brother to protect him, as if anyone could shelter him from the storm. your faith in my control is categorically absurd. maybe his faith in nikolai himself is absurd. a tip of his head. ] Someone I didn’t want to lose. [ jordie, whose voice he thought would finally fade once he crushed rollins but continues to haunt him. what more do you want? to warn him about this connection? yes, he should know better than to let himself want for closeness. the tattoo is a reminder of their mistake, too, of what people can take from you if you trust them — if you want what they offer you too much. his gaze flickers, as if he might leave it at that. ]
Rietveld. [ naming it aches in a way he never thought it would. without all his anger as protection, the loss threatens to engulf him. can’t look at nikolai looking at him any longer, so he rights himself, turning his back to fetch his own change of clothes from the bed. if he were less concerned for nikolai and his demon’s shared wakefulness, he would close himself in the washroom for privacy, solitude, the faraway comforts of his lonely attic at the slat.
for now, he ungloves and starts plucking the leftover buttons of his ruined shirt. another for nikolai’s tab. ]
Nikolai — tell me something like that. [ abrupt and unthinking, yet no less demanding than usual. a pointed glance over his shoulder, seeking nikolai’s gaze. ] Something true.
[ he only holds it for a moment before he looks away, back to his ritual. spares a fleeting thought for the bandages wrapped obliquely over his shoulder and under his arm, the claw marks less receptive to the healer’s attention than even he would like. he hadn’t wanted as much help with the scar on his hand, but now he wonders if the demon can inflict damage of a different kind. inej would be appalled. and nikolai would guilt himself over a papercut. there's no sense in stalling or hiding.
having removed his shirt under the healer’s care, it’s easier to peel the damp fabric off his shoulders and down his arms. ]
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I haven't been shot since the end of my reign. I might appreciate the reminder. [ kaz cages him then, and nikolai fights the urge to simply tip him into his lap. they both need the rest. ] Do you know many puppies? I would peg you as more of a bearded dragon man. Something to ride around on your shoulder and glower at people when your attentions are otherwise occupied. Did you know I was called sobachka in my youth?
[ nonsensical chatter. he watches kaz's eyes, the tightening of his expression before he answers in terse, barely-there sentences. he doesn't explain in detail, and nikolai knows better than to push this time, but he turns the name over in his mind. rietveld. someone he used to be, someone he didn't want to lose. jordie, the brother, the name he heard so desperately torn from kaz's lips in the water. jordie rietveld. kaz brekker. someone i used to be. kaz rietveld. is it his name? the name of the boy he used to be before he became intimately acquainted with death and robbed of his ability to be close to others?
kaz withdraws, but not before he sees the loss in his eyes, deep as an ocean. vast enough to drown in. for a brief moment there is the barest flicker of understanding, that kaz spends every second staying afloat, not just when he feels a brush of skin against his. the sudden pulse in his chest almost makes him wince, and already his mind is racing for solutions to fix this, to make it better, to soothe it over in some way. but there is no way. not for formative wounds like this.
what can he say in return? that his father resented him, that vasily tried to poison him when he was twelve, that he genuinely loved his mother and it hurt him to send her away, to see her ready to speak out against his parentage? his childhood was lonely, yes, but he never feared for death, never wanted for food or shelter, never found a risk too foolhardy for a privileged prince to take. his maddening behavior and tireless mischief could not be kept in check until his parents and tutors realized the only way to control him was through the pain of other people. he blinks away dominik's smiling face. dominik's bloody, dying face.
kaz already knows so many of his secrets, something he did not foresee becoming true. his demon. his fears. his darkest moments. what is there left to confess, except that he knows none of this will end well? ]
My father is here in Novyi Zem. [ the first thing that comes to mind. ] My biological father. He sought me out once, just before disappearing, and I never wished more to be an ordinary man than in that moment. I think — everything good in me came from him. [ he pauses, huffing out a chuckle. ] Or I'm just overcome by sentiment. The only thing I know for a fact is that we're both very handsome. Is Rietveld your —
[ but the question dies on his tongue when kaz strips off his wet shirt, haphazard bandages scantly covering the jagged wounds at his shoulder. they look ugly and painful, barely any better than before. nikolai comes to his side immediately, hand lifting to touch him before he stops himself, fingers hovering inches away from his shoulder. why hasn't he gotten this healed? he sucks in a breath as the veins darkening his hands suddenly seem to pulse. a sickening feeling rises in his chest. ]
She couldn't heal them. [ he levels his gaze at kaz, his glib demeanor replaced by something hard, heart racing as he speeds through the implications of this, one terrible thought after another. ] Could she?
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as nikolai surmises, it takes kaz time to drag himself back to the surface. the rumble of nikolai’s voice draws him here, now, plucking on their thread. the true father, who kaz admittedly thought would be found, used to destabilise nikolai’s claim to the throne, then violently executed — perhaps in the ice court (as he would have done, if he were the courtly sort). an unexpected choice of truths, though still related to how family unspools the longing in your chest. a brief thought of his own mother, shapeless in his mind, and his father, whose memory was destroyed by the bloody ribbons of his person, strewn across the farm. kaz hasn’t wanted for them in years — they’re too faraway in his mind, unlike jordie, frightfully close — but it’s an understandable thing. such an alternative would appeal to nikolai, especially, given the rumours about the lantsov family and their willingness to betray their son; the expectations of a king, soldier, consort that sit heavy on his head even now; the alliances he never solidified with marriage.
an ordinary man. does nikolai have it in him to be that in any timeline? likely not, but maybe the one with his father, on a ship where he belongs, made him more ordinary than most. maybe the one where kaz was a sweet little merchling, too. it’s a moment that can’t last, like all moments between them. kaz commits it (the sound of nikolai’s ache, his chuckle) to memory.
rietveld in nikolai’s mouth, a strange sound — he hates it, he doesn’t hate it at all — ah, he should have anticipated this. well, a part of him did. the part that didn’t leave the gun somewhere nikolai might see, and that has him turning to hang his wet shirt on nikolai’s waiting hand to buy time. after smoothing his expression into neutrality, kaz does him the courtesy of meeting his gaze. ]
[ then, evenly — ] She didn’t want to attempt it. [ truth but not the whole of it. he grabs a fresh shirt, a blue so dark it's near black, and then steps back to face nikolai again, allowing him to view the wound’s dressing from the front as kaz knows he’ll want to do, a subtle pivot that also puts him in the path of the door. with no windows in this interior room, it’s the sole exit. and despite kaz’s reliance on nikolai (he won’t think stronger words), he recognises the man and demon both as uncontrolled variables, likely to disrupt his plans. can’t say what he’ll do in a given moment. can only run the scenarios. ] But she couldn’t achieve much even when she was persuaded to try, no.
[ unease in the purse of his mouth, though not over what he says aloud. you care very much about this one. the same tell come back to kill him. he thinks of genya safin, the member of the triumvirate who had healed him when he truly pushed himself to near-collapse. this is nothing. with her skill, surely she could remove those scars — unless she didn’t want to — no, unless she couldn’t. the darkling made nikolai his demon, and kaz underestimated it like a halfwit. his little sulu idealist would have warned him that his skepticism had a price. he misses her terribly. ]
The bandages stay until the morning, when they’ll need changing. [ a crisp command. none of the access he provided last time, when nikolai begged him to see his wounded hand. part strategy but largely necessity — the bandages do need to remain, if he’s to heal at all. the zowa made it clear how careful he should be, with wounds of a darker kind. he pulls on one sleeve and then the other, ignoring how his shoulder smarts with the movement. ] She won’t help me again.
[ it frightens her, in a different way than dirtyhands showing up on your doorstep would. holy terror. she had barely managed to touch him the first time, caught between looking at him with murder and fear in her eyes. the rotten task of changing the dressing will be nikolai’s, fittingly. kaz can’t reach one-handed and certainly can’t afford to let his wounds fester, not when they need to return to their crew and change course.
he folds back and fastens each cuff at his wrist. not preparing for sleep, then. tonight, he only means to rest his leg. there would be little relief in sleep, which would no doubt return him to the watery halls of the dead. ]
You know why. [ a slight arch of his brows, a harsh edge in his voice. he expects that’s what nikolai will need him to be — punishing for information withheld about the secret he keeps safe. grounding only in the aftermath. ] Explain.
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It’s merzost. [ he is no expert, despite harboring a creature of it, but knows the damage done is lasting. genya, he thinks, casting another glance at kaz when he passes him. a bout of dizziness grips him; he slows abruptly, his scarred hand settling on the back of a chair. a caustic laugh bubbles out of him, a brief, quiet sound. ] There’s no real cure, that I know of. The scarring will stay no matter what. But your wound will heal properly when I — and the monster — die.
[ and so here we are again. he resumes pacing, his brow furrowed and his eyes refusing to settle, pointed downward as if seeing nothing at all, like he’s trying to work out a problem in his head. sleep weighs on him, the need for sleep, but he won’t. he stops again to shut his eyes, to steady himself. how can he make this right? is there a way? ]
Take my crew and go to Fjerda. Finish the job. [ he remembers what kaz said in the water, his unwillingness to go back to fjerda alone. but there’s simply no way. ] I can’t come with you. You know it’s too much of a risk. I’ll put Tamar in command of the ship, and — don’t try to argue with me, Brekker, not when you’ve been making excuses for me from the start.
[ he doesn’t mean for the last part to come out. don’t punish him. kaz has already slipped on a dark shirt, his wound out of sight, but nikolai sees it each time he blinks — ugly, painful. he looks at the rest of his unmarked skin, his clear blue eyes. there is still so much room for it to get so much worse. he swallows, lifting his chin as he meets kaz’s gaze again, a command in his tone. something he knows kaz will chafe against. ]
Give me the gun. I’ll guard myself tonight. I can’t trust you to do it.
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that laugh twists something inside him, so far from the warm sound he likes. although kaz knew this would be devastating for nikolai, he hadn’t accounted for the answering twinges in his heart. but your wound will heal properly when i — and the monster — die. so he thinks that’s how it will end, the man and monster together. had nikolai thought as much when he tamed it, or only since it revolted? does he really think he’ll out-live someone half-dead and hell-bent on taking impossible jobs? ]
[ slung back swiftly, ] I’m familiar with the concept of permanent ailments. [ like his leg, like his affliction. he’s stronger for having been broken in the first place; that much, he knows to be true. scars will make him no more monstrous than he already is under the skin, and no one will have occasion to see them. not even nikolai, if this argument unfolds the way he anticipates — the way he needs it to, to finish this job. to save him, he hopes. a slight but stubborn flame.
watchful even from afar, kaz awaits nikolai’s move before making any of his own. there, a royal decree from korol rezni. admittedly, there is some thrill in it, when so few have ever challenged him, but he doesn’t savour the fight. has he been making excuses for nikolai? hurt flashes across his face, quick but there. maybe. an urge sourced from the same place as his unwillingness to give nina or jesper jurda parem and raze the field, as his insistence on providing inej with a net. riskier plays of his hand than he would advise (or admit) to anyone else, but they’d let him keep all his treasured cards and win the prize, in the end. ]
You can trust me to do it, but you won’t — which is irrelevant, since I don’t trust you with it, and I’m the one who stole it.
[ a thief’s right to his haul. he gloves his hands and tests the flex of the left, where nikolai injured him the first time. best to be prepared to grapple with nikolai, if it comes down to that. ]
No. [ flat. ] I can’t be certain what we’ll find in Fjerda, but I know it won’t be an aging collector of holy relics with a rusty safe, awaiting my clever hands. It will be a mark of a different caliber. Merzost, saints, unknowns. [ far from the merchants and thieves he knows intimately. ]
I can steal anything, but only with the right crew. [ he levels with nikolai, gaze made cold by practice, and thieves every detail of his face. the crease in his brow that shouldn’t be there, that he might never be able to smooth under his fingers. he wonders how few scenarios in which they find the heart will end with nikolai still wanting to look at him. the set of his jaw and burn of his voice don’t betray him. ] And for this job, I’ll need the monster more than I need you.
[ payback, perhaps, for that withdrawal of trust. never met a dagger he won’t turn back on the person who used it against him. ]
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i'm not familiar or comfortable with the concept of being the source of one of your permanent ailments is what he wants to say, but it's too unwieldy, too vulnerable. not productive. did he imagine that flash of hurt? nikolai studies his face, tries to understand the thoughts moving behind his eyes. he might as well try to scale a fjerdan mountain range with one hand tied behind his back.
the refusal to hand over the gun is also expected, but far more frustrating. he doesn't want brekker watching over him like an uncaged animal. he wants to feel as if he is in control again, regain some semblance of the man he knows himself to be. this is like zoya with his shackles all over again, even though she never did him the disservice of a pitying glance. i'm the one who stole it. he can't help the incredulous huff of breath that escapes his teeth, half laugh. brekker is only a few years younger than him — though perhaps his senior in terms of certain experiences — but sometimes he can still catch glimpses of the boyhood he was never properly allowed to have.
and another outright refusal in this entirely wretched undertaking. nikolai wonders if testing the hardness of the walls with his own skull would be a more worthwhile endeavor than this, ready to force his way to the door and take his chances on the bluffs overlooking the water, but then kaz spits out an unexpected truth and nikolai does something he never, ever does. he flinches, eyes swinging up sharply, silently, to meet kaz's cold gaze.
say something. laugh it off. end this. and yet for perhaps the first time, no words come. the validity of the statement settles in his bones, that he is not needed and has not been needed in quite some time. he has spent his entire life vastly overstating his importance, and now he's adrift in what is supposed to be a sense of freedom, a reward for his long days and nights without rest or comfort. a reward he doesn't know what to do with. kaz knows how to twist a knife harder than he could ever hope to.
the demon gives a rumbling stir in his chest. preying on your weakness, just like always. a spark of ire, a rush of despair. his jaw tightens. ]
Prove it to me. Prove that I can trust you. [ he closes the distance between them with impossible speed, fisting his hand in kaz's shirt and shoving him gracelessly against the wall. his shoulder. but his eyes are already bleeding to black, dark veins spreading across his face. with a snarl, he bares his sharpening teeth but goes no further, looking at kaz hungrily, holding himself eerily still.
what are you doing, nikolai thinks frantically. what are you asking him? he doesn't know the answer. doesn't even know the question. kaz's heartbeat thunders through him as he closes his eyes, barely breathing. he can't purge himself of this. without it, he really will become nothing. maybe he's known that all along, and kaz is just the thing forcing him to accept it. payback for all the demands he's made of him, balancing the scales in one precise blow.
kaz brekker does not need you. you only convinced yourself that he does. with that comes a despondent sort of relief. he wants this too much, wants to nurture this fragile blossom not yet unfurled, thinking himself the only one to do it. you did the same thing with ravka. and in the end his country didn't need him, either.
his eyes are clear hazel once more when he opens them, his fractured skin becoming whole, his teeth smooth when he smiles. his grip loosens. ]
You'll have the monster. [ he ignores the way his hand wants to linger, wants to smooth over kaz's tired lines and aching muscles, withdrawing it instead. ] Whatever you want, Brekker. This is your job.
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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. ]
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why do you do this? why does he bleed out every bit of the things he cares for? too much, always too much. he wants to take kaz's face in his hands, but doesn't; he's been through enough tonight, felt enough terror and revulsion to last him the rest of this job and far beyond. stop him. he doesn't have to do this. he doesn't have to bleed anymore for you. nikolai is not in the habit of telling the truth any more than kaz is — the real truth, the ugly things that don't go with his disarming smile, the things that can't be glossed over with a joke or a laugh. i don't want to lose you and i don't know how to keep you here are problems he has to confess that there are no solutions to. worse than being a liar, at this point, is that he's being cruel. it's cruel to let kaz think that somehow, somewhere, there is an answer to any of this. that he has ever been the answer to anything. ]
Kaz. Kaz, stop. [ his hands come up to cradle his elbows, guilt tightening his throat, and his chest gives a twinge, a reminder that neither of them should be doing anything but resting right now. he can't take this wounded look. even the knowledge that he and the demon are the same, two halves inextricably tied together, isn't something that he wants to face right now. but it's true. he's lived with it for years, nearly died with it more than a few times. there's no way it hasn't made an indelible mark on his soul by now. you don't even believe in souls.
he draws in a breath in an attempt to steady himself, to brace himself for what might come next. kaz might hit him. he almost wishes he would. where is this damnable gun? his hands skate gently up kaz's arms, his grip barely there, and he wants to keep going up and up, until he brushes the line of his jaw, can nestle his fingers into his dark hair, but he doesn't. he stops moving and he wants to stop breathing. ]
You don't. You don't need me. [ spoken gently, like kaz is a skittish foal. his mouth curves into the smallest of smiles. ] I've made this mistake before, and I can't — [ a breath. he swallows. ] I can't do it with you. I can't be what you think you need. I'm not.
[ i'm not anything anymore. not ravka's savior. not kaz's shelter. not a lantsov but not anything else, either. the only thing he might still be is a monster. he wants to look away but refuses to allow himself that small grace, keeping their eyes level. ] I made you promises that I can't keep. For that I'm sorry. I'll do what you need me to do for this job, but I can't give you anything more than that. The only thing you'll find with me is a slow death. And —
[ and what? there's so much more he wants to say. that he needs to say. he doesn't want to be the reason that kaz doesn't ever try to push his limits with anyone else, but doesn't have the right to tell him otherwise. or maybe he's just overstating his importance again. he drops his hands, slumping back against the wall. and what? that he's proud of kaz for the things they shared? that he wishes he could be more? his chest sinks around an exhale, his eyes finally dropping as he smooths his expression into something neutral. coward. ]
I don't want to hurt you anymore. I don't want to do this with you.
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he wants to argue, to throw back everything nikolai asked of him and promised him to his face. you kissed me you tore me open you promised you lied. to say that nothing would hurt more than this, the pain of separation and absence after having something this precious in his terrible hands. and that he hadn’t even known he wanted half the things he did, does, will until nikolai showed him with careful words and touch. what is he supposed to do with all that want, now that it has nowhere to go? no one will take it.
his hands fall to his sides. you can’t keep people. they’re not things. they have to want to come back. a bob of his chin, defeated. can’t keep the hurt from his voice. ]
As the little princeling commands it. [ a bitter laugh bubbles out his throat. mistake after mistake. no, he reminds himself, it wasn’t — ] But don’t pretend it’s for my sake, [ to stop hurting him. ] and don’t speak to me of death. [ not when he knows her like an old friend. with considerable effort, he cuts the tremble from his throat. ] You’re not my pain, and you’re not my martyr. [ he knew pain intimately long before nikolai touched him and will know it long after. the world will find ways to wring more of it from him before he dies a thief’s death on this job or the next. of that, he’s certain. ]
You’re being steered by shame, Lantsov. [ anger made quiet. the cool burn of disappointment. ] That’s why you’re weak. Not because you can’t control your demon; because you think it’s easier to stop trying. That you’re not worth the effort. [ a pause. he searches for another fatal slash, like the one he delivered moments earlier and finds none. they wouldn’t be true. ] You are.
[ kaz steps back and jerks his chin over his shoulder, ignoring the way even that gesture aches. ]
Go sit on the bed. [ firmer. ] Sit. Don’t move. Eyes to the ceiling. Stand without my permission before sunrise, and I’ll re-break your ribs.
[ a moment of observation, waiting to see if nikolai complies. regardless of whether he does, kaz limps his way to the chair and drags it into the path of the door, a barricade of sorts. from there, he walks to the side table to throw his stolen coat across his shoulders, revolver hidden beneath the wool by light fingers. it wouldn’t surprise him if nikolai guessed he had the gun under there. it matters not, since he has it secure in his reach now. once he sits, all the pain he’d been holding back floods his leg. closing his eyes briefly, he extends it to ease the ache. ]
If you want to be an untrustworthy, unreliable thing this badly, then you’ll be treated like one. [ exhaustion finally seeps into his rasp. he hears nikolai saying kaz and rietveld over and over again, caught on a groove at the back of his skull. his gaze hunts for nikolai’s wherever he is in the room, a glimmer of danger in his blues. ] Speak of this night to anyone, and I’ll take your lying tongue.
[ he neither expects nor wants a promise of silence and protection. an untrustworthy thing can’t offer him that security, so he’ll have to take precautions of his own. ]
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the pain between them is a living thing. if tossing kaz into the roiling waves of his worst nightmare was cruel, then this is another sin he can't atone for. better for kaz to hate him, to finish this job and return to ketterdam with his life than to die in a foreign country on a foolhardy mission from a queen he doesn't even particularly like. but he liked you. a foolish thought. kaz must hate him now — and if he doesn't, he will. when the sting of this subsides into something more manageable, he'll see him for what he truly is: a man with a thousand different faces and none of them true, none of them real. he says what he needs to say in the moment. and those moments pass as quickly as breathing.
except for this one. this one looms over them like an eternal sentence, like his time with elizaveta and her damnable bees. he finds his voice, miraculously steady. ] I am tired of tasting your blood, Brekker. I may not understand the deaths you've lived, but you don't understand mine. Don't pretend that you do.
[ you are cuts into him too deeply for remarks. he doesn't want this kindness. maybe it's why kaz forces it on him, knowing that it will hurt more than another spurning. or maybe he really believes it. somehow, that's worse.
a king doesn't take orders is on the tip of his tongue, as he takes kaz's direction without comment. he wants the chair instead, but kaz is already in it, barring the door that nikolai wants desperately to walk through. and there's the gun, too distracted to have realized it was in plain sight all along. not his best night. he doesn't keep his eyes on the ceiling, instead watching the way pain flickers across kaz's face. he would sit on the floor and try to ease some of the ache with his hands if he didn't think kaz would kick him in the face first. or shoot him for deigning to stand.
a rough breath escapes him, shaking his head around what sounds like a chuckle. ] What part of the night? The part where I almost killed you? The part where you wanted to kill me?
[ he raises his bare hands in a gesture of surrender before carefully sliding from the bed to the floor, his back resting against the wooden frame. easier to stay awake this way. he turns his eyes to the window. now that the room is still, his own pain creeps up on him. not the pain in his lungs. there's an ache right beside his heart. his fingers curl around the memory of dark hair. he does need the sleeping tonic despite vowing never to take such a vile thing again, because otherwise his nights will be full of nothing but kaz. kaz and the demon, an endless loop of his botched failures.
morning will always come. morning is as far away as it always is. ]
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you don’t understand mine. no, he doesn’t understand, as much as he gathers evidence and makes guesses. a pathetic, miserable thought: i would if you’d tell me. nikolai won’t allow him inside that guarded vault, locks impenetrable, so kaz refuses to engage with it further. as the king wills it. he tries to reorient his understanding of nikolai and the job both, stripping out all the tender, witless pieces.
at what part? his face cracks open again, exposed until annoyance tightens the furrow of his brows. nikolai keeps looking, like he has any right to see this pain — and then bloody well ignores his orders by sliding the ground. fine. not a shootable offense, though if he were to stand now, kaz would aim for the legs. the zowa likes him not, but she won’t let a boy who seems human die. ]
You know which part. [ does he? or is he as obtuse as he pretends to be sometimes? if it’s true that nikolai doesn’t want him, not enough, and cares in a way that prevents him from staying, then kaz has nothing left to lose. in the aftermath of a sigh, his reply sounds empty. ]
The only other person I’ve told that name [ that name, not mine. ] is the man who killed my brother, so he’d remember exactly who came back from the dead to ruin him.
[ there’s an air of finality to it, resignation to their distance. a last truth before they part, so nikolai knows what it meant, to speak it aloud. even if all his other threats prove idle, this one won’t. a secret that has been rarely told and never in a moment of trust like that. inej had heard it then, too, but it was rollins he was telling. pekka fucking rollins, who hadn’t even remembered the rietveld boys, their names and faces lost in a sea of marks. wouldn’t have known kaz’s own name, if he hadn’t taught it to him with a hundred cuts to his empire. he came back to take everything from rollins and then stopped short of the final theft of what he loved most.
because a monster needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing, and it wouldn’t bring his brother back from the dead, but it would have driven an immovable wedge between him and inej (and jesper and wylan and nina) if he killed the rollins' boy. the lines they've crossed tonight aren't as close to the jutting ledge as that one. a flicker of hope. they might yet find their way back. and they might not.
no matter the outcome, kaz decides that he will gift nikolai with the heart of sankt feliks, so that he can choose where he goes, even if it leads him away. ]