[ 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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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. ]
no subject
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. ]