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You know- I should be flattered the bastard of the barrel knows so much about me.
You're right- nothing about me is average.
I need something confirmed for me. Potentially re-possessed from a nobleman.
It's no Ice Court, mind you, thus the less than interesting pitch.
You're right- nothing about me is average.
I need something confirmed for me. Potentially re-possessed from a nobleman.
It's no Ice Court, mind you, thus the less than interesting pitch.
You’ve never asked.
[ a beat. ]
One million kruge.
And the lives of the crew that found her.
[ “““found”””
retrieving a pretender was one thing — the genuine article breaks the market. far too valuable to be anything but dangerous. obviously that’s why he hadn’t protested her payment. definitely the only reason. ]
[ a beat. ]
One million kruge.
And the lives of the crew that found her.
[ “““found”””
retrieving a pretender was one thing — the genuine article breaks the market. far too valuable to be anything but dangerous. obviously that’s why he hadn’t protested her payment. definitely the only reason. ]
Edited 2021-05-02 23:24 (UTC)
[ don't mistake respect for friendliness!! except that is pretty friendly, for kaz. ]
You flatter yourself enough for the both of us.
[ a sudden thought that jesper, nina, and nikolai should never be in the same room, actually. ]
Either can be done. The price will depend on the mark.
[ on the crew, the resources, whether lantsov insists on accompanying them with his crooked nose and lilting chatter, and how much funds he estimates the crown has to offer. ]
You flatter yourself enough for the both of us.
[ a sudden thought that jesper, nina, and nikolai should never be in the same room, actually. ]
Either can be done. The price will depend on the mark.
[ on the crew, the resources, whether lantsov insists on accompanying them with his crooked nose and lilting chatter, and how much funds he estimates the crown has to offer. ]
I flatter myself for everyone. Self-sufficiency is the only way.
[ oh no kaz, don't worry about that. nikolai has the added benefit of an actual royal title to back him up. he's a winner, after all.
gestures vaguely at whatever would make nikolai believe this is a safe line of communication. ]
West Ravkan delegates should have arrived in Ketterdam just yesterday.
I have it on good authority that they met with Fjerdan military leaders that first night, somewhere in the barrel.
Which I'm sure you already know about.
But I have an intense curiosity about what those delegates brought back with them to their home.
[ oh no kaz, don't worry about that. nikolai has the added benefit of an actual royal title to back him up. he's a winner, after all.
gestures vaguely at whatever would make nikolai believe this is a safe line of communication. ]
West Ravkan delegates should have arrived in Ketterdam just yesterday.
I have it on good authority that they met with Fjerdan military leaders that first night, somewhere in the barrel.
Which I'm sure you already know about.
But I have an intense curiosity about what those delegates brought back with them to their home.
you could have bargained for twice that.
it turns out a sun summoner isn't worth many allies or friends, either.
[ mal had been right to warn her of that inevitability: enemies at all borders, chasing her down like prized prey. like the stag, hunted by aleksander's cruel ferocity — something brimming with too much power not to be put down, if it can't first be wielded as a weapon.
she wonders how long it might be until someone chooses to decorate themselves in her bones. ]
and the jewels i gave you?
will they cover the cost?
it turns out a sun summoner isn't worth many allies or friends, either.
[ mal had been right to warn her of that inevitability: enemies at all borders, chasing her down like prized prey. like the stag, hunted by aleksander's cruel ferocity — something brimming with too much power not to be put down, if it can't first be wielded as a weapon.
she wonders how long it might be until someone chooses to decorate themselves in her bones. ]
and the jewels i gave you?
will they cover the cost?
I didn't know you were real.
[ hm, doesn't like the way he worded it, exactly, though she is real. frightfully so. should have said he didn't know she was worth more. ]
Most allies and friends can be bought.
[ that's better. more callous. (a few need to be true, he's learned recently. it sits uneasy on his shoulders.) ]
They'll cover what I need them to, which is enough.
How will you pay your way without them?
[ hm, doesn't like the way he worded it, exactly, though she is real. frightfully so. should have said he didn't know she was worth more. ]
Most allies and friends can be bought.
[ that's better. more callous. (a few need to be true, he's learned recently. it sits uneasy on his shoulders.) ]
They'll cover what I need them to, which is enough.
How will you pay your way without them?
i can't blame you for that. even i didn't know i was real.
[ as though a lifelong trance had finally ruptured, dragging her kicking and screaming into her reality. kaz brekker is a representation of too much change, the shift from her old lfe into this new nightmare she still sometimes selfishly wishes she could banish. ]
loyalty can't be bought. not the kind i'm looking for, anyway. you've seen how they followed kirigan.
[ how they still bent and bowed in the face of his order, an audience to her enslavement. loyalty is too weak a word for that depthless, deadly devotion. (it roils her stomach, a churning wave, to imagine how that drive for his acceptance and lavish praise had left her so blind in the prison he had created for her. ) ]
honestly? i don't know. mal and i will figure it out.
it's not like we haven't scrubbed dirty floors to get by before.
[ as though a lifelong trance had finally ruptured, dragging her kicking and screaming into her reality. kaz brekker is a representation of too much change, the shift from her old lfe into this new nightmare she still sometimes selfishly wishes she could banish. ]
loyalty can't be bought. not the kind i'm looking for, anyway. you've seen how they followed kirigan.
[ how they still bent and bowed in the face of his order, an audience to her enslavement. loyalty is too weak a word for that depthless, deadly devotion. (it roils her stomach, a churning wave, to imagine how that drive for his acceptance and lavish praise had left her so blind in the prison he had created for her. ) ]
honestly? i don't know. mal and i will figure it out.
it's not like we haven't scrubbed dirty floors to get by before.
[ the plan is to be docked for a short time in the eames harbor off the coast of novyi zem while they continue to chip away at the job. kaz and tamar will investigate the whereabouts of the heart — something nikolai still feels spurned by — his crew will spend a few nights enjoying the comfort of a hospitable inn, and nikolai will shackle himself in his cabin and try not to make a mess when the demon feeds. it's a plan he's less than enthused by, but a necessary one. he just doesn't enjoy the feeling of being something that must be bound and hidden away — but of course, kaz will likely be unsympathetic about his complaints regarding the lack of attention he's receiving, and so he keeps his moody disposition to himself.
he's not sure how much faith he has in this current plan, but he nonetheless takes comfort in the fact that there is a plan at all, as flimsy as it may be. he used to think that if anyone could pull off a miracle, it would be him. now he thinks it just might be kaz brekker instead.
the chains, at least, allow him to get some sleep — restless, plagued by nightmares and interrupted by his unwelcome guest, but the poor quality of his rest is less important when he's gone days without. kaz is the one to lock him in, a bizarre feeling when it's been zoya for so long. at least they both share a poison tongue. nikolai is both unhappy and grateful to be left alone, and finds the more pleasant side of his dreams involves blue eyes and careful hands, quiet whispers and stifled words, the closeness that they shared, those stolen moments of intimacy. he likes the build of kaz's body — lean, strong, made for his hands. he likes the sounds that he can pull from it. he's eager to hear them again, but realistic about how much he can push for. kaz allowed him an enormous amount at once, and nikolai imagines there must be a period of recovery, or possibly regret.
everything about kaz is fascinating, a handsome puzzle to be put together or taken apart. people have always been puzzles to him, locked boxes he's eager to fit the right keys into, and to ponder away at kaz brekker keeps his mind from sinking too far into the darkness. it gives him something real and present to hold onto, a promise that kaz will appear in the morning to unshackle him and won't point out that nikolai's smiles are on the edge of too bright lately, his laugh just a little too quick to be genuine.
on his second night confined to his ship, he escapes. the shackles don't break — the demon simply tears them from the wall, weakened from the previous night of struggle. nikolai grapples for control, fails to fully grasp it. at least there is no one on the ship. if he can steer the demon away from the coast, surely he can avoid disaster.
he flies to the deck, lands with a rattle of chains — and then spies movement. panic seizes him, and he loses his tenuous bit of control. kaz brekker is on the deck, maybe going to his cabin, maybe prowling the ship in sleeplessness or deep thought, maybe defying his orders just for the hell of it. nikolai has never wanted so badly to hit someone in his life. he has never wanted to hurt someone less.
he can't say any of those things when the tongue in his mouth is foreign, teeth glinting at the promise of fresh blood. his blond hair frames the dark pits of his eyes, his claws digging into the wooden floors in an attempt not to move. not again, he pleads to himself, to the saints, to anyone that might be listening. no one, of course. this time, he'll split his throat open. this time he'll do something he won't recover from.
his movement is restricted when he launches himself at kaz, chains keeping his wrists and ankles barely a foot apart, and perhaps it's his saving grace. kaz swings his cane before he can snap his jaws at him, landing a blow with precision that shatters one of his ribs. if nikolai was nikolai, it would have taken him out. but the demon shoots into the sky on smoke-black wings, hovering just out of his range, and nikolai watches kaz's movements, hoping that he'll pull out a revolver, hoping for a bullet right between his eyes.
no such luck. he blinks and he's descending. blinks again and his claws have found purchase in kaz's shoulder, lifting him off the ship, a hot rush of blood soaking into his dark coat. another ruined item of his clothing, a distant thought as his cane clatters onto the deck. another distant thought — he's going to kill him. he's going to kill kaz brekker, after he promised to shelter him, after he vowed that he would not fail him again. another broken promise, another failure to add to his towering list of sins. the water glitters darkly below them as they soar high above the sea, the scent of saltwater mixing with blood, the scent of pain and fear, and for a moment he doesn't know if it's from kaz or if it's his own.
his wings abruptly dissipate, black bleeding out of his eyes as they return to hazel, the veins that fracture his skin scattering. nikolai comes back to consciousness with a gasp, a fiery pain igniting in his side. his ribs. broken. kaz. kaz.
he's upside down. they're falling. they're both falling, the hand reaching for kaz bloody as he fists his shirt, a thousand thoughts crowding his mind at once. they're falling. he's felt this before, the terrifying force of utter weightlessness. how far are they from the shore, from his ship? too far. he's still chained and the pain at his side is staggering. can he swim? kaz has gouges in his shoulder. they're falling into the sea, into cold, dark waters. the water. kaz. nikolai's grip tightens, panic moving through him. he forces his eyes to kaz's, to blue, to his fair-weather sky. ]
Stay with me. [ an order. a plea. the wind whips around them, the water rushing up to meet them. seconds, now. how can he make sure he doesn't lose kaz to the deep? you put him here. fix this. he shudders, trying to steel himself. he can't breathe. he can barely move. he forces his voice to carry, forces conviction into his eyes. ] We're alive. Both of us. Stay with me.
[ they plunge into the sea, and suddenly everything is quiet. air rushes from his lungs before he can stop it, pain blurring his vision. move. he can't. his shackles feel like anchors. he's sinking. the darkness is all around. there's a voice in his head, his own voice. let go. can he? can he just stop? the pain is too great, his guilt is too heavy. let go. it sounds like relief, the safe place to land that he's been searching for. no, that's not right. kaz. too faint, too distant. the other voice is easier, his eyes closing around one thought. let go. let go. let go. ]
he's not sure how much faith he has in this current plan, but he nonetheless takes comfort in the fact that there is a plan at all, as flimsy as it may be. he used to think that if anyone could pull off a miracle, it would be him. now he thinks it just might be kaz brekker instead.
the chains, at least, allow him to get some sleep — restless, plagued by nightmares and interrupted by his unwelcome guest, but the poor quality of his rest is less important when he's gone days without. kaz is the one to lock him in, a bizarre feeling when it's been zoya for so long. at least they both share a poison tongue. nikolai is both unhappy and grateful to be left alone, and finds the more pleasant side of his dreams involves blue eyes and careful hands, quiet whispers and stifled words, the closeness that they shared, those stolen moments of intimacy. he likes the build of kaz's body — lean, strong, made for his hands. he likes the sounds that he can pull from it. he's eager to hear them again, but realistic about how much he can push for. kaz allowed him an enormous amount at once, and nikolai imagines there must be a period of recovery, or possibly regret.
everything about kaz is fascinating, a handsome puzzle to be put together or taken apart. people have always been puzzles to him, locked boxes he's eager to fit the right keys into, and to ponder away at kaz brekker keeps his mind from sinking too far into the darkness. it gives him something real and present to hold onto, a promise that kaz will appear in the morning to unshackle him and won't point out that nikolai's smiles are on the edge of too bright lately, his laugh just a little too quick to be genuine.
on his second night confined to his ship, he escapes. the shackles don't break — the demon simply tears them from the wall, weakened from the previous night of struggle. nikolai grapples for control, fails to fully grasp it. at least there is no one on the ship. if he can steer the demon away from the coast, surely he can avoid disaster.
he flies to the deck, lands with a rattle of chains — and then spies movement. panic seizes him, and he loses his tenuous bit of control. kaz brekker is on the deck, maybe going to his cabin, maybe prowling the ship in sleeplessness or deep thought, maybe defying his orders just for the hell of it. nikolai has never wanted so badly to hit someone in his life. he has never wanted to hurt someone less.
he can't say any of those things when the tongue in his mouth is foreign, teeth glinting at the promise of fresh blood. his blond hair frames the dark pits of his eyes, his claws digging into the wooden floors in an attempt not to move. not again, he pleads to himself, to the saints, to anyone that might be listening. no one, of course. this time, he'll split his throat open. this time he'll do something he won't recover from.
his movement is restricted when he launches himself at kaz, chains keeping his wrists and ankles barely a foot apart, and perhaps it's his saving grace. kaz swings his cane before he can snap his jaws at him, landing a blow with precision that shatters one of his ribs. if nikolai was nikolai, it would have taken him out. but the demon shoots into the sky on smoke-black wings, hovering just out of his range, and nikolai watches kaz's movements, hoping that he'll pull out a revolver, hoping for a bullet right between his eyes.
no such luck. he blinks and he's descending. blinks again and his claws have found purchase in kaz's shoulder, lifting him off the ship, a hot rush of blood soaking into his dark coat. another ruined item of his clothing, a distant thought as his cane clatters onto the deck. another distant thought — he's going to kill him. he's going to kill kaz brekker, after he promised to shelter him, after he vowed that he would not fail him again. another broken promise, another failure to add to his towering list of sins. the water glitters darkly below them as they soar high above the sea, the scent of saltwater mixing with blood, the scent of pain and fear, and for a moment he doesn't know if it's from kaz or if it's his own.
his wings abruptly dissipate, black bleeding out of his eyes as they return to hazel, the veins that fracture his skin scattering. nikolai comes back to consciousness with a gasp, a fiery pain igniting in his side. his ribs. broken. kaz. kaz.
he's upside down. they're falling. they're both falling, the hand reaching for kaz bloody as he fists his shirt, a thousand thoughts crowding his mind at once. they're falling. he's felt this before, the terrifying force of utter weightlessness. how far are they from the shore, from his ship? too far. he's still chained and the pain at his side is staggering. can he swim? kaz has gouges in his shoulder. they're falling into the sea, into cold, dark waters. the water. kaz. nikolai's grip tightens, panic moving through him. he forces his eyes to kaz's, to blue, to his fair-weather sky. ]
Stay with me. [ an order. a plea. the wind whips around them, the water rushing up to meet them. seconds, now. how can he make sure he doesn't lose kaz to the deep? you put him here. fix this. he shudders, trying to steel himself. he can't breathe. he can barely move. he forces his voice to carry, forces conviction into his eyes. ] We're alive. Both of us. Stay with me.
[ they plunge into the sea, and suddenly everything is quiet. air rushes from his lungs before he can stop it, pain blurring his vision. move. he can't. his shackles feel like anchors. he's sinking. the darkness is all around. there's a voice in his head, his own voice. let go. can he? can he just stop? the pain is too great, his guilt is too heavy. let go. it sounds like relief, the safe place to land that he's been searching for. no, that's not right. kaz. too faint, too distant. the other voice is easier, his eyes closing around one thought. let go. let go. let go. ]
[ nothing changes. kaz endeavors to recalibrate their relationship with minimal accommodations. no sympathy for the hurt nikolai surely feels at being excluded from the museum job, vital as it is to their wider canvassing efforts. it occurs after dark, a place where nikolai can’t follow, either because he lacks the strength or the demon grows stronger every day. regardless, kaz and tamar case the museum. his injured hand smarts while he learns the locks, but it functions the same as it has for years. a tool, weathered but no less effective. so what if it has other uses? the best tools do.
perhaps that’s why he affixes nikolai’s shackles with bare hands, a gesture more meaningful than any false kindness on his tongue. practice, he tells himself. you can best this. hope rekindled by a series of actions that left him retching, shaking, hovering in an unreal space, but somehow upright and laughing at the end of it. he prefers the glimmers of genuine interest from nikolai (the way his gaze lingers, the distance he opens and closes between them based on keen observation), to the performance he gives each morning. kaz allows them to go uncritiqued and unapplauded, given how much the image of control matters to nikolai (wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?). at least he seems to have slept for the first time in days.
after he locks nikolai away that second night, he doubles back to retrieve materials from his cabin — a piece of the puzzle slipped into place on his walk into town. they’ve been looking at this from the wrong angle. like thieves, merchants, politicians, kings. not like fanatics. the idea has him giddy, mind whirring to place it within their broader understanding of the mark. can’t stop the plans unspooling, so he gathers the required maps and records from his cabin aboard the volkvolny (surreptitiously moved from the captain’s quarters earlier in the day). he wants — needs to tell nikolai. when morning comes. a rush of warmth, at the thought of sharing this. hope, bouncing back. possibilities tentative and frightening between them, but not as destructive as their present reality.
naturally, that’s when everything turns to ash. a clash of grisha steel against razor-edged teeth, and he stumbles back, dropping the bag of supplies. his free hand finds the flash bang in his pocket, but he doesn’t use it. if he loses sight of nikolai, he may never find him again. mistake after mistake. the hesitation that kills. his cry of pain distorts as if in a dream.
first, kaz thinks i’m going to break that fabrikator’s arm. then, with startling clarity, he’s going to tear my arm clean off. divine retribution for the prophecy he spoke into existence. if you had torn off my hand, i’d have dragged myself here in the morning with just the one left. then, he’s falling. somehow, even with the world a blur (overwhelming in its flashing grey and roaring winds), nikolai remains stark. stay with me. he refocuses through his lashes, gaze slicing from nikolai to the black water, lit with a thousand sparkling eyes. we’re alive. not for long. heart careening against his ribs, he takes one last breath before the water knocks the wind from his lungs all over again.
thrust over the bleak, jutting ledge of the reaper’s barge. i can do this. i’ve already done it. flung into the canal by bigger boys, too small to reach the lip of the street until jordie fished him out. jordie always fishes him out. not this time, little brother, you can’t keep cheating death. he goes boneless with all the anxiety crashing down on him, released from its rattling vault. it was never gone, simply contained.
the water seeps into his skin. pressure builds against his chest. jordie’s fist in shirt, pulling him up, up, up, no, dragging him under until he shakes his dead hand free and surges above the rippling waves with a gasp. ]
Jordie! [ he tries to think of his brother, alive, but it’s nikolai who crowds his mind’s eye — nikolai’s hands on him in the lamplight, scorched and careful, fisted in his shirt — kaz has to tell him that he figured it out, that he — fuck.
kaz chokes a breath and dives back down, squinting through the burn of salt. nikolai’s shackles glint in the piercing moonlight, a few kicks away. it’s no use. you won’t make it. he has to try. his left shoulder burns so fiercely, he wonders if he can move it all, but he does, of course he does, red droplets dissipating around him. struggling one arm out of his coat and then the other, he forces himself to swim. nothing to cling to until suddenly, there is: he hooks his bad arm around nikolai’s middle (lean, not distended; soft, not hard and cold) and drags him above the waterline. he’ll need his good side for what comes next.
black spots colour his vision. why do the saints always want to drown him? is it because he deserves it? a shipwreck of a man, barely keeping them afloat, unable to check nikolai’s pulse. his arms and legs seem stiff and corpselike, chained in place. you killed him. it takes precious seconds for his head to catch up to his heart, beating in double-time. breathe, brekker comes the voice that sounds more like nikolai than jordie. the shackles. ]
Nikolai — I can’t — [ he knows these shackles, bloody well helped design them, could magic them from nikolai’s wrists to his own if they were in the safety of his quarters. now, he struggles to pick them one-handed. only after his shaky hands drop two picks into the depths does he unlock one fetter.
the hardest to reach now, before you faint. diving once more into the underworld, his arm sliding down nikolai’s waist to avoid losing him to the waves. why waste your breath? they’re both death-touched, fighting the current to stay alive when they should have died, drowned, rotted already. if you die, he dies. kaz dives again and frees a single ankle before he jolts up, sputtering in the air. his feet feel heavy, weighed down by his boots.
he can’t go back under. can’t focus to free nikolai’s other hand. keeps kicking, because that’s what saved him last time. a wet cough rattles out of his chest, and he tightens his grip on nikolai. ]
Don’t leave me. [ his rasp made tremulous and hoarse. the obverse of his previous realization is equally true. if he dies, you die. he can’t make it to shore alone again. ]
perhaps that’s why he affixes nikolai’s shackles with bare hands, a gesture more meaningful than any false kindness on his tongue. practice, he tells himself. you can best this. hope rekindled by a series of actions that left him retching, shaking, hovering in an unreal space, but somehow upright and laughing at the end of it. he prefers the glimmers of genuine interest from nikolai (the way his gaze lingers, the distance he opens and closes between them based on keen observation), to the performance he gives each morning. kaz allows them to go uncritiqued and unapplauded, given how much the image of control matters to nikolai (wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?). at least he seems to have slept for the first time in days.
after he locks nikolai away that second night, he doubles back to retrieve materials from his cabin — a piece of the puzzle slipped into place on his walk into town. they’ve been looking at this from the wrong angle. like thieves, merchants, politicians, kings. not like fanatics. the idea has him giddy, mind whirring to place it within their broader understanding of the mark. can’t stop the plans unspooling, so he gathers the required maps and records from his cabin aboard the volkvolny (surreptitiously moved from the captain’s quarters earlier in the day). he wants — needs to tell nikolai. when morning comes. a rush of warmth, at the thought of sharing this. hope, bouncing back. possibilities tentative and frightening between them, but not as destructive as their present reality.
naturally, that’s when everything turns to ash. a clash of grisha steel against razor-edged teeth, and he stumbles back, dropping the bag of supplies. his free hand finds the flash bang in his pocket, but he doesn’t use it. if he loses sight of nikolai, he may never find him again. mistake after mistake. the hesitation that kills. his cry of pain distorts as if in a dream.
first, kaz thinks i’m going to break that fabrikator’s arm. then, with startling clarity, he’s going to tear my arm clean off. divine retribution for the prophecy he spoke into existence. if you had torn off my hand, i’d have dragged myself here in the morning with just the one left. then, he’s falling. somehow, even with the world a blur (overwhelming in its flashing grey and roaring winds), nikolai remains stark. stay with me. he refocuses through his lashes, gaze slicing from nikolai to the black water, lit with a thousand sparkling eyes. we’re alive. not for long. heart careening against his ribs, he takes one last breath before the water knocks the wind from his lungs all over again.
thrust over the bleak, jutting ledge of the reaper’s barge. i can do this. i’ve already done it. flung into the canal by bigger boys, too small to reach the lip of the street until jordie fished him out. jordie always fishes him out. not this time, little brother, you can’t keep cheating death. he goes boneless with all the anxiety crashing down on him, released from its rattling vault. it was never gone, simply contained.
the water seeps into his skin. pressure builds against his chest. jordie’s fist in shirt, pulling him up, up, up, no, dragging him under until he shakes his dead hand free and surges above the rippling waves with a gasp. ]
Jordie! [ he tries to think of his brother, alive, but it’s nikolai who crowds his mind’s eye — nikolai’s hands on him in the lamplight, scorched and careful, fisted in his shirt — kaz has to tell him that he figured it out, that he — fuck.
kaz chokes a breath and dives back down, squinting through the burn of salt. nikolai’s shackles glint in the piercing moonlight, a few kicks away. it’s no use. you won’t make it. he has to try. his left shoulder burns so fiercely, he wonders if he can move it all, but he does, of course he does, red droplets dissipating around him. struggling one arm out of his coat and then the other, he forces himself to swim. nothing to cling to until suddenly, there is: he hooks his bad arm around nikolai’s middle (lean, not distended; soft, not hard and cold) and drags him above the waterline. he’ll need his good side for what comes next.
black spots colour his vision. why do the saints always want to drown him? is it because he deserves it? a shipwreck of a man, barely keeping them afloat, unable to check nikolai’s pulse. his arms and legs seem stiff and corpselike, chained in place. you killed him. it takes precious seconds for his head to catch up to his heart, beating in double-time. breathe, brekker comes the voice that sounds more like nikolai than jordie. the shackles. ]
Nikolai — I can’t — [ he knows these shackles, bloody well helped design them, could magic them from nikolai’s wrists to his own if they were in the safety of his quarters. now, he struggles to pick them one-handed. only after his shaky hands drop two picks into the depths does he unlock one fetter.
the hardest to reach now, before you faint. diving once more into the underworld, his arm sliding down nikolai’s waist to avoid losing him to the waves. why waste your breath? they’re both death-touched, fighting the current to stay alive when they should have died, drowned, rotted already. if you die, he dies. kaz dives again and frees a single ankle before he jolts up, sputtering in the air. his feet feel heavy, weighed down by his boots.
he can’t go back under. can’t focus to free nikolai’s other hand. keeps kicking, because that’s what saved him last time. a wet cough rattles out of his chest, and he tightens his grip on nikolai. ]
Don’t leave me. [ his rasp made tremulous and hoarse. the obverse of his previous realization is equally true. if he dies, you die. he can’t make it to shore alone again. ]
Edited 2021-06-19 01:37 (UTC)
[ for once, the darkness isn't suffocating. maybe because — for the first time — he isn't fighting it. weightless once again. falling. let go. just let go. it feels like relief, like something inside of him is finally allowed to break. it's a thing he's never experienced before. there has never been anything but the crushing weight of expectation, of duty, of trying and trying and never quite being good enough. move, he tells himself, but all that echoes back is let go.
his lungs seize. an arm winds around his waist and suddenly he's above water, freezing air hitting his face. darkness above and below. move. but he can't. his eyes slip shut again, too heavy to keep open. it hurts to breathe. he can't. the water seems to drag him down, and all he wants to do is go with it, but something keeps him level, something with an iron grip. a voice like rough stone. don't leave me. and yet he wants to beg let me go.
sudden pain splits him in two, one hand digging into wet fabric, into flesh somehow still warm. water rushes out of him, burning his lungs, choking him. saints, he's going to die. is this dying? no. dying is sweet, dying is easy, dying is letting go. it's all he wants. he can't do this. he begins to cough and his sight nearly blacks out from how his side lights up with agony. dizzy. he's falling. no, someone has him. there's an arm around him, holding him above water, and he doesn't know if there's saltwater or tears on his face. ]
Let me go. [ a grating rasp, his throat like sandpaper. ] Please. Let me go. Let me go. [ water sputters from his mouth, and he can finally draw in a breath. it costs him dearly. his ribs. that damnable crow cane. kaz. kaz. his vision finally rights. bright blue eyes — afraid, panicked. there's blood in the water. kaz's shirt, torn. you put him here. it hits him like a physical weight — guilt, duty, expectation. fix this. he can't. he must. he gasps in a shuddering breath, his eyes pressing tightly shut, biting off the whimper that rises in his throat. what did he say? stay with me. we're alive. stay with me.
don't leave me. it shakes something loose, pulls him taut. he won't. he can't. he can't go just yet. ]
Brekker. [ he shakes water from his eyes, pushing his hair back and realizing his wrist is free. one wrist. good enough. he kicks his feet, feels steel at only his right ankle. saints, how is brekker keeping them afloat with his bad leg and his bloody shoulder? nikolai slams a lid on his pain. even with a broken rib, he is the better swimmer. the sea has always had a place for him when the palace didn't.
he reaches out, running a hand down kaz's torso, his fingers quickly latching onto the buttons of his vest. he yanks quickly, breaking them off, makes quick work of stripping the vest away. he meets his eyes, brushes his fingers along his cheek — stay with me — and ducks beneath the water, hauling his boots off one by one. more clothes lost to whatever this thing is between them. he would smile if he had the energy.
he comes up behind him and slides his shackled arm around his neck, legs moving to crest them over a wave. ] Stop. You're losing too much blood. Stop moving, Brekker. I've got you now.
[ he can keep them afloat with his legs and one arm. he has to. his ribs have somehow shifted past pain into delirium. from here he can see the slow seep of blood from kaz's shoulder, four jagged claw marks gouged into his skin. there's the familiar press of guilt, something he can't escape just yet, maybe not ever. he pushes the thought away, afraid of it pulling him under, his despair heavy enough to drown them both.
he pushes his mouth to kaz's ear, lips pressed against skin. he can feel the tension in his body, his panic, his tremors. no good. if he loses him to the water, he'll likely be dragged down with him. his arm stays securely around his neck. ] You're all right. Let me carry you. I promise you won't sink, Kaz, I won't let you. Just be still. You're with me. You're already with me.
his lungs seize. an arm winds around his waist and suddenly he's above water, freezing air hitting his face. darkness above and below. move. but he can't. his eyes slip shut again, too heavy to keep open. it hurts to breathe. he can't. the water seems to drag him down, and all he wants to do is go with it, but something keeps him level, something with an iron grip. a voice like rough stone. don't leave me. and yet he wants to beg let me go.
sudden pain splits him in two, one hand digging into wet fabric, into flesh somehow still warm. water rushes out of him, burning his lungs, choking him. saints, he's going to die. is this dying? no. dying is sweet, dying is easy, dying is letting go. it's all he wants. he can't do this. he begins to cough and his sight nearly blacks out from how his side lights up with agony. dizzy. he's falling. no, someone has him. there's an arm around him, holding him above water, and he doesn't know if there's saltwater or tears on his face. ]
Let me go. [ a grating rasp, his throat like sandpaper. ] Please. Let me go. Let me go. [ water sputters from his mouth, and he can finally draw in a breath. it costs him dearly. his ribs. that damnable crow cane. kaz. kaz. his vision finally rights. bright blue eyes — afraid, panicked. there's blood in the water. kaz's shirt, torn. you put him here. it hits him like a physical weight — guilt, duty, expectation. fix this. he can't. he must. he gasps in a shuddering breath, his eyes pressing tightly shut, biting off the whimper that rises in his throat. what did he say? stay with me. we're alive. stay with me.
don't leave me. it shakes something loose, pulls him taut. he won't. he can't. he can't go just yet. ]
Brekker. [ he shakes water from his eyes, pushing his hair back and realizing his wrist is free. one wrist. good enough. he kicks his feet, feels steel at only his right ankle. saints, how is brekker keeping them afloat with his bad leg and his bloody shoulder? nikolai slams a lid on his pain. even with a broken rib, he is the better swimmer. the sea has always had a place for him when the palace didn't.
he reaches out, running a hand down kaz's torso, his fingers quickly latching onto the buttons of his vest. he yanks quickly, breaking them off, makes quick work of stripping the vest away. he meets his eyes, brushes his fingers along his cheek — stay with me — and ducks beneath the water, hauling his boots off one by one. more clothes lost to whatever this thing is between them. he would smile if he had the energy.
he comes up behind him and slides his shackled arm around his neck, legs moving to crest them over a wave. ] Stop. You're losing too much blood. Stop moving, Brekker. I've got you now.
[ he can keep them afloat with his legs and one arm. he has to. his ribs have somehow shifted past pain into delirium. from here he can see the slow seep of blood from kaz's shoulder, four jagged claw marks gouged into his skin. there's the familiar press of guilt, something he can't escape just yet, maybe not ever. he pushes the thought away, afraid of it pulling him under, his despair heavy enough to drown them both.
he pushes his mouth to kaz's ear, lips pressed against skin. he can feel the tension in his body, his panic, his tremors. no good. if he loses him to the water, he'll likely be dragged down with him. his arm stays securely around his neck. ] You're all right. Let me carry you. I promise you won't sink, Kaz, I won't let you. Just be still. You're with me. You're already with me.
[ let me go. kaz thought he had, as much as he could, when he spared rollins and his boy the same gutting that he suffered. when he let the current take jordie’s body instead of reaching out to close his eyes. every mistake, like the sea, demands a sacrifice. they were greedy little pigeons swimming upstream. jordie made the killing mistake, so he paid the price. let me go. would you have it any other way? if he could go back to save jordie, to being a stupid farm boy — you probably wouldn’t.
the dead rise beside him, and he thinks they’ll take what they’re owed. his mistake this time. his price to pay. decaying limbs on him, tearing away his armour. fight back. can’t, just keeps kicking. ]
Jordie, stop — [ a tearless sob that breaks like a wave. ] Please. [ he didn’t mean to leave him, to watch the scheme unfold without seeing. he was nine. he hadn’t stolen his shark’s eyes yet. grey fingers brush his cheek, and he looks without seeing, his blues unfocused until they alight on amber. not his own stare reflected. not jordie. there and gone. wait. without knowing why, he realises his feet feel lighter. his chest expands incrementally. stop pierces the din, a blade honed by the familiar tenor of nikolai’s voice. he bites back a you stop in reply, legs still kicking, arms splashing until nikolai presses against him from behind. the cold metal shocks his neck like ice. a sharp breath, choked off by the faint pressure at his windpipe and the flashes of memory it brings forth. not the harbour, the ice court. drowning, coughing, gasping, blackout.
the noise in his head buzzes on a typical day, but not like this, pitching high. now or then? the inability to orient himself in space and time is debilitating. that’s what you have to do, when you’re lost in the water. the water hears and understands, demjin. like hell it does! doesn’t know when he is, what he’s supposed to be doing, or how to get where he needs to go. no trace of reality anywhere.
except at his back, hot air on his neck, the brush of lips over his ear that he can only recently say is familiar. horror couples with a strange longing. his left hand, still gloved, rises to curl around nikolai’s forearm even as his right continues to paddle weakly. let me carry you. how can anyone shoulder the weight? if he stops moving, he’ll die. i promise you won't sink, kaz. he must be dreaming, already dead in the water. it’s always brekker, never kaz. his head tilts back into the curve of nikolai’s shoulder, gaze skyward.
and if it’s real? he never dreams of nikolai saving him, not from this, only of him turning blue, transmuted from person to thing when the light leaves his starry eyes. every nerve blazes with the fight that never deserts him, no matter how tired he becomes, but he forces his kicks to slow. his internal compass whizzes round and round. you're with me. doesn’t matter where. he can orient himself on nikolai alone. ]
Keep talking. [ a shuddering exhale and its matching inhale. the scent of decay fills his lungs. he gags on nothing. ] Keep talking, Nikolai.
[ kaz brings his other hand to the shackle at his wrist, fumbling a pick from his soaked gloves. a sluggish mental calculation. only one left in this hand but four left in the other. you’ve survived worse odds. he catches the edge of the glove in his teeth and tears it from his skin. even unencumbered by soaked leather, wobbly fingers stutter over the lock. when he finally unhooks the chain and throws it away, the pick discarded with it, he can hear jordie laughing. no, not jordie — the hysterical, humourless sound is his own, cut off by another dry-heave.
both hands quickly fill the space on nikolai’s arm. the one hand, skin to skin, crawling with sensation. ]
Just tear out my throat next time, Lantsov.
[ that's the spirit. ]
the dead rise beside him, and he thinks they’ll take what they’re owed. his mistake this time. his price to pay. decaying limbs on him, tearing away his armour. fight back. can’t, just keeps kicking. ]
Jordie, stop — [ a tearless sob that breaks like a wave. ] Please. [ he didn’t mean to leave him, to watch the scheme unfold without seeing. he was nine. he hadn’t stolen his shark’s eyes yet. grey fingers brush his cheek, and he looks without seeing, his blues unfocused until they alight on amber. not his own stare reflected. not jordie. there and gone. wait. without knowing why, he realises his feet feel lighter. his chest expands incrementally. stop pierces the din, a blade honed by the familiar tenor of nikolai’s voice. he bites back a you stop in reply, legs still kicking, arms splashing until nikolai presses against him from behind. the cold metal shocks his neck like ice. a sharp breath, choked off by the faint pressure at his windpipe and the flashes of memory it brings forth. not the harbour, the ice court. drowning, coughing, gasping, blackout.
the noise in his head buzzes on a typical day, but not like this, pitching high. now or then? the inability to orient himself in space and time is debilitating. that’s what you have to do, when you’re lost in the water. the water hears and understands, demjin. like hell it does! doesn’t know when he is, what he’s supposed to be doing, or how to get where he needs to go. no trace of reality anywhere.
except at his back, hot air on his neck, the brush of lips over his ear that he can only recently say is familiar. horror couples with a strange longing. his left hand, still gloved, rises to curl around nikolai’s forearm even as his right continues to paddle weakly. let me carry you. how can anyone shoulder the weight? if he stops moving, he’ll die. i promise you won't sink, kaz. he must be dreaming, already dead in the water. it’s always brekker, never kaz. his head tilts back into the curve of nikolai’s shoulder, gaze skyward.
and if it’s real? he never dreams of nikolai saving him, not from this, only of him turning blue, transmuted from person to thing when the light leaves his starry eyes. every nerve blazes with the fight that never deserts him, no matter how tired he becomes, but he forces his kicks to slow. his internal compass whizzes round and round. you're with me. doesn’t matter where. he can orient himself on nikolai alone. ]
Keep talking. [ a shuddering exhale and its matching inhale. the scent of decay fills his lungs. he gags on nothing. ] Keep talking, Nikolai.
[ kaz brings his other hand to the shackle at his wrist, fumbling a pick from his soaked gloves. a sluggish mental calculation. only one left in this hand but four left in the other. you’ve survived worse odds. he catches the edge of the glove in his teeth and tears it from his skin. even unencumbered by soaked leather, wobbly fingers stutter over the lock. when he finally unhooks the chain and throws it away, the pick discarded with it, he can hear jordie laughing. no, not jordie — the hysterical, humourless sound is his own, cut off by another dry-heave.
both hands quickly fill the space on nikolai’s arm. the one hand, skin to skin, crawling with sensation. ]
Just tear out my throat next time, Lantsov.
[ that's the spirit. ]
[ he’s losing him. who the hell is jordie? nikolai holds fast, careful not to get tangled in his panicked limbs, adrenaline doubling or tripling kaz’s strength. he’s losing him, he’s going to drag him down. jordie. the brother. kaz never offered up many details, but nikolai knows that’s where he is now, that’s who he’s with. how does he pull him back? say something. say more. say what he needs to hear. which would be what? nikolai tries to contain his own panic. fix this. he has to. what if he can’t?
then, his name. keep talking. kaz giving him the key. he sucks in a breath, marvels at how he can’t feel his ribs anymore. relief mixes with everything else — fear, guilt, panic, duty, expectation, all of it a crushing weight. but he’s borne this weight his whole life. just a little more, just a little longer. then you can rest. then you can let go. ]
I need those. [ an absurd protest as kaz lets his shackles sink into the sea. but he does. how will he sleep, how can he be trusted? they didn’t work anyway, not really. he needs the sleeping tonic again, needs to become as a dead man at night. he dreads it. it’s far worse than the peace he felt in those precious seconds underwater. no. he can’t think of that. he has to think of now, right now, this present moment with kaz brekker pulled against him, slowly stopping. stopped. nikolai spurs himself into motion, gliding through the water. he can see his ship. too far. he’ll reach the shore faster, also too far, but closer. he has to make it because he has to get kaz out.
kaz. keep talking. gladly. ]
I imagine you have a damn good explanation as to why the hell you were on my ship. [ his voice is tight from exertion, an edge to it. maybe this is the first time he’s ever been truly upset with brekker. angry. not angry. just scared. terrified. it spills out unbidden — ] I could have killed you. I would have torn out your fucking throat, you — cockeyed halfwit.
[ not his best work, and his anger is somewhat tempered by kaz’s dry, mirthless laughter, a wholly unnerving sound. he wants to hit him. never wanted to hurt anyone less. briefly, he presses his mouth to kaz’s hair, his fear nearly making him weak. just keep going. don’t think. don’t think about what hurts. a burn begins in his limbs, but it goes ignored. no time. still there’s blood in the water, too much blood. fix this. ]
Tell me you’re with me, Brekker. [ he injects a casual cheer into the strain of his voice. he needs him to keep talking just as much. ] Tell me anything. I — [ need you. ]
then, his name. keep talking. kaz giving him the key. he sucks in a breath, marvels at how he can’t feel his ribs anymore. relief mixes with everything else — fear, guilt, panic, duty, expectation, all of it a crushing weight. but he’s borne this weight his whole life. just a little more, just a little longer. then you can rest. then you can let go. ]
I need those. [ an absurd protest as kaz lets his shackles sink into the sea. but he does. how will he sleep, how can he be trusted? they didn’t work anyway, not really. he needs the sleeping tonic again, needs to become as a dead man at night. he dreads it. it’s far worse than the peace he felt in those precious seconds underwater. no. he can’t think of that. he has to think of now, right now, this present moment with kaz brekker pulled against him, slowly stopping. stopped. nikolai spurs himself into motion, gliding through the water. he can see his ship. too far. he’ll reach the shore faster, also too far, but closer. he has to make it because he has to get kaz out.
kaz. keep talking. gladly. ]
I imagine you have a damn good explanation as to why the hell you were on my ship. [ his voice is tight from exertion, an edge to it. maybe this is the first time he’s ever been truly upset with brekker. angry. not angry. just scared. terrified. it spills out unbidden — ] I could have killed you. I would have torn out your fucking throat, you — cockeyed halfwit.
[ not his best work, and his anger is somewhat tempered by kaz’s dry, mirthless laughter, a wholly unnerving sound. he wants to hit him. never wanted to hurt anyone less. briefly, he presses his mouth to kaz’s hair, his fear nearly making him weak. just keep going. don’t think. don’t think about what hurts. a burn begins in his limbs, but it goes ignored. no time. still there’s blood in the water, too much blood. fix this. ]
Tell me you’re with me, Brekker. [ he injects a casual cheer into the strain of his voice. he needs him to keep talking just as much. ] Tell me anything. I — [ need you. ]
[ the adrenaline bleeds out of him. his bad leg aches anew. when kaz tries to help paddle, it’s with the wrong arm, fire shooting through his shoulder. a hiss of pain through his teeth. both hands back on nikolai, bare fingers digging into his arm.
terror bolts down his back. a sudden, chilling realisation: he’s relying on nikolai to keep them alive. not himself. and not for any sensible, considered reason. you relied on him before now. in small sways, he wants to protest, except he had come to depend on him for bigger things, too. worse still, he believes nikolai won’t fail him even after being gored and thrown overboard. the man is mourning the loss of chains that broke in the first place, and kaz believes in him.
because he’s the one who failed nikolai, isn’t he? a damn good explanation. no, not nearly that. i would have torn out your fucking throat. another empty laugh tapers off into a wheeze. you would have let him, unwilling to act decisively, to do what needs to be done. caught in a pinch point. dirtyhands would have shot nikolai from the damn deck and kept them both from being swept out to sea. belatedly, he wonders if nikolai was injured by his cane. surely not, since he offered to carry kaz — except nikolai would do that, even if he were wounded.
he thinks that he can feel nikolai’s nose and mouth in his hair. familiar. not that familiar. peculiar in its comfort. for now, with nikolai as his anchor, the water fails to swallow him whole. ]
I’m here. [ a beat. his voice sounds small to his ears, and he hates that anyone should hear it that way. at least it’s only nikolai, who has yet to betray him. the water seems infinite and frightening, but he forces himself to speak. ] I wanted to tell you in the morning. [ was excited by the possibility of telling him. wait, he should have said that last, not first, still addled by the waves. it seems nonsensical on its own. in a rush of breath, he corrects — ] I figured it out. Where the heart went — we need to go north. Fjerda. [ pausing for air, a ragged swallow. ] I almost drowned there, too.
[ nina and matthias had fished him out, back then. a wild thought occurs to him: nina, not nikolai, kissed him first, if only to keep him alive. he can imagine how she would laugh, if she knew, how she wouldn’t let him forget it. he never did thank her, not for anything.
an abrupt shake of his head. you’re here, not there. ]
I couldn’t leave it. [ a simple truth, not an excuse. tell him. ] I had to be sure, before I told you.
[ before kaz lifted and plunged his hopes without reason. i wanted to tell you in the morning. although he didn’t have the chance to check his theory, he knows it's right. ]
terror bolts down his back. a sudden, chilling realisation: he’s relying on nikolai to keep them alive. not himself. and not for any sensible, considered reason. you relied on him before now. in small sways, he wants to protest, except he had come to depend on him for bigger things, too. worse still, he believes nikolai won’t fail him even after being gored and thrown overboard. the man is mourning the loss of chains that broke in the first place, and kaz believes in him.
because he’s the one who failed nikolai, isn’t he? a damn good explanation. no, not nearly that. i would have torn out your fucking throat. another empty laugh tapers off into a wheeze. you would have let him, unwilling to act decisively, to do what needs to be done. caught in a pinch point. dirtyhands would have shot nikolai from the damn deck and kept them both from being swept out to sea. belatedly, he wonders if nikolai was injured by his cane. surely not, since he offered to carry kaz — except nikolai would do that, even if he were wounded.
he thinks that he can feel nikolai’s nose and mouth in his hair. familiar. not that familiar. peculiar in its comfort. for now, with nikolai as his anchor, the water fails to swallow him whole. ]
I’m here. [ a beat. his voice sounds small to his ears, and he hates that anyone should hear it that way. at least it’s only nikolai, who has yet to betray him. the water seems infinite and frightening, but he forces himself to speak. ] I wanted to tell you in the morning. [ was excited by the possibility of telling him. wait, he should have said that last, not first, still addled by the waves. it seems nonsensical on its own. in a rush of breath, he corrects — ] I figured it out. Where the heart went — we need to go north. Fjerda. [ pausing for air, a ragged swallow. ] I almost drowned there, too.
[ nina and matthias had fished him out, back then. a wild thought occurs to him: nina, not nikolai, kissed him first, if only to keep him alive. he can imagine how she would laugh, if she knew, how she wouldn’t let him forget it. he never did thank her, not for anything.
an abrupt shake of his head. you’re here, not there. ]
I couldn’t leave it. [ a simple truth, not an excuse. tell him. ] I had to be sure, before I told you.
[ before kaz lifted and plunged his hopes without reason. i wanted to tell you in the morning. although he didn’t have the chance to check his theory, he knows it's right. ]
Edited (nitpicks!!) 2021-06-19 20:52 (UTC)
I told you not to move. [ with his injured arm, too. if kaz could see his wounds the way nikolai can, he'd be still. maybe. unlikely. if he stops, the water will cloud with blood. how much will kaz brekker bleed before this is over? you mean how much blood will you take. there's the guilt again, barbs digging deeper. he shouldn't be here. he should have taken himself off this job the second the demon returned. this can't happen again. kaz might not survive a third time.
just get him to the shore. just keep moving. it feels so far. he slows, paces his breath. lets out a dry laugh. ] Fjerda? A visit to the land of ice and inbreeding? Not really what I wanted to hear.
[ their volatile neighbors to the north have ceased to be as disastrous a problem under their new leadership (thank the saints for nina zenik), but nikolai doubts he will ever be enthused about setting foot there, even with their peace talks in place. thinking of his father always comes with complicated feelings. joy that he got to meet him, however fleeting. an ache for something he never had, a hunger for more. it's impossible not to imagine the different paths his life could have taken if he'd just known him, an endless series of what-ifs. then i wouldn't be here. he hasn't yet decided if that's a good or bad thing.
the confession that follows startles him. guilt. he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be wading through the one thing that haunts kaz brekker's dreams. his arm tightens — then loosens. kaz is tense enough to snap in two. ]
Bad habit, that penchant for almost drowning. You should really consider relocating the Crow Club to the middle of a giant field at least a few thousand miles away from any pesky harbors. [ he can hear it in kaz's voice. he was on the ship for you. he takes a breath and abruptly falters, pain lancing through his side. he shivers. cold. the least this damnable water could do is numb him. keep going. he glimpses blood from kaz's still-seeping wounds and presses on, his eyes stinging. he doesn't allow entry to the thought trying to knock its way into his head — you're not going to make it.
you are not leaving brekker stranded here to die. better. he won't give form to his nightmares. ]
Brekker. [ it comes out ragged as he slows, then stops, treading water as he catches his breath. ] Can you — [ he winces, eyes closing. not a request. ] I need you to take off the weight. My ankle, the fetter. It's — too heavy.
[ he could make this easy if not for the pain in his side. he can do underwater somersaults, dive like a swan, he's even navigated his way through a giant school of jellyfish without getting stung simply to prove that he could. but right now he feels if he goes underwater, he won't come back up. for a brief moment, he nestles in the curve of kaz's good shoulder, his arm sliding down to circle his waist. ]
Will you? [ not can you. of course he can. kaz always been able to reach his bars, follow his stones, even if he stumbles. he shudders out a breath against his throat, tired. not yet. ] I need — to get rid of this weight. Get it off. I won't — [ make it. no. his fingers press into the line of kaz's hip, solid and real. ] Won't let you go.
just get him to the shore. just keep moving. it feels so far. he slows, paces his breath. lets out a dry laugh. ] Fjerda? A visit to the land of ice and inbreeding? Not really what I wanted to hear.
[ their volatile neighbors to the north have ceased to be as disastrous a problem under their new leadership (thank the saints for nina zenik), but nikolai doubts he will ever be enthused about setting foot there, even with their peace talks in place. thinking of his father always comes with complicated feelings. joy that he got to meet him, however fleeting. an ache for something he never had, a hunger for more. it's impossible not to imagine the different paths his life could have taken if he'd just known him, an endless series of what-ifs. then i wouldn't be here. he hasn't yet decided if that's a good or bad thing.
the confession that follows startles him. guilt. he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be wading through the one thing that haunts kaz brekker's dreams. his arm tightens — then loosens. kaz is tense enough to snap in two. ]
Bad habit, that penchant for almost drowning. You should really consider relocating the Crow Club to the middle of a giant field at least a few thousand miles away from any pesky harbors. [ he can hear it in kaz's voice. he was on the ship for you. he takes a breath and abruptly falters, pain lancing through his side. he shivers. cold. the least this damnable water could do is numb him. keep going. he glimpses blood from kaz's still-seeping wounds and presses on, his eyes stinging. he doesn't allow entry to the thought trying to knock its way into his head — you're not going to make it.
you are not leaving brekker stranded here to die. better. he won't give form to his nightmares. ]
Brekker. [ it comes out ragged as he slows, then stops, treading water as he catches his breath. ] Can you — [ he winces, eyes closing. not a request. ] I need you to take off the weight. My ankle, the fetter. It's — too heavy.
[ he could make this easy if not for the pain in his side. he can do underwater somersaults, dive like a swan, he's even navigated his way through a giant school of jellyfish without getting stung simply to prove that he could. but right now he feels if he goes underwater, he won't come back up. for a brief moment, he nestles in the curve of kaz's good shoulder, his arm sliding down to circle his waist. ]
Will you? [ not can you. of course he can. kaz always been able to reach his bars, follow his stones, even if he stumbles. he shudders out a breath against his throat, tired. not yet. ] I need — to get rid of this weight. Get it off. I won't — [ make it. no. his fingers press into the line of kaz's hip, solid and real. ] Won't let you go.
[ a scolding never comes, and that’s infinitely worse, even if he wouldn’t abide it. of course no one wants to go to fjerda. even with talks of peace, radicals and resistances persist. his bones ache more there, and he has little affection for their water god. all trouble for the kaz brekker of tomorrow, provided he survives today. the tension in nikolai’s arm is more pressing. had he said something wrong? undoubtedly. all he can do is squeeze back. a giant field. home for a farm boy, not a canal rat. rietveld, not brekker. it wouldn’t suit him. ]
Occupational risk. [ a hint of genuine amusement in his throaty voice. ] Can’t take a crow that far inland. There wouldn’t be any pigeons for it to fleece.
[ some might call it punishment. say that their gods or saints send pestilence and floods to drown him for his crimes. he doesn’t believe it. kaz brekker knows he doesn’t deserve to die because no one deserves anything, not in this life or the next.
their pace slows. he can hear nikolai’s laboured breath. can feel him shivering — or maybe those tremors vibrate outward from kaz. how much farther do they have to go? brekker pulls on the tether connecting them, like always. i need you. nikolai’s hand on his hip, nikolai’s breath at his neck. he told himself nothing changed yesterday but it had: solace and want bloom alongside the fever on his skin. ]
Nikolai. [ a plea. a warning. i’ll faint. i’ll die. relentless nikolai and his infernal trail of stones. maybe you could find them again. i want you to. i expect you to. kaz is alive because of him — thrice now, saved by his perseverance and control of the untameable beast. his perception tilts and blurs. all the belief he has in nikolai reflects back on him. miraculous.
straighten up, brekker. ever since he came back from the dead, he’s been a monster, and monsters don’t fear the endless dark. death may want nikolai, and perhaps nikolai wants death, but it can’t have him. kaz isn’t done with him yet. his mouth brushes the crown of nikolai’s head, and he pulls away. ]
You can let go. I’ll come back. [ as he turns in nikolai’s hold, kaz ignores the way their noses brush in his clumsiness. a quick flex tests the strength of his good arm and leg. half a man but still alive. it’ll do. though fear rounds his eyes, it’s steel determination that lights them when he grounds out, ] No mourners.
[ whether or not nikolai knows the reply, he hears it in his head. a long breath of sea air, the stink of blood in his nose, and he dives down. back into the tumult of bodies, blue-limbed and swollen. darkness on all sides, with clouds obscuring the light of the moon, he can’t see. thirty seconds later, he resurfaces, hair flopping in his face and injured arm bracing on nikolai. if you can’t see a path, make one. without explanation, he sinks beneath the waves.
this time, kaz holds fast to nikolai, hand sliding down his side, his waist, his leg, the knot of bone at his ankle that he glimpsed in his bedroom the other day — the fetter. naturally, the first pick that he forces from the slits in his gloves, he drops. three left. the second, he misaims, and the current steals it away. the third connects with the lock, and he works it open on touch and memory alone. the familiar give of the latch thrills him. with a yank of his hand, the shackle spirals away. unthinkingly, he tears at the laces of nikolai’s boots and pulls them off, too. always watching and mimicking, like the best tricksters do.
it keeps him under too long. water rushes into his mouth, bubbles surrounding him. kaz panics his way back to the surface and gulps air in a splash of limbs, reaching for nikolai. he feels like he might die if nikolai touches him again — and like he might die if he doesn’t. ]
Occupational risk. [ a hint of genuine amusement in his throaty voice. ] Can’t take a crow that far inland. There wouldn’t be any pigeons for it to fleece.
[ some might call it punishment. say that their gods or saints send pestilence and floods to drown him for his crimes. he doesn’t believe it. kaz brekker knows he doesn’t deserve to die because no one deserves anything, not in this life or the next.
their pace slows. he can hear nikolai’s laboured breath. can feel him shivering — or maybe those tremors vibrate outward from kaz. how much farther do they have to go? brekker pulls on the tether connecting them, like always. i need you. nikolai’s hand on his hip, nikolai’s breath at his neck. he told himself nothing changed yesterday but it had: solace and want bloom alongside the fever on his skin. ]
Nikolai. [ a plea. a warning. i’ll faint. i’ll die. relentless nikolai and his infernal trail of stones. maybe you could find them again. i want you to. i expect you to. kaz is alive because of him — thrice now, saved by his perseverance and control of the untameable beast. his perception tilts and blurs. all the belief he has in nikolai reflects back on him. miraculous.
straighten up, brekker. ever since he came back from the dead, he’s been a monster, and monsters don’t fear the endless dark. death may want nikolai, and perhaps nikolai wants death, but it can’t have him. kaz isn’t done with him yet. his mouth brushes the crown of nikolai’s head, and he pulls away. ]
You can let go. I’ll come back. [ as he turns in nikolai’s hold, kaz ignores the way their noses brush in his clumsiness. a quick flex tests the strength of his good arm and leg. half a man but still alive. it’ll do. though fear rounds his eyes, it’s steel determination that lights them when he grounds out, ] No mourners.
[ whether or not nikolai knows the reply, he hears it in his head. a long breath of sea air, the stink of blood in his nose, and he dives down. back into the tumult of bodies, blue-limbed and swollen. darkness on all sides, with clouds obscuring the light of the moon, he can’t see. thirty seconds later, he resurfaces, hair flopping in his face and injured arm bracing on nikolai. if you can’t see a path, make one. without explanation, he sinks beneath the waves.
this time, kaz holds fast to nikolai, hand sliding down his side, his waist, his leg, the knot of bone at his ankle that he glimpsed in his bedroom the other day — the fetter. naturally, the first pick that he forces from the slits in his gloves, he drops. three left. the second, he misaims, and the current steals it away. the third connects with the lock, and he works it open on touch and memory alone. the familiar give of the latch thrills him. with a yank of his hand, the shackle spirals away. unthinkingly, he tears at the laces of nikolai’s boots and pulls them off, too. always watching and mimicking, like the best tricksters do.
it keeps him under too long. water rushes into his mouth, bubbles surrounding him. kaz panics his way back to the surface and gulps air in a splash of limbs, reaching for nikolai. he feels like he might die if nikolai touches him again — and like he might die if he doesn’t. ]
[ that strange kerch expression. no mourners. kaz is under before he can think to respond, leaving nikolai feeling adrift in a vast sea. his hand presses to his side, teeth clenching around a harsh breath. there's blood in the back of his throat. you wanted to die, he thinks with dry amusement, but now it feels too close, too fast. choice is important, a minor but highly consequential detail. the saints have no finesse for this sort of thing. better that he never wasted much time on his knees.
kaz startles him when he surfaces, but only for a moment, sinking back down with the path of his hands over his body. he barely ghosts his side but it pulls another sharp breath out of him, and when he can focus again there are fumbling hands on his ankle. the weight falls away, then his boots, with it coming a small sense of relief. then kaz surfaces again in a mad fury, panic once again in his eyes, and nikolai doesn't have time to move back. don't touch him. he'll drag you under. but all of his common sense can't stop him when kaz reaches desperately for him. he catches his hands — getting cold now — and meets his wild gaze squarely. ]
It's all right. You did it. I knew you could. [ a smile breaks across his mouth — genuine, proud. their fingers lace, squeezing in a brief moment of reassurance before he releases him, hands moving to cradle his face. ] You're all right. We both are.
[ an egregious stretching of the truth. his thumbs skim over kaz's cheeks, fingers brushing back his hair, and everything he's facing hits him at once — the darkness, kaz's panic, the coppery taste seeping into his mouth, this impossible stretch of sea. his will has always been enough. perhaps until now. regret tears at him, devastated by the reality that he led brekker right to his worst nightmare to die. there is no forgiveness for this kind of cruelty.
i'm sorry, he wants to say, but even that is too much, too close to shattering. he pulls him close instead, seeking out the warmth of his lips — cold, but not for long; he can give him at least that. this kiss tastes of saltwater and blood, the stirring of something vicious inside of him. would it be a kindness to give into the demon now, a quicker death than water filling kaz's lungs as the dead hands he dreams of drag him into the darkness? his lips finally feel warm, the smallest comfort before —
he pulls back and coughs out flecks of red, pain searing through him as his tongue sours. blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, and he almost laughs at the absurdity of it all. this cannot be his end. he's borne greater pain than this. ]
Brekker. [ his voice is ragged and weak. fix this. he swallows back blood, spits out what he can't. you've bested this before. remember who you are. ] Kaz. I need one more thing from you.
[ you're bleeding him dry. he shakes away the thought, fisting a hand in kaz's collar, steadying himself in wide blue eyes. morning will always come. ]
Don't let go of me. No matter what. [ there's a hard edge in his voice. a command. remnants of a king, of a soldier. he takes a breath and there's something else, another fragment of the assemblage of pieces that make up his life, this one vulnerable. ] After everything I've done to you, are you afraid of me? Or do you still have it in you to trust me?
kaz startles him when he surfaces, but only for a moment, sinking back down with the path of his hands over his body. he barely ghosts his side but it pulls another sharp breath out of him, and when he can focus again there are fumbling hands on his ankle. the weight falls away, then his boots, with it coming a small sense of relief. then kaz surfaces again in a mad fury, panic once again in his eyes, and nikolai doesn't have time to move back. don't touch him. he'll drag you under. but all of his common sense can't stop him when kaz reaches desperately for him. he catches his hands — getting cold now — and meets his wild gaze squarely. ]
It's all right. You did it. I knew you could. [ a smile breaks across his mouth — genuine, proud. their fingers lace, squeezing in a brief moment of reassurance before he releases him, hands moving to cradle his face. ] You're all right. We both are.
[ an egregious stretching of the truth. his thumbs skim over kaz's cheeks, fingers brushing back his hair, and everything he's facing hits him at once — the darkness, kaz's panic, the coppery taste seeping into his mouth, this impossible stretch of sea. his will has always been enough. perhaps until now. regret tears at him, devastated by the reality that he led brekker right to his worst nightmare to die. there is no forgiveness for this kind of cruelty.
i'm sorry, he wants to say, but even that is too much, too close to shattering. he pulls him close instead, seeking out the warmth of his lips — cold, but not for long; he can give him at least that. this kiss tastes of saltwater and blood, the stirring of something vicious inside of him. would it be a kindness to give into the demon now, a quicker death than water filling kaz's lungs as the dead hands he dreams of drag him into the darkness? his lips finally feel warm, the smallest comfort before —
he pulls back and coughs out flecks of red, pain searing through him as his tongue sours. blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, and he almost laughs at the absurdity of it all. this cannot be his end. he's borne greater pain than this. ]
Brekker. [ his voice is ragged and weak. fix this. he swallows back blood, spits out what he can't. you've bested this before. remember who you are. ] Kaz. I need one more thing from you.
[ you're bleeding him dry. he shakes away the thought, fisting a hand in kaz's collar, steadying himself in wide blue eyes. morning will always come. ]
Don't let go of me. No matter what. [ there's a hard edge in his voice. a command. remnants of a king, of a soldier. he takes a breath and there's something else, another fragment of the assemblage of pieces that make up his life, this one vulnerable. ] After everything I've done to you, are you afraid of me? Or do you still have it in you to trust me?
Edited (just me being a dumb bich) 2021-06-20 19:16 (UTC)
[ when nikolai grabs him, he doesn’t fight it. kaz knows where he is, and what he has to do. survive. all the drowning, the rotting, it still fucking rattles him, chest heaving and hands shaking, but he fights to temper the panic from engulfing his mind. nikolai’s hands on him, flesh unwrapping to muscle, pulsating blood vessels melting to reveal organs, then gleaming bones.
no, they’re just hands, calloused beneath his jaw.
nikolai’s words would vex, as close as they sound to coddling (sweet lies), if not for the smile, genuine and warm, like sunlight dappling the waves. are they alright? no, but they’re not dead. no funerals, not yet. kaz rests his hand on nikolai’s arm, alleviating the pain in his shoulder slightly. he should look at it, assess the damage, yet he can’t tear his eyes from nikolai, tilting into the cup of his hand when he ought to be drawing back. this time, he knows what it looks like, when someone is about to kiss him, and tips forward to meet nikolai, soft but sure. exposed though he is to the elements, he feels sheltered — until he tastes copper.
unease slithers down his spine. his gaze narrows on the blood at nikolai’s mouth, spat into the water to mingle with his own. the gears in his mind turn, filling in the gaps in his understanding of the last — half hour, maybe? it feels longer. he had landed a blow on the demon and damaged it enough to carry over into nikolai. an internal wound. you did that. his twitchy heart threatens to exhaust itself. brekker, no, kaz again. remember your name. the one thing that has survived every fall. i need one more thing from you. that brings him to his senses. he forces himself to breathe deeply in the face of nikolai wavering. in their push and pull, kaz owes it to him to counterbalance his worries and keep him afloat. everything in him snaps back into alignment. ]
I’m not afraid. [ not of nikolai or the demon, the depths or the dark. must he make me say it? his features pull taut, brows drawn together and jaw set. pained. ] And I don’t trust anyone but myself. [ the answer comes easily, thrown like a dagger. once, that was true. ] My crows. [ inej, always inej. the rest of that singular crew, too. ] You. [ he loops the arm on his good side through nikolai’s, hooked at his elbow before the same hand settles at his own collar. ]
Hold on a moment longer, Nikolai. [ what is he afraid of? breathing the water in or wanting to? briefly, his tone gentles. ] For me.
[ then kaz will seize him. won’t let go, won’t stop until they’re safe. that was the key to survival anywhere: never stopping.
but first, he needs to staunch his wound. he unbuttons his shirt until he can fit his hand into the v of exposed skin and retrieve an oyster knife from an interior pocket. from there, he slices down the length of the fabric until he has a large enough piece free from his front to loop at his shoulder. this, he passes to nikolai to use as a makeshift, waterlogged bandage after untangling their arms. the knife slips into a loop in his trousers. they may need it later, if their blood draws visitors. ]
Tie it tight, closer to my shoulder than my neck. [ it won’t cover every puncture, but it’ll clot the deepest holes until they reach a healer. he carries on while nikolai bandages him, wincing at the pressure. ] I know you can’t carry me all the way to shore. [ blunt and unerring, as ever. ] So spit out any blood, princeling. [ still maintaining appearances, choking on his own pain. a click of his tongue. ] Better it fills the sea than your lungs.
[ the more he talks, the stronger he sounds. he winds his arm back through nikolai’s and catches his wrist, thumb soothing over where the shackles have marked him. red like pox, red like skin. ]
Show me the way, [ to swim, to float. ] and I’ll keep hold. [ i’ll keep you. ] There isn't enough kruge in Kerch to send me back to Fjerda alone.
[ the deal is the deal. ]
no, they’re just hands, calloused beneath his jaw.
nikolai’s words would vex, as close as they sound to coddling (sweet lies), if not for the smile, genuine and warm, like sunlight dappling the waves. are they alright? no, but they’re not dead. no funerals, not yet. kaz rests his hand on nikolai’s arm, alleviating the pain in his shoulder slightly. he should look at it, assess the damage, yet he can’t tear his eyes from nikolai, tilting into the cup of his hand when he ought to be drawing back. this time, he knows what it looks like, when someone is about to kiss him, and tips forward to meet nikolai, soft but sure. exposed though he is to the elements, he feels sheltered — until he tastes copper.
unease slithers down his spine. his gaze narrows on the blood at nikolai’s mouth, spat into the water to mingle with his own. the gears in his mind turn, filling in the gaps in his understanding of the last — half hour, maybe? it feels longer. he had landed a blow on the demon and damaged it enough to carry over into nikolai. an internal wound. you did that. his twitchy heart threatens to exhaust itself. brekker, no, kaz again. remember your name. the one thing that has survived every fall. i need one more thing from you. that brings him to his senses. he forces himself to breathe deeply in the face of nikolai wavering. in their push and pull, kaz owes it to him to counterbalance his worries and keep him afloat. everything in him snaps back into alignment. ]
I’m not afraid. [ not of nikolai or the demon, the depths or the dark. must he make me say it? his features pull taut, brows drawn together and jaw set. pained. ] And I don’t trust anyone but myself. [ the answer comes easily, thrown like a dagger. once, that was true. ] My crows. [ inej, always inej. the rest of that singular crew, too. ] You. [ he loops the arm on his good side through nikolai’s, hooked at his elbow before the same hand settles at his own collar. ]
Hold on a moment longer, Nikolai. [ what is he afraid of? breathing the water in or wanting to? briefly, his tone gentles. ] For me.
[ then kaz will seize him. won’t let go, won’t stop until they’re safe. that was the key to survival anywhere: never stopping.
but first, he needs to staunch his wound. he unbuttons his shirt until he can fit his hand into the v of exposed skin and retrieve an oyster knife from an interior pocket. from there, he slices down the length of the fabric until he has a large enough piece free from his front to loop at his shoulder. this, he passes to nikolai to use as a makeshift, waterlogged bandage after untangling their arms. the knife slips into a loop in his trousers. they may need it later, if their blood draws visitors. ]
Tie it tight, closer to my shoulder than my neck. [ it won’t cover every puncture, but it’ll clot the deepest holes until they reach a healer. he carries on while nikolai bandages him, wincing at the pressure. ] I know you can’t carry me all the way to shore. [ blunt and unerring, as ever. ] So spit out any blood, princeling. [ still maintaining appearances, choking on his own pain. a click of his tongue. ] Better it fills the sea than your lungs.
[ the more he talks, the stronger he sounds. he winds his arm back through nikolai’s and catches his wrist, thumb soothing over where the shackles have marked him. red like pox, red like skin. ]
Show me the way, [ to swim, to float. ] and I’ll keep hold. [ i’ll keep you. ] There isn't enough kruge in Kerch to send me back to Fjerda alone.
[ the deal is the deal. ]
Edited (woRDS) 2021-06-21 00:04 (UTC)
[ it's a relief to allow kaz to take control, even if he's going to wrench it back without warning. it affords him a moment to think, to consider if this plan formulating in his head will get them both killed in the worst possible way. it sounds mad if he picks it apart, so he doesn't. kaz has seen him control the demon once, back in ketterdam when they nicked the titanium, and even that lacked finesse. but nikolai knows if he can't manage it now, then all the better for the sea to sweep him away.
kaz may not agree. kaz will simply not be consulted, then. he is the captain, after all, and needs no approval for his mad schemes.
i don't trust anyone but myself. of course. the truth comes out haltingly, as most things that require the barest hint of honesty. hold on a moment longer. his line, historically, in the face of disaster. before he watched dominik slip away. he blinks back the memory, refocuses on kaz instead, his methodical movements in slowing the hemorrhaging of this situation. they're alike in this way, though what drives them might be different. for nikolai, hope. always hope, even when he can't see it. kaz may not wish to ascribe his fortitude to something so trite, but without it, he wouldn't be moving at all.
he's careful with the bandage, eyes flickering over his wounds before covering them. if they survive, he will have to atone for those, too. he's almost glad for the blood in his mouth, making the scales feel more balanced. the height of absurdity, or just self-flagellation. ]
I should spit it on you, Brekker. [ something uncoils in him. a bad idea. his favorite kind. this smile feels more like himself — not the soft ones he reserves just for kaz, but the sharply reckless grin befitting of an unscrupulous privateer. ] For not shooting me back on the ship.
[ their arms wind, and he balances himself again with kaz's eyes. he's never been more glad to see the sky. kaz is going to kill you, if you survive this. it feels like a challenge, like a balm over his wounds. the swipe of kaz's thumb over his wrist is a triumph in itself. he never would have done that, before. he hopes he'll do it again. ]
The way is down. [ he uses their linked arms to jerk kaz against him, wrapping both arms around him, his hand at the back of his skull to secure him against his shoulder. ] Take a deep breath, Kaz. And don't let go.
[ he fills his aching lungs with air before dragging them both underwater, keeping a tight hold on kaz as they dive — deeper and deeper. he can barely see through the darkness, but he doesn't need to know where he's going. all he needs is to go down. one day you're going to have to stop asking so much of brekker. one day that isn't today.
down he goes. his lungs grow tight, but he doesn't stop. the demon moves, and he would laugh if it wouldn't fill him with seawater. he has bested this beast before, faced certain doom with it before. he remembers the way it shrieked for release when he was plummeting to what should have been his death in his flyer. he was too prideful, then, to give in, or perhaps too ashamed. he casts both away now, holding the leash tight as the thing howls inside of him, clawing at his chest, and it isn't until the pressure for air becomes too great for him to stand that he finally lets go.
spit out any blood, princeling. air bubbles in a cloud of red rush out of him when his jaws open wide, fangs dropping, his fingers sharpening to talons. this time, he's careful not to pierce flesh, keeping an iron grip on kaz. is he panicking? is he angry? things he can smooth over later. he feels the shadow of his wings spread, and within seconds they rush impossibly fast to the surface.
then — air. wind. the darkness of the night sky. he doesn't feel his wounds, doesn't feel fear. for a moment, he feels free. you sour beast, he thinks, why can't it always be like this? he careens toward the shore — not the docks where everyone can see you, you imbecile — banking sharply toward the headland to a deserted stretch of sandy shore. high trees. rocks. don't hit the rocks. not the trees, either. he estimates the landing, falls more into the margin of error. something to work on later. they tumble into the sand, nikolai's breath knocked out of him as he shrinks back to himself and sputters to a stop. his arms drop. he rolls onto his back. tries not to vomit. ]
Bloody Saints. [ the sky tilts above him. dizzy. his side hurts again, not helped by the bout of hysterical laughter bubbling out of him. he wipes the back of his hand over his bloody mouth. kaz. saints. he dragged this boy into the depths of the sea and now he's laughing about it. he turns his head, trying to catch his breath. ] Are you all right, Brekker?
kaz may not agree. kaz will simply not be consulted, then. he is the captain, after all, and needs no approval for his mad schemes.
i don't trust anyone but myself. of course. the truth comes out haltingly, as most things that require the barest hint of honesty. hold on a moment longer. his line, historically, in the face of disaster. before he watched dominik slip away. he blinks back the memory, refocuses on kaz instead, his methodical movements in slowing the hemorrhaging of this situation. they're alike in this way, though what drives them might be different. for nikolai, hope. always hope, even when he can't see it. kaz may not wish to ascribe his fortitude to something so trite, but without it, he wouldn't be moving at all.
he's careful with the bandage, eyes flickering over his wounds before covering them. if they survive, he will have to atone for those, too. he's almost glad for the blood in his mouth, making the scales feel more balanced. the height of absurdity, or just self-flagellation. ]
I should spit it on you, Brekker. [ something uncoils in him. a bad idea. his favorite kind. this smile feels more like himself — not the soft ones he reserves just for kaz, but the sharply reckless grin befitting of an unscrupulous privateer. ] For not shooting me back on the ship.
[ their arms wind, and he balances himself again with kaz's eyes. he's never been more glad to see the sky. kaz is going to kill you, if you survive this. it feels like a challenge, like a balm over his wounds. the swipe of kaz's thumb over his wrist is a triumph in itself. he never would have done that, before. he hopes he'll do it again. ]
The way is down. [ he uses their linked arms to jerk kaz against him, wrapping both arms around him, his hand at the back of his skull to secure him against his shoulder. ] Take a deep breath, Kaz. And don't let go.
[ he fills his aching lungs with air before dragging them both underwater, keeping a tight hold on kaz as they dive — deeper and deeper. he can barely see through the darkness, but he doesn't need to know where he's going. all he needs is to go down. one day you're going to have to stop asking so much of brekker. one day that isn't today.
down he goes. his lungs grow tight, but he doesn't stop. the demon moves, and he would laugh if it wouldn't fill him with seawater. he has bested this beast before, faced certain doom with it before. he remembers the way it shrieked for release when he was plummeting to what should have been his death in his flyer. he was too prideful, then, to give in, or perhaps too ashamed. he casts both away now, holding the leash tight as the thing howls inside of him, clawing at his chest, and it isn't until the pressure for air becomes too great for him to stand that he finally lets go.
spit out any blood, princeling. air bubbles in a cloud of red rush out of him when his jaws open wide, fangs dropping, his fingers sharpening to talons. this time, he's careful not to pierce flesh, keeping an iron grip on kaz. is he panicking? is he angry? things he can smooth over later. he feels the shadow of his wings spread, and within seconds they rush impossibly fast to the surface.
then — air. wind. the darkness of the night sky. he doesn't feel his wounds, doesn't feel fear. for a moment, he feels free. you sour beast, he thinks, why can't it always be like this? he careens toward the shore — not the docks where everyone can see you, you imbecile — banking sharply toward the headland to a deserted stretch of sandy shore. high trees. rocks. don't hit the rocks. not the trees, either. he estimates the landing, falls more into the margin of error. something to work on later. they tumble into the sand, nikolai's breath knocked out of him as he shrinks back to himself and sputters to a stop. his arms drop. he rolls onto his back. tries not to vomit. ]
Bloody Saints. [ the sky tilts above him. dizzy. his side hurts again, not helped by the bout of hysterical laughter bubbling out of him. he wipes the back of his hand over his bloody mouth. kaz. saints. he dragged this boy into the depths of the sea and now he's laughing about it. he turns his head, trying to catch his breath. ] Are you all right, Brekker?
Edited 2021-06-21 01:39 (UTC)
[ if there is to be divine retribution for his crimes, it’s this. dirtyhands never tells anyone the plan, lest they spoil it, even when it might benefit them to know the possible outcomes. and now he suffers the same fate, pulled as close as he had been the first time — not by nikolai, by the demon, scraping at his throat. his pulse skitters. trust is twisted uncanny by confusion. nikolai won’t kill him on purpose, but he doesn’t know if he’ll survive this. they’re under too long, water pouring into his nose, his mouth, his lungs. the same as before, his thrashing starts late, only beginning as nikolai transforms into jordie, then becomes something else entirely. better the demon than the corpses.
don’t let go, he says. the insufferable prick. as if he has a choice, air howling around him, inside him when they breach the waterline. the plan unravels before him, and it’s an audacious, foolhardy thing. a spin of makker’s wheel. exactly what he would have done. the wind whips his laugh away. is this why everyone finds him so infuriating? if nikolai fails, they’ll drown or tumble to their deaths. the demon will finally have its dinner.
(he won’t fail).
sand at his back, unyielding. a cough threatens to burst his chest. kaz rolls onto his front so swiftly that he kicks up dust and gags, hands shaking against in the dirt, pain lancing from his shoulder to his arm. nothing inside him but seawater, which he swiftly empties on the shore. a jagged rock has sliced open his right palm again, tinting the ground below. he should be proud of nikolai, both for controlling the beast and for saving them. nikolai had been proud of him, after all, his smile brighter than the stars. instead, anger churns his stomach. his shoulder bandaged and shirt torn, exposed skin gaunt in the moonlight, he has the bearing of someone who clawed his way back from the other side. his gaze slants at nikolai sideways, like a crow, and shadow embellishes his cheekbones. ]
You. [ murder in those sky-blue eyes of his, rimmed with a ring of blood. he drags himself closer, leg aching, to catch nikolai’s hand in his own and then press it into the sand at a sudden, uncomfortable angle, arm on the verge of dislocation. adrenaline and practice help him swing his weight over nikolai’s hips, below where kaz knows him to be wounded, and pin his other arm with his uninjured knee. days, no, months ago, he wouldn’t have shown that mercy. he has you on a fucking string. leave me, stay with me, let me, trust me, don’t let me go. cut it loose. ] I should stab you now, you conniving, yellow-bellied skiv.
[ he wants to break nikolai’s wrist and feel the flutter of shattered bone in his hand. he has never wanted to hurt anyone less. no movement towards the knife at his side (or any of the other slim daggers up his sleeves, for that matter). quickly, he presses his free hand to nikolai’s throat, tight enough on the jugular to restrict his airway, smearing blood up the column of his neck. a steely resolve sharpens his focus, overcoming the searing agony opening his shoulder and crimson droplets falling from it onto nikolai’s uneven collar. this man is a distraction. a weakness. the very reason he took the damn job (and will risk his life again and again to see it through). kaz leans over him, a feral thing, breath hot on his face. if he knocks nikolai out, will that invite the demon to play or neutralise them both? he could drag his body to town with ease and not have to suffer his chatter. he endured worse wounds than this at the hands of the dregs and walked alone.
but his mouth has other ideas, talking before his head rounds the corner on a decision. ]
You ask and ask and ask. [ snarled and punctuated by a tip of his chin to either side at every repetition. no one has ever wanted so much of him. there’s not enough left to meet any more demands. roving eyes hunt for something in nikolai’s face to steal back, hungry in their search. ] You take from me. [ ordering him around on this job, his job. a flash of teeth. ] Drown me. [ twice. and you let him. ] You make me feel. [ like immolation, burning him up from the inside, either cleansing the infection or multiplying the contagion. he feels like he’s never been more viscerally, frightfully alive, and it’s far greater torment than being dead. his palm shifts higher, splaying under nikolai’s jaw to tilt his face up and hold it still. ]
Why? [ why does he come so close? if he wanted someone to warm his bed, kaz knows he could find boys, girls, people of all kinds, in any pub in town. that there are those among the crew who would be glad to have their captain’s attention, even if they weren’t allowed to stay the night. there are kinder eyes and softer hands everywhere. a flash of something like fear in his eyes, already blown wide open. ] What the hell do you want?
[ from him, from this life, he doesn’t know. what else does he have left to give? no time left for an answer. kaz crashes down to kiss him harshly, teeth clacking. salt and blood fill his mouth. ]
don’t let go, he says. the insufferable prick. as if he has a choice, air howling around him, inside him when they breach the waterline. the plan unravels before him, and it’s an audacious, foolhardy thing. a spin of makker’s wheel. exactly what he would have done. the wind whips his laugh away. is this why everyone finds him so infuriating? if nikolai fails, they’ll drown or tumble to their deaths. the demon will finally have its dinner.
(he won’t fail).
sand at his back, unyielding. a cough threatens to burst his chest. kaz rolls onto his front so swiftly that he kicks up dust and gags, hands shaking against in the dirt, pain lancing from his shoulder to his arm. nothing inside him but seawater, which he swiftly empties on the shore. a jagged rock has sliced open his right palm again, tinting the ground below. he should be proud of nikolai, both for controlling the beast and for saving them. nikolai had been proud of him, after all, his smile brighter than the stars. instead, anger churns his stomach. his shoulder bandaged and shirt torn, exposed skin gaunt in the moonlight, he has the bearing of someone who clawed his way back from the other side. his gaze slants at nikolai sideways, like a crow, and shadow embellishes his cheekbones. ]
You. [ murder in those sky-blue eyes of his, rimmed with a ring of blood. he drags himself closer, leg aching, to catch nikolai’s hand in his own and then press it into the sand at a sudden, uncomfortable angle, arm on the verge of dislocation. adrenaline and practice help him swing his weight over nikolai’s hips, below where kaz knows him to be wounded, and pin his other arm with his uninjured knee. days, no, months ago, he wouldn’t have shown that mercy. he has you on a fucking string. leave me, stay with me, let me, trust me, don’t let me go. cut it loose. ] I should stab you now, you conniving, yellow-bellied skiv.
[ he wants to break nikolai’s wrist and feel the flutter of shattered bone in his hand. he has never wanted to hurt anyone less. no movement towards the knife at his side (or any of the other slim daggers up his sleeves, for that matter). quickly, he presses his free hand to nikolai’s throat, tight enough on the jugular to restrict his airway, smearing blood up the column of his neck. a steely resolve sharpens his focus, overcoming the searing agony opening his shoulder and crimson droplets falling from it onto nikolai’s uneven collar. this man is a distraction. a weakness. the very reason he took the damn job (and will risk his life again and again to see it through). kaz leans over him, a feral thing, breath hot on his face. if he knocks nikolai out, will that invite the demon to play or neutralise them both? he could drag his body to town with ease and not have to suffer his chatter. he endured worse wounds than this at the hands of the dregs and walked alone.
but his mouth has other ideas, talking before his head rounds the corner on a decision. ]
You ask and ask and ask. [ snarled and punctuated by a tip of his chin to either side at every repetition. no one has ever wanted so much of him. there’s not enough left to meet any more demands. roving eyes hunt for something in nikolai’s face to steal back, hungry in their search. ] You take from me. [ ordering him around on this job, his job. a flash of teeth. ] Drown me. [ twice. and you let him. ] You make me feel. [ like immolation, burning him up from the inside, either cleansing the infection or multiplying the contagion. he feels like he’s never been more viscerally, frightfully alive, and it’s far greater torment than being dead. his palm shifts higher, splaying under nikolai’s jaw to tilt his face up and hold it still. ]
Why? [ why does he come so close? if he wanted someone to warm his bed, kaz knows he could find boys, girls, people of all kinds, in any pub in town. that there are those among the crew who would be glad to have their captain’s attention, even if they weren’t allowed to stay the night. there are kinder eyes and softer hands everywhere. a flash of something like fear in his eyes, already blown wide open. ] What the hell do you want?
[ from him, from this life, he doesn’t know. what else does he have left to give? no time left for an answer. kaz crashes down to kiss him harshly, teeth clacking. salt and blood fill his mouth. ]
Edited (having an extremely normal one x3) 2021-06-21 10:48 (UTC)
[ it’s utterly fascinating, watching kaz devolve into jagged edges and scorching fury. is this what his enemies see before their deaths? lucky them. nikolai doesn’t move when kaz straddles him, when he chokes him, when he contemplates bloody murder — mostly because he can’t, but he wouldn’t even if he could. and miss this? never. yes, he wants to say, push harder. break and break again. that’s where you’ll find your will.
kaz is going to kill him. no. he’s never felt more content, alight with pain but with it comes the thrum of life. a safe place to land. the demon is coiled and settled, heeled at last, even if it might be temporary. they’re alive. the most infuriating reaction — his mouth pulls into a bloody grin, kaz’s hand like fire at his jaw. the vast sky above them and yet he only sees the one in kaz’s eyes. he is not so foolish to think that he will never feel death’s pull again, something that has only gotten worse with age — guilt, duty, expectation splintering his nerves into begging for an end to it all — but here in this moment, he’s thrilled to be alive. he is thrilled to have kaz in his face snarling like a feral animal.
and then he’s closer, wild blue eyes roaming over him like he holds the answers to all the questions he’s not asking. nikolai’s breath catches. closer, still. he means to do it, he thinks, abruptly realizing how desperately he wants this — this closeness, this connection, something to tether him here when he loses the battle against himself. he needs this. kaz is not the only one in crisis here.
saltwater and blood fill his senses when their mouths collide, only this time it’s not tinged with grief, with regret, with goodbye. it feels like a door to some vast unknown. it’s the answer to this question. ]
Everything. [ what does he want? the answer has always been the same, a thread of consistency uniting the many personalities and faces that make up nikolai lantsov. he arches into the kiss despite his pinned hands, despite the ache dancing across his ribs, and he groans it out again against kaz’s warming lips, everything, because he needs him to hear it. needs him to know that he will not be satisfied with just pieces of him, will not be fed scraps at this table.
it pulls painfully at his chest to be so alive, aching with want, pulsing with need, the sweetest sort of hurts. he tries to draw in a breath. ]
All the parts of you that have seen the light. All the parts that haven’t. That can’t. That will. [ breathless words stolen between kisses, like he can’t stop for even a moment. ] There is a need inside of you and I mean to draw it out. Weeks, months, years. It doesn’t matter how long it takes or how halting this progress. You would have walked away if you didn’t want this thing inside of you met. And I —
[ the hitch in his breath again. kaz has seen him at his worst, again and again, and he has not turned away. he should tell him to. make him. spare him the tragedy of something broken and burned out. he might yet still, but now he strains for his mouth again, unsteady. ]
You were all that kept me here today. [ how weak can he be? there is always further to fall. you kept me. their lips catch and hold around something he’s never spoken aloud before, unbefitting of a king. you told him months ago. he knows. a breath tumbles out of him, his hand flexing where kaz has it pinned down. push, just a little more. ] Do you think I would ask for more than you can give? Are you afraid that there isn’t enough? Tell me now. Tell me it’s too much. Tell me you don’t want this. Say it.
kaz is going to kill him. no. he’s never felt more content, alight with pain but with it comes the thrum of life. a safe place to land. the demon is coiled and settled, heeled at last, even if it might be temporary. they’re alive. the most infuriating reaction — his mouth pulls into a bloody grin, kaz’s hand like fire at his jaw. the vast sky above them and yet he only sees the one in kaz’s eyes. he is not so foolish to think that he will never feel death’s pull again, something that has only gotten worse with age — guilt, duty, expectation splintering his nerves into begging for an end to it all — but here in this moment, he’s thrilled to be alive. he is thrilled to have kaz in his face snarling like a feral animal.
and then he’s closer, wild blue eyes roaming over him like he holds the answers to all the questions he’s not asking. nikolai’s breath catches. closer, still. he means to do it, he thinks, abruptly realizing how desperately he wants this — this closeness, this connection, something to tether him here when he loses the battle against himself. he needs this. kaz is not the only one in crisis here.
saltwater and blood fill his senses when their mouths collide, only this time it’s not tinged with grief, with regret, with goodbye. it feels like a door to some vast unknown. it’s the answer to this question. ]
Everything. [ what does he want? the answer has always been the same, a thread of consistency uniting the many personalities and faces that make up nikolai lantsov. he arches into the kiss despite his pinned hands, despite the ache dancing across his ribs, and he groans it out again against kaz’s warming lips, everything, because he needs him to hear it. needs him to know that he will not be satisfied with just pieces of him, will not be fed scraps at this table.
it pulls painfully at his chest to be so alive, aching with want, pulsing with need, the sweetest sort of hurts. he tries to draw in a breath. ]
All the parts of you that have seen the light. All the parts that haven’t. That can’t. That will. [ breathless words stolen between kisses, like he can’t stop for even a moment. ] There is a need inside of you and I mean to draw it out. Weeks, months, years. It doesn’t matter how long it takes or how halting this progress. You would have walked away if you didn’t want this thing inside of you met. And I —
[ the hitch in his breath again. kaz has seen him at his worst, again and again, and he has not turned away. he should tell him to. make him. spare him the tragedy of something broken and burned out. he might yet still, but now he strains for his mouth again, unsteady. ]
You were all that kept me here today. [ how weak can he be? there is always further to fall. you kept me. their lips catch and hold around something he’s never spoken aloud before, unbefitting of a king. you told him months ago. he knows. a breath tumbles out of him, his hand flexing where kaz has it pinned down. push, just a little more. ] Do you think I would ask for more than you can give? Are you afraid that there isn’t enough? Tell me now. Tell me it’s too much. Tell me you don’t want this. Say it.
[ 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. ]
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?
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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