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The first time that Inej Ghafa saw her parents again after two years, Kaz Brekker had disappeared into the crowd of Fifth Harbor.
For just a moment, she had looked for him before considering that he’d wanted to give her time with her family. But the pang of his disappearance was still there, ever so slightly, sitting in her chest as a reminder that their newfound connection was simply budding, not bloomed.
Their flower had since sprouted and grown leaves over the years, spurred by sprawling letters sent from opposite ends of the world and quiet nights drinking chai and holding hands. It was only two years later that they had their next mission together.
Inej, my dearest—
The situation has gotten dire and extended beyond the reach of us in Ketterdam. I will meet you at the port of Os Kervo in a week’s time. We have business to do.
—Yours.
The sky was bright and the flowers were blooming in Ravka as a small, unassuming boat pulled to shore at Sanya’s Harbor. A young man disembarked, stepping past Ravkan guards doing their routine investigation of the foreign vessel. He adjusted his hat and blended into the crowd, moving silently and smoothly until he stood alone at the edge of a building, still as the dead, waiting.
Kaz Brekker looked about the same as when Inej had last seen him (perhaps three months ago, when he had surprised her with a kiss beneath a full moon). Dark red pox scars decorated his sculpted pale face, fading with time but leaving distinct little outlines on his skin. He must have gotten a trim recently, because his hair no longer awkwardly covered his ears. He dressed as Ravkan as he could, but if one looked closely, it became obvious he didn’t fit in.
Inej was watching him from the roof of a nearby bakery, preparing to slide down the shingles and greet him when she felt his eyes meet hers. She bit back her satisfaction over the fact that even after two years of no longer working together, he could still find her anywhere.
She hopped to the ground and darted across the cobblestones to meet him. Despite it being spring, the cold air bit her face. She wore the dark blue trousers of a pirate, the crimson shawl and red-ribbon braid of a Suli traveller, and an embroidered white shirt.
“You’re not dressed like a Spider,” Kaz observed, a brow raised as he kissed the back of her hand.
“The journey is too long to start this close to nightfall, and it’s dangerous to cross the ghost of the Shadow Fold in the dark.” Inej raised her chin. “We’re staying at my home tonight.”
The unbothered veneer on Kaz’s face cracked.
“What does that mean?”
The Suli caravans sat in a valley east of Os Kervo. At least twenty of them were in a wide circle, and from the circle floated dozens of lanterns, dotting the sky like stars. Dusk was beginning to fall, coating the night in a soft navy blue.
Kaz limped along a rapidly disappearing dirt path, leaning on Inej, whose arm was looped through his. Two figures stood by a narrow entrance into the ring of caravans, and as soon as Kaz and Inej appeared out of the darkness, they rushed forward.
Jasif Ghafa wrapped his daughter in a hug, kissing Inej on the forehead before pulling away and saying something in Suli. Inej responded, soothing fears or something of the sort, and kissed her mother, Zara Ghafa, on both of her cheeks. Although this was his first time meeting them, Kaz could tell that she got her looks from her father and her confidence from her mother.
He briefly considered disappearing into the night and heading back to Os Kervo to find some sketchy tavern that would keep him until it was time to head further into Ravka. And then, Zara Ghafa turned to him.
“You are Kaz,” she said, as if it was an undeniable fact. He blinked at her.
“Han.” Yes. He had taken it upon himself to learn some Suli over the years, unbeknownst to Inej. Primarily, he had used his connections in the University of Ketterdam to steal language books from their vast library, and he had spent many a night alone pouring over them, largely to no avail. He was more adept with numbers, anyway.
“Inej speaks of you,” her mother said. Her smile brightened her eyes. She was a stout woman, with her hair in several long braids tied with ribbons and mostly covered with a tight red headscarf. Her neck was laden with beads, and her long purple skirt was covered with what looked like years of embroidery.
Kaz glanced over at Inej for insight, perhaps as to what exactly it was she was saying, but she simply rolled her eyes.
“Don’t worry, Brekker,” she said, shooting him a grin. “Only the good things.”
“So, not much, then,” he rasped, and Inej laughed.
Jasif Ghafa stepped forward, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. His gaze could cut glass. “You treat my daughter well?”
“You will have to ask her that.”
The man nodded his approval. “Come. The dinner is about to start.”
Inside the little camp, Kaz was transported. It was as if the stars hung just within grasp, and though Kaz did not believe in magic, it felt like they were casting a spell over the happy gathering. At the center of the caravan circle was a firepit, where people were stoking a flame. Clothing wires hung around the camp, with colorful skirts and shawls and shirts dangling in the wind. A soup was bubbling over the fire. A large group of people were gathered, laying out what looked like foldable wooden tables as they laughed and chattered. Somebody was tuning what was perhaps a guitar, but with more strings than Kaz was used to.
Inej spoke something to someone nearby, and at first Kaz did not understand, but in the next moment, the person reappeared with a pillow. “For you to sit on while we eat,” Inej whispered, her breath tickling his neck and her hand slipping into his.
He had come far in two years. He could hold Inej now, for minutes at a time. He could hold her hand and kiss her skin and let her rub his leg on a bad day. He could be around Jesper, Wylan, and Nina with short sleeves and no gloves, and he could be jostled in a crowd over his clothes without the world blurring around him. Every little thing that he discovered had learned to do was like another chain broken.
Kaz sat on the pillow at a little wooden slab where Inej’s parents and perhaps ten other extended family members were seated, already talking. Dishes were placed at each table, and they were ladled out by the oldest member at the table—here, Jasif.
There was a goat and nettle soup, dandelion coffee, and bread rolls stuffed with cheese. A platter was piled high with plum dumplings. It was good, better than anything that Kaz had eaten in the past…possibly forever. He ate carefully, mostly sitting back and drinking his coffee, watching the Ghafa family interact.
“Do you know why we’re celebrating today?” asked one of Inej’s cousins, eyeing Kaz, who obviously did not fit in.
“There aren’t many Suli feasts in Ketterdam,” Kaz drawled.
“It’s the day of Sankta Nikolina of the Suli,” Inej said. “She was burnt at the stake by Ravkan villagers because of her fortune telling, but her death gave her family enough time to escape.”
“So you celebrate by burning oil?” Kaz mused, looking up at the floating lanterns. “Morbid.”
Inej finished off the last of her rolls, disengaging from the conversation with her family and leaned against Kaz. He let his arm rest across her back, and she nestled into his shoulder, giggling at something her aunt was saying. Kaz reached for one of his rolls and broke it in half, handing one piece to Inej. She gratefully took it.
“So, meja” —the term meant my daughter, but it was most certainly not Inej’s mother speaking to her— “who is the boy? Your betrothed?”
“No,” Kaz started, but he wasn’t sure of how to continue. He was usually so smooth, so good at lying that now that he had to tell the truth lest Inej doubt the last several years with him. Now, he had no clue how to speak to them.
“He’s my partner,” Inej explained, continuing in Suli.
Partner. Perfectly vague and yet says everything one needs to know.
“Hear, eat more, mršav.” Somebody else piled more soup and rolls onto his plate. Next to him, Inej laughed into her hand. He glanced at her, brow raised.
“Mršav means skinny,” translated Inej.
He’d been here barely half an hour and he already had a nickname. He supposed that was a good thing.
“Is he supposed to be that pale, meja?” (Met with a “yes, auntie.”)
“What happened to your leg?” (“I broke it when I was young.”)
“What kind of business did you two do together in Kerch?” (“…trading.”)
“When did you two meet?” (“About three years ago.”)
“What are you doing in Ravka?” (“More…trading business.”)
“How many languages do you speak?” (“Just Kerch. But I’m learning Suli.” That one earned him oohs and aahs from her family.)
“Has our Inej met your parents?” (“Ah…no.”)
“When are you going to pro—” A strum of music broke the silence, and the conversations faltered as people moved away from the tables and started dancing around the rowdy band.
Inej tilted her head back, the light from the holiday lanterns illuminating the lines of her neck. She tapped her hand against the table to the beat of the music. Kaz wanted to lean over and kiss her soft skin, but her father still sat at the table, watching them.
“Go dance, meja,” he said.
Inej shot a look at Kaz, but he steeled his gaze, and so she stood and joined the throng.
“The Ballad of Sankta Nikolina,” Jasif mused. He looked to Kaz. “Are you religious?”
“No.” Kaz had lost his faith long ago, somewhere between the death of his mother and the death of his brother. Though he was as slimy and greedy as the most devoted follower of Ghezen, he was not religious in the slightest.
“And of my daughter?”
“I have no intent to change her.”
“And…when did you meet?”
Kaz understood the question. “I bought her contract after seeing how headstrong she was. She was fifteen, I was sixteen. We worked together in a trading business.”
Jasif’s eyes narrowed, as if he knew exactly what Kaz meant by trading business, but he nodded.
“I… For the two years she was gone, I would lay awake at night wondering how much pain she was in. How lonely my daughter was. Thank you, for being there.”
“I didn’t do much,” Kaz shrugged. “You should thank Jesper or Nina.”
Jasif laughed, like Inej had talked about them too, and he nodded. “I will.”
The night grew colder and darker and quieter, and once Inej had worn the soles of her shoes and Kaz had eaten his fill, they headed into the Ghafa family caravan. They had set up a little bed for him on the floor, and he slept, long after everybody else had already done the same. He dreamt of dancing.
The morning was crisp and gentle, and Kaz awoke as Zara Ghafa quietly made her way through the caravan. He watched, alert as ever, as she set up a little fire and began cooking a breakfast for the Ghafa family. She whistled the Ballad of Sankta Nikolina to herself, swaying like a hardy flower in the wind as she worked.
“Are you going to join me?” she asked. “I could use an extra hand.”
Kaz pulled himself out of his little makeshift bed, smoothed his rumpled clothes, and headed over to where Zara was crouched, careful not to wake Inej or her father. He sat awkwardly with his legs dangling off of the wood.
“Would you cut these for me?”
Zara handed over some carrots, and Kaz silently took them, getting to work. Against his will, a faint memory resurfaced—life on the farm in Lij, preparing dinner with his mother.
“My daughter adores you,” Zara spoke, after several silent moments. “Do you love her?”
“Dearly.” Kaz nicked himself on the knife. He didn’t wince—just brought the wound to his mouth.
Zara glanced at him, her gaze softening. “I like you, mejo. You will always be welcome here.”
Inej stirred behind them, already preparing for their mission ahead. Kaz did not know when he would next come here. Saints, he didn’t know when he would next see Inej, after this job.
But he had to admit that it sounded…nice.
“Are you ready to go?” Inej asked from behind.
“Ja.” Kaz stood. “Bhashe, Miss Ghafa.”
Thank you.