Six of Crows (Six of Crows, #1)

by Leigh Bardugo

“Do you know the secret to fighting a scorpion?” He laughed. “Talking nonsense, Wraith? Don’t die too quick. Need to get you patched up.” She crossed one ankle behind the other and heard a reassuring click. She wore the pads at her knees for crawling and climbing, but there was another reason, too—namely, the tiny steel blades hidden in each of them. “The secret,” she panted, “is to never take your eyes off the scorpion’s tail.” She brought her knee up, jamming the blade between Oomen’s legs.

May the Saints receive me. She pressed the tip beneath her breast, between her ribs, an arrow to her heart. Then a hand gripped her wrist painfully, forcing her to drop the blade. “Not just yet, Inej.” The rasp of stone on stone. Her eyes flew open. Kaz. He bundled her into his arms and leapt down from the crates, landing roughly, his bad leg buckling. She moaned as they hit the ground. “Did we win?” “I’m here, aren’t I?” He must be running. Her body jounced painfully against his chest with every lurching step. He couldn’t carry her and use his cane. “I don’t want to die.” “I’ll do my best to make other arrangements for you.” She closed her eyes. “Keep talking, Wraith. Don’t slip away from me.” “But it’s what I do best.” He clutched her tighter. “Just make it to the schooner. Open your damn eyes, Inej.”

“Talk to me, Wraith.” “You came back for me.” “I protect my investments.” Investments. “I’m glad I’m bleeding all over your shirt.” “I’ll put it on your tab.”

He was alive because of Inej. They all were. They’d managed to fight their way out of a corner, but only because she’d prevented them from being surrounded.

“Hold him,” he told Jesper and the Fjerdan. Kaz flicked his coat sleeve, and an oyster shucking knife appeared in his hand. At any given time he had at least two knives stashed somewhere in his clothes. He didn’t even count this one, really—a tidy, wicked little blade. He made a neat slash across Oomen’s eye—from brow to cheekbone—and before Oomen could draw breath to cry out, he made a second cut in the opposite direction, a nearly perfect X. Now Oomen was screaming. Kaz wiped the knife clean, returned it to his sleeve, and drove his gloved fingers into Oomen’s eye socket. He shrieked and twitched as Kaz yanked out his eyeball, its base trailing a bloody root. Blood gushed over his face. Kaz heard Wylan retching. He tossed the eyeball overboard and jammed his spit-soaked handkerchief into the socket where Oomen’s eye had been. Then he grabbed Oomen’s jaw, his gloves leaving red smears on the enforcer’s chin. His actions were smooth, precise, as if he were dealing cards at the Crow Club or picking an easy lock, but his rage felt hot and mad and unfamiliar. Something within him had torn loose.

Kaz leaned in so that no one else could hear it when he said, “My Wraith would counsel mercy. But thanks to you, she’s not here to plead your case.” Without another word, he tipped Oomen into the sea.

“Wylan,” Jesper said, giving him a little shake. “Maybe your tutors didn’t cover this lesson, but you do not argue with a man covered in blood and a knife up his sleeve.”

Kaz turned to Jesper. “Fit Helvar with some shackles to keep him honest,” he said as he headed below. “And get me clean clothes and fresh water.” “Since when am I your valet?” “Man with a knife, remember?” he said over his shoulder. “Man with a gun!” Jesper called after him. Kaz replied with a time-saving gesture that relied heavily on his middle finger and disappeared belowdecks.

In the dim confines of his cabin, Kaz whispered, “Brick by brick.” Killing Pekka Rollins had always been tempting, but that wasn’t enough. Kaz wanted Rollins brought low. He wanted him to suffer the way Kaz had, the way Jordie had. And snatching thirty million kruge right out of Pekka Rollins’ grubby hands was a very good way to start. Maybe Inej was right. Maybe fate did bother with people like him.

Nina thought of the look on his face when he’d set Inej down on the table. He was the same Kaz—cold, rude, impossible—but beneath all that anger, she thought she’d seen something else, too.

She wouldn’t wish love on anyone. It was the guest you welcomed and then couldn’t be rid of.

Zoya Nazyalensky—a powerful Squaller, gorgeous to the point of absurdity, and capable of reducing Nina’s confidence to ash with a single raised brow.

The frenetic energy of Jesper’s lanky frame seemed to drop away. He went as still as Nina had ever seen him, and his gaze focused on Inej for the first time since he’d entered the little cabin. He was avoiding it, Nina realized. He didn’t want to look at her. The blankets shifted slightly with her shallow breaths. When Jesper spoke, his voice was taut, the strings of an instrument tuned to a too-sharp key. “She can’t die,” he said. “Not this way.” Nina peered at Jesper, puzzled. “Not what way?” “She can’t die,” he repeated.

“You always hated my laugh.” “I loved your laugh, Nina. And your fierce warrior’s heart. I might have loved you, too.”

“And what did you do, Matthias? What did you do to me in your dreams?” The ship listed gently. The lanterns swayed. His eyes were blue fire. “Everything,” he said, as he turned to go. “Everything.”

She may not even survive the night.” “She will,” said Kaz, and something savage flashed in his eyes. Matthias suspected that Brekker would drag the girl back from hell himself if he had to.

Matthias felt sure that Kaz Brekker hated Pekka Rollins, and it wasn’t just because he’d blown up their ship and hired thugs to shoot at them. This had the feel of old wounds and bad blood.

Jesper knocked his head against the hull and cast his eyes heavenward. “Fine. But if Pekka Rollins kills us all, I’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.” Brekker’s lips quirked. “I’ll just hire Matthias’ ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.” “My ghost won’t associate with your ghost,” Matthias said primly, and then wondered if the sea air was rotting his brain.

“Oomen’s dead. Kaz killed him.” “He did?” “Kaz killed a lot of people. Rotty saw him go after the Black Tips who had you up on the crates. I believe his exact words were, ‘There was enough blood to paint a barn red.’”

“He was afraid for you.” “Kaz isn’t afraid of anything.” “You should have seen his face when he brought you to me.”

“I’m a very valuable investment.” Nina’s jaw dropped. “Tell me he didn’t say that.” “Of course he did. Well, not the valuable part.” “Idiot.” “How’s Matthias?” “Also an idiot.

Kaz had taught her to crack a safe, pick a pocket, wield a knife. He’d gifted her with her first blade, the one she called Sankt Petyr—not as pretty as wild geraniums, but more practical, she supposed.

But I didn’t take the tattoo.” Nina’s brows rose. “I didn’t think it was optional.” “Technically it isn’t. I know some people don’t understand, but Kaz told me … he said it was my choice, that he wouldn’t be the one to mark me again.”

Feeling anything for Kaz Brekker was the worst kind of foolishness.

Kaz had been impressed with the sketches. “You think like a lockpick,” he’d told Wylan. “I do not.” “I mean you can see space along three axes.” “I’m not a criminal,” Wylan protested. Kaz had cast him an almost pitying look. “No, you’re a flautist who fell in with bad company.” Jesper sat down next to Wylan. “Just learn to take a compliment. Kaz doesn’t hand them out often.”

“It was a calculated risk.” “It was cross-your-fingers-and-hope-for-the-best. Believe me, I know the difference.”

“I know plenty, merchling.” “How nice for you. I feel like I’ll never know enough.” “About what?” “About anything,” Wylan muttered.

Jesper checked on Inej every morning and every night. The idea that the ambush on the docks might simply be the end of her had shaken him.

“Do not bend,” Nina snapped. “Do not leap. Do not move abruptly. If you don’t promise to take it easy, I’ll slow your heart and keep you in a coma until I can be sure you’ve recovered fully.” “Nina Zenik, as soon as I figure out where you’ve put my knives, we’re going to have words.” “The first ones had better be Thank you, oh great Nina, for dedicating every waking moment of this miserable journey to saving my sorry life.”

It didn’t escape Jesper that she’d moved to the point on the ship farthest from Matthias. “Have they been like that the whole time?” Inej asked, looking between Nina and the Fjerdan. Jesper nodded. “It’s like watching two bobcats circle each other.” Inej made a little humming noise. “But what do they mean to do when they pounce?” “Claw each other to death?” Inej rolled her eyes. “No wonder you do so badly at the tables.”

“I’d threaten to toss you into the drink, but Kaz is watching.” Inej nodded. She didn’t look up to where Kaz stood beside Specht at the wheel. But Jesper did and gave him a cheery wave. Kaz’s expression didn’t change. “Would it kill him to smile every once in a while?” Jesper asked. “Very possibly.”

Every crew member called greetings and well wishes, and Jesper could sense Inej perking up with every cheer of “The Wraith returns!” Even Matthias gave her an awkward bow and said, “I understand you’re the reason we made it out of the harbor alive.” “I suspect there were a lot of reasons,” said Inej. “I’m a reason,” Jesper offered helpfully. “All the same,” said Matthias, ignoring him. “Thank you.”

“Kaz is … I don’t know, he’s like nobody else I’ve ever known. He surprises me.” “Yes. Like a hive of bees in your dresser drawer.” Jesper barked a laugh. “Just like that.” “So what are we doing here?” Jesper turned back to the sea, feeling his cheeks heat. “Hoping for honey, I guess. And praying not to get stung.”

“I don’t know what your excuse is, Wraith. I’m the one who can never walk away from a bad hand.” She looped her arm in his. “That makes you a rotten gambler, Jesper. But an excellent friend.”

“You know I can do it, Kaz, and you know I’m not going to refuse. So why ask?” Because I’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to you for two days.

“I’ll get us out. You know that.” Tell me you know that. He needed her to say it. This job wasn’t like anything he’d attempted before. Every doubt she’d raised was a legitimate one, and only echoed the fears in his own head. He’d snapped at her before they’d left Ketterdam, told her he’d get a new spider for the job if she didn’t think he could pull it off. He needed to know that she believed he could do this, that he could take them into the Ice Court and bring them out feeling whole and righteous the way he’d done with other crews on other jobs. He needed to know she believed in him.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you go after him, Kaz.” “He’s just another boss, one more Barrel thug.” “No, he isn’t. When you go after the other gangs, it’s business. But with Pekka Rollins it’s personal.” Later, he wasn’t sure why he said it. He’d never told anyone, never spoken the words aloud. But now Kaz kept his eyes on the sails above them and said, “Pekka Rollins killed my brother.”

They were sitting close together, their shoulders nearly touching. Her eyes were so brown they were almost black, and for once her hair was down. She always wore it tied back in a ruthlessly tight coil. Even the idea of being this near someone should have set his skin crawling. Instead he thought, What happens if I move closer?

“What do you want, then?” The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie’s voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared to life inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome. You, Inej. You.

“A tincture developed by a Grisha named Genya Safin. It’s the safest way to change eye color.”

“No mourners.” “No funerals,” the others replied. Strange people.

Jesper consulted his compass, and they turned south, seeking a path that would lead them to the main trading road. “I’m going to pay someone to burn my kruge for me.” Kaz fell into step beside him. “Why don’t you pay someone else to pay someone to burn your kruge for you? That’s what the big players do.” “You know what the really big bosses do? They pay someone to pay someone to…”

“So what I’m getting from this,” said Jesper, “is that I’m stuck with Wylan.” “Unless you’ve suddenly acquired an encyclopedic knowledge of the White Island, the ability to pick locks, scale unscalable walls, or flirt confidential information out of high level officials, yes. Besides, I want two sets of hands making bombs.” Jesper looked mournfully at his guns. “Such potential wasted.”

Matthias put his head in his hands, imagining the havoc these low creatures were about to wreak on his country’s capital. “It’s one prisoner, Helvar,” said Kaz. “And a bridge,” Wylan put in helpfully. “And anything we have to blow up in between,” added Jesper. “Everyone shut up,” Matthias growled. Jesper shrugged. “Fjerdans.” “I don’t like any of this,” said Nina. Kaz raised a brow. “Well, at least you and Helvar found something to agree on.”

“Yellow Protocol?” asked Kaz. “Sector disturbance,” said Inej. “Red Protocol?” “Sector breach.” “Black Protocol?” “We’re all doomed?” said Jesper. “That about covers it,” Matthias said, pulling his hood tighter and trudging ahead.

“When I’m rich,” Jesper said behind him. “I’m going someplace I never have to see snow again. What about you, Wylan?” “I don’t know exactly.” “I think you should buy a golden piano—” “Flute.” “And play concerts on a pleasure barge. You can park it in the canal right outside your father’s house.” “Nina can sing,” Inej put in. “We’ll duet,” Nina amended. “Your father will have to move.”

The moment he left her arms, the cold rushed in. The pain was sharp and sudden, and his limbs went sluggish. She’d been using her sick magic to keep him warm. He reached for her in the dark. “Drüsje?” he called, ashamed of the fear in his voice. It was the Fjerdan word for witch, but he had no name for her. “Drüskelle!” she shouted, and then he felt his fingers brush against hers in the black water.

He continued to kick, but the muscles in his legs were tiring, and he could feel the cold creeping in on him. “Giving up already, witch?” He felt her shake off her exhaustion, and blood rushed back into his fingers and toes. “I’ll match your pace, drüskelle. If we die, it will be your burden to bear in the next life.” He had to smile a little at that. She certainly didn’t lack for spine. That much had been clear even when she was caged. That was the way they went on that night, taunting each other whenever one of them faltered. They knew only the sea, the ice, the occasional splash that might have been a wave or something hungry moving toward them in the water.

He thought about just walking off, finding shelter without her. She was on her hands and knees, head bent, her hair a wet and tangled mess covering her face. He had the distinct sense that she was going to lie down and simply not get back up. He took one step, then another. Then he turned back. Whatever her reasons, she’d saved his life last night, not once, but again and again. That was a blood debt. He staggered back to her and offered his hand.

“It’s not natural for women to fight.” “It’s not natural for someone to be as stupid as he is tall, and yet there you stand.