Six of Crows (Six of Crows, #1)

by Leigh Bardugo

He’s Kaz Brekker. Even if they locked him up, Kaz could escape any cell, any pair of shackles.

Someone had rigged up a sling for those without the Wraith’s particular gift for flouting gravity. “Thank the Saints, Djel, and your Aunt Eva,” Jesper said gratefully, and slid down the rope, followed by the others.

“Nina and I can get inside,” she continued. Her back was straight, her tone steady. She looked like someone facing the firing squad and saying damn the blindfolds. “We enter with the Menagerie.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Kaz. “Helvar’s been holding out on us.” “Have you?” asked Inej. “It’s not—” Matthias dragged a hand over his cropped hair. “How do you know these things, demjin?” he growled at Kaz. “Logic.

I doubt I could do it without triggering Black Protocol.” “Good,” said Kaz. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” Jesper held up a hand. “I’m sorry, isn’t Black Protocol the thing we want to avoid at all costs?” “I do seem to remember something about certain doom,” said Nina.

Kaz gazed out at the White Island, head tilted, eyes slightly unfocused. “Scheming face,” Inej murmured. Jesper nodded. “Definitely.”

“Three gates in the ringwall,” Kaz said. “The prison gate is already locked up tight because of Yellow Protocol. The embassy gate is a bottleneck crammed with guests—the Fjerdans aren’t going to get troops through there. Jesper, that just leaves the gate in the drüskelle sector for you and Wylan to handle. You use it to engage Black Protocol, then wreck it. Break it badly enough that any guards who manage to mobilize can’t get out to follow us.” “I’m all for locking the Fjerdans in their own fortress,” said Jesper. “Truly. But how do we get out? Once we trigger Black Protocol, you guys will be trapped on that island, and we’ll be trapped in the outer circle. We have no weapons and no demo materials.” Kaz’s grin was sharp as a razor. “Thank goodness we’re proper thieves. We’re going to do a little shopping—and it’s all going on Fjerda’s tab. Inej,” he said, “let’s start with something shiny.”

Beside the big glass dome, Kaz laid out the details of what he had in mind. If the old plan had been daring, it had at least been built on stealth. The new plan was audacious, maybe even mad. They wouldn’t just be announcing their presence to the Fjerdans, they’d be trumpeting it.

The knowledge that they might never see each other again, that some of them—maybe all of them—might not survive this night hung heavy in the air. A gambler, a convict, a wayward son, a lost Grisha, a Suli girl who had become a killer, a boy from the Barrel who had become something worse.

What bound them together? Greed? Desperation? Was it just the knowledge that if one or all of them disappeared tonight, no one would come looking?

It was Jesper who spoke first. “No mourners,” he said with a grin. “No funerals,” they replied in unison. Even Matthias muttered the words softly.

“If any of you survive, make sure I have an open casket,” Jesper said as he hefted two slender coils of rope over his shoulder and signaled for Wylan to follow him across the roof. “The world deserves a few more moments with this face.”

He pulled the gloves on slowly, and she watched his pale, vulnerable hands disappear beneath the leather. They were trickster hands—long, graceful fingers made for prying open locks, hiding coins, making things vanish.

“When we get back to Ketterdam, I’m taking my share, and I’m leaving the Dregs.” He looked away. “You should. You were always too good for the Barrel.”

She reached up and touched his cheek. She thought he might flinch again, even knock her hand away. In nearly two years of battling side by side with Kaz, of late-night scheming, impossible heists, clandestine errands, and harried meals of fried potatoes and hutspot gobbled down as they rushed from one place to another, this was the first time she had touched him skin to skin, without the barrier of gloves or coat or shirtsleeve. She let her hand cup his cheek. His skin was cool and damp from the rain. He stayed still, but she saw a tremor pass through him, as if he were waging a war with himself.

His eyes were nearly black, the pupils dilated. She could see it took every last bit of his terrible will for him to remain still beneath her touch. And yet, he did not pull away. She knew it was the best he could offer. It was not enough.

She had her aim now, her heart had direction, and though it hurt to know that path led away from him, she could endure it.

But when you laugh, he perks up like a tulip in fresh water.” Nina snorted. “Matthias the tulip.” “The big, brooding, yellow tulip.”

“The wellspring,” mused Kaz, “where all sins are washed clean.” “Or where they drown you and make you confess,” Wylan said. Jesper snorted. “Wylan, your thoughts have taken a very dark turn. I fear the Dregs may be a bad influence.”

But now his thoughts were muddied with these thugs and thieves, with Inej’s courage and Jesper’s daring, and with Nina, always Nina.

“You know what to do,” he said to Jesper and Wylan. “Eleven bells and not before.” “When have I ever been early?” asked Jesper.

“We go from aspirant to novice drüskelle in the ceremony at the sacred ash.” “Where the tree talks to you.” Matthias resisted the urge to shove him into the water.

“All this to be a witchhunter?” Kaz said behind him. “The Dregs need a better initiation.” “This is only one part of Hringkälla.” “Yes, I know, then a tree tells you the secret handshake.”

“I feel sorry for you, Brekker. There is nothing sacred in your life.” There was a long pause, and then Kaz said, “You’re wrong.”

“Some people see a magic trick and say, ‘Impossible!’ They clap their hands, turn over their money, and forget about it ten minutes later. Other people ask how it worked. They go home, get into bed, toss and turn, wondering how it was done. It takes them a good night’s sleep to forget all about it. And then there are the ones who stay awake, running through the trick again and again, looking for that skip in perception, the crack in the illusion that will explain how their eyes got duped; they’re the kind who won’t rest until they’ve mastered that little bit of mystery for themselves. I’m that kind.”

“You love trickery.” “I love puzzles. Trickery is just my native tongue.”

Matthias lowered his weapon. A faint smile touched Kaz’s lips. “I wasn’t sure what you’d do if it came down to this.” “Neither was I,” Matthias admitted. Kaz lifted a brow, and the truth struck Matthias with the force of a blow. “It was a test. You chose not to pick up the rifle.” “I needed to be sure you were really with us. All of us.” “How did you know I wouldn’t shoot?” “Because, Matthias, you stink of decency.” “You’re mad.” “Do you know the secret to gambling, Helvar?” Kaz brought his good foot down on the butt of the fallen soldier’s rifle. The gun flipped up. Kaz had it in his hands and pointed at Matthias in the space of a breath. He’d never been in any danger at all. “Cheat. Now let’s clean up and get those uniforms on. We have a party to go to.” “One day you’ll run out of tricks, demjin.” “You’d better hope it’s not today.”

Wylan gestured to the guards. “Is it safe to leave them, you know—” “Alive? I’m not big on killing unconscious men.” “We could wake them up.”

Six people, but a thousand ways this insane plan could go wrong.

There was a long silence, and then, eyes trained on the notch they’d created in the link, Wylan said, “Just girls?” Jesper restrained a grin. “No. Not just girls.”

“Prepared to hear the sound of certain doom?” he asked. “You’ve never heard my father mad.” “That sense of humor is getting progressively more Barrel appropriate. If we survive, I’ll teach you to swear.

A Fabrikator on parem probably could have turned the chain into a set of steak knives and had time for a cup of coffee. But Jesper was neither of those things, and he’d run out of finesse. He grabbed hold of the chain, hanging from it, using all his weight to try to put pressure on the link. Wylan did the same, and for a moment they hung, pulling on the chain like a couple of crazed squirrels who hadn’t mastered climbing. Any minute now guards would be storming into the courtyard, and they’d have to leave off this insanity to defend themselves. The gate would still be operational. They’d have failed. “Maybe you should try singing at it,” Jesper said hopelessly. And then, with a final shiver of protest, the link snapped. Jesper and Wylan fell to the floor as the chain zipped through their hands, one end vanishing through the slot, the other sending the winch handles spinning.

Heleen got to her feet, whimpering and coughing as onlookers moved to help her. “If she’s here, then Brekker is as well!” she shrieked. At that moment, as if in agreement, the bells of the Black Protocol began to sound, loud and insistent.

Matthias looked back down the hall. “Nina Zenik spent a year in Kerch trying to bargain for my freedom. I’m not sure those are the actions of a monster.”

Nina had wronged him, but she’d done it to protect her people. She’d hurt him, but she’d attempted everything in her power to make things right. She’d shown him in a thousand ways that she was honorable and strong and generous and very human, maybe more vividly human than anyone he’d ever known. And if she was, then Grisha weren’t inherently evil. They were like anyone else—full of the potential to do great good, and also great harm. To ignore that would make Matthias the monster.

“The life you live, the hate you feel—it’s poison. I can drink it no longer.” Matthias locked the cell door and hurried down the passage toward Nina, toward something more.

When Matthias opened the door to Nina’s cell, she hesitated for the briefest moment. She couldn’t help it. As long as she lived, she would never forget Matthias’ face at that window, how cruel he’d seemed, or the doubt that had sprung up in her heart. She felt it again, looking at him standing in the doorway, but when he held his hand out to her, she knew they were done with fear. She ran to him, and he swept her up in his arms.

Then he cupped her face in his hands. “Jer molle pe oonet. Enel mörd je nej afva trohem verret.” Nina swallowed hard. She remembered those words and what they truly meant. I have been made to protect you. Only in death will I be kept from this oath. It was the vow of the drüskelle to Fjerda. And now it was Matthias’ promise to her.

When he was fourteen, Kaz had put together a crew to rob the bank that had helped Hertzoon prey on him and Jordie. His crew got away with fifty thousand kruge, but he’d broken his leg dropping down from the rooftop. The bone didn’t set right, and he’d limped ever after. So he’d found himself a Fabrikator and had his cane made. It became a declaration. There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken. The cane became a part of the myth he built. No one knew who he was. No one knew where he came from. He’d become Kaz Brekker, cripple and confidence man, bastard of the Barrel.

She’d been feeding the crows that congregated on the roof. “You shouldn’t make friends with crows,” he’d told her. “Why not?” she asked. He’d looked up from his desk to answer, but whatever he’d been about to say had vanished on his tongue. The sun was out for once, and Inej had turned her face to it. Her eyes were shut, her oil-black lashes fanned over her cheeks. The harbor wind had lifted her dark hair, and for a moment Kaz was a boy again, sure that there was magic in this world. “Why not?” she’d repeated, eyes still closed. He said the first thing that popped into his head. “They don’t have any manners.” “Neither do you, Kaz.” She’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.

But all he could think of was Inej. She had to live. She had to have made it out of the Ice Court. And if she hadn’t, then he had to live to rescue her. The ache in his lungs was unbearable. He needed to tell her … what? That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near. He needed to thank her for his new hat.

“You won’t shoot me. You need information.” “I can shoot you in the leg,” he sneered, lowering his rifle. Then he crumpled to the ground, a pair of beaten-up shears protruding from his back. The soldier standing behind him gave a cheery wave. “Jesper,” she gasped in relief. “Finally.” “I’m here, too, you know,” said Wylan. The guard with the broken nose moaned from the floor and tried to lift his gun. Inej gave him a good hard kick to the head. He didn’t move again.

“Hold tight!” shouted Jesper and they slammed into the Ice Court’s legendary, impenetrable wall with a jaw-shattering crash. Inej and Wylan flew back against the cockpit. They were through. They rumbled over the road, the smatter and pop of rifle fire fading behind them. Inej heard a chuffing noise. She righted herself and looked up. Wylan was laughing. He’d pushed out of the niche of the dome and was looking back at the Ice Court. When she joined him, she saw the hole in the ringwall—a dark blot in all that white stone, men running through, firing futilely at the tank’s dusty wake. Wylan clutched his middle, still snorting laughter, and pointed downward. Trailing behind them was a banner, caught in the tank’s treads. Despite the smears of mud and gunpowder burns, Inej could still make out the words: STRYMAKT FJERDAN. Fjerdan might.

Matthias flipped him onto his back none too gently and started pressing down on his chest with more force than was strictly necessary. “I. Should. Let. You. Die,” Matthias muttered in time with his compressions.

“Will he live?” Kuwei asked. I don’t know. She pressed her lips to Kaz’s again, timing her breaths with the beats she demanded of his heart. Come on, you rotten Barrel thug. You’ve fought your way out of tougher scrapes.

She felt the shift when Kaz’s heart took over its own rhythm. Then he coughed, chest spasming, water spewing from his mouth. He shoved her off of him, sucking in air. “Get away from me,” he gasped, wiping his gloved hand over his mouth. Kaz’s eyes were unfocused. He seemed to be staring right through her. “Don’t touch me.” “You’re in shock, demjin,” Matthias said. “You almost drowned. You should have drowned.” Kaz coughed again, and his entire body shuddered. “Drowned,” he repeated. Nina nodded slowly. “Ice Court, remember? Impossible heist? Near death? Three million kruge waiting for you in Ketterdam?” Kaz blinked and his eyes cleared. “Four million.” “I thought that might bring you around.”

Kaz pushed to his feet, staggered slightly, drew in another shaky breath. “It’s a symbol, Helvar. If your god is so delicate, maybe you should get a new one. Let’s get out of here.” Nina threw up her hands. “You’re welcome, you ungrateful wretch.” “I’ll thank you when we’re aboard the Ferolind. Move.” He was already dragging himself up the boulders that lined the far side of the gorge. “You can explain why our illustrious Shu scientist looks like one of Wylan’s school pals along the way.” Nina shook her head, caught between annoyance and admiration. Maybe that was what it took to survive in the Barrel. You could never stop. “He’s a friend?” asked Kuwei in skeptical Shu. “On occasion.”

A rumbling began from somewhere in the direction of the Ice Court. “Oh, Saints, please let that be Jesper,” she pleaded as they pulled themselves over the lip of the gorge and looked back at the bridge festooned with ribbons and ash boughs for Hringkälla. “Whatever is coming, it’s big,” said Matthias. “What do we do, Kaz?” “Wait,” he said as the sound grew louder. “How about ‘take cover’?” Nina asked, bouncing nervously from foot to foot. “‘Have heart’? ‘I stashed twenty rifles in this convenient shrubbery’? Give us something.” “How about a few million kruge?” said Kaz. A tank rumbled over the hill, dust and gravel spewing from its treads. Someone was waving to them from its gun turret—no, two someones. Inej and Wylan were yelling and gesturing wildly from behind the dome. Nina let out a victorious whoop as Matthias stared in disbelief. When Nina looked at Kaz, she couldn’t quite believe her eyes. “Saints, Kaz, you actually look happy.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. But there was no mistaking it. Kaz Brekker was grinning like an idiot.

“We have a tank,” marveled Nina. “Kaz, you creepy little genius, the plan worked. You got us a tank.” “They got us a tank.” “We have one,” Matthias said, then pointed at the horde of metal and smoke bearing down on them. “They have a lot more.” “Yeah, but you know what they don’t have?” Kaz asked as Jesper rotated the tank’s giant gun. “A bridge.” A metallic shriek went up from the armored insides of the tank. Then a violent, bone-shaking boom sounded. Nina heard a high whistling as something shot through the air past them and collided with the bridge. The first two trestles exploded into flame, sparks and timber plummeting into the gorge below. The big gun fired again. With a groan, the trestles collapsed completely. If the Fjerdans wanted to cross the gorge, they were going to have to fly. “We have a tank and a moat,” said Nina.

As they roared past the streetlamps, people emerged from their houses to see what was happening. Nina tried to imagine what their wild crew must look like to these Fjerdans. What did they see as they poked their heads out of windows and doorways? A group of hooting kids clinging to a tank painted with the Fjerdan flag and charging along like some deranged float gone astray from its parade: a girl in purple silk and a boy with red-gold curls poking out from behind the guns; four soaked people holding tight to the sides for dear life—a Shu boy in prison clothes, two bedraggled drüskelle, and Nina, a half-naked girl in shreds of teal chiffon shouting, “We have a moat!”