Six of Crows (Six of Crows, #1)

by Leigh Bardugo

“Kaz?” called Jesper from inside the tank. “This would be a really good time to say you saw this coming.” Kaz looked out over the sea of soldiers. “I didn’t see this coming.” He shook his head. “You told me one day I’d run out of tricks, Helvar. Looks like you were right.” The words were for Matthias, but his eyes were on Inej. “I’ve had my fill of captivity,” she said. “They won’t take me alive.” “Me neither,” said Wylan. Jesper snorted from inside the tank. “We really need to get him more suitable friends.”

Then her hand shot out once more, and Brum shrieked. He clapped his hands to his head, blood trickling between his fingers. “He’ll live?” Matthias asked. “Yes,” she said as she stepped onto the schooner. “He’ll just be very bald.”

I can hear the change in Kaz’s breathing when he looks at you.” “You … you can?” “It catches every time, like he’s never seen you before.”

“Are you afraid?” “Terrified.” “We’ll all be here with you.” Nina took a wobbly breath and nodded. Inej had made countless alliances in Ketterdam, but few friends. She rested her head against Nina’s shoulder.

“I’m going to hunt slavers.” “Purpose,” he said thoughtfully. “You know you can’t stop them all.” “If I don’t try, I won’t stop any.” “Then I almost pity the slavers,” Kaz said. “They have no idea what’s coming for them.”

“Barrel boys don’t have parents. We’re born in the harbor and crawl out of the canals.”

Inej turned to go. Kaz seized her hand, keeping it on the railing. He didn’t look at her. “Stay,” he said, his voice rough stone. “Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me.” She looked down at his gloved hand clutching hers. Everything in her wanted to say yes, but she would not settle for so little, not after all she’d been through. “What would be the point?” He took a breath. “I want you to stay. I want you to … I want you.” “You want me.” She turned the words over. Gently, she squeezed his hand. “And how will you have me, Kaz?” He looked at her then, eyes fierce, mouth set. It was the face he wore when he was fighting. “How will you have me?” she repeated. “Fully clothed, gloves on, your head turned away so our lips can never touch?” He released her hand, his shoulders bunching, his gaze angry and ashamed as he turned his face to the sea. Maybe it was because his back was to her that she could finally speak the words. “I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all.”

“Stay,” she panted. Tears leaked from her eyes. “Stay till the end.” “And after,” he said. “And always.” “I want to feel safe again. I want to go home to Ravka.” “Then I’ll take you there. We’ll set fire to raisins or whatever you heathens do for fun.” “Zealot,” she said weakly. “Witch.” “Barbarian.” “Nina,” he whispered, “little red bird. Don’t go.”

“All right,” Kaz said. “Let’s go get rich.” “No mourners,” Rotty said, settling down to wait with the longboat. “No funerals,” they replied.

“Nice pin,” Kaz said with a glance at the ruby stuck to Van Eck’s tie. “Not as nice as the other one, though.” Van Eck’s lips pursed slightly. “The other was an heirloom.

As a gambler, I hope you can understand.” But Jesper had never thought of Kaz as a gambler. Gamblers left something to chance.

“Chaos will come, and I will be its master.

They raise you cold in the Barrel.” “Cold and cautious,” said Kaz.

“And how will you take him from me? You are outgunned and surrounded.” “I don’t need to take him from you. You never had him. That’s not Kuwei Yul-Bo.” “A sorry bluff at best.” “I’m not big on bluffing, am I, Inej?” “Not as a rule.” Van Eck’s lip curled. “And why is that?” “Because he’d rather cheat,” said the boy who was not Kuwei Yul-Bo in perfect, unaccented Kerch.

Wylan had been red-faced, barely able to speak the words of his supposed “affliction.” Kaz had only shrugged. Some men were poets. Some were farmers. Some were rich merchers. Wylan could draw a perfect elevation. He’d made a drill that could cut through Grisha glass from parts of a gate and scavenged bits of jewelry. So what if he couldn’t read?

Van Eck appeared to consider this. Then he stepped back. “Guards to me!” he shouted. “Kill everyone but Brekker!” Kaz knew the instant he made his mistake. They’d all known it might come to this. He should have trusted his crew. His eyes should have stayed trained on Van Eck. Instead, in that moment of threat, when he should have thought only of the fight, he looked at Inej. And Van Eck saw it. He blew on his whistle. “Leave the others! Get the money and the girl.” Hold your ground, Kaz’s instincts said. Van Eck has the money. He is the key. Inej can fend for herself. She’s a pawn, not the prize. But he was already turning, already sprinting to get to her as the Grisha attacked.

But only a fool would try to take Inej in close combat. The Tidemakers were fast—vanishing and reappearing, grabbing at her. But she was the Wraith, and her knives found heart, throat, spleen. Blood spilled over the sand as the Tidemakers collapsed in two very solid heaps.

Kaz caught movement from the corner of his eye—a Squaller hurtling toward Inej. “Jesper!” he shouted. Jesper fired, and the Squaller plummeted to the earth.

Jesper was staring at Wylan, his eyes roving over the black hair, the golden eyes. “Why?” he said at last. “Why would you do this?” Wylan shrugged. “We needed leverage.” “That’s Kaz’s voice talking.” “I couldn’t let you all walk into a hostage exchange thinking I was some kind of insurance.” “Nina tailored you?” “The night we left Djerholm.” “That’s why you disappeared during the journey,” said Jesper. “You weren’t helping Matthias care for Nina. You were hiding.” “I didn’t hide.” “You … how many times was it you standing beside me on the deck at night when I thought it was Kuwei?” “Every time.”

“Maybe I liked your stupid face.”

He surveyed what remained of his crew. Rotty still hovered by the wreckage of the longboat. Jesper sat with elbows on knees, head in hands, Wylan beside him wearing the face of a near-stranger; Matthias stood gazing across the water in the direction of Hellgate like a stone sentinel. If Kaz was their leader, then Inej had been their lodestone, pulling them together when they seemed most likely to drift apart.

“Scheming face,” murmured Jesper. “Definitely,” agreed Wylan.

“I’ll need the right crew.” Wylan got to his feet. “For the Wraith.” Jesper followed, still not meeting Kaz’s eyes. “For Inej,” he said quietly. Matthias gave a single sharp nod.

I’m going to get my money, Kaz vowed. And I’m going to get my girl. Inej could never be his, not really, but he would find a way to give her the freedom he’d promised her so long ago. Dirtyhands had come to see the rough work done.

The sharpshooter had run up an astonishing amount of debt at nearly every gambling den on East Stave. His loose talk had put Rollins wise to the knowledge that Brekker was sending a team to Fjerda. A little digging and a lot of bribes had yielded the where and when of their departure—intelligence that had proved faulty. Brekker had been one step ahead of him and the Dime Lions. The little canal rat had managed to make it to the Ice Court after all.

“It’s not enough, you know. Not to go to war with the Merchant Council.” “It is for this crew.” “This crew?” Rollins said with a snort. “I can’t believe you sorry lot were the ones to successfully raid the Ice Court.” “Believe it.”

“Van Eck is going to put you in the ground.” “Others have tried. Somehow I keep coming back from the dead.”

Pekka Rollins couldn’t count the threats he’d heard, the men he’d killed, or the men he’d seen die, but the look in Brekker’s eye still sent a chill slithering up his spine. Some wrathful thing in this boy was begging to get loose, and Rollins didn’t want to be around when it slipped its leash.

Rollins reached for his watch. It had to be about time for the dealers to change shifts, and he liked to supervise them himself. “Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed a second later. “What is it, boss?” Rollins held up his watch chain. A turnip was hanging from the fob where his diamond-studded timepiece should have been. “That little bastard—” Then a thought came to him. He reached for his wallet. It was gone. So was his tie pin, the Kaelish coin pendant he wore for luck, and the gold buckles on his shoes. Rollins wondered if he should check the fillings in his teeth. “He picked your pocket?” Doughty asked incredulously. No one got one over on Pekka Rollins. No one dared. But Brekker had, and Rollins wondered if that was just the beginning. “Doughty,” he said, “I think we’d best say a prayer for Jan Van Eck.”