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“I’m a businessman,” he’d told her. “No more, no less.” “You’re a thief, Kaz.” “Isn’t that what I just said?”
“I like it when men beg,” she said. “But this isn’t the time for it.”
“When everyone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.”
“Greed is your god, Kaz.” He almost laughed at that. “No, Inej. Greed bows to me. It is my servant and my lever.” “And what god do you serve, then?” “Whichever will grant me good fortune.” “I don’t think gods work that way.” “I don’t think I care.”
“I broker information.” “A con artist—” “I create opportunity.” “A bawd and a murderer—” “I don’t run whores, and I kill for a cause.” “And what cause is that?” “Same as yours, merch. Profit.” “How do you get your information, Mister Brekker?” “You might say I’m a lockpick.” “You must be a very gifted one.”
“Please, my darling Inej, treasure of my heart, won’t you do me the honor of acquiring me a new hat?”
Kaz leaned back. “What’s the easiest way to steal a man’s wallet?” “Knife to the throat?” asked Inej. “Gun to the back?” said Jesper. “Poison in his cup?” suggested Nina. “You’re all horrible,” said Matthias.
The heart is an arrow. It demands aim to land true.
Many boys will bring you flowers. But someday you’ll meet a boy who will learn your favorite flower, your favorite song, your favorite sweet. And even if he is too poor to give you any of them, it won’t matter because he will
have taken the time to know you as no one else does. Only that boy earns your heart.
“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.
“That makes you a rotten gambler, Jesper. But an excellent friend.”
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.
We’ll see what this night brings, Matthias thought as he bent to the task. Trickery is not my native tongue, but I may learn to speak it yet.
“The life you live, the hate you feel—it’s poison. I can drink it no longer.”
She’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.
“I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all.”
“Zealot,” she said weakly. “Witch.” “Barbarian.” “Nina,” he whispered, “little red bird. Don’t go.”
