CHAPTER THREE
❛ 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙴𝙴𝚃𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙴𝙻 ❜

THERE ARE FEW THINGS MARYA DISLIKES about her priceless ship, the Repentance— but however small that list may be, Emerens' cabin always manages to snag the number one spot. She despises this place, and with good reason.

         Emerens' cabin reeks of alcohol. It has an ever-present stench of chemicals and blasting powders. And even that wouldn't be too awful, if it weren't for the fact that Marya knows Emerens keeps unlabeled poisons of all kinds next to his alcohol. Every time he reaches to take a drink, he's risking the chance of poisoning himself. In short— she hates it. Although, growing up in Kerch, she supposes gambling must be a second nature to him.

         "This isn't going to work."

Angus' voice hangs in the air like a curse, making the other three people inside the cabin still. The Kaelish Squaller folds his arms over his chest, closely watching as Marya attempts to dye her Second's blond hair with odd chemicals and makeshift pigments.

Marya leans closer to Emerens, fingers stained with colored powders as she attempts to dye his eyebrows. "Ever the optimist, Angus," she sighs, jaw ticking as Emerens shifts his face again.

"I just say it how I see it, Kapitan."

Marya holds the blond's chin between her index and thumb, tilting his head towards the candlelight as she tries to get a better look at her work. Emerens stifles a sound of protest, teeth grinding together as he carefully eyes the Suli girl.

"I can see the change," Fiona tries, standing near Angus.

"Tha e coltach ri oncat fliuch," the Squaller mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. Fiona turns to him with an appalled look.

"He does not," she snaps.

Marya clicks her tongue, tilting Emerens' face. "No, he's right." She shakes her head, leaning back against her seat. "This isn't working." Marya loosely covers the bottom half of her face, gazing at the gray-eyed boy as she thinks. Her fingetips drum against the Emerens' desk as she ultimately draws the inevitable conclusion. "We're gonna have to tailor you."

Emerens scoffs loudly, slumping against his own chair.

         "Ah yes, of course. Tailor me." He spreads his arms. "Which of the dozen Corporalki we have aboard should I go to?" Irony drips bitterly from his lips. "In case it slipped your mind, the closest thing we had to a Tailor is the reason we're off to Ketterdam in the first place."

         Emerens exhales loudly, grumpily. He keeps his jaw closed for a moment as he stares at the dyes and powders lain over his desk. "Go with Neyar instead," he mutters, face contorted as if the words physically hurt to say. Hurt his ego, maybe. The freckled boy vaguely gestures at Angus. "Take this... sad sop if necessary."

Marya doesn't spare a glance in the direction of the two Kaelish crewmen. "Can't— I'm leaving Neyar in charge," she sighs, leaning straightening on the oakwood chair. She runs a hand through her hair exasperatedly. "Like it or not, you're the one who's most familiar with the streets of Ketterdam." Marya carefully watches the boy's tense frame. "Neyar and I could get easily blindsided— especially if Sturmhond comes here often."

Fiona clears her throat awkwardly. "Why can't he just go like that?" she asks, and Marya wonders what Angus and Fiona are even doing here.

Emerens rolls his eyes, offering her a playful look. "'Cause I'm a wanted man, Fiona."

"Wanted by stadwatch and Barrel rats, maybe," Angus retorts.

         "Not tailoring him is a huge risk to take," Marya explains, gnawing at the inside of her cheek. Last thing any of them need is for people to recognize Emerens and put a sizable reward on his head. "And I'm not losing any more members of my crew."

Emerens' stifled fidgeting halts in a second. If Marya didn't know any better, she'd say he looks like he wants to protest— say that Karim technically wasn't a member of the crew. He has half the mind to keep quiet.

Marya hears wood creak behind Emerens' desk, making her pause. "We do have one Heartrender," she hums, ignoring the questioning looks being thrown her way. She clicks her tongue. "Ravi," she calls out. "You can come on out now."

For a moment, she's only met with silence. That is, until a tousled head of curly dark hair carefully pokes from the opposite side of the counter. The young boy shuffles awkwardly, unused to the amount of eyes on him. "...Hello."

Emerens nearly jumps off his chair in protest. "Like hell I'm letting the kid tailor me," he snaps.

Angus narrows his eyes. "Good with kids, are ye?"

Emerens scoffs loudly. "I'm great with kids, sweetheart— that doesn't mean I'm gonna let him alter my face." He turns to the Captain with indignation in his eyes. "What if he blinds me? Or, I don't know, accidentally shuts off my airways?"

Angus snorts. "Then we'd be saving ourselves from your blessed company."

"Watch your mouth," Emerens seethes. "You'd do well remembering who you're talking to."

Before the Squaller can respond and do something stupid, Marya stands up. The last thing she needs is for Angus to snap and say the wrong thing. After all, he might be a gifted Squaller, they're standing in the middle of Emerens' area of expertise. And as much as she'd be curious to see how it plays out, angering an already on-edge Alkemi in a room full of poisons and blasting powders won't do anyone any good.

"Both of you. Out."

Marya turns her back to the door, distantly hearing the two Kaelish siblings shuffling out of the cabin. She exhales, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Then, ever so carefully, she lowers herself to the little boy's level.

"Hi Ravi," she greets with a warm smile. The brown-skinned boy's shy demeanor doesn't seem to be going away any time soon. "I need your help. Do you think you can help me?"

He fidgets with his hands, glancing at the spot Angus and Fiona were standing on a moment ago. He nods.

She tilts her head, the corner of her lips curling into a small smile. "Do you remember watching Karim tailor people?"

         He nods again, hesitantly. Then confidently.

         She gestures at Emerens with a tilt of her head. "Do you think you could give it a shot with him?"

         Those big brown eyes of his stare up at her, pursing his lips. "...I could try."

         Emerens huffs. "He's not even confident he can do it, how can you—" The blond boy lets out a hiss as the silver necklace hanging from his neck tightens like a noose. "Fine! Fine."

         The necklace loosens and returns to its original state as Marya offers Ravi her hand, guiding him towards the chair she was sitting on before. "Come on. I'll help you through it."

         Emerens glares at Marya, jaw clenched tightly. He's on edge— not that it really has anything to do with Ravi's skills to tailor him. Marya would be lying if she said she took pleasure in seeing him like this— in denial of his anxiousness, snapping at every tiny comment made in his general direction. The closer they are getting to Kerch, the more short-tempered he seems to become.

         Marya doesn't understand it— she can't claim she ever will. For her, home used to be endless roads and shows on tiny coastal villages. Home would always be the same— stars above her and family besides her. But not everyone lives like that— with shifting sand underneath their toes. Emerens always talks of Ketterdam like the place where he's meant to be at. Saints, when she mentioned it two days ago, he was thrilled to be visiting.

         She won't ask. That's their one rule aboard the Repentance; it's what they all have in common. Suli, Kerch, Zemeni or Shu— it doesn't matter. It never has. When it comes down to it, they're all runaways. People who survived with the scraps they could manage to snag. People with their lives stolen from them. People with the rug taken from underneath their feet. People who would rather never have to look back.

         It's probably why she never asked for his real name, nor the reason he fled Kerch in the first place.

         "We're only gonna do a few basic things, yeah?" Marya says facing Ravi, though the words are subtly directed at the tense frame across from them. "Change his hair and eye color, hide his freckles, alter the line of his jaw..." her eyes flicker towards Emerens, "nothing too complicated."

         The Captain inhales deeply. Exhales. Despite also being witness to Karim's halfway decent tailoring in the past, she's not a Corporalnik— which means, in short, she has no idea how badly they could fuck this up. And despite how snappy Emerens is being, he did have a point when listing the risks of an inexperienced Heartrender trying their hand at this with no proper guidance.

         Marya's fingers gently card through Ravi's dark hair. "Hand me the coal," she murmurs, to which the boy reaches across the table on the tip of his toes. Once the coal is in her hands, she closes her eyes, willing that familiar spark forth. She shifts her hands over it with careful precision, and soon enough, black ink drips down onto a glass bottle, swirling around with the previously clear liquid.

         Her hands are stained with black remnants of coal. She inhales sharply, handing the young Suli boy a drop of the swirling black liquid. "Let's start with his hair, shall we?"

         Emerens closes his eyes, bracing himself. And despite not being religious, Marya swears she hears him mutter, "Ghezen helpe mij."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

         FOR A CITY IN AN ISLAND NATION, Ketterdam is the farthest thing from a coastal town Marya could ever imagine. The cobbled bridge they walk over reeks of alcohol and urine, but Emerens doesn't seem to notice it, so she doesn't comment on it. He walks a few steps ahead of her in silence, jaw set.

         The waters of the river looks black. Not dark, not bottomless— black. When she mentioned it, Emerens claimed it was because of the dead bodies at the bottom of the canal. She thought it a joke until she noted the lack of mirth in his face. Since then, she's avoided asking questions about the place.

         One thing she does know about the city is that, in Ketterdam, everything is done in grotesque extremes. And while Marya won't pretend to have some moral high ground, she can't help her father's teachings lingering at the back of her mind like some old spiderweb in a dusted corner. They'd only been walking from the harbors for a few minutes before Marya caught sights of the plethora of services the city offers. Taverns, coffee houses, fish parlors— but above all, pleasure houses and gambling dens. That's Ketterdam for you. If she remembers correctly, it only gets worse the closer they come to the Barrel.

         Marya makes an effort to keep up with Emerens' long strides, and avoid getting swept away by the crowds of people leaving and entering East Stave. A glimmer of moonlight catches at the corner of her eye, and she can't help but turn her head.

         Between this bridge and the next one, Marya sees acrobats dangling and swinging in cords over the canal. She narrows her eyes. Their agile bodies are wrapped in nothing but thin garments and glitter that sparkles underneath the moon. If Emerens was being honest, she can't imagine that falling into the waters of the canal would be a pleasant experience. People near the edge of the bridge holler and call lewd names at the acrobats.

         She doesn't let her gaze linger. All in grotesque extremes, she thinks.

         "Stop looking around so much," Emerens reprimands. "You look like a dazzled child."

         Marya bites down her retort. She needs Emerens in a somewhat decent mood. She needs him to be helpful, not spiteful. Control yourself.

         "I should've stuck to playing a Zemeni tourist," she voices, finally catching up to him.

         "Hard to do when you ruined the last Zemeni clothes we had to spare. Slaver blood, remember?"

         She doubts the smell of rotting wood, feces and death washes off easily. "Details," she waves him off. She's grown used to playing the Zemeni girl whenever they leave the Repentance— and despite not being one herself, people from outside Novyi Zem rarely note the difference. She's fairly knowledgeable on Zemeni customs, lived near Weddle for a year. Marya hadn't even realized how accustomed she was to the part until she was thrust onto another role. Her Kerch is passable, she supposes, but not half as good as her Zemeni.

         Now that she's caught up to Emerens, she can see him more clearly underneath the street lights. Despite seeing the results earlier, she can't manage to mask her surprise.

         Little changes go a long way. This time, she feels her eyes lingering on his face before she can help it. The familiarity is still there— the slope of his nose, the tousle of his hair. But a quick glance would be enough to mistake him for someone else. It's a good thing, she tells herself, despite how unnerving it feels. She's never seen him tailored before.

         Ravi did a fairly good job, all things considered. She can see the edges to his tailoring— the unevenness of his brow, the strange juncture between his jaw and neck. Still, it's far better than what she had hoped for. His dirty blond hair has been dyed into a dark, nearly black tone. His clear gray eyes have taken a murky brown tone to them, freckles smoothed out of his face. His cheekbones are more prominent, his jaw sharper.

She won't deny she finds it slightly unsettling.

         "Quick rundown before we get to it," Emerens finally says as they cross the bridge into East Stave, heading towards the Barrel. He turns to look at Marya, a resolute look on his now earth-like eyes. "You can be many things. Swindler, whore, tourist, knife-wielding maniac— I don't care, as long as Grisha is not one of them."

         "Noted."

         "I mean it," he stresses. "If you get yourself in trouble, always reach for your gun. If anyone gets the slightest hint you're Grisha, you're done for." His voice drops an octave. "This isn't Novyi Zem, and it sure as hell isn't Ravka."

         "Clearly."

         "Don't talk to anyone you don't plan on getting information out of— and when you do, be careful. Ketterdam is like a rain bucket with a hole at the bottom. Everything leaks."

         Marya quirks a brow. "Metaphorically and literally, it seems."

He ignores her comment. "Walk like you know where you're headed at all times. Doesn't matter if you turn on the wrong street. Hesitation makes you a pigeon," he emphasizes that last part.

         Marya furrows her brows. "Am I supposed to know what that means?"

         Emerens inhales sharply, muttering something unintelligible. He goes to run a hand through his face, before stopping himself. He doesn't want to test the endurance of Ravi's tailoring— and rightly so. "Don't trust the stadwatch," he continues. "Don't trust anyone that offers you anything. Don't trust places with colorful signs, don't—"

         "So trust no one and nothing at all?"

         "Fast learner, are you?"

The pair take a turn towards a particularly crowded street, before promptly stopping in front of a gaudy establishment. Everything seems to be painted in garish colors. Intentionally, no doubt. Anything to catch the attention of tourists and less than lucky fellows with pockets to be emptied.

Marya halts on the spot.

"Why are we going into a club?" she hisses.

"What better place to gather intel than a place where people go to get drunk and gamble?" Emerens looks down at the Suli girl, new features odd against his face. Like mismatched pieces of a puzzle. "Casinos and alcohol keep people honest and unaware."

She narrows her eyes. "If this is a ploy to play a round of Maker's Spindle—"

"Makker's Wheel."

"You're dead meat," she pokes his chest threateningly.

"Duly noted," he answers, before promptly stopping. "Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing, just..." he squints his newly brown eyes. "I could've sworn this place had a different name before."

"If this is your way of saying you want out, I'm sorry to tell you that it's a little too late for that." Marya follows Emerens' gaze. The sign hangs in front of the club but, much to her dismay, it's written in Kerch. "What does it say?"

Emerens narrows his eyes ever so slightly. "The Kaelish Prince."

She raises a brow. "So, it's undergoing renovations. Is that gonna be an issue?"

"Obviously not," Emerens says, but his eyes linger a moment too long on the name.

The moment they step inside The Kaelish Prince, Marya realizes it was the right call to only bring Emerens with her. The place is crawling with people drinking, playing, laughing and groping— and if that weren't an issue, she already feels dizzy with the bright green lights and even brighter green silks.

         "Come on," he nudges her in the general direction of a playing table. "I'm feeling lucky," Emerens loudly calls out as he approaches the table, an easy grin playing on his lips.

         "Wouldn't bet on it, kid," an older man scowls, clearly having been dealt a bad hand.

         "I've been on a streak all night, old man," he boasts, tossing a bag of coin onto the middle of the table. "Maybe my luck will rub off on you."

         Emerens is handed a handful of cards by the dealer, while Marya lingers close behind. He blends in seamlessly with his surroundings, his erratic behavior from earlier evaporating into the air. He's pretending, of course— but as far as liars go, Emerens is a damn good one. He laughs and calls for a round of drinks for the table, and the people playing with him seem to warm up to him— at least, as amicable as someone can be in a gambling den.

         Marya doesn't try to approach the table. Whatever it is Emerens is now playing, she doubts it's Makker's Wheel. Granted, she doesn't know what it would look like, but she doesn't see a wheel anywhere in the vicinity.

         Marya doesn't know Kerch games— she's never needed to. But standing behind makes her feel like a sitting duck. She takes a long look around, searching for a game that doesn't require expertise but would have enough people that look local playing it.

         As she does a quick scan of the layout of the club, Marya notices the running theme of The Kaelish Prince. The boys and girls working the tables wear glittering green silk and bright red hair— but not like the Kaelish siblings aboard the Repentance. No, the people working inside this gambling den wore hair that looked violently red— not like fire, but more reminiscent to fresh blood. She wouldn't be surprised if the owner of the club had his people tailored to fit the theme of his establishment.

         Maybe she shouldn't go for games— not when she's a sore loser. She spots a bar farther in the back, and following Emerens' previous instructions, she heads towards it without notable hesitation.

         She strides past the tables, past the laughter and cursing, gaze set on the counter lacquered with a golden reflection. The brown and green bottles cast a strange hue over the bar, and despite how dizzying the color is, people don't seem to care. Marya watches men and women sitting near the bar— it's not a lot, but it's enough to get started. That, and drinking means loose lips.

         Marya's hand curls around the banister as she heads up, but not before a different hand snakes around her waist.

"Well hi there, pretty girl," a man with a large mustache croons into her ear, nearly making her recoil.

Marya doesn't attempt to hide her revulsion. "Excuse me," she says, continuing up the stairs and moving sit near the bar.

"I just won big, you know— I got enough money to pay for your time," the man brags, following her like an unwanted insect. He does a repulsively blatant once-over of her, lips twitching into a wide smirk. "Are you one of Heleen's new girls?"

Heleen? "No."

         Either drunk or uncaring, the man ignores her evident revulsion towards him and moves closer to her. Marya clenches and unclenches her jaw. Be civil. Be civil.

         "I'd love me some time with a little lynx like you," he slurs suggestively, gaze dropping from Marya's eyes, to her lips, before sinking lower. His breath stinks of lager. "Let me get you a drink," he proposes, flagging down the bartender before she's even given a chance to respond.

         Marya can feel her temper slipping away from her. "Are you deaf?" she questions, and the man laughs. "I said no."

         He shakes his head dismissively, his hands inching closer to hers. Marya glances at the silver and gold rings on his fingers.

         Granted, Emerens said no powers. And she would use a knife or a gun if she didn't care about making a scene. But maybe she could tighten his precious jewelry enough to cut circulation— maybe cut off a finger while she's at it. Maybe then he would learn to keep his hands to himself.

         "Come on, don't be like that—" He reaches to play with one of her curls, and Marya has half a mind to back away before she can do something she'll regret later. Her body shifts back in disgust, only to collide against something else.

         "Is there a problem here?"

         Not something— someone else.

         A shadow is cast over Marya's frame, and the man's expression sours.

         "No problem," he sneers. "Nothin' that concerns you."

         The bartender slides over the two drinks the man had ordered.

         "How very thoughtful of you to invite us a few drinks," the stranger pipes, and Marya turn s her head slightly to take a glance at him. His hair looks close to Fiona's, a light shade of red. His nose looks like it's been broken more than once. He offers the man a disarming smile. "I'll take it from here."

         "Who the hell are you?" the man snaps.

         Marya knows an out when she sees one. "He's with me," she responds just as easily. She places her ringed hand on the stranger's chest, surprised with how firm it feels under her touch.

         "So?" the man leans closer to Marya, tilting his head as he eyes her once again. "He can share, can't he?"

         Her eye twitches. She's going to use the buttons of his vest to cut holes into his stomach. String his arms with his rings before sawing them off.

         Her jaw tightens. For Saint's sake. Be. Civil.

         The boy with the ruddy hair and the broken nose narrows his eyes, letting out a chuckle. Rather nonchalantly, he adjust his coat with one swift motion. Neither Marya nor the man miss the glint of twin revolvers by his belt.

         "I'm not one for sharing," he drawls. "I'd step away, if I were you."

         The man grinds his teeth together, glaring daggers at the boy. He looks like he's considering throwing a punch at him, weighing whether it'll be worth it. Finally, his survival instinct beats his pride, and he turns away, but not without letting out a string of curses Marya's unfamiliar with.

         Once the man is out of sight, the stranger relaxes his shoulders.

"Are you alright?"

         Only then does Marya allow herself to truly get a better look at the boy. He's tall— taller than most boys from Kerch. His hair is red like a fox's hide, eyes a muddy green.

She meets his gaze evenly. Couldn't help himself, could he? Marya forgets when was the last time she had to play damsel in distress. But this is an opportunity— an opportunity she won't waste.

"Yes," she answers with an exaggerated breath. "Yes, thank you." She licks her lips, gesturing at the seat next to her. "Please."

The boy takes the offer and sidles up next to her. Marya reaches for one of the drinks, considering whether or not it'd be a good idea to drink it. She needs a clear head for this.

         "Do I know you from somewhere?" He asks, head tilted ever-so slightly. A curious glint dances in those eyes of his.

Saints, is this a pick-up line? "I doubt it," Marya sighs, gently circling the rim of her glass with her index finger. "I'm not one to come to place like these."

"Fish out of water, then."

Her lips curve upward, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Spot on." She drags her gaze around the room, mostly to check if Emerens is still at the tables. "Do you come here often?"

"I try not to make it a habit to go around saving damsels in distress," he begins, and she hums in response. "But no— not nearly as much as my other associates." His head turns towards the other tables for a brief moment. "I was told this place was under different management."

His words drag oddly, she realizes, taking note of his slight accent. Deciding to test her luck, she asks, "Daleko ot doma?"

He hides his reaction fairly well, but from this close, Marya doesn't miss the brief surprise in his eyes. Switching from a stunted Kerch to smooth Ravkan, he asks, "You speak Ravkan?"

"It's my native tongue," she half lies. This is good. Two Ravkans meeting in their country means nothing, but two Ravkans meeting in a foreign country, surrounded by foreign customs? There's no better way to build unfounded trust.

He studies her for a moment, "Am I that transparent?"

"You don't stretch your vowels enough," she explains, leaning her head against her palm. Her golden bangles clink against each other as she lets her brown gaze linger on him. "What brings you to the slums of the Barrel?" Marya tilts her head, plan hatching inside her mind. She allows her lips to curl into an easy, disarming smile. "Business or pleasure?"

He raises a brow. "Who says it has to be either one?"

         She lets out a soft, honeyed laugh, allowing herself to inch closer to him, hands nearly brushing.

         "What about you?" he asks. "Business or pleasure?"

She licks her bottom lip, leaning closer to him. "I'm looking for someone."

"Oh?"

"A man."

"Will any man do?"

"I don't think so," she laughs, looking up at him through dark lashes. She guides her hand closer to his, so that they nearly brush against each other. "You may have heard of him before. I've been told he's well-known around these parts," she lowers her voice, as if whispering some scandalous secret. "He's a pirate."

"How very dangerous indeed." A strange glint dances in his muddy green gaze. "Does this gentleman have a name?"

She leans closer to him, fingers trailing soft, meaningless patterns over his palm. "Sturmhond," she says, and she doesn't miss the recognition in his gaze. "Does it ring any bells?"

The corner of his lips twitch. "It sounds familiar enough. What's your business with him?"

"Curious one, aren't you?" she murmurs close to his ear, fingers traveling up his arm. "How do you know I'm meeting him for business and not pleasure?" She leans back ever-so carefully, feeling his gaze studying her. "Maybe I just have a thing for roguish men with large ships and larger pockets."

         He chuckles, shaking his head. "Color me intrigued," he cocks his head to the side. "Did you come to Ketterdam to see him?"

         She gives him a coy smile. "I'm afraid that's between me and him."

         His lips part to add something else, before the sound of crashing and cursing makes both of them raise their heads. Despite the place being a rowdy spot, neither of them miss the sudden yelling coming from the tables.

         Marya watches as a man spills a glass of some amber-colored drink onto another one, and before she can even blink, the latter lunges at him. Her hand stops trailing patterns over the boy's arm with a sudden halt as recognition falls over her like a pile of stones.

His head of brand-new black hair nearly tricks her, before she watches him throw a punch at the other man, a snarl parting his lips. "What was that?" he barks out, loud enough for Marya to hear. "Didn't think so."

Saints damn it, Emerens.

Marya doesn't even remember standing up. She doesn't remember slipping out of the ruddy boy's reach. Hell, she doesn't even remember walking down the sets of stairs and heading towards his table.

"Hey!" She reaches him in the blink of an eye, and only once she's close enough to him does she realize that he's dripping and reeks of ale. "We're not here to cause a scene. Let it go."

         "Like hell I am," he snarls, hair dripping wet with alcohol. She can hear enforcers coming to deal with the brawl, but he barely even turns to face Marya.

         But he does— only for a split second. But that's enough for her to notice.

Dread curls around her gut like a snake. "Emerens," she says, horrified. "Your face."

Marya watches as the changes Ravi had tailored melt off his face like ink. Color seeps from of his hair, freckles returning to view. Emerens reaches up to graze his face, only for his fingers to become stained with brownish tint.

         The gravity of the situation seems to bulldoze into him.

         "Shit."

         "We need to get out of here. Now."

         They're both stumbling out of the club before another second passes. Bodies collide against them as they try to make their way out.

She hears one of the bouncers yell out. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

Marya only spares a single glance back. The bloodied man stumbling up from the floor, three enforcers rushing after them, people staring at them—

...And the boy with the red hair and broken nose gazing at her from across the room. He raises a glass.

         "Coming through!" Emerens calls out as they both leave behind the garish green of The Kaelish Prince.

         "Couldn't help yourself, could you?" She snaps as she follows Emerens, both of them running across the dimly lit streets of the Barrel.

         "He had it coming!"

Another shoulder collides against hers, and not-so far behind them, Marya can hear the protests and yells of the enforcers trailing after them.

         "We need somewhere to hide. Fast." Emerens breathes out as they hurry left.

         "You think?"

Emerens looks behind at the people walking up and down the street. Distantly, they can hear their pursuers closing in. "Come on," he drags her towards an alley.

Emerens' hair is almost completely back to blond, his jaw and chin returning to their regular state. He ducks near a trash can, taking a dirty red lacquered mask from behind it.

         "What is this?"

         "It's a Jackal mask."

         If Marya wasn't so pissed, she'd find it in herself to feel offended. Curse this damned city. "That is not a Jackal mask."

         Emerens huffs out a breath, chest rising and falling erratically. "As much as I would love to hear a sermon on this blatant misconstruction of Suli culture, we're running on a tight schedule here."

He goes to put it on, heading towards the entrance of the alleyway, before quickly backtracking.

"Shit."

"What?"

"They're coming this way." Emerens shuts his eyes, forcing himself to think, think, think. He glances at Marya, and like lightning in a storm, an idea strikes him. The now gray-ish eyed boy draws her closer to the dimly-lit brick wall. He hesitates.

"Don't kill me," he says, footsteps rapidly approaching.

         Marya furrows her brows. "Why would I—"

         Emerens braces himself as he reaches for Marya's leg, pressing her against the wall with his lips on hers. Her eyes widen as the Kerch boy kisses her, the sounds of footsteps suddenly halting. Marya can feel Emerens hold his breath.

"Over there!" One of the enforcers calls out, and the footsteps rapidly recede away from the alleyway.

The second they're in the clear, Emerens pulls back, exhaling a breath. He turns towards the main street, eyes unfocused.

         "I think we lost them—"

         Marya's fist collides against his nose, sending him stumbling backwards. He staggers  back, hand reaching out for support against the opposite wall, cradling his nose.

         He lets out a string of curses. "I think you broke my nose."

         Marya blood boils under her skin. "Touch me like that again and that's not the only thing I'll break," she seethes, wiping her bottom lip with a grossed out look. She glares at her Second, rage slowly simmering as she glances at the empty street. "Quick thinking," she adds lowly, despite herself.

         "Yeah. Thanks," Emerens' voice comes out muffled. Blood drips down his face. "Fuuuck, it's definitely broken."

         "Look on the bright side," Marya starts cynically. "Now you don't need a Tailor to alter your face."

         The sound of footsteps makes them both stiffen— except, this time, they don't come from the streets.

They come from the roofs.

A shadow-like silhouette swings down from the rooftop. Marya goes to reach for her gun, before her eyes meet with the intruder.

"Where is he?"

This night just keeps getting better and better.

         "What are you doing here?" Marya demands. "I thought I told you to stay on the ship. Who's keeping watch?"

         "They'll be fine. I had Darius pay off the dockworkers to turn a blind eye." Neyar's dark hair cascades down her shoulders as she straightens. "Did you really think I'd let you two go on your own?" Her golden gaze finds Emerens' wet, bloody frame. Neyar sniffs. "What happened to his nose?"

"Minor misstep," Emerens groans, holding broken his nose.

         "He kissed me."

         "What is wrong with you?"

         "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he tries, only to be met by two matching glares. "No offense, but the last thing I need is to get a one-way ticket to Hellgate."

         Marya opts to ignore him for the time being. "How long have you been tailing us?"

She would find it disconcerting that she didn't notice her following them if she wasn't busy wiping away her lips.

         "Since you walked into the gambling den," Neyar responds, golden eyes searching the area with a confused look. "Where is he?"

         "Where's who?"

         "Sturmhond," she responds, as if it were obvious.

         "We couldn't find him." She was so close to gathering intel on him. The boy knew something, she's sure of it— and she was so close to dragging it out of him. Her glare meets Emerens like an arrow meets its target. "Someone screwed up."

         Emerens offers a forced, bloodied smile. "Well, I paid for my mistakes, didn't I?"

         "What are you talking about?" Neyar asks, searching Marya's gaze for something she can't seem to locate. "You did find him. Marya, you were talking to him."

Her heart drops to her stomach. No. Because that would mean—

         "What?"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/N.

rip the quality of the gif i guess

okay so!!!! a few scenes may have cause me a little conflict to write (namely emerens kissing marya) but here we are :) emerens is a barrel rat at his core, survival above all so no comment. it's worth mentioning (in case it wasn't clear) that emerens and marya do not have any romantic feelings for each other whatsoever and he will be paying for kissing her because she did not approve of that.

marya..... is not pleased to know she met sturmhond and let him get away. oh well.

also???? i just realized that when nikolai and marya EVENTUALLY get together (and boy we have a LONG way to go bc i am a fan of slowburns) they are literally the song from that one tiktok trend that goes "you with the dark curls, you with the water color eyes" AAAAH

anyways. it's currently 2:28 am and i'm supposed to wake up early tomorrow but this is fine :D (its not) i hope you enjoyed this chapter!!! thoughts, theories? i made sure to hint at a few things that will come later in the future...... 👀

[ Started: Jun 15th, 2023 ]
[ Posted: Jun 19th, 2023 ]

( word count: 6.1k )