CHAPTER FOUR
❛ 𝙷𝙾𝙽𝙾𝚁 𝙰𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚂 ❜

         THIS IS NOT THE FIRST TIME MARYA FINDS herself in an unfamiliar city. Back when she was young, still living with her Amma and Appa, with her aunts and cousins, with her brother and sister— traveling to unfamiliar places was the norm. Her only compass was the crisp scent of ocean winds, the tell-tale sign that they were approaching the coast. Back then, life was four walls of a silk-covered caravan and a moonlit sky.

         That was her future at the time— from town to town, with lively music played by her cousins Nisha and Arjan. Her Amma singing with that beautiful voice of hers. Marya spinning and dancing until the world felt like stumbling off its axis.

         Plans change. And with her future ripped away from her during the dark hours of the night, she found herself taken to a different sort of cities. Gone was the music, the warmth, the energy that radiated from the land they touched.

         At thirteen, she was dragged onto the dead forests of Arkesk. The frozen coasts of Gjela. The unforgiving cold of Elling. By the time she was fourteen, she was hiding underneath a ship, barely surviving off of scraps for three weeks, before finally docking at Belendt. At the time, it was just another city— another foreign place with another tongue she didn't understand.

         Loss, after loss, after loss.

         Marya finds that Ketterdam is one of the cities she detests the most. It makes Fjerda look like a nunnery— because as prudish as Fjerdans may be, the Kerch are on the complete opposite side of the spectrum. Parties, drinking, gambling, escorts, money, corruption. There's not a single thing about this city Marya can bring herself to enjoy.

         She misses her ship. She misses her deck. She misses the waves lulling her to sleep. She misses her cabin, the familiarity of it. Marya hadn't even realized just how attached she had become to the few square feet of space until this moment— and she's only been off the Repentance for two days.

         Much to her dismay, they can't be walking in and out of the Repentance without drawing unwanted suspicion. While Neyar did ensure that a few stadwatch and dockworkers would be bribed to turn the other way, it's too much of a risk. The last thing they need is for people to start asking questions about the pirate-looking ship docked at the harbor.

         And so, Neyar and Marya find themselves staying at some forgotten hotel room they definitely got overcharged for.

         "The roof is leaking," Neyar mentions offhandedly, polishing one of her knives while Marya stares at a shitty map of the city.

Yet another thing Ketterdam has ruined. Rain. Rain is supposed to make the air feel fresh, create a cold that bites at your skin with a revitalizing sensation. The streets of Ketterdam just feel damp, wet like a soggy loaf of bread. Like it's only a matter of time before it grows mold on it and rots.

Marya tenses her jaw. And there's only one person to blame for her being stuck here in the first place.

Sturmhond. Sturmhond is in this wretched city. What does that mean for her?

It means your time is running out, Karim whispers into her ear, and his voice sounds different from last time. Gone is the honey from his tone; this time, venom drips from his words. It means you'll fail us again if you don't pick up your pace.

She can feel his anger, his thirst for vengeance— but that anger, that rage does not belong to Karim. It belongs to her.

Are you gonna fail me too, sora?

No, she's not. Marya feels her hands tense around the edges of the small desk that sits by corners of the room they rented. Rain patters outside, giving her enough white noise to concentrate. Her honey eyes search the map. There's only so many words she can understand— East Stave. West Stave. Little Ravka. Church of... something. She runs a tired hand through her face.

You had him on the palm of your hand. You had him in arms reach, Karim's hollow voice taunts. She can feel him leaning close to her, imagine a snarl carved onto his lips. He knows you're looking for him.

As vindictive as Karim's voice may be, he's not wrong.

You gave yourself away. Karim bites, and Marya finds herself glancing at Neyar. The Shu girl doesn't give any signs of being capable of listening to the Heartrender's voice. What now, sora?

Marya works her ringed fingers along the side of her jaw, thinking. She tries to recall his face. His broken nose. His ruddy hair. His muddy green eyes.

Business associates. He was talking of business associates. What if he's already sold his indentures? That would mean Karim is already be within Ketterdam— just out of her reach.

She needs to act fast.

"Time's ticking," she finally says, turning to her trusted Quartermaster. "Any ideas?"

Neyar pauses for a brief moment. She stifles a grimace. "You're not gonna like them."

Marya exhales. "Tell me."

The girl with the black hair and golden eyes stands up from her spot, approaching the table with one of her blades in hand. "Knowing that Sturmhond is here, and supposing he had the Grisha he stole from Novyi Zem on his ship... well, it's only reasonable to suppose he's planning on selling at least a few of them."

Marya bites the inside of her cheek, having already made the assumption. She points her finger over a long street drawn across the map. "East Stave is a hotspot for indentures— specially new ones."

Neyar stays quiet for a moment. Marya can feel her gaze burning into her. "What?"

"This would be a lot easier if..."

"If what?"

Neyar tenses her jaw, voice reluctant. "If we had Emerens here to help us," she sighs, as if she can't believe what she's saying. "I know things are tense between you two but—"

Marya scoffs. "It's not that." She's not lying, either. She thinks the broken nose she gave him was enough to drive her point home. Still, there's a reason as to why she sent Emerens back on the Repentance. "He's been on edge ever since we arrived. I know he can be a little—"

"Conceited? Arrogant? Vexing?"

The corner of her lip twitches upward. "I was gonna say he can be a little too much." The amusement fades as she runs a hand through her brown curls. "But he's been off his rocker for a while. It was a wrong call getting him off the Repentance in the first place. He's not in the right state of mind— and until he returns to normalcy, he's a liability."

Neyar keeps quiet for a moment, thinking. Marya knows when she's made a mistake— and bringing Emerens with her to find information on Sturmhond was a bad decision to make. She should've known when she first noticed him acting off. Saints, she should've given it more thought— usually, she would have. But when it comes to matters relating to people close to her heart, Marya has a blindspot.

"He should've told us," Neyar mutters bitterly.

"He did tell us." Marya shakes her head, finally turning to watch her Quartermaster. "Wanted man, remember?"

"He blindsided us," she argues. "He underplayed how dire his situation was."

"We don't know how serious it is." Marya watches as the Shu girl's posture seems to tense, fingers tapping against the edge of the map. "Only the enforcers from The Kaelish Prince went after us— and that's 'cause he picked a fight."

"It's not about who was chasing him," she insists, voice sharp like a sword's edge. "It's about how he reacted." Erratic. Panicked. Like he had already been caught and locked away.

Last thing I need is a one-way ticket to Hellgate— that's what he said at the time.

"We've all been in much more drastic situations in the past— he's never acted like this before."

She's not wrong, Marya concedes. "Acted like what?"

"Like a cornered animal."

Neyar's golden eyes meet with the Captain's brown ones. They gaze at each other for a moment, a newfound tension sparking in the room. Rain beats against the roof. "He should've told us."

"We haven't exactly asked."

"Then maybe we should," Neyar insists, hand landing against the table. "He put us all at risk."

She knows. And Saints know how infuriated Marya felt. That steady beat of anger buzzing inside her veins. Despite what she said about Emerens being a liability, she had other interests in sending him back onto the ship. The truth is she needed him to leave— she needed not to see his face until her frustration cooled off. She's the Captain, for Saint's sake— she's supposed to know how to keep her temper in check.

She's had a few hours to reflect on it. To let the anger cool down, her irritation settle to its regular level. She's had her time to think about it, to gather her thoughts, to try and be as impartial as possible.

"What he did before joining us is his business, and his alone," Marya finally responds. Neyar's lips twitch, and she can tell she's about to protest. Marya straightens, meeting her gaze evenly. "I didn't ask him, just like I never asked you."

The Quartermaster stills at that, shoulders bunching together. Marya never asked why she ran away from Shu Han. She never asked about the long white scars that run from the top of her shoulders to her lower back. She never asked about the tiny altar with recurring offerings of aromatic flowers she keeps in her hidden in her cabin.

"You could," Neyar says, voice tight.

"I could," Marya concedes, "but I haven't. Because we choose to look ahead."

The conversation ends at that. We choose to look ahead. Everyone aboard the Repentance has their fair share of skeletons in their closet— some more so than others. And despite her name, Marya is no Saint either. As far as skeletons go, she's well-aware Emerens, Neyar and her have a particularly long list of reasons not to go back to their old lives.

"We need to ask around the pleasure houses of East and West Stave," she continues, fingers trailing along both streets. Neyar inhales sharply, nodding. "Ask for newly brought in Suli boys without bringing unnecessary attention onto us."

"I can try and compile as much intel but..." she trails off. "I'm not familiar with the streets— my contacts here are few. It could take me a while to get used to a new city."

"Do what you can."

Neyar sits on it for a moment. "Let me take three of our guys," she says. "Fiona, Angus and Imani."

"Two," Marya responds. "Fiona and Darius. I don't want any Grisha wandering these streets."

"Fine."

The Shu girl reaches for her knife, tucking by her belt before turning to leave. Outside, the rain gives no sign of giving up. She reaches for the door.

"Neyar," Marya says suddenly, still staring down at the map of Ketterdam. She doesn't look up. "Shadows don't get caught."

Out in the sea, hunting down slaver ship after slaver ship, they learn to avoid saying good luck. Instead, they swear to be shadows— until the time comes for reckoning.

Shadows don't get caught— it means be careful. It means be safe. It means make smart choices.

"Who can see a shadow in the dark?" Neyar responds, and the door clicks shut behind her.

Marya inhales. Exhales. She feels something itch at her gut, something she opts to ignore. She can handle this, she reprimands, calm yourself.

Her golden earrings clink against each other as she leans her head down. Her eyes remain shut as she attempts to settle her mind. No room for mistakes.

You need to focus, Karim urges, his ghost of a voice loud against her ears. What do you know about him?

"I know he's Ravkan," she starts out loud. Marya licks bottom lip, taking a deep breath. Her nails dig into her palms as she leans against the map. "He speaks Kerch fluently enough to have spent time here in the past— but he speaks it too formally."

Go on.

She tries not to get distracted by the sudden smell of jurda and burnt wood that threatens to overtake her senses when he lingers close by.

"He carries two guns. No swords or knives on sight."

And?

Marya wants to beat her head against the wall. Sturmhond was with her— she had him close enough to wrap her hands around his neck until his face turned blue.

"Other associates," she continues, eyes still shut. The golden bangles on her wrists jingle against each other. She tries to recall Sturmhond's face, his voice, his words. "He mentioned other associates that visit gambling dens and pubs."

What else? What else did he tell you?

"I don't know," Marya responds, a sliver of desperation sneaking onto her voice. "I don't know."

Yes you do, Karim presses, his voices growing louder. Think, for Saint's sake, think. What else did he say when you saw him?

"I don't know."

He was sitting across from you. He was letting information slip. Karim's voice overpowers her senses, like a piercing echo at the back of her skull. She clenches her jaw, waves beating against her chest. What else did he say?

He was sitting across from her. He was letting information slip. He said he didn't come here often. He said other associates of his did. He said—

The waves in her lungs ease. Karim's hollow voice grows quiet.

"A different name," Marya's eyes open wide, realization taking root in her words. For the first time, Karim's voice seems satisfied.

'I could've sworn this place had a different name before.'

"Emerens mentioned that," she continues, fingers tapping against the wood decisively. "Sturmhond... he said he thought the place was under different management." Marya runs a hand through her hair, a laugh of disbelief bubbling up her throat. Saints. Saints. "He wanted to meet up with the old owner."

There she is, Karim says proudly, and Marya can hear the grin on his face. There's the Captain I know.

Her heart feels like a canary ready to set flight. She exhales, another laugh escaping her lips. She quietly thanks the Saints looking over her shoulder.

Find the owner, Karim starts.

"...and we find Sturmhond."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

         MARYA WOULD ONLY WAIT UNTIL nighttime to put her plan into motion. The streets of the Barrel seem to flood with people once the sun sets— curious, especially given the amount of crime committed on these cobbled pathways. Marya only understood why once she saw the ocean of people wearing glittering, faux silk costumes and monstrous masks. Women with blue velvet cloaks and a matching veils. Men with orange capes and masks with hooked beaks and bulging eyes. Every once in a while, a woman with shimmering green silk dresses and gilded crown-like masks standing apart from the crowd.

She wishes she could ask Emerens what they mean, exactly— though she can only imagine the symbolism behind them is meaningless compared to the cover they offer for pleasure-seekers wanting to remain anonymous.

A more perfect cover could not have fallen into her lap as easily as this one.

Costumes were sold at virtually every corner of the West Stave. And while Marya had noticed more insulting imitations of Jackal masks, she only clenched her jaw and turned away.

Now, she walks through the streets of the Barrel with a blue silk cape cascading from her shoulders and a matching veil concealing her face. The Lost Bride, she soon learned was the name of her costume.

Marya passes a magician surrounded by more tourists and people in costume. She walks past brothels, taverns, and even a few gambling dens. She crosses the street, passing a wall of wanted posters. Criminals of all sorts, no doubt— though they're not all written in Kerch. In fact, as she walks past it, she even notices a few written in Shu, in Zemeni— even in Fjerdan. Her eyes skim over them— but not before noting that one particular poster seems to be printed over a dozen times, often covering others. She keeps walking.

Marya hasn't gotten time to rest since they docked by the harbors. And while bleariness occasionally sneaks up on her, she's taken preemptive measures. On her brown leather belt, underneath her blue cloak, hangs a tiny blue pouch of dried jurda blossoms. As she was plotting her route, a single jurda flower between her teeth was enough to shake awake her senses.

You haven't slept, Karim reprimands.

She will— but only once she finds Karim. Then, she'll find Sturmhond, gut him and tie him to the mast of her ship. Keep him under the scorching sun with no food and no water until time takes its course. Then she can cast his dead, rotting carcass of a body into open sea and leave him to be eaten by underwater beasts.

So crude, Karim says disapprovingly. What ever happened to mercy?

Mercy, she thinks. Mercy.

         Lately, she finds it that mercy is not something that comes naturally to her. She wonders when that started happening— and when she stopped feeling shame about it.

Maybe Ketterdam is starting to get to her.

You can counsel mercy once you're back safely, she thinks, and Karim's voice seems to settle with that.

The men guarding the doors of The Kaelish Prince are different than the onces from last night. She knows that, of course— she kept watch until they switched shifts.

         Marya makes an effort to look lost, staring up at the club's sign —the sign she can't read— before hesitantly walking up to one of the enforcers. Ball hats on their heads and large tattoos on their necks and arms. Dime Lions, the streets whispered, and Marya had the mind to listen. But the voices of these streets are not voices she knows— which means she needs to get her information from the source.

She makes an effort to show her doubt despite the veil that conceals her features. Marya puts on the best Kerch accent she can manage. "I'm sorry," she begins, the enforcer at the door turning to her with an uninterested look. "I seem to have the wrong establishment."

The man beside him chuckles. "Trust me love, if you've found The Kaelish Prince, then you're in the right place."

She looks up at the sign again, as if double-checking the location. "I was told there was a different club at this address."

The enforcer with the tattoo on his neck shakes his head with a strange smugness to him. "The Crow Club is long gone, darling. History." Crow Club, Marya memorizes the syllables. Crow Club. "Along with the Barrel rats that ran it."

"Do you know where I could find the previous owner?" She tilts her head to the side, attempting to make herself look smaller. "I was told I had to give them a message. It's quite important."

The two bouncers share a look at that. Marya has to stifle any amusement from showing in her body language. Saints, it's like dangling a stack of kruge in their faces.

"Important, is it?" The one closer to her asks, taking a step forward. He looks down at her with narrowed eyes— not suspicion, but a lion about to pounce on its prey.

Dime Lions. Such a cheap name. Predators— real predators don't announce themselves during the hunt.

"You should come with us," the second enforcer says.

Marya takes half a step back, frame wavering. "Actually, I think I'll ask somewhere else—" she starts to turn around, before the bouncer's hand latches onto her wrist, tightly gripping her.

His lips twitch into a sneer. "We weren't asking."

The other one lifts the edge of his coat, showing off the guns holstered on his belt. They're nothing compared to those new Fjerdan machine guns— nothing Marya can't handle. She represses the instinct to raise her hands and bend them into uselessness.

She's pushed through the doors of The Kaelish Prince, earning a few looks from tourists and gamblers. She's kept at an even pace, and the moment she slows down, the man behind her shoves her ahead.

"Keep up," he jeers.

Marya's taken up a curved staircase, before the guard ahead of her leads them down a long corridor. A lavish green carpet paves the way as they pass multiple doors on their way down. Finally, they reach one with a golden handle.

The two men share a look. The one behind her knocks on the door. A voice responds from inside something she's unable to make out.

The door opens with a loud creak, revealing a warm room with a fireplace and a desk at the center of it. And, behind the desk, a man with a graying beard and shark-like eyes. He wears somewhat flashy striped trousers and a maroon paisley vest. Marya can't help the twitch of the corner of her lips. The man of the hour.

Pekka Rollins.

"What business?" He barks out, his Kaelish accent dragging on his words. That explains the name. One of the bouncers shoves her forward, bringing the man's attention to her. His lips twitch into a sneer. "I didn't order no girl."

"She was asking about Brekker," one of them responds, and through her veil Marya can see the way his eyes darken at the name. Brekker. "Says she's got an important message for him."

He does a quick once-over of her. "Does she now?" he asks, a jagged edge to his tone. Rollins gestures at one of the enforcers. The one beside her rips off her veil, revealing her dark eyes and even darker hair. "Out with it girl," he spits, circling his desk with a strange look in his eyes, "it's been a long day and my patience is running thin."

"There's been a misunderstanding," she half-tries. Pekka Rollins' jaw twitches. Without so much as a gesture, the two enforcers whip out their guns with loud clicks.

"Easy," she says, raising her hands in an appeasing gesture. She can't bring herself to look afraid— not when she could redirect those bullets back into their skulls before they could blink.

"What's yer business with Brekker, little lady?" Pekka Rollins asks, Kaelish accent heavy. He raises his chin, lips twisted into a permanent scowl. "I won't ask again."

Marya tilts her head ever-so slightly. "I'm on a job," she drawls, meek demeanor gone in the blink of an eye. Brekker. The corner of her lip curls upward. "Posters say there's a fifty thousand kruge reward for handing him to the stadwatch, no?" She shrugs, hands still raised in front of her. "I just want my fill like everyone else."

"What about the message you had for him?" One of the enforcers snaps, shuffling behind her.

With one swift motion, Marya reaches underneath her blue cloak for a dagger tucked into her belt. She tosses it onto his desk, before it harmlessly clatters against the wood. She feels the guns rising against her again. "A knife to his neck." She watches as Pekka Rollins eyes the dagger, a strange glint dancing in his gaze before turning his focus back to Marya— this time, with a newfound interest. "Short, simple, but it gets the message across, does it not?"

He leans against his desk, looking at her closely. "What makes you think you can catch him?" He spares a brief glance to the men at the door. "He's in the wind. Not even stadwatch can locate him."

It's a test.

Marya shrugs with more confidence than she feels. "Let's just say I'm good at what I do." She allows a grin to weave itself onto her lips. "And with a big enough incentive, well..."

A tense pause settles over Pekka Rollins' office. The rain beats against the streets. The fireplace crackles behind him. Marya doesn't falter, holding his gaze.

"I'll make ye a counter offer," Rollins says suddenly. He takes a long stride towards her, her dagger in his hand. He offers the hilt to her, cold blue eyes alight with a bloody idea. "Eighty thousand kruge for you to bring him to me."

She raises a brow, hand closing around the hilt of her knife. "What's the catch?"

"No catch." The corner of his lips twitch upward. "I wanna be the one to put this Barrel rat down like a dog."

Marya chuckles at that. Crow Club. Brekker. She remembers seeing his name written in several languages across countless wanted posters. Kaz Brekker. The man meant to point her towards Sturmhond.

Find the source.

"Well, then, Mr. Rollins," Marya says, a grin curled onto her lips. She offers her hand, before repeating the same words she's heard Emerens say countless times before.

"The deal is the deal."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

         LOCATING KAZ BREKKER TOOK A WHILE— but, eventually, Marya struck gold. Despite not being completely familiar with the streets of the city, the hours staring at the map of Ketterdam served her well. After that, all she had to do was ask herself— what would she do if she was being chased down by every Barrel boss, gang member and stadwatch official?

The answer was easy enough. Go to the place neither of them set foot on. Despite the slippery rooftops, Marya managed to closely follow members of the stadwatch towards lower districts. She kept her feet light and graceful as a dancer's— and, granted, she's long been out of practice, but there are some thing her bones simply refuse to forget. Eventually, she noted the one area stadwatch seemed to ignore during patrols.

By the time early dawn was approaching, Marya found herself quietly stepping over the roofs of the very bottom of the Barrel. The scraps of the scraps— the worst of the worst. Eventually, the rooftops became factories, factories with too-big chimneys and clouds of smoke, and so Marya was forced to continue on foot.

Marya watches as a few people head towards the factories and the docks, probably to get an early start on the day. The bottom of the Barrel is nothing like the Staves— no pleasure houses, no gambling dens, no polished clubs. A tavern or two here and there, but overall, the place looks dead. Void of any natural life.

The Suli girl looks up at the sky. It's still dark out— a strange tone of gray spread overhead. She finds that it fits Ketterdam just fine. Marya's jaw tenses. She's only got a few hours, maybe less before the cover of the night is taken away— these hours are vital for going undetected.

Kaz Brekker. Once she heard it, it's as if she could see it everywhere she turned. Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel— someone you don't want to make an enemy out of.

I'm not interested in making enemies, Marya thinks despite herself, just finding answers.

Marya's ears perk up at the faint echo of a ateady tapping ahead of her. She slows her pace, focus sharpening like a sword.

A man walks ahead, a dark coat concealing most of his frame. At a distance, she can't make out much of him, other than the source of the rhythmic clicking against the pavement.

She quietly steps closer, feet agile and silent. Marya furrows her brows as the tapping continues. The man turns on a street, and she sees it.

A cane. And not just any cane— a cane with a crow's head on it.

Kaz Brekker.

Another man joins him, one she recognizes from the wanted posters as well. Jesper... something. He's tall and lean with a dark brown hat sitting atop his head. Marya doesn't miss the slight pep in his step. Regardless, she remembers the warning scrawled underneath each wanted poster.

Considered armed and dangerous. Approach with caution.

Not that she's ever been one to heed warnings.

The two turn at an alley, the tapping of Brekker's cane growing louder. Marya follows suit, steps as quiet as she can manage. The lean gunslinger continues walking, before Brekker stops him with his cane.

         Marya halts in his blindspot— just shy of his line of sight.

"I don't appreciate people trying to sneak up on me." His voice is hoarse, like gravel across the pavement. Brekker turns around, dark eyes meeting her silhouette in the shadows.

So much for the element of surprise. Just how long ago did he first notice her tailing him? Only now does Marya note the fact that he's led them down a dark, desolate alley.

Marya steps out of her hiding spot, and the Zemeni boy whips out his pearl-handled revolvers. "What—"

Brekker doesn't even flinch. He only narrows his eyes. "Who are you?"

Marya raises her hands as a show of good faith— not that it really means much in reality. Neither of them shift their stance. The gunslinger glances back at Dirtyhands before turning his attention back onto her. "Relax, Brekker," Marya says, tilting her head slightly. "I might be the one person in this Saints-forsaken city that is not after that bounty on your head."

Brekker doesn't look convinced.

"I'm looking for someone."

       Jesper huffs, lips twitching upward. "Aren't we all?"

"Cute," she says. Marya tries to read the Bastard of the Barrel— understand what he's after, what she can offer. "I could help you."

Kaz Brekker scoffs, lips pulled into a scowl. "I doubt that." He places both his hands over the crow's head. "Even if you could, I don't do deals with people I don't know." He stares her down, and Marya has the distinct feeling she's under scrutiny. "I don't know you. Why should I trust you?"

Marya shrugs her shoulders. "You shouldn't." She slowly reaches for something hanging from her neck, and she hears the sharpshooter click his gun.

"Slowly," Jesper warns.

"You know, a friend of mine told me that nothing is sacred in Kerch except for trade," Marya continues, taking off a golden chain off her neck. "So, I'll make you an offer."

She hangs in front of her face. The necklace itself is a little much for herself— which is why she only brought it as payment. The design itself is simple enough— a golden chain with several small gemstones hanging from it. A few jewels are missing from it— not that it really matters. Marya makes an effort to wave it around. "This, for information."

"Information on who?"

"A pirate. Sturmhond."

Brekker doesn't show any sign of recognizing the name, face hardened. The gunslinger beside him, however, twists his face, straightening.

         So, they do know him.

"I know he met up with you. I know he came in on a ship called the Volkvolny." Marya spins the jewels between her fingers. "Tell me where I can find him, and you can keep this gold necklace. From the early days of the Taban dynasty, if rumors are to be believed."

Jesper furrows his brows. "Where did you get that?"

"Stole it off a slaver's neck." It's a half-truth. She did steal it from a Shu slaver, but she stole it from his cabin when he was already dead. Kaz Brekker narrows his eyes, scowl ever-so present on his features. "So, we got deal?"

He looks at the necklace. He looks back at her.

         "Kaz—" Jesper begins.

         "No deal," Brekker says, sounding uninterested. "If you want to find him, you can find him on your own."

Brekker walks past her with his cane, unafraid of what Marya might do. The walking stick taps against the uneven pavement, and Marya's left to watch as the two men stride past her. She doesn't make an effort to follow them.

         The tapping of his cane becomes a distant echo.

It feels... wrong. Definitely not how she expected this to go. Marya exhales loudly, frustration rolling in her gut. She doesn't need to make any more enemies than necessary but— Saints. Maybe she should follow through with her deal with Pekka Rollins.

"He left," a voice says behind her.

Marya whips around, pistol drawn in her hand. Much to her surprise, she's met with a girl, similar to her in height. Brown eyes, golden skin, long dark hair coiled into a braid.

She didn't even hear her approaching, Marya realizes.

Whoever she is, she's not harmless— she can tell that much. And yet, despite what logic tells her, the familiarity of her gaze makes Marya's posture relax. Instinct trumps logic every time. Old habits die hard, she supposes.

"Pardon?"

"The man you're after," the girl continues, lowering a dark blue scarf covering the bottom half of her face. "Sturmhond."

The name makes Marya's jaw tick. The girl seems to notice— eyes sharp like a hawk's. Marya slowly lowers her gun, noticing the plethora of knives strapped to her chest.

"He left Ketterdam a few hours ago. He's headed to Cofton. Novyi Zem."

Novyi Zem.

Why's he going back? He was there already mere weeks ago. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense— not unless something changed.

Marya sniffs. "Do you know if he was taking any people with him?"

The Suli girl's eyes darken at that. "People?"

Her nails dig against her palm. "Indentures."

"He wasn't here to sell," she responds, shaking her head with a new tightness to her voice. "He was here to gather information. Left as soon as he got it."

Her words stir something inside Marya's chest. He wasn't here to sell— so there's a chance Karim might still be on that ship.

The Captain lowers her head. "Hvala ti," Marya thanks, and the girl's eyes soften ever so slightly.

She nods her head in acknowledgement.

Marya turns to walk past her, head back to the harbors, to the Repentance. She'll find Neyar and the others on her way, she decides. If Sturmhond only just left, there's a chance they can still catch up to him before he reaches land.

"If he is a slaver," the girl says suddenly, voice crisp like an early morning breeze. Marya's brown gaze meets with hers. She raises her chin. "I'll pray you find who he stole from you— and that you make him regret it."

The corner of her lips curve upward. "No need to waste prayers on that," she smiles, a new edge to her voice. "Koj grijezi, kaje se," she says, and turns to go.

A religious saying. He who sins, repents. At least, that's what it meant before. Because near the coasts of West Ravka, it means a different thing.

Retribution is coming.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/N.

surprise shawty 🤠 bet you didn't think we'd be having a marya x inej interaction this soon !! (or maybe you did n you figured it out before i did lmao) i did consider making the top gif one of marya and inej, but i didn't want to spoil the surprise ;) two of my favorite girls omg. god knows they'd be two powerful if they even exchanged names so they didn't.

( as always, you can find the specific translations for certain phrases and words in the comments of that particular section!! )

i'm enjoying writing this fic so much omg shoutout to farrah and her spam of comments every time i update: ily so much u have no idea omg

^ accurate description of me every time u comment omg

also!! this went on a different direction that i originally had in mind? when i was first planning this i envisioned sturmhond and marya officially being on the same ship (probably with alina) around chapter three but yknow..... gotta let marya's hate for him boil a little :)) all because one (1) fjerdan couldn't clarify that sturmhond is in fact not a slaver. big oops on his part huh.

FINALLY!!!! i have to decide whether or not this book will follow more the timeline of seige and storm or the show..... thoughts? this would determine whether or not sturmhond is (temporarily) working for the darkling or whether he's by himself looking for alina bc of his own interests

[ Started: Jun 19th, 2023 ]
[ Posted: Jun 24th, 2023 ]

( word count: 6k )