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❪ ACT ONE: SEVEN DEVILS ❫

chapter two:
BLOODY KNUCKLES

          LEV HAD ONCE heard a heartrender who'd visited Ketterdam during a relief mission describe the city as a person: the narrow canals that snaked between buildings and streets pumped blood and breathed life into the skin of the Financial District, East Stave, the veins keeping the city up and moving; the University, the heart, fed by every ebb and flow of the tide against the grimy stone edges; the harbor, the head, holding everything together.

          The heartrender — whose name Lev had long since forgotten — had explained that there was sickness, too; black and bitter, rotted organs and unhealed wounds seeping from the Barrel and its surrounding land. At the time, Lev had not understood, because you could only nod along and mutter affirmations for so long when someone told you about a place you thought you would never visit. Lev wasn't going to leave the palace — guards never left the royal family's side. And this royal family had barricaded themselves off from the rest of the world, leaving political matters to their general. So, Lev was barricaded too.

          Perhaps that was why the city still surprised her with its capacity to survive, to flourish even when the sickness spread to the heart and head. Fifth Harbor, claimed territory for the Dregs, was no more respectable than Ketterdam University or the Financial District, where merches like Dreesen conducted their business. The Crow Club dealt cards to the same people that frequented dinners with Zemeni ambassadors.

          Lev had never been to the rest of Kerch or seen what more the country had to offer. Kaz, she'd heard from the few Dregs who'd been there to witness his rise to power, had come from the city, born and bred with veins of vitriol that sang for violence the way Lev's did when she called on her flames.

          Jesper had told her he was born in Novyi Zem and moved to Kerch a few years ago, but she'd never asked anything beyond that; he didn't seem inclined to tell her, even if she had. Inej, with her knives and belief in the saints and good heart, came from Ravka, from the deserts and the caravans and the true Suli silks that had always been more beautiful than Tante Heleen's fakes.

          They all knew how that had happened. They could all see the tattoo on her wrist.

          Lev sometimes wondered what they were meant to be if the city really was a person. She didn't think Kaz — or her, Jesper, or Inej for that matter — really contributed to the continuous function of the body; if anything, they damaged it further.

          The night Kaz had found her cornered by a gang of slavers near the docks, food stores depleted and cheeks gaunt and hollow, Lev had realized that Kaz didn't much care for the city's health, only his own. At some point that night, she'd realized the truth — Kaz wasn't a part of the body. He was the sickness infecting it.

          She'd managed to evade two of them, but another pair had arrived to help, and she was trapped inside one of the storage sheds near the docks, the ones that held life jackets and other necessities. There was only one way in and one way out, and she'd be putting herself directly in their line of sight if she left.

          Four sets of footsteps drew dangerously close.

          Then a muted thud hit the wall, sending Lev hunching further, hand extended with a flame already lit in case they came inside. A boy who couldn't have been any older than her ducked his head inside and scanned the room.

          He'd asked her who she was, and for some reason, Lev had told the truth. Maybe it was the adrenaline kicking in, the exhaustion of running through nearly every alleyway in West Stave catching up, but when he'd asked, she'd answered.

          Lev had admitted she needed money to go to Novyi Zem. "I need to stay. At least until I can book safe passage. Do you — do you know anywhere I can get work?"

          "I don't know what you think you're going to find in Ketterdam, but it won't be anything good," he'd warned, voice low and rough. "This is not the place for little Ravkan soldiers who've lost their way."

          Blood stained his white undershirt, but Lev had seen that before. Already lived it. She hated that it didn't bother her anymore.

          She'd looked at his outfit, the cane in his hand, the wind rustling his hair, and decided. This man — this boy — was the virus. This was the disease. This was the hurt.

          "So," the sickness said to the girl. "I'll give you a choice: you can take your chances with those slavers outside, or you can come with me and have the protection of all the best this city has to offer."

          "All the best thieves this city has to offer," Lev corrected, then clamped her mouth shut. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

          Something like a smile twisted his lips. "Sure. Better pick fast, though. I doubt their friends will be pleased to see that you burned down their shop and killed four of their men."

          Lev finally found her voice. "I didn't kill them, you did," she argued weakly, and he laughed again. The sound was like boots on gravel. She wasn't sure what to think of it.

          "Trust me, that won't make much of a difference. Now, are you coming, or should I let myself out?" He started to walk towards the door.

          "I'm coming," Lev had said, loosening her shoulders in preparation as more bodies appeared a few docks down. "I'm — I'm coming with you."

          Lev watched Kaz out of the corner of her eye now. The telltale markings of anticipation had begun to show on his face like a mask sliding into position: the bags hanging down below his eyes, faint but still there, the twitch of his mouth, tightening with annoyance at every dead end, the ticks in his jaw that Lev could tell he was trying not to show.

          Kaz Brekker might be a menace of the worst kind under the roof of the Crow Club, but he'd yet to fully prove it to the rest of the Barrel. Pekka Rollins was the current ruling power, and Lev had never known a Ketterdam that didn't follow that one common rule. Kaz had always been gunning for Pekka's position, though. Ever since Lev had known him, he'd wanted what Pekka had.

          Which, she supposed, was why he'd dragged her, Jesper, and Inej Ghafa all over Ketterdam in an attempt to find a way across the Fold. Figures that he'd bring her with him to do the exact thing she'd dissuaded him from doing.

          The sickness Lev had always seen had long since left this part of the city immobile and unable to fend off the crime that had sunk its teeth around the peoples' necks. Here, deals could be made in dark alleyways and lives could be altered over the course of a single conversation if you were dumb enough to get caught with your guard down.

          Men like Kaz — and Tante Heleen, Lev thought — lured in the weak minds of tourists straight from Ravka, but this was not where they took them. The pigeons went to the top, first: they enjoyed the hot cocoa at the cafes on the university campus, the view of the sunset with the smoke rising in plumes off the harbor.

          They didn't come straight to the Barrel, because only an idiot with a death wish stepped straight off of the boat and marched into the Barrel to blow their wallet. They spent time in civilized company, and the whiplash of the Barrel and its inhabitants intrigued them enough to keep them interested. But that wasn't until they'd downed one too many of the watered whiskey shots sold in East Stave and were hungry for some kind of release.

          She could see those men now — a few of them stumbled along the side of the road, clutching at each other and the nearest bodies for balance, happy smiles plastered across their faces. A few of them turned as Kaz, Inej, Lev, and Jesper made their way down the alley, stopping in front of the building where Inej's contact lived.

          A nearby pigeon reached out a hand — to touch her face, maybe, or slather a kiss on her cheek — and Lev sidestepped, letting him stumble past her. Inej, who was speaking in hushed tones with the guard at the door, didn't look up, but Kaz and Jesper turned to look over their shoulders.

          "H-hey you," the man giggled, voice far too high to be sober. Lev raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, and looked away. "Hey," the pigeon repeated, voice turning petulant. "Girl! I'm talking to you!"

          Lev felt the hand on her shoulder before he spoke and lashed out, wrapping her hand around his wrist and twisting as hard as she could. He cried out, reminiscent of Sem yesterday, bleeding out over her carpet, and Lev smiled a little, savoring the way he gripped her hand in a feeble attempt to move her.

          "I heard you the first time," Lev said coldly, and released him. He tumbled back down the shop steps and hit the cement at the bottom with a dull thud. A little blood mixed with the rain-soaked ground.

          Lev turned back to the others, annoyed to find Jesper fidgeting again. "What? He started it," she muttered, and Jesper raised his hands as if to say, I didn't say anything.

          Kaz just frowned and looked back to where Inej had finished her conversation with the doorman and was now waving them inside.

          Lev tamped down the irritation that flashed through her at the dismissal he could so easily hand out. Not everyone had the luxury of getting to dislike people openly, she thought, and the anger reawoke her senses.

          Inej peered over Lev's shoulder and hid her smile as Kaz passed. When Lev reached her, she whispered a "nice work" under her breath, a whisper in the crowded street. Lev grinned back.

          She'd met Inej Ghafa a few years ago, when Kaz had brought her back from the Menagerie with little flourish and much anticipation. "Meet Inej Ghafa," he'd introduced, and Lev had held out her hand for the tiny girl to shake. She had the look of a Suli acrobat, Lev had thought with wonder. She had seen them perform a few times at the Little Palace, the ones who weren't in open contention with the royal family.

          Inej had looked down at her extended hand and bit her lip, casting a furtive glance Kaz's way. He'd sent a stoic look right back, clearly not interested in comforting his newest recruit.

Lev had pulled her hand back and put up a bright smile, changing her words to Ravkan and not Kerch. "So, you're the new spider? Got any tricks you want to share with me? I could use them."

          Some of the tension left the tiny girl's shoulders. She couldn't have been any older than Lev — her face was much softer, but her eyes had seen too much for Lev to dismiss them — but she seemed out of her depth. Lev couldn't blame her, having come from the Menagerie. Everyone had heard the tales of Tante Heleen's cruelty, of the names she so lovingly gifted to each of the girls who joined the house. If Inej wanted to stay silent, at least for now, it wouldn't be Lev who forced her into talking.

          "Something like that," she'd responded at last, startling Lev from her thoughts. Her voice was melodic and rolling, a thick accent to her broken Kerch. She must not have spent all that much time in the city, if she hadn't fully picked up the language yet.

          Or maybe Heleen forced her to speak Suli while with clients, Lev thought with a nauseated twist of her stomach. The thought made her want to throw up. Or throw something. Or both, possibly.

          "I'm impressed," Lev had whispered in Suli, so low that even Kaz, whose attention had fallen on Jesper, talking to some girl at the bar, couldn't hear. "You must be good, if Kaz trusts you."

          Inej's eyebrows had shot into her hair, but she didn't look displeased. After a moment, a smile curved over her lips, unlike the hesitant one that had been there before. This one was wolfish and full of teeth. The smile of a predator.

          There you are, Lev thought triumphantly.

          "I am," Inej said.

          Lev liked her immediately.

          Inej walked briskly beside her now, outfitted with a dark suit, hair tied back in a tight tail at the base of her neck. She wasn't wearing the headscarf she usually donned when she was going off on a mission, but her whole body looked like a viper poised to strike, a coil ready to spring. She looked like the Wraith she was.

          The doorman that Inej had spoken with wasted no time leading them to the meeting room. Inej took the chair across the desk and Lev, Jesper, and Kaz stood behind her, Jesper's hands fiddling with his revolvers the way they always did when he was anxious.

          Lev was sure he knew what the job was about — no matter how many times Kaz insulted him, he'd always have Jesper at his side — so she could understand why he'd been so jumpy all day. They'd spent the better half of their time scouring Ketterdam's underbelly for any information on crossing the Fold with no luck.

          Their first contact, a peddler who'd boasted to a few unwitting pigeons about crossing the Fold unscathed, had turned out to be a liar looking for quick cash.

          "I was taking kruge from a tourist. A little lie," he'd wheedled. "The Fold keeps those Ravkan bastards and their Grisha attack dogs in check. Can you imagine how dangerous it would be if it weren't there?"

          "How bad would it be if I melted his stupid kruge and then his face?" Lev had wondered, and Jesper dragged her away before the man could faint.

          Their second contact, an ex-soldier from Fjerda at the fighting rings, hadn't been much better.

          "Just go around," he said, like it was obvious.

          Kaz's eyes narrowed. His How Are You This Stupid? face was on full display today. "It stretches all the way north to the Fjerdan border."

          The man looked up from wrapping his hands and gave him a flat look. "Ja. So go to Fjerda. March through the permafrost."

          Lev had a momentary thought of the four of them — a thief, a sharpshooter, a spy, and an Inferni — showing up to Fjerda's borders and wanted to laugh out loud. They'd never make it five steps into the country. Why would they even want to?

          Kaz's hand tightened on his cane. "How long would that take?"

          "From here? Four months. Maybe five."

          Jesper and Lev cast each other knowing looks. "We don't have that kind of time," Kaz said.

          The man stood and threw a punch, as if testing his strength. Seeming satisfied, he shot Kaz a baleful look. "Either you take your time, or you take your chances." Then he walked into the ring without another word.

          "Well," Jesper had said to no one in particular. "That went horribly."

          That was how they'd ended up here — a horribly-decorated merch's house on the outskirts of the Barrel where Inej's contact had claimed she'd smuggled stolen goods over the Fold and survived. Inej hadn't been specific about the details of what, exactly, it was her contact had brought over, but she seemed tense as they waited for the meeting to start.

          Outside, someone said something in Shu and the door swung open. A tall woman in a tasteless, gaudy dress stomped in, pulled out the desk chair, and sat down, angrily lighting her pipe.

          Once she'd exhaled enough smoke to calm herself down, she looked over them with disdain. "Brekker. Brekker's lackeys. What do you want?"

          Lev bristled a little at that middle bit, but Kaz seemed unbothered. Of course he would. He hadn't been referred to as a lackey. That was just Lev, Jesper, and Inej's job.

          "Tell us how to cross the Fold," Kaz ordered.

          "The Fold?" the woman scoffed, disbelief clear in her voice. "If I knew safe passage through that, I'd be wealthier than the whole merchant council."

          Lev couldn't see beyond the back of Inej's head, but she was willing to bet that Inej's brows had just furrowed, a crease rapidly deepening between them. "You told me you brought in girls from Os Alta. The other side."

          "Yeah," her contact snorted, taking another drag from her pipe. "The hard way. Lost a few to those damn volcra, too."

          "So you don't have any other way across," Lev said dubiously.

          The woman looked over at her and sneered. "Only people like Pekka Rollins have the bodies to make the trip. Do I look like Pekka Rollins to you?"

          Kaz nearly broke his cane in half.

༊*·˚

          THEY RETURNED to the Crow Club having exhausted what little leads they'd acquired and in desperate need of a drink. Lev carried the tray over to the waiting group and set the glasses down, careful not to let any splash anywhere. She didn't mind the dirtiness that the Club had accumulated, if only because she'd worked there for so long, but she was in a nice shirt and if it got ruined there would be hell to pay.

          "Here's what I don't get," Jesper said as Lev knocked back her first shot.

          Inej looked up from fiddling with her knife and gave him a knowing look. "We're going to be here all night."

          Jesper looked to Kaz for support, but he was silent — had been since they'd returned — and when Lev flashed a grin, he turned his glare on his drink. "Rude. Why haven't they tried going under it? Just dig a tunnel."

          Lev resisted the urge to smack him. Of course they'd tried that. They'd tried everything. That's what made the Fold such an impossible opponent — unlike the Fjerdans, or the Shu, it was far too difficult to beat because there was no open warfare to initiate. No battle to win. The only battle was the one that raged every time another skiff went in, and those were almost always a losing game.

          Kaz answered for her, breaking his silence. "Tried that. More than a century ago. Something . . ." His eyes flicked to Lev and her jaw clenched. ". . . Heard them digging."

          Lev downed another shot. She better be passed out on the floor of her room by the end of this or she wasn't going to stay sane.

          "Lev," Jesper said suddenly, and she tilted her head towards him. "You worked for them, right? Did they ever find out any, I don't know? Secret passages? Trade secrets?"

          Lev cast him a flat look. "Fahey, if they had, the population would be doubled and their best soldiers would be having another round of drinks on the General's tab."

          "Oh."

          Lev snorted. "Yes, oh. Have you not seen the Fold before?"

          He shrugged. "Nah, just stories."

          "That explains a lot," Lev grumbled.

          Jesper stuck his tongue out at her. "So it was made hundreds of years ago by that crazy Grisha—"

          "The Black Heretic," Inej corrected.

          "Yeah, the one who controls shadow. They've got one in their army now, don't they? General . . . Kirigan?"

          Lev's grip on her glass turned heated and the first sets of strings started to play in her head. She pushed the glass away before she could properly deform it and be forced to pay one of Kaz's ridiculous fees.

          "What's your point?" she asked, trying not to sound annoyed.

          Jesper stared at them like it was obvious. "Well if one of his kind made it, can't he unmake it?"

          Inej stared at him. "Have you ever put out a fire by adding more fire?"

          "Then what's the opposite of this?" he countered.

          Her eyes glittered. "A Sun Summoner."

          "That's a children's tale," Lev interrupted before Inej could say anything else. "They tell them to orphans at the Little Palace to make them believe they're special."

          "What Lev is trying to say is they don't exist," Kaz finished.

          "Don't exist yet," Inej amended.

          "Don't exist, period," Lev said under her breath, but she was pretty sure Kaz was the only one who heard if the huff he let out was any indication. It sort of sounded like he was choking on something. She passed him one of the shot glasses without waiting to see his response.

          Kaz leaned forward beside her. "Dreesen comes into town, doesn't waste a minute. Sends out for a crew to steal something special but doesn't specify what. Well, is it heavy, is it large, is it worth more than a million on the black market? Maybe he doesn't know."

          Inej made a face. "We can let this one go, Kaz."

          Jesper took another sip of his drink. "Sounds like a trap, anyway."

          "A trap would sound easy," Kaz argued. "This is something else."

          Lev winced at the dismissal. He wouldn't give this one up, would he? For as a long as she'd known him, Kaz had always been one thing above all else: calculating. He never made a move without weighing the other end of an action. He never gave something away without knowing what it was he would want from them in return. So why was he so set on this job? What made him so eager to take that merch's money?

          Or who?

          Realization started to uncoil itself in Lev's stomach. She wondered if she'd been right when she'd seen that flicker in his eyes, hours ago. He had a stake in this. There was something he wanted from this job in particular.

          Anger tore through her, hot and fast, but not because of his insistence. No, it was because despite knowing he wanted something out of this for himself, he'd asked her to come. Because he knew she wouldn't say no, even without the mention of her debt.

          Lev knocked the drink back greedily and swallowed, letting it burn her throat. One of these days, she'd wake up and the ugly feeling simmering in her chest would turn to hate, and then maybe she'd finally kill Kaz Brekker.

          "Boss, boss," cut in Big Bolliger, his forehead slick with sweat and exertion. "I intercepted a note from Dreesen."

          Kaz pushed away his drink. "Did you, now?"

          Big Bol nodded, looking proud. "It's for the owner of the Orchid. Says they require the services of a heartrender. Tonight."

          Inej had started to shake her head, but Kaz ignored her. "A heatrender? Why?"

          "Doesn't say. Just that they need it before midnight."

          Lev wanted to say something, to stop him, but the look was already in Kaz's eyes — the look of a man hungry for something just out of reach. The look of a thief right before he swapped the wallet from a man's coat.

          The look of Dirtyhands at work.

          "You don't bring in a heartrender unless you need an answer out of someone who isn't willing to talk," he mused. Jesper pursed his lips. Inej had her eyes closed, head tilted skyward. Lev thought she might leave twin pairs of hand-shaped burn marks on the table when she stood.

          "That's how we get this job before anyone else," Kaz said, and his voice was as close to excitement as Kaz ever got. "Bring Dreesen a heartrender."

          Big Bol clutched the envelope tighter. "Boss . . . just one problem." He hesitated, voice dropping an octave. "Pekka Rollins knows."

          Pekka Rollins.

          It was funny how, despite having lived in the Barrel for five years, one name could still set an entire table on edge, make entire groups of people cast each other worried looks, set someone shaking with irrational fear.

          Pekka Rollins was one of those names. Lev had come to the Barrel with no food or money in her pocket, but she'd learned exactly who he was and what kind of man he was within her first week. By the second, she'd taught herself to pick out his crew from the crowds — they never stood out, but the Kaelish shamrocks flashed in the dark if given light — and by the third, she'd stolen a map of another tourist and shaded his territory, all just to keep him out of her way.

          Of course he'd known about this job.

          Kaz, on the other hand, was still just the Bastard working his way up a hierarchy built on blood, bribes, and bad money. Kaz was still just the boy who had offered Lev a place in his gang when she'd needed it most. Kaz was still just Kaz, even if Dirtyhands sometimes said otherwise. Pekka Rollins was a giant, a monster. An iron wall that no one would ever topple.

          When she'd met him, Lev hadn't known about Kaz's grudge against Pekka. She hadn't yet learned to pick out the singular hatred that smoldered behind his eyes every time the name was mentioned, because she hadn't known there was anything to look for.

          But five years was a long time. Long enough that when one name meant more to someone than any other, you noticed.

          Lev had never asked the real reason behind his loathing for Pekka. Maybe she'd always been a little too afraid of what he'd say or do, because while he was still just the boy who'd helped her, Dirtyhands was not, and Lev knew as much as anyone could the lengths he'd go to prove that.

          But she did know that sometime before they'd met, Pekka had taken something from him. People didn't just wake up one morning and decide to go after the position of the strongest man in a city. Pekka Rollins was leagues above them, but Kaz had been climbing for years like it was easy. Lev had been privy to nearly every step.

          "Who is he?" she'd asked one night, back when she didn't have a tolerance for the watery alcohol the bartender at the Crow Club served and it still loosened her tongue. "You always get so mad any time someone talks about him."

          He'd looked at her, gaze even, and Lev had wondered, for the first time, if he would kill her for speaking out of line.

          It wouldn't be until two years later, when she was sixteen, that he would tell her. By then, she already knew, but hearing it from Kaz was like his importance had tripled.

          "He's a Barrel Boss," Kaz had said simply. "He runs the Dime Lions."

          And what did he do to you? Lev had wanted to ask. Who did he hurt?

          "I know," she'd answered, finally. "I asked Anika."

          Fucking Pekka, Lev cursed silently, but didn't dare say anything. Because now that Kaz knew, he would not stop for anything. Now that Kaz knew, he would want the job.

          One day, Lev reminded herself, that feeling in her chest when she thought of whatever Kaz had lost to Pekka would turn dark, and vengeful, and she'd finally be free. One day, she'd leave a mark he would not be able to forget, and she'd escape Pekka and the Dregs and her debt.

          Today was not that day.

          "Pekka Rollins," Kaz said thoughtfully, to himself more than anyone else. Like he was testing out the way the words sounded in his mouth. Like he was imagining saying them to someone else.

          Pekka Rollins, indeed.

          Lev glared at Kaz as he walked out without another word.

&& AUTHOR'S NOTE.

HEY GUYS WELCOME TO CHAPTER TWO!!!! what are we thinking of the fic so far?? we got to see a bit of lev n kaz's backstory and i also plan to expand on her relationship with the rest of the crows more, so look for that in coming chapters!! i know a lot happened this chapter so we'll hit the beginning of the heist arc next one, which will hopefully come out soon! seeing as writing for this fic is going pretty fast im hoping to have it up within the next two weeks, so look out for that. we will also get to see a bit of lev in action and expansion on her powers which i am VVV excited to share with everyone >:))) n e ways, please comment/vote/share your thoughts, it means a ton to me that everyone has given this fic so much support. levkaz r my babies and im really, really happy that everyone likes them as much as i do <333 ANYWAY SHUTTING UP NOW!!!!