CHAPTER ONE;
kings bleed

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THE VILLAINOUS THIEF OF KETTERDAM, ACE

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WANTED DEAD or ALIVE
by the order of the Merchant Council

100 000 kruge
reward for capture

Ace scowled at the poster—she was worth a hell lot more than that. The reward for her capture was a pitiful sum, hardly worth the paper it was printed on.

A hundred thousand kruge could buy a lot in the Barrel—a place where survival was a constant battle. It could buy some flashy jewelry, or a fancy dress for those with more money than sense. It could even secure a one-person boat in the harbor, fit for someone who valued solitude. The possibilities were many, but not endless. A hundred thousand kruge, couldn't buy the finest jewels and dresses, it couldn't buy a house or even more than a week's worth of gambling in the clubs of the city.

A hundred thousand kruge was a lot of things to a lot of people. For Ace, it was borderline offensive. Especially considering the ugly painting she was rolling up at the moment was worth twenty thousand kruge more than her. It was a common misconception that stealing was an easy way to get rich, but Ace knew better. The road to riches was a treacherous one, and it required a certain level of finesse to navigate—years of practice; thankfully, Ace had been in the business of theft nearly since she was born.

The first poster demanding her capture had appeared on the streets of Ketterdam on her twelfth birthday—it was a rather memorable day.

She had been hitting small targets ever since she decided to stay in Ketterdam—or rather, ever since she knew in her mind the reasons to stay in Ketterdam heavily overweighed those to go back to her little inconspicuous village in the Southern Colonies. A week before her twelfth birthday, was the first time she made a dent in a merchant's wealth. She'd been nagging at them for a while, stealing watches and bejeweled pins. Breaking and entering their empty townhouses and stealing anything she seemed to have worth. And finally, she believed she'd made her presence known enough to finally present herself to the world as the upcoming outlaw in Ketterdam.

Ace had decided to go straight to the source and broke into one of the banks of Ketterdam. It wasn't the biggest one, but it was important enough some of the junior members of the Merchant Council had money being held there.

It took weeks of planning, but Ace was nothing if not meticulous. She had studied the blueprints of the sewers, trained to fit through a tiny vent—which was thankfully possible due to her young age—, and acquired a powder that could knock out the guards. And her escape had been simple; she'd attained a homeless girl's attire with a big tattered wool coat, where she had buried herself in, at the entrance of the bank, her loot, in paper money worth thousands, stashed inside a satchel hidden by the coat, until she was thrown out into the streets again in the morning, an inconvenience for the fine costumers of the bank—and they didn't know just how much.

She remembered her father telling her about his heists as they sat on the edge of a building in the Warehouse District, after another detailed tour of the labyrinthic city. He had taught her to know the streets like the back of her hand, every alleyway, every hidden entrance, and every potential escape route. It was a city of endless possibilities, where anything could be bought or sold, and anyone could become a somebody if they had enough cunning and determination.

"A good thief isn't afraid to get caught," he'd told her. In Ketterdam, that was especially true. If one was afraid of getting caught, they'd never make it as a thief in the city.

Ace had learned that lesson early on. She'd been caught stealing more times than she could count, but every time she was thrown in jail—thankfully not Hellgate—, she managed to escape. They didn't have a record of her, and she hadn't been thrown in a holding cell since a few weeks before her twelfth birthday, though.

She'd left her mark on the city, and the people of Ketterdam knew her name. She knew the risks, but she also knew the rewards. In Ketterdam, the stakes were high, but the payoff could be life-changing. If you were smart and lucky, you could make a fortune. And if you were really good, you could become a legend.

Ace knew she was good. She had to be, to have survived this long in a city like Ketterdam. And she wasn't afraid to get caught. In fact, she welcomed the challenge. Because in Ketterdam, a good thief wasn't afraid to take risks, and sometimes, the biggest risks led to the biggest rewards. Her father had said, a good thief always has an escape plan. Leave your mark when you know they won't catch you.

And she had. One ace of spades. Left behind ever since her heist at the bank. She'd put it where the money she stole once was, and a week later, after losing nearly half a million kruge to a thief, the posters had been drawn, and the mysterious thief Ace was wanted by the Merchant Council—a birthday present from the city of Ketterdam and the government of Kerch.

Back then, they didn't want her dead or alive. They merely wanted her behind bars. Back then the reward for her capture was only ten thousand kruge—which was such a miserable reward, Ace had made it her mission to increase the number.

Safe to say she was doing something wrong if she wasn't worth a million kruge yet.

Ace slipped the DeKapple into the tube she'd brought with her, closing it tightly. She gave the wanted poster on the desk another sly glance before grabbing the frame of the now empty painting and hanging back onto the wallpapered wall. A smug smirk played at the corners of her lips as she slipped a lace-gloved hand into her pocket, withdrawing an ace of spades. With precision, she used the letter opener on the table to frame the card in the center of the frame.

Ace checked the clock on the wall, waiting a few seconds until it struck three bells and the bell at the University of Ketterdam Clocktower chimed. She struck the wall with the letter opener, hanging the card on the wall.

Leaning back, she admired the ruined wallpaper, the lack of the hideous painting, and the card meant to taunt Councilmen Boreg. She threw the tube with the painting over her shoulder, as she heard the pacing steps of the security guard the merchant had hired to guard his office, considering the valuable painting inside and all.

The guard was part of Boreg's security crew surrounding his townhouse at the University District. Five men. One posted outside the office, two at the front gate, another one at the back entrance, and the final one making rounds around the house as the Councilmen slept peacefully with his young brunette wife.

Ace slipped out of the window, looking down at the two guards in their posts, leaning against the wall and not looking up. She gripped the frame of the window with both hands, her feet firmly planted on the ledge. Making sure she was safe, she let go of one hand and took her picks out of her pocket, locking the window once more with a lot of patience and a steady hand.

Ace then turned her attention to Boreg's bedroom balcony, a few windows down. With a skin-tight suit, perfect for her lockpicks and a single ace card, she climbed her way to the balcony, her tube an unfortunate inconvenience that she hoped went unnoticed.

Ace picked the lock of the door of the balcony as silently as possible and slipped into the dark room. The silence was filled by the snores of the wife and Boreg's heavy breathing, which was a clear clue that they were both clueless and fast asleep.

Without wasting time, Ace grabbed the satin robe draped over the chair of the vanity next to the balcony and slipped it on, tying it in the front, the painting in one hand before she lightly walked across the room. Opening the door, Ace slipped into the hall, hearing a mumbled Goodnight Ma'am from the guard outside, who was going up the stairs to make his rounds on the third floor. She nodded, her back turned to him, and walked down the stairs of the house, making her way to where she knew the kitchen was.

Pursing her lips she looked around, her eyes gazing along the wooden utensils until she found the rolling pin hanging on the wall. With a grin on her lips, she snatched it and made her way to the back door, opening it quietly, she found herself overlooking the back alley of the house.

The guard was sitting down on the last step of the stairs to the paved street. Without any hesitation, Ace swung the rolling pin to his head, and with a thud, the man fell unconscious at her feet.

The robe was quickly discarded, thrown into the dirty floor and she fumbled to steal the man's overcoat. Once she had, she slipped it on, along with his bowler hat, and made her way to the street, the painting tucked under the overcoat, Boreg's house still silent.

The journey to the Fifth Harbor from the University District took longer than Ace cared for. She pulled her coat collar up to shield herself from prying eyes and donned her bowler hat, which seemed to make people look away or scurry by. Despite the lengthy trek, she had a task to accomplish: deliver the painting before dawn, then go home and bury herself inside the comfort of her bed, sleeping until noon.

Navigating the maze that was the fifth harbor, Ace found herself at the farthest dock, where a ship with no flag swayed gently on the water. She stood on firm ground, surveying the crew at work while they, in turn, cast furtive glances her way. Their voices were indistinct, muffled by the wind. At last, the ship's captain stepped onto the dock, and his grin widened as he beheld Ace. Golden teeth glinted through his black beard, his hat tucked beneath his arm, revealing the blue-inked tattoos adorning his bald head.

"Still afraid of my ship, are you?" he asked amused and Ace raised an eyebrow at him.

"I was never afraid of your ship, Bluebeard. I'd just rather stay on land. Where it's safe and you can't take me back to the Colonies."

Bluebeard let out a laugh. "Good to see you, mia Bela Miseria. What do you have for me?"

"A DeKapple, the second in the city, as far as I know," said Ace, removing the painting from beneath her coat and handing it to Bluebeard, who didn't bother to inspect it.

"The second? And you only have one?"

Ace scowled and nodded begrudgingly. "I'm not the only good thief in the city. And I only heard about the painting after it had been stolen."

"Fair enough. How much for it?"

"It's worth around one hundred and twenty thousand kruge. Give them eighty thousand and keep the rest. Bargain for more. I don't care. You know the deal."

Bluebeard nodded, "Aye, I know it. Are you sure you don't want to step aboard the Bela Miseria?"

He gestured towards the ship to their side and Ace rolled her eyes—her father had named her after his best friend's pirate vessel. Bela Miseria. The man didn't just want the poetry of her name, the conflict between beauty and misery, he named her after a pirate ship so she really had no choice but to dedicate her life to crime.

"I'd rather head home," said Ace with a shake of her head, "Make sure the money gets to them."

"Mia Bela Miseria, when have I ever let you down?" he asked and Ace didn't answer.

She trusted Bluebeard. To get her money where it needed to go, to put her life in front of his own like a father would a daughter. But he'd failed her once and that had cost her nearly everything. It wasn't exactly his fault, but it had been someone on his crew that had sold her father out to the stadwatch. It had been someone on his crew that made sure Ace knew how far the Merchant Council could go to get rid of an inconvenience.

"You don't need a cut of the money?" asked Bluebeard, breaking the silence that stretched on between them, the tension thick enough to be sliced by a blade. Because Bluebeard also knew that he had failed her once. And once was enough. Ace shook her head. "Well, then, I'll be seeing you, Bela."

With a wink, he replaced his hat and strolled back to the ship, the painting tucked under his arm. A sailor's tune whistled through his teeth.

Ace smiled amused, shaking her head. She slipped back into the harbor's labyrinth, down a narrow street between two buildings, until she arrived at a specific spot where she saw a faint spade traced on a brick on the wall.

She reached her hand to the brick in question and trailed her hand down three more bricks until she felt the loose one. Taking it from the wall, Ace grabbed the piece of paper inside with a small grin before putting the brick back.

She slipped the paper into the pocket of the coat, the smile not leaving her lips before she started making her way home, through the empty streets of the city, dawn almost upon them.

Bluebeard, ever the resourceful pirate, had secured a house in Ace's name near West Stave, allowing her to remain incognito in the bustling city of Ketterdam. Ace wanted to remain as non-existent in Ketterdam as possible, not wanting people to track down Bela Miseria as the thief Ace. Which was why Ketterdam didn't have any records of her presence, not even from her time in prison as a kid—Ella Smith, was the name she'd given them, and Ella Smith then died mysteriously of the flu, never to be seen again.

She opened the door with her picks, because Ace forgot her keys, and walked into her building. It was a small house, with two floors, and enough space for her and her treasures. The house wasn't wide but it was long, allowing for a staircase with a hallway to the side that led to her kitchen and living room. Upstairs, she had her room and bathroom, and not much else.

Most things decorating her place were stolen or bought with stolen money. Once she got upstairs, she dropped the overcoat on an armchair in her room and slipped into the bathroom, drawing herself a bath as she took off her suit, donned her silk robe, and let her hair fall over her shoulders and out of its coiled bun. Running a hand through her hair as the water ran, Ace walked into the bedroom again, grabbing the paper from the pocket of the overcoat and sitting down on her lounge chair, her legs stretched out in front of her.

She unfolded the tightly folded white paper and a smirk grew on her red-painted lips as she read over the words.

in 30 seconds
millions of kings bleed
interested?

Or, as she let her eyes find the keywords and letters on the paper:

in 30 seconds
millions of kings bleed
interested?

Which in other words meant:

Ace, thirty million kruge. Interested? K.B.

Kaz Brekker had a way with words. And thirty million kruge were the most beautiful ones he'd ever written her. The question was:

Was it enough money to finally meet him?

The doorbell rang and Ace frowned, looking up from the paper—she never had visitors. She rose to her feet, stopping the water from running before grabbing the gun from atop her vanity mirror and cocking it back before going down the stairs as the bell rang again.

Opening the door, gun pointed at the midnight mystery visitor, Ace narrowed her eyes at the boy at her doorstep, and it seemed her earlier question had been answered for her.

His hair was slicked back, jet black, just asking to be messed with; he had high cheekbones and she was sure his jawline could cut through glass; in the dead of the night, barely near dawn, his black eyes gazed over her, glinting in curiosity as he studied her face as if trying to memorize it—Ace couldn't blame him, even though her grip on her gun grew steadier at seeing the Devil on her doorstep, she couldn't help but stare at him. His lips pulled into a smirk, and he crossed his arms over his chest, his crow-shaped cane tucked under his arm.

"Drop the gun, Ace. I'm not here to hurt you."

His voice had a rasp to it, it was low and rough and had her doubting his claim to not hurt her. Though she knew he wouldn't just hurt her, not without a reason. And certainly not on a house call—the first one, the first time they'd seen each other, and he could see the hint of surprise on his face as he studied her.

"Who's Ace?" asked Ace, not lowering her gun, and cocking an eyebrow up at the boy who was undoubtedly Kaz Brekker standing at her doorstep.

It was rare a visit from Dirtyhands was a good sign. But Ace never had a visit from him, managing to hide from everyone in Ketterdam in plain sight, so she really couldn't tell whether it was a good or a bad sign. The way he seemed to be holding himself, told her he was telling the truth, but it was an easy feat to go from peaceful to threatening in a second.

"I have to admit, you were hard to find," said Kaz, "For some reason, the Wraith refused to trail you properly."

Ace smiled sweetly, "I'm sorry, but I really have no idea what you're on about. You got the wrong house."

"You're a good liar, I'll give you that."

"How generous," drawled Ace, "but I'm not lying."

"There you go again." Brekker clicked his tongue, looking down at her through pools of alluring darkness that had a shiver run down her spine. Which, as Ace reminded herself she was just wearing a silk robe must've been due to the cold and not the sharpness of his jaw or the rasp of his voice. "How long will you keep up the charade? I have other places to be."

Her jaw clenched and Ace eyed him warily for a moment. She rolled her eyes at herself in her mind, and signed her confession, her secret to the likes of Dirtyhands, as she asked, "How did you find me?"

"Inej found it pertinent to finally tell me where you're hiding," said Kaz, and she saw his lips tug down ever so slightly, deepening his scowl—and she realized with utter satisfaction that the Bastard of the Barrel would've never been able to find her if it wasn't for the Wraith.

It wasn't as if Ace was hiding. But she had a knack for separating her life as a thief, as Ace, and her life as Bela, the girl who sometimes worked in the gambling shops of the city as a dealer or waitress, and sometimes managed to hear about famous paintings hanging on a Councilman's office, ready to be stolen. She never went straight home after a heist. She never went with the same clothes or haircut. The fact that she didn't exist in Ketterdam made it that much easier to blur into the smog-filled streets and remain hidden; the only spotlight being on Ace, the thief and outlaw.

"If Inej told you where I am, then it must be important," said Ace, her voice dripping with sarcasm, the gun in her hand loosening but still quite pointed at the bastard's heart. "You must be desperate, Brekker. One note and a house call within a day?"

"So you got the note," he said, lips tugging into a smirk. "Good. Interested?"

"Mildly," replied Ace, and finally stepped aside and let the Devil into her home. "Keep your dirty hands to yourself, Brekker."

She closed the door behind him, and sashayed her way past him, the wind hitting her bare leg as the robe's slit opened as she walked up the stairs. When she got to her room, Ace sat down on the lounge chair again, legs crossed in front of her, gun hanging from her hand, slightly tilted in Kaz's direction. Dirtyhands leaned the bedpost of her bed, and Ace noticed with a smug smile as his eyes flickered to her bare legs in the smallest of seconds.

"I need you on my crew for the heist." He went straight to the point.

"I don't know what the heist entails."

"We need to get something from the Ice Court."

"Fjerda?"

"Yes."

"As in the impenetrable fortress, the never-been-breached Ice Court, that one?"

"Precisely."

"That's an impossible job, near certain death, terrible odds..." Ace pursed her lips. "I like the odds."

"Are you in—"

"But it's thirty million kruge in total, isn't it?" Ace asked, cutting him off and his silence was all she needed. Ace let out a scoff. "How many people on the crew?"

"With you? Seven."

"Fucking hell, Brekker. You think my life is worth four million?"

"I know it's worth a hundred thousand," he said, eyes cold, yet a glint of mockery escaped them and Ace raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

"Insulting me isn't the way to get me on your crew."

"I just offered you four million kruge. Should we scrape this job we'll be kings and queens, Ace. Kings and queens."

"Kings and Queens wear crowns worth four million kruge, Brekker," she said, a note of amusement in her voice. She stood up, running a hand through her hair as she set her gun down on the top of her liquor cabinet—something she occasionally needed when she locked herself in her room to go over plans for jobs—she reached a bottle and poured two drinks. "But I suppose it's a start."

Kaz took the glass she offered him, his gaze fixed on hers. Ace noted the way he kept his hands well away from hers and the way his eyes scanned her face, searching for any signs of weakness. She smiled wryly, taking a sip of her drink.

"You offered me an impossible heist, with odds clearly not in our favor, where I have to work with a crew, split the profit, and oh, freeze to death in Fjerda," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "But sure, let's be kings and queens."

Ace sipped her drink, the liquid burning down her throat, as she let the prospect of the heist process in her mind. Four million kruge was enough to finally set everything right, it was enough money to send back to the colonies and keep some to do with it what she will. But she couldn't let Kaz Brekker know that, not when there was a chance he could offer her more.

"Oh, I see," said Kaz with a solemn nod and Ace narrowed her eyes at him. "You're doubting you're abilities. After all, it is an impossible heist. You wouldn't want to fail."

"Emotional manipulation, Brekker? Really?" A smirk grew on her lips. "You really are desperate."

"Desperate?" Kaz scoffed, his expression shifting into one of cool indifference. "I don't do desperation, Ace. I do practicality. And practically speaking, you'd be a good addition to the crew. I've told you the prize. Do with that what you will."

Ace swirled her tumbler in her hand and pursed her lips, staring at his face as if it was the biggest puzzle in her life, and well, he was. It might've been the first time they met in person but Kaz and Ace started communicating since she made it a point to get to the prize first and left him notes behind, mocking him for not getting there first.

Puzzles had always been a part of her life. Her father had pushed her to excel in the art of thievery, and every step of her training was designed to prepare her for any challenge. He had made her learn how to solve puzzles, any kind of puzzle, with her hands tied, in pitch darkness, and even when her thirst was at its worst. He wanted her to be a better thief than he was. He called her Ace because she had a talent for crime.

"You need me because I'm your backup plan," she said finally. "Because we're both thieves, and I'm the best in Ketterdam—"

"Hardly—"

"And you need me to point out the flaws in your little plan," Ace continued, ignoring his interruption. "Am I close?"

"I need you because you're a skillful thief and breaking into the Ice Court is impossible," Kaz said. "As simple as that. I need an efficient crew, and you've proven yourself to fit into that category."

"I work alone."

"You can't make it into the Ice Court without a crew." With that, he set his untouched glass down on her vanity and headed for the door.

"I didn't poison the drink, Kaz," said Ace, and Kaz glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at her as if he knew she had only spoken to keep him there as she weighed her options. Ace knew he was right. Breaking into the Ice Court alone was impossible, so either she joined him or she'd have to keep dreaming about four million kruge, instead of having it. But she didn't like the idea of working with anyone else. She didn't trust anyone else. She clenched her jaw and rolled her eyes at him, sighing, "I'll think about your offer."

"Crow Club, tomorrow night, if you're in."

And with that Dirtyhands left her place, leaving behind a trace of danger that came with him knowing where she was, who she was, what she looked like. If Ace knew one thing about Kaz Brekker, was that he held off on secrets until they became useful, and, for the first time in years, he finally had something on her.

Ace poured herself another drink, and shook her head, looking down at the cufflinks in her hand, silver with a crow carved on them—she had swiped them from him when she passed him on her way up the stairs. Ace threw the cufflinks inside a jewelry box and stopped in her step when she saw her gun wasn't on the table next to the drinks anymore.

One thing was for sure, Kaz Brekker was a great thief. And if she was going to trust him in something was that he would manage to pull off the impossible heist and make sure she remained alive by the end. And it would be especially more reliable to trust him if she knew she was part of the planning of the job in the first place.

She couldn't turn the job down, not when so much money was at stake, money she didn't even need to begin with, not when just the thought of the impossible odds and the thrill of it had her lips twitching into a grin. She would join his crew. She would help him break into the Ice Court. And she would come out on top.

Because that was what she did. She was Ace, the best thief in Ketterdam—despite what Kaz thought about that matter. And she always won. Or everything her father had taught her had been a waste of time.

A good thief always gets the prize, her father's voice echoed in her mind. And a selfless person always shares it, her mother's voice followed.

I'm trying, she replied to either or both, but she wasn't sure which. The line between a sin and a good deed blurred in her mind a long time ago.

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author's note:

i know in italian my beautiful misery is mia bella miseria, in which bela is written with two l's. but her name only has one. i'm making the southern colonies of the Grishaverse more or less like south america mixed with mediterranean europe. because i like the vibes.

also, i hope that wasn't too long and it was a good first chapter. ace is a complicated character and i can't wait for you to get to know her. also, book kaz hits different..