CHAPTER TEN;
lavern the thief

♠

THEY BARELY SPOKE IN THE TWO DAYS OF TRAVEL it took to reach the cliffs that overlooked Djerholm. And by they, Ace meant her and Kaz. They barely spoke to each other yet it was rare the moment when they were more than a couple feet away from each other. The two of them went along with pretending they were fine, hiding their wounds and bruises from the rest of the crew, from each other. But she barely left the line of closeness he allowed, and his eyes always found hers at some point. They barely spoke, but they didn't need to.

Thankfully, the weather warmed and the ground thawed as they trekked south and towards the coast. She still couldn't see the spring Matthias insisted was upon them, but it was nicer than the vicious bite of the north.

Like Ketterdam, Djerholm's harbor was crowded with ships. Yet unlike Ketterdam, Djerholm's tidy streets marched to the water in an orderly fashion, and the houses were painted such colors—red, blue, yellow, pink—as if in defiance of the wild white land and the long winters this far north. Even the warehouses by the quay were wrought in cheerful colors. Ace frowned. It was too much color.

In the Southern Colonies, the color came from nature not the houses. Buildings were usually white to reflect the sun, the tiles on the roof were brick-colored and apart from that nothing was too vibrant—the green of the forestry, the flowers that grew, and the rumbling ocean, made up for it. And in Ketterdam the smog-filled streets, dark alleys, and crooked buildings would look foolish with color.

Ace's eyes fell onto the harbor and she couldn't help but wonder if the Ferolind already waiting at the docks. She could only trust it would be waiting for them tomorrow night when they would stroll down the Djerholm quay with Bo Yul-Bayur in tow. She could only trust that they'd be able to set sail and she would never have to set foot in Fjerda again—the memories would be enough.

Her eyes trailed away from the harbor. The Ice Court stood like a great white sentinel on a massive cliff overlooking the harbor. Matthias had called the cliffs unscalable, and Ace agreed, not even the Wraith would manage the climb, at least not as flawlessly as she did everything else—they looked mighty and icy, and entirely unwelcoming.

"Cannon," said Jesper.

Ace spotted the big guns pointed at the bay from above just as Kaz did. "I've broken into banks, warehouses, mansions, museums, vaults, a rare book library, and once the bedchamber of a visiting Kaelish diplomat whose wife had a passion for emeralds," said Kaz. "But I've never had a cannon shot at me."

Ace's brows raise a fraction; she scoffed. "Quit bragging, Brekker. We both know those emeralds are laying in a jewelry box in my bedroom."

"I gave you those emeralds—"

"Gave me?! I stole those and waved at you on my way out, Kaz—"

"I was being lenient. Letting you have a win—"

"You're a delusional bastard—"

Jesper cleared his throat loudly, as he stirred them away from what could've been an endless argument. "Those guns are there to stop invading armadas," Jesper said confidently, returning to the topic of the deadly cannons. "Good luck hitting a skinny little schooner cutting through the waves bound for fortune and glory."

"I'll quote you on that when a cannonball lands in my lap," said Nina.

They slipped easily into the traffic of travelers and traders where the cliff road met the northern road that led to Upper Djerholm. The upper town was a rambling extension of the city below, a sprawling collection of shops, markets, and inns that served the guards and staff who worked at the Ice Court as well as visitors. Luckily, the crowds were heavy and motley enough that one more group of foreigners could go unnoticed. Amongst a sea of tall blondes, most of their group, six out of seven, did not fit the description, so tourists and foreigners helped them blend in.

Signs of Hringkälla celebrations were everywhere. The shops had created elaborate displays of pepper cookies baked in the shape of wolves, some hanging like ornaments from large, twisting trees, and the bridge spanning the river gorge had been festooned with ribbons in Fjerdan silver. Ace had to give it to the Fjerdans, their love for their culture produced lovely souvenirs.

"What are they?" Wylan asked as he looked down at some wreaths made of the same twisting branches and silver ribbons that lay in the front of a peddler's cart.

"Ash trees," replied Matthias. "Sacred to Djel."

"There's supposed to be one in the middle of the White Island," said Nina, ignoring the warning look Blondie cast her. "It's where the drüskelle gather for the listening ceremony."

"Excuse me?" Ace's head snapped to Matthias, a scowl painted on her features, her eyes narrowed. "Do you happen to suffer from memory loss? Perhaps, a lack of comprehension skills? We need every detail. Why didn't you mention it?"

"The ash is sustained by the spirit of Djel," said Matthias. "It's where we may best hear his voice."

Kaz tapped his cane on the ground his eyes flickering, "Not what she asked. Why isn't it on our plans?"

"Because it's the holiest place in all of Fjerda and not essential to our mission."

"You don't get to decide what's essential, Blondie." Ace's jaw clenched and Matthias glared.

Kaz stepped forward. "Anything else you decided to leave out in your great wisdom?"

"The Ice Court is a vast structure," Matthias said, turning away. "I can't label every crack and corner."

"Then let's hope nothing is lurking in those corners," Kaz replied.

They kept walking and all the way, Ace's mind raced with thoughts and plans, possible scenarios of the heist, and how she could not end up dead or locked in Fjerda.

Her hands twitched, and she grabbed the deck of cards, shuffling as they walked through the mess that was Upper Djerholm—it lacked a real center, a mere cluster of taverns and inns and market stalls on the base of the hill towards the Ice Court. Ace needed a distraction, her mind was going too fast the closer they got to the job, she needed to be in action, the waiting was killing her.

Her mind flickered over to the letter her mother had sent her. Ace hadn't opened it yet. She couldn't bring herself to open it, really. Whatever it was, was important, it was rare her mother wrote to her—mostly her messages were sent through Bluebeard—so, Ace decided it was best to open it after the heist, so as to not become a liability with the possible distraction of the letter. At the moment, she'd give anything to be reading it now, her brain reeling from the different ways to solve the puzzle that was their heist.

Kaz steered them seemingly aimlessly through the streets until he found a run-down tavern called the Gestinge. He was a leader, there was no denying it, even in a new environment but Ace stopped in her track at the door, her nose scrunched up—even from outside, the whole place stank of garlic and fish.

"Here?" Jesper complained, peering into the dank main room, and then turned to Ace with a grimace, mirroring her own.

Kaz just gave a significant glance upwards and said, "Terrace."

"There must be other terraces in Djerholm," muttered Ace.

"This is the one," replied Kaz.

"How much will you give me for going in there?" asked Ace, looking disdainfully at the building.

"I, for one, think he should give you a kiss," Jesper piped in and the look Kaz gave him could've put anyone six feet under.

Ace pursed her lips, and then an idea popped into her head. "I want those poisoned sweets from the Lid," Ace decided, "They were delicious and I've never found them again."

Kaz rolled his eyes. "When we're back in Ketterdam you can have the whole store."

"I just need the sweets. " Ace waved him off, her smile smug. Kaz might've been a leader, but even he had to fall prey to someone, and it seemed she was that someone—at least when it came to sweets and terraces.

"What's a gestinge?" Inej asked as they walked in.

"It means 'paradise'," said Matthias. Even he looked skeptical.

Nina helped secure them a table on the tavern's rooftop terrace. It was mostly empty, and the weather was still too cold to attract many patrons. Or maybe they'd been scared away by the food—herring in rancid oil, stale black bread, and some kind of butter that looked distinctly mossy. Ace never missed the food in the Colonies more—food in Ketterdam already left some room for improvement, but this could barely be qualified as food. By the look on Matthias' face, it wasn't ordinary Fjerdan food either.

Jesper looked down at his plate and moaned. "Kaz, if you want me dead, I prefer a bullet to poison."

"Poison looks better," said Ace. When she was training her immunity to poison, her father used to give her a little pastry with such little amount of poison that it was far from deadly, and after the first few weeks, she didn't even get sick anymore. The pastries were divine, sugary, and went formidable with some fruits, and when they were eaten by the sea.

Nina scrunched her nose. "When I don't want to eat, you know there's a problem."

"We're here for the view, not the food."

From their table, they had a clear, if distant, view of the Ice Court's outer gate and the first guardhouse. It was built into a white arch formed by two monumental stone wolves on their hind legs and spanned the road leading up the hill to the Court—very majestic, and not at all pretentious. Ace and the others watched the traffic come and go through the gates as they picked at their lunches, waiting for a sign of the prison wagons. Ace refused to touch the food—she could go long without it, especially when the soup looked about to clot.

There was no coffee to be had so they ordered tea and little glasses of clear brännvin that burned going down but helped to keep them warm as a wind picked up, stirring the silvery ribbons tied to the ash boughs lining the street below.

"We're going to start looking conspicuous soon," said Nina. "This isn't the kind of place people like to linger."

I wonder why, Ace thought to herself looking around. How they stayed open was a marvel.

"Maybe they don't have anyone to take to jail," suggested Wylan.

"There's always someone to take to jail," Kaz replied, then bobbed his chin towards the road. "Look."

A boxy wagon was rolling to a stop at the guardhouse. Its roof and high sides were covered in black canvas, and it was drawn by four stout horses. The door at the back was heavy iron, bolted and padlocked. Ace smirked. Her father's puzzles were far more complicated than the bolts and padlock looked.

Kaz reached into his coat pocket. "Here," he said and handed Jesper a slender book with an elaborate cover. Ace's eyebrows shot to her forehead and she choked on air. Because she knew exactly what that book was, and when Kaz's eyes met hers, she knew he had figured it out too.

"Are we going to read to each other?" asked Jesper.

"Just flip it open to the back," said Kaz, not taking his eyes from her.

Jesper opened the book and peered at the last page, puzzled. "So?"

"Hold it up so we don't have to look at your ugly face."

"My face has character. Besides—oh!"

"An excellent read, isn't it?" Kaz's lips quirked up, looking back at Jesper and Ace narrowed her eyes at the side of his head.

"Who knew I had a taste for literature?"

Jesper passed it to Wylan, who took it tentatively. "What does it say?"

"Just look," said Jesper.

Wylan frowned and held it up, then he grinned. "Where did you get this?"

Matthias had his turn and released a surprised grunt.

"It's called a backless book," said Kaz as Inej passed Ace the book. She looked at it for half a second and passed it back to Kaz. The pages were full of ordinary sermons, but the ornate back cover hid two lenses that acted as a long glass. She'd seen various versions of the same device—mostly used for cheating at parlors or inconspicuously memorizing codes for safes at banks (or anything that required subtlety really). It had shown up amongst the world a couple of decades ago, at least in that form, and it was created by—"Lavern's backless book," added Kaz, his eyes meeting hers again. Ace smiled through gritted teeth.

"Lavern?" Wylan's eyebrows shot to his forehead, he looked at the book like he was about to be sick. "The murderer?"

"The thief," corrected Jesper and Wylan shook his head, face paling slightly and Ace's brows furrowed because one thing she was sure of was that her father was no murderer—not professionally at least.

Wylan grimaced, looking anguished as he spoke. "He killed... He—"

"He was a thief, Wylan," said Jesper, his grin broad, not picking up on the fact that Wylan seemed shaken. "You know? He stole that portrait from the Lantsovs, and oh! The ancient tapestry of an old Zemeni Emperor—that must've sold for a fortune—"

"He's a murderer," Wylan said firmly.

Ace shared looked around the table, trying to understand what was happening, and when her eyes met Nina's, the girl looked as confused as Ace. The Heartrender turned to Wylan, "Lavern was a thief... Who did he kill?"

Wylan swallowed, looking down at his tea, "My mother," he whispered.

"Excuse me?" Ace spit out.

He must've not caught her tone. Wylan nodded. "I guess it's not a known fact... My father used to say it would be a shame for everyone to know my mother was killed by a mere thief—"

Ace shot from the table, intent on leaving, needing the fresh air (even though the terrace was entirely outside), but Kaz tugged on her sleeve and dragged her back to her seat next to him. "We're not here to discuss thieves or murderers," he said to the table, his tone harsh, and his hand didn't let go of her sleeve until Ace took a deep breath and nodded.

"I was just going to get water, no need to get clingy, Brekker," she said calmly and Kaz's fingers relaxed on her sleeve, his hand hovering above her arm for a second before he took it back.

Inej cleared her throat and peered through the backless book—Ace had one in her house, her father had made it for her but instead of sermons the book was filled with card tricks. He was far from being a mere thief, and far from being a murderer. Ace knew for sure he'd never laid a finger on Van Eck's dead wife. She looked at Wylan. His eyes remained fixed on his tea—whatever his father was hiding from him was the reason he thought her father killed his mother; Ace wanted to punch Jan Van Eck.

"Four guards," Inej noted as she looked through the book. Just as Matthias had said.

"They're the first line of defense," said Matthias. "They'll check paperwork and confirm identities, flag anyone they think requires closer scrutiny. By this time tomorrow, the line going through the gates will be full of Hringkälla guests and backed up all the way to the gorge."

"By then we'll be inside," Kaz said.

"How often do the wagons run?" asked Jesper.

"It depends," said Matthias. "Usually in the morning. Sometimes in the afternoon. But I can't imagine they'll want prisoners arriving at the same time as guests."

"Then we have to be on the early wagon," Kaz said.

"Inej lifted the backless book again and hissed. "Saints."

She passed the book to Ace, and the latter reluctantly took it, and lifted it to her face, aiming it at the gate then the wagon. The wagon driver wore a grey uniform similar to the ones worn by the guards at the gate but absent any sash or decoration. The iron door was unlocked and Ace realized why Inej had cursed. Ten prisoners were seated along benches that ran the wagon's length, their wrists and feet shackled, black sacks over their heads. She passed the book around. She and Kaz seemed to be the only ones unfazed. It seemed hard, but it was a simple trick to pull off.

"Hooded, chained, and shackled?" said Jesper. "You're sure we can't go in as entertainers? I hear Wylan really kills it on the flute."

"We go in as we are," said Kaz, "as criminals."

Nina peered through the lenses of the book. "They're doing a head count."

Matthias nodded. "If the procedure hasn't changed, they'll do a quick head count at the first checkpoint, then a second count at the next checkpoint, where they'll search the interior and undercarriage for any contraband."

Nina passed the book to Inej. "The driver is going to notice six more prisoners when he opens the door."

Ace rolled her eyes. She exchanged a look with Kaz, shaking her head, "How did we not think of that?" she asked sarcastically and his lips twitched.

He waved her off. "Don't blame Nina, it's obvious she's never picked a pocket."

"And I can tell you've never given enough thought to your haircut," snapped Nina. "And stop being so moody, Bela."

Ace shot her a sarcastic smile—she really wasn't in the best mood—as Kaz frowned and ran a self-conscious hand along the side of his head. "There's nothing wrong with my haircut that can't be fixed by four million kruge."

Jesper cocked his head to one side, grey eyes alight. "We're going to use a bunk biscuit, aren't we?"

"Exactly."

"I don't know that word, bunkbiscuit," said Matthias, running the syllables together.

Nina gave Kaz and Ace a sour look. "Neither do I. We're not as streetwise as them."

"Nor will you ever be," Kaz said easily. "Remember our friend Mark?" Wylan winced and for the first time since they'd set down, Ace let out a small laugh. "Let's say the mark is a tourist walking through the Barrel. He's heard it's a good place to get rolled, so he keeps patting his wallet, making sure it's there, congratulating himself on just how alert and cautious he's being. Of course every time he pats his back pocket or the front of his coat, what is he doing? He's telling every thief on the Stave exactly where he keeps his scrub."

"Saints," grumbled Nina. "I've probably done that."

"Everyone does," said Inej.

Jesper lifted a brow. "Not everyone."

"That's only because you never have anything in your wallet," Nina shot back.

"Mean."

"Factual."

"Facts are for the unimaginative," Jesper said with a dismissive wave.

"Now, a bad thief," continued Kaz, "one who doesn't know his way around, just makes the grab and tries to run for it. Good way to get pinched by the stadwatch. But a proper thief—like—"

"—me," interjected Ace before he could brag about his average thieving skills.

Kaz rolled his eyes, and kept going, "A proper thief nabs the wallet and puts something else in its place."

"A biscuit?" asked Nina.

Ace shook her head. "That's just a name. It can be anything really, as long as the weight and general shape match. A good thief can tell the weight of a wallet just by the way it changed the hang of a man's coat. After the switch is done, the man should keep tapping his pocket like a merry fool."

"It's not until he tries to pay for an omelet or lay his stake at a table that he realizes he's been done for a sucker. By then the thief is somewhere safe, counting up his scrub," added Kaz.

Wylan shifted unhappily in his chair. "Duping innocent people isn't something to be proud of."

Ace raised a brow. "Yes, it is."

Kaz nodded to the prison wagon, now rumbling its way up the road toward the Ice Court and the second checkpoint. "We're going to be the biscuit."

"Hold on," said Nina. "The door locks on the outside. How do we get in and get the door locked again?"

"That's only a problem if you don't know a proper thief. Leave the locks to me and Ace."

Jesper stretched out his long legs. "So we have to unlock, unchain, and incapacitate six prisoners, take their places, and somehow get the wagon sealed tight again without the guards or the other prisoners being the wiser?"

"That's right."

"Any other impossible feats you'd like us to accomplish?"

The barest smile flickered over Kaz's lips. "I'll make you a list."

•••

Gestinge was truly unbearable so the group relocated to a bakery, whilst Nina was sent out to chat up the locals and try to discover the best place to lay their ambush for the wagon. The bakery was crowded, and they all nursed nursing hot cups of coffee mixed with chocolate, the wreckage of demolished rolls and cookies spread over their table in little piles of buttery crumbs. And now that they were at ease, Jesper had decided it was a good idea to bring up Lavern again as Inej and Matthias chatted—it wasn't.

"What happened to your mother?" he asked quietly to Wylan, "Why did Lavern..." Jesper trailed off and Wylan looked wildly uncomfortable.

He reached for his mug, and shrugged, "Guess he didn't want witnesses whilst he robbed my father's house. She died for... a painting."

Ace's jaw clenched and she looked away, pretending not to listen. She remembered that painting. It was the last thing her father had stolen before Queen's Lady Plague in Ketterdam, and they'd gone back to the Southern Colonies. Ace remembered the painting, she remembered seeing Wylan's mother right before they left—she'd been there, training as a lookout. She remembered the grin her father had given her when the bounty for his head had gone up for another few hundred thousand after the painting was stolen—but apparently, the Dead or Alive reward poster, had everything to do with the fact that her father 'killed' Wylan's mother.

"How old were you?" Jesper asked gently.

"Eight," replied Wylan.

Jesper whistled lowly, "They only got Lavern a few years later—"

Ace pushed off the chair and gave them a tight smile, ignoring Kaz's look, as she rushed off the bakery until the brisk air outside hit her face. They didn't get Lavern, they found him withering on the ground by a warehouse, blood staining his chin, legs broken, and eyes unseeing. Dead or Alive, right?

Her father had locked her inside the warehouse when he saw someone approaching through the darkness. She couldn't unlock the door in time, forced to watch the scene through the cracks in the tattered door. Ace remembered the man who'd killed him, a Heartrender, that made sure to get every drop of suffering from her father that he could—Bluebeard had killed him just as her father took his last breath.

After yanking the door open, looking paler than he'd ever seen him, Bluebeard had held her in his arms as she cried, trying to run to her father. "Why?" she'd screamed into the night, desperately.

"He was mad," Bluebeard had managed to speak, his voice hoarse, "All for the reward, the sadist."

Ace had pushed off Bluebeard and fallen to her knees next to her father, a sob leaving her face as she shook him. "Papa! Don't go!"

Bluebeard had crouched beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, eyes brimming with useless tears, "He's dead,"she whispered helplessly, not knowing what else to do. And then she'd collapsed against the pirate, the only family she had left other than her mother.

That night, Bluebeard had also thrown the man in his crew that betrayed his best friend to the sharks. Then, he'd take Ace to his boat, and let her stay aboard for a couple of weeks, adamant to take her back to the Colonies. Ace had seen her mother at the docks, had hugged her, and cried, but she hadn't stayed. She'd refused too. With her father dead, she had to try and achieve what he'd raised her to be. And so she went back to Ketterdam and never looked back.

She clenched her jaw as she walked, ignoring the telltale sign of a cane against the pavement—she wanted to laugh, why'd he have to follow her? Did he enjoy seeing her break? Ace looked up at the skies and cursed the Saints.

She couldn't blame Wylan for believing what Van Eck told him. But she couldn't understand why his father would tell him that in the first place—what was it to him? His wife had died of disease, he'd said so to the entirety of Ketterdam—except Wylan, and the Merchant Council as it seemed. What was he hiding?

What Ace did understand, was that Jan Van Eck was the reason the bounty had gone up, the reason her father had been murdered in front of her—

"Bela Miseria?"

Her head snapped up and the still trailing sound of the cane stopped behind her. A woman stopped in front of her, a beaming smile on her face. "It is you!"

Her skin wasn't pale like the Fjerdan's but in the cold, it had lost the color it would have in the sun. Her hair was dark twisted up in a braid and her green eyes shone with recognition, the wrinkles around them mostly due to smiles—she couldn't have been more than ten years older than Ace. Ace stared blankly at her.

"You don't remember me do you?" asked the woman with a laugh. "Can't blame you, you were so young when I left. You look so much like your mother. Just as beautiful."

Ace managed a tight smile. "Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm Amaia. I used to live in the village, a few houses down from yours, by the beach. How I miss the heat, here in Fjerda there's not much of that. Not that I'm unhappy. Not at all. I'm extremely grateful that your mother helped me with my papers to get out." Amaia beamed and Ace remembered who she was. The girl was years older than she was and used to walk around the village talking everyone's ears off. "Now, you wouldn't believe it! I'm married to an important man here in Fjerda! He's a great husband, always so generous. Oh, I'm even invited to the Ice Court! Who would've thought a girl from the Colonies—"

"You're going tomorrow?"

"Santi! Isn't it unbelievable? I have a dress and all. Oh it's wonderful, isn't it? I'm so thankful for your family, little Bela. Your mother is a Saint and—oh. Your father, I'm sorry about his death—"

"Don't be. I'm glad you're fine," Ace said tightly.

"Well, if you need anything, querida, just say the word. What are you doing in Djerholm, have you found a husband too—"

"I do need a favor," Ace interrupted her before Amaia could go on. The latter smiled sheepishly. "I... You remember my father's ways, yes?"

She chuckled. "Yes, Bela. I'm not scared of saying criminal activities. Everyone in the village was proud of him by the first cent he sent our way—or rather your mother. I don't condemn him or anything. It's a noble thing to give to the ones in need—"

"Yes, well, I've followed his footsteps."

"It was a strong possibility," said Amaia in understanding, and Ace couldn't help but let out a strangled laugh.

"You could say that." Ace cleared her throat and smiled. "If you see me tomorrow, at the Ice Court, just... pretend you didn't."

Amaia narrowed her eyes, but she didn't look surprised. "Are your reasons honorable?"

"As they can be."

"Alright." Amaia shrugged. "But I mustn't tell my husband. Sometimes he doesn't understand the ways of the Colonies. One time, I—" Amaia's words trailed off as a whistled melody sounded through the crowd and her lips fell into a splitting smile before she whistled a tune back. "I must get going, Bela Miseria. You should stop by Fjerda more."

"Not a chance."

Amaia laughed, hugged her briefly as Ace stood awkwardly, and then disappeared into the crowd.

"She talks a lot," Kaz's voice sounded from behind her and Ace's shoulders slumped.

"Leave me alone," Ace grumbled, pushing past more people on the street, as she found herself a little alleyway that reminded her of Ketterdam enough. She sagged against the wall, closing her eyes tightly.

For someone who didn't want to be a liability because of a letter from her mother, Ace was surely getting affected by the news of her father from the day. Not even the way Amaia spoke about him, or the familiarity from the Colonies she brought helped—especially because now Ace was taking a risk in going tomorrow, in trusting the woman, hopefully, her family helped enough that she could.

This heist was turning out to be more of a turmoil in her life than an actual thrilling job. It was more than she bargained for—near death and danger she could deal with, but she hadn't asked for an emotional journey as well.

She heard him getting closer, relentlessly following her, and clenched her jaw. "Since when?" asked Ace, her eyes fluttering open to find Kaz a few steps from her. "Since when have you known?"

He pressed his lips together. And Ace was sure he knew what she meant. He knew who her father was. "Since you told me the Merchant Council killed him."

A bitter chuckle escaped her. "Great. One more thing for you to hold over my head."

"What?"

"Don't play dumb, Dirtyhands, it doesn't suit you," she replied, pushing off the wall and taking a step closer to him. "You must love hoarding my secrets—guarantees you can trust me, right?"

His eyes flickered and Kaz rose an eyebrow at her, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "And you trust me?"

Ace didn't answer immediately. Did she? "I would trust you more if I had any sort of blackmail material."

A sinister smile painted his lips and Kaz stepped closer, one step more and they would be inches apart. "You have a lot more than anyone else. I've told you things I didn't tell anyone. You just can't use them."

"Because no one would believe me—"

"You can't use them, because you won't use them, Ace," Kaz cut her off.

"Don't underestimate me, Brekker. I won't mind throwing you off a cliff even if it means you drag me down with you."

"I told you once, Lavern, I know your worth. Which is why I know you wouldn't throw me off a cliff. Honorable thief and all."

She let out a dry laugh. "Honorable thief?"

"Aren't you?"

"I'm a criminal with a twisted moral compass, Kaz, just because sometimes it points in the right direction doesn't mean anything. Honor has nothing to do with what I do—"

"Why are you here then?" He rose an eyebrow. "Why do you need four million kruge? I've seen your house, you have jewels piling up on your vanity, and you have costly paintings on the walls. Sell all of that and you're just fine. Set for life. You don't need four million kruge."

Ace took a step back, her back hit the wall and Kaz stepped forward, still one step away from her, but close enough that her heartbeat picked up. He knew exactly what he was asking, what her answer would be. Ace didn't keep most of her prizes, most of her money. She either sent it to the Colonies, to her mother, in hopes she would free herself instead of others, or she'd give it to families in Ketterdam who needed it more than she did. "A good thief always gets to the prize," her father would say, and every time her mother added, "And a good person shares it." And she was trying, to some extent, even if her only reason to do so, was to settle her mother's heart.

"Why are you on the crew?" Kaz pressed, dark eyes gleaming in a challenge. "It's certainly not for me. Or the crows. You hate working in a team. And don't say it's for the thrill of it, your survival instincts wouldn't let you join an uncertain job just for the thrill of it."

"You act like you know me—"

"We've settled this. I do know you."

"As well as I do you. I can play that game too, Kaz." Ace pushed off the wall and moved forward a couple of inches, a taunting smile on her face. "Why are you here? Why do you need four million kruge? It's not for the Crows. And don't say it's for the Dregs, because you only want to make them better for one reason: you want Pekka Rollins to suffer because the bastard killed your brother and you can't live in a world where he's not avenged—"

In one second, her back had hit the wall again, and her lips were set in an amused, taunting smirk, as the cold metal of his cane pressed against her throat. Kaz was closer now, not touching her, but warming her with the flames radiating off the glare of his eyes.

"Ending Rollins is more than just about my brother," he seethed and Ace didn't dare look away, her smile faltering. "It's about proving that we're not disposable. That they can take everything from us and we'll pay back tenfold."

Ace blinked. "We?"

"Van Eck framed your father for murder, did he not?" asked Kaz and Ace nodded stiffly. "He was disposable, a mere thief, and he used him as a scapegoat. So, yes, Misery, you're included."

Ace's breathing was ragged, the cool metal of his cane still against her skin, their eyes didn't drift from each other. "Do you know why? Why he was framed?" she whispered and Kaz shook his head. She sighed.

"We'll find out," he told her, "as soon as we get paid."

A smile made its way onto her lips, and she rolled her eyes. "We're not getting paid, you know? There's no way Van Eck will give us the money. He's a skiv."

Kaz smirked and dropped his cane yet he didn't step back. "I know. But that's a problem for after kidnapping the Shu."

"No mourners, right?" she asked lowly.

He nodded. "No funerals."

A moment of silence passed between them, the noise of the street fading away into nothing as she looked into the dark of his eyes, eyes looking at her with such intensity Ace wasn't sure whether this was Kaz standing in front of her or she was dreaming. She could see it in his eyes, all the things left unspoken, all that they could not share, all the walls still held high to keep them apart—to keep vulnerability locked tight. And for the first time, Ace wondered if he'd ever give her the key to his soul, or if she could crack the lock.

"Do you trust me?" she found herself asking, breaking the silence, and for some reason she wasn't asking Dirtyhands, she was asking the boy in her letters because she knew she trusted that boy with her life—just as she wished she could trust this Kaz.

"Do you trust me?" he echoed, asking her the same question again, but this time there was a hint of a smile on his face, the tiny smile line on the right corner of his lip present. Ace bit down a grin and his eyes flickered to her lips for less than a second.

She could feel her heart thumping against her chest, and she urged herself to speak as the silence around them grew heavy with whatever was simmering between them. "If I fall off a cliff I'm dragging you with me," Ace informed him in a whisper.

"Likewise." He smiled. Ace's heart stopped for a moment—she was doomed. "It's you and me, Misery. Trust or not."

"You and me," she echoed. "Most powerful cards on the deck."

"We should go back to the bakery. Nina must be back by now. We need to focus on the heist," he said, not moving away from her, his tone cold but his face unnaturally soft.

She nodded. "We do. Otherwise, you'll get emotional and become a liability."

"Takes one to know one."

"Hilarious." She rolled her eyes and went to shove him in the shoulder, when she thought better of it, her hand froze in the air, just as Kaz stiffened.

He looked down at her hand, and instead of ignoring it and stepping back, he gingerly wrapped his leather-covered fingers around her wrist. For a moment it was as if he was going to push her away—he didn't. Ace swallowed, her heart quickening as he didn't let go of her hand.

His eyes shut tightly, and he let out a shuddered breath. All the playfulness from before, the smile on his face, was gone. He stepped slightly closer to her, still only touching her wrist, and Ace watched him carefully, her lips parted at the sight of him—sharp jaw and high cheekbones, the face of a ruthless being, the face of the Devil; and he was suffering for her.

Ace didn't know how they went from arguing to this, but she couldn't complain—she couldn't breathe really, and thinking wasn't even an option. He raised her hand in the slightest, his head dipping down, his whole body trembling but when she tried to softly tug her wrist away, to give him an out, his grip tightened.

"I can feel your heartbeat, Misery," he muttered his lips dangerously close to the skin of her wrist. She closed her eyes, if he could feel her heartbeat then she could hear his. It was like he was in pain, in misery, but was reveling in it.

"That's your fault," she said, not sure what she meant by it.

"Oh. Is it beating for me?" he taunted, his voice hoarse, his hand trembling, but still as Kaz Brekker as he was. He sounded pained like he was fighting demons just to hold her hand, and yet he hadn't let go. Ace's breath hitched as Kaz's warm breath tickled her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

"You truly are a beautiful misery," he muttered after a moment, his voice so low she would've missed it were it not for him being so close.

"Kaz," she breathed out, and his lips brushed against her wrist.

For one moment time was still, her skin was on fire, and Ace's legs felt weak—from a graze of his lips against her skin, from his finger's tightening around her wrist—and he was right. It was beautiful misery—it wouldn't last, not with the way he was breathing heavily, and yet Ace was sure once he let go, she'd live with the knowledge of what his lips felt like against her skin, and that it wasn't likely he'd ever allow himself to be vulnerable again with her. In that moment she cursed everyone to blame for naming her Bela Miseria.

His body shuddered and he tore his lips away, dropping her wrist like it was on fire—which wasn't far from the truth, her whole body had ignited. Her eyes fluttered open as he stepped back, they were both panting for air, trying to grasp anything to ground them as whatever spell they'd been in broke.

Kaz was paler than usual as he took a shaky breath, setting his jaw as he straightened himself. Ace took a deep breath and pushed off the wall. Their eyes met, his were dark, nearly black in the shadows of the alleyway. Ace simply nodded, she couldn't speak at the moment, and it seemed neither could he, Kaz cleared his throat. Silently acknowledging their unspoken agreement:

The heist awaited them, and they couldn't afford to be consumed by their demons, by their vulnerabilities, by their feelings, by anything. The fact she still felt her wrist burning, and that Kaz was looking at her, anguish hidden behind unfazed eyes—as if the only thing he regretted was that he pulled away—did not matter, the heist took precedence.

And so, they turned their backs on the alley, they were thieves, and they had a job to get done. And they'd do it together. Trust or not. The most powerful cards in the deck. You and me. Misery loved company.

♠

author's note:

I'm scared i didn't show it right, so, just know that her father was a famous thief. I've been hinting at it, but no one other than ace has mentioned him so i think it may be jarring. idk. but I'm here to clarify that. also, just stay with me through the wylan's mother plotline, i think it might be a good one (if i do it right).

and... idc if kaz was ooc.
i loved their moment and i just...
i love them so idc.
(thx to everyone who
helped with the decision)