Six of Crows

“Oh, Saints, Matthias,” she whispered. “Please wake up.”


And then he was awake, and he knew he’d gone mad because she was here, in his cell, kneeling beside him, her hand resting gently on his chest. “Matthias, please.”

The sound of her voice, pleading with him. He’d dreamed of this. Sometimes she pleaded for mercy. Sometimes there were other things she begged for.

He reached up and touched her face. She had the softest skin. He’d laughed at her for it once. No real soldier had skin like that, he’d told her – pampered, coddled. He’d mocked the lushness of her body, ashamed of his own response to her. He cupped the warm curve of her cheek, felt the soft brush of her hair. So lovely. So real. It wasn’t fair.

Then he registered the bloody wrappings on his hands. Pain rushed at him as he came fully awake

– cracked ribs, aching knuckles. He’d chipped a tooth. He wasn’t sure when, but he’d cut his tongue against it at some point. His mouth still held the coppery taste of blood. The wolves.  They’d made him murder wolves.

He was awake.

“Nina?”

There were tears in her beautiful green eyes. Rage coursed through him. She had no right to tears, no right to pity.

“Shhhh, Matthias. We’re here to get you out.”

What game was this? What new cruelty? He’d just learned to survive in this monstrous place, and now she’d come to heap some fresh torture on him.

He launched himself forward, flipping her to the ground, hands fastened tight around her throat, straddling her so that his knees pinned her arms to the ground. He knew damn well that Nina with her hands free was a deadly thing.

“Nina,” he gritted out. She clawed at his hands. “Witch,” he hissed, leaning over her. He saw her eyes widen, her face getting redder. “Beg me,” he said. “Beg me for your life.”

He heard a click, and a gravelly voice said, “Hands off her, Helvar.”

Someone behind him had pressed a gun to his neck. Matthias didn’t spare him a glance. “Go ahead and shoot me,” he said. He dug his fingertips deeper into Nina’s neck – nothing would deprive him of this. Nothing.

Traitor, witch, abomination.  All those words came to him, but others crowded in, too: beautiful, charmed one. R?ed fetla, he’d called her, little red bird, for the colour of her Grisha Order. The colour she loved. He squeezed harder, silencing that weak-willed strain inside him.

“If you’ve actually lost your mind, this is going to be a lot tougher than I thought,” said that raspy voice.

He heard a whoosh like something moving through the air, then a wrenching pain shot through his left shoulder. It felt like he’d been punched by a tiny fist, but his entire arm went numb. He grunted as he fell forward, one hand still clamped around Nina’s throat. He would have fallen directly onto her, but he was yanked backwards by the collar of his shirt.

A boy wearing a guard’s uniform stood before him, dark eyes glittering, a pistol in one hand, a walking stick in the other. Its handle was carved to look like a crow’s head, with a cruelly pointed beak.

“Get hold of yourself, Helvar. We’re here to break you out. I can do to your leg what I did to your arm, and we can drag you out of here, or you can leave like a man, on two feet.”

“No one gets out of Hellgate,” Matthias said.

“Tonight they do.”

Matthias sat forward, trying to get his bearings, clutching his dead arm. “You can’t just walk me out of here. The guards will recognise me,” he snarled. “I’m not losing fighting privileges to be carted off Djel knows where with you.”

“You’ll be masked.”

“If the guards check—”

“They’re going to be too busy to check,” said the strange, pale boy. And then the screaming started.

Matthias’ head jerked up. He heard the thunder of footsteps from the arena, cresting like a wave as people burst into the passageway outside his cell. He heard the shouts of guards, and then the roaring of a great cat, the trumpet of an elephant.

“You opened the cages.” Nina’s voice was shaky with disbelief, though who knew what might be

real or performance with her. He refused to look in her direction. If he did, he’d lose all sense of reality. He was barely hanging on as it was.

“Jesper was supposed to wait until three bells,” said the pale boy.

“It is three bells, Kaz,” replied a small girl in the corner with dark hair and deep bronze Suli skin.

A figure covered in welts and bandages was leaning against her.

“Since when is Jesper punctual?” the boy complained with a glance at his watch. “On your feet, Helvar.”