“Is your leg bad?”
“It’s fine. Here.” He spread Wylan’s drawing of the prison sector between them. Most of Wylan’s plans showed the Ice Court from above, but the prison elevation was a side view, a cross-section showing the building’s floors stacked on top of one another.
“I’ve seen it,” Inej said. She ran her finger from the basement up to the roof in a straight line. “Six storeys up a chimney.”
“Can you do it?”
Her dark brows rose. “Is there another option?”
“No.”
“So if I say I can’t make that climb, will you tell Specht to turn the boat around and take us back to Ketterdam?”
“I’ll find another option,” said Kaz. “I don’t know what, but I’m not giving up that haul.”
“You know I can do it, Kaz, and you know I’m not going to refuse. So why ask?”
Because I’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to you for two days.
“I want to make sure you know what you’ll be dealing with and that you’re studying the plans.”
“Will there be a test?”
“Yes,” said Kaz. “If you fail, we’ll all end up stuck inside a Fjerdan prison.”
“Mmm,” she said and took a sip of her tea. “And I’ll end up dead.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the hull. “I’m worried about the escape route to the harbour. I don’t like that there’s only one way out.”
Kaz settled back against the hull, too. “Me neither,” he conceded, stretching out his bad leg. “But that’s why the Fjerdans built it that way.”
“Do you trust Specht?”
Kaz cast her a sideways glance. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
“Not at all, but if the Ferolind isn’t waiting for us in the harbour …”
“I trust him enough.”
“He owes you?”
Kaz nodded. He glanced around then said, “The navy threw him out for insubordination, and refused him his pension. He has a sister to support near Belendt. I got him his money.”
“That was good of you.”
Kaz narrowed his eyes. “I’m not some character out of a children’s story who plays harmless pranks and steals from the rich to give to the poor. There was money to be made and information to be had. Specht knows the navy’s routes like the back of his hand.”
“Never something for nothing, Kaz,” she said, her gaze steady. “I know. Still, if the Ferolind is intercepted, we’ll have no way out of Djerholm.”
“I’ll get us out. You know that.”
Tell me you know that. He needed her to say it. This job wasn’t like anything he’d attempted before.
Every doubt she’d raised was a legitimate one, and only echoed the fears in his own head. He’d snapped at her before they’d left Ketterdam, told her he’d get a new spider for the job if she didn’t think he could pull it off. He needed to know that she believed he could do this, that he could take them into the Ice Court and bring them out feeling whole and righteous the way he’d done with other crews on other jobs. He needed to know she believed in him.
But all she said was, “I hear Pekka Rollins was the one gunning for us in the harbour.”
Kaz felt a surge of disappointment. “So?”
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you go after him, Kaz.”
“He’s just another boss, one more Barrel thug.”
“No, he isn’t. When you go after the other gangs, it’s business. But with Pekka Rollins it’s personal.”
Later, he wasn’t sure why he said it. He’d never told anyone, never spoken the words aloud. But now Kaz kept his eyes on the sails above them and said, “Pekka Rollins killed my brother.”
He didn’t have to see Inej’s face to sense her shock. “You had a brother?”
“I had a lot of things,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry.”
Had he wanted her sympathy? Was that why he’d told her?
“Kaz—” She hesitated. What would she do now? Try to lay a comforting hand on his arm? Tell him she understood?
“I’ll pray for him,” Inej said. “For peace in the next world if not in this one.”
He turned his head. They were sitting close together, their shoulders nearly touching. Her eyes were so brown they were almost black, and for once her hair was down. She always wore it tied back in a ruthlessly tight coil. Even the idea of being this near someone should have set his skin crawling.
Instead he thought, What happens if I move closer?
“I don’t want your prayers,” he said.
“What do you want, then?”
The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie’s voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared to life inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome. You, Inej. You.
He shrugged and turned away. “To die buried under the weight of my own gold.”
Inej sighed. “Then I’ll pray you get all you ask for.”
“More prayers,” he asked. “And what do you want, Wraith?” he asked.
“To turn my back on Ketterdam and never hear that name again.”
Good. He’d need to find a new spider, but he’d be rid of this distraction.