“We told the Grisha to come alone,” said Kaz.
“I’m afraid that wasn’t possible,” said the man. “Though Zoya is, of course, a force to be reckoned with, Genya’s extraordinary gifts are ill-suited to physical confrontation. I, on the other hand, am well suited to all forms of confrontation, though I’m particularly fond of the physical.”
Kaz’s eyes narrowed. “Sturmhond.”
“He knows me!” Sturmhond said delightedly. He nudged Genya with an elbow. “I told you I’m famous.”
Zoya blew out an exasperated breath. “Thank you. He’s going to be twice as insufferable now.”
“Sturmhond has been authorized to negotiate on behalf of the Ravkan throne,” said Genya.
“A pirate?” asked Jesper.
“Privateer,” Sturmhond corrected. “You can’t expect the king to participate in an auction like this himself.”
“Why not?”
“Because he might lose. And it looks very bad when kings lose.”
Jesper couldn’t quite believe he was having a conversation with the Sturmhond. The privateer was a legend. He’d broken countless blockades on behalf of the Ravkans, and there were rumors that … “Do you really have a flying ship?” blurted Jesper.
“No.”
“Oh.”
“I have several.”
“Take me with you.”
Kaz didn’t look remotely entertained. “The Ravkan king lets you negotiate for him in matters of state?” he asked skeptically.
“Occasionally,” said Sturmhond. “Especially if less than savory personages are involved. You have a reputation, Mister Brekker.”
“So do you.”
“Fair enough. So let’s say we’ve both earned the right to have our names bandied about in the worst circles. The king won’t drag Ravka into one of your schemes blindly. Nina’s note claimed that you have Kuwei Yul-Bo in your possession. I want confirmation of that fact, and I want the details of your plan.”
“All right,” said Kaz. “Let’s talk in the solarium. I’d prefer not to sweat through my suit.” When the rest of them made to follow, Kaz halted and glanced over his shoulder. “Just me and the privateer.”
Zoya tossed her glorious black mane and said, “We are the Triumvirate. We do not take orders from Kerch street rats with dubious haircuts.”
“I can phrase it as a question if it will make your feathers lie flat,” Kaz said.
“You insolent—”
“Zoya,” said Sturmhond smoothly. “Let’s not antagonize our new friends before they’ve even had a chance to cheat us. Lead on, Mister Brekker.”
“Kaz,” Wylan said. “Can’t you—”
“Negotiate for yourself, merchling. It’s time you learned how.” He vanished with Sturmhond back into the corridors.
As their footfalls faded, silence descended. Wylan cleared his throat and the sound bounced around the blue-tiled room like a spring colt let loose in a corral. Genya’s face was bemused.
Zoya crossed her arms. “Well?”
“Ma’am …” Wylan attempted. “Miss Genya—”
Genya smiled, her scars tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, he is sweet.”
“You always take to the strays,” said Zoya sourly.
“You’re the boy Nina tailored to look like Kuwei,” Genya said. “And you want me to try to undo her work?”
“Yes,” Wylan said, that one word imbued with a whole world of hope. “But I don’t have anything to bargain with.”
Genya rolled her single amber eye. “Why are the Kerch so focused on money?”
“Says the woman with a bankrupt country,” murmured Jesper.
“What was that?” snapped Zoya.
“Nothing,” said Jesper. “Just saying Kerch is a morally bankrupt country.”
Zoya looked him up and down as if she was considering tossing him into a pool and boiling him alive. “If you want to waste your time and talent on these wretches, feel free. Saints know there’s room for improvement.”
“Zoya—”
“I’m going to go find a dark room with a deep pool and try to wash some of this country off.”
“Don’t drown,” Genya called as Zoya flounced off, then said conspiratorially, “Maybe she’ll do it just to be contrary.” She gave Wylan an assessing glance. “It would be difficult. If I’d known you before the changes—”
“Here,” Wylan said eagerly. “I have a portrait. It’s old, but—”
She took the miniature from him.
“And this,” Wylan said, offering her the poster his father had created promising a reward for his safe return.
“Hmm,” she said. “Let’s find better light.”
They fumbled their way around the facilities, poking their heads into rooms full of mud baths and milk baths, and one heated chamber made entirely of jade. They finally settled in a chilly white room with a tub of odd-smelling clay against one wall, and windows all along the other.
“Find a chair,” said Genya, “and fetch my kit from the main pool area. It’s heavy. You’ll find it near the towels.”
“You brought your kit?” said Wylan.
“The Suli girl suggested it,” said Genya, shooing them off to follow her orders.
“Just as imperious as Zoya,” Jesper grumbled as he and Wylan obliged.
“But with better hearing!” she called after them.
Jesper fetched the box from near the main pool. It was built like a small cabinet, its double doors fastened with an elaborate gold clasp. When they returned to the clay room, Genya gestured for Wylan to sit near the window, where the light was best. She rested her fingers under his chin and tilted his face this way and that.
Jesper set down her kit. “What are you looking for?” he asked.
“The seams.”
“Seams?”
“No matter how fine a Tailor’s work, if you look closely, you can see the seams, the place where one thing ends and another begins. I’m looking for signs of the original structure. The portrait does help.”
“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” said Wylan.
“Because she might mess up and make you look like a weasel with curls?”
Genya lifted a flame-colored brow. “Maybe a vole.”
“Not funny,” said Wylan. He’d clenched his hands so tightly in his lap his knuckles had become white stars.
“All right,” said Genya. “I can try, but I make no promises. Nina’s work is near flawless. Luckily, so am I.”
Jesper smiled. “You remind me of her.”
“I think you mean she reminds you of me. ”
Genya set to unpacking her kit. It was far more elaborate than the one Jesper had seen Nina use. There were capsules of dye, pots of colored powder, and rows of glass cases filled with what looked like clear gels. “They’re cells,” said Genya. “For a job like this, I need to work with human tissue.”
“Not disgusting at all,” said Jesper.
“It could be worse,” she said. “I once knew a woman who rubbed whale placenta on her face in the hopes of looking younger. To say nothing of what she did with the monkey saliva.”
“Human tissue sounds delightful,” amended Jesper.
“That’s what I thought.”
She pushed up her sleeves, and Jesper saw that the scars on her face also traced over her hands and up her arms. He couldn’t imagine what manner of weapon had twisted the tissue in that way.
“You’re staring,” she said without facing him.
Jesper jumped, cheeks heating. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. People like to look. Well, not always. When I was first attacked, no one would look at me.”
Jesper had heard she’d been tortured during the Ravkan Civil War, but that wasn’t the kind of thing you made polite conversation about. “Now I don’t know where to look,” he admitted.