“Wylan wouldn’t—”
“Of course not,” said Nina as she shook out the cuffs of her kefta and prepared to exit the dining room. “Only a fool would.”
N ina was tired, Kaz could see it. They all were. Even he’d had no choice but to rest after the fight. His body had stopped listening to him. He’d passed an invisible limit and simply shut down. He didn’t remember falling asleep. He didn’t dream. One moment he was resting in the suite’s smallest bedroom, on his back, running through the particulars of the plan, and the next he was waking in the dark, panicked, unsure of where he was or how he’d gotten there.
When he reached to turn up the lamp, he felt a sharp twinge of pain. It had been excruciating to endure Genya’s faint touches when she’d seen to his injuries, but maybe he should have let the Tailor heal him just a little bit more. He still had a long night ahead of him, and the auction scheme was unlike anything he’d attempted.
In his time with the Dregs, Kaz had seen and heard plenty, but his conversation with Sturmhond in the solarium had topped it all.
They had talked through the details of the auction, what they would need from Genya, how Kaz predicted the betting would go and in what increments. Kaz wanted Sturmhond to enter the fray at fifty million and suspected the Shu would counter by raising ten million or more. Kaz needed to know the Ravkans were committed. Once the auction was announced, it would have to proceed. There could be no backward step.
The privateer was wary, pressing for knowledge on how they’d been hired on for the Ice Court job, as well as how they’d managed to find and liberate Kuwei. Kaz gave him enough information to convince the privateer that Kuwei was in fact Bo Yul-Bayur’s son. But he had no interest in divulging the mechanics of their schemes or the true talents of his crew. For all Kaz knew, Sturmhond might have something he wanted to steal one day.
At last, Sturmhond straightened the lapels of his teal frock coat and said, “Well, Brekker, it’s obvious you only deal in half-truths and outright lies, so you’re clearly the man for the job.”
“There’s just one thing,” said Kaz, studying the privateer’s broken nose and ruddy hair. “Before we join hands and jump off a cliff together, I want to know exactly who I’m running with.”
Sturmhond lifted a brow. “We haven’t been on a road trip or exchanged clothes, but I think our introductions were civilized enough.”
“Who are you really, privateer?”
“Is this an existential question?”
“No proper thief talks the way you do.”
“How narrow-minded of you.”
“I know the look of a rich man’s son, and I don’t believe a king would send an ordinary privateer to handle business this sensitive.”
“Ordinary,” scoffed Sturmhond. “Are you so schooled in politics?”
“I know my way around a deal. Who are you? We get the truth or my crew walks.”
“Are you so sure that would be possible, Brekker? I know your plans now. I’m accompanied by two of the world’s most legendary Grisha, and I’m not too bad in a fight either.”
“And I’m the canal rat who brought Kuwei Yul-Bo out of the Ice Court alive. Let me know how you like your chances.” His crew didn’t have clothes or titles to rival the Ravkans, but Kaz knew where he’d put his money if he had any left.
Sturmhond clasped his hands behind his back, and Kaz saw the barest shift in his demeanor. His eyes lost their bemused gleam and took on a surprising weight. No ordinary privateer at all.
“Let us say,” said Sturmhond, gaze trained on the Ketterdam street below, “hypothetically, of course, that the Ravkan king has intelligence networks that reach deep within Kerch, Fjerda, and the Shu Han, and that he knows exactly how important Kuwei Yul-Bo could be to the future of his country. Let us say that king would trust no one to negotiate such matters but himself, but that he also knows just how dangerous it is to travel under his own name when his country is in turmoil, when he has no heir and the Lantsov succession is in no way secured.”
“So hypothetically,” Kaz said, “you might be addressed as Your Highness.”
“And a variety of more colorful names. Hypothetically.” The privateer cast him an assessing glance. “Just how did you know I wasn’t who I claimed to be, Mister Brekker?”
Kaz shrugged. “You speak Kerch like a native—a rich native. You don’t talk like someone who came up with sailors and street thugs.”
The privateer turned slightly, giving Kaz his full attention. His ease was gone, and now he looked like a man who might command armies. “Mister Brekker,” he said. “Kaz, if I may? I am in a vulnerable position. I am a king ruling a country with an empty treasury, facing enemies on all sides. There are also forces within my country that might seize any absence as an opportunity to make their own bid for power.”
“So you’re saying you’d make an excellent hostage.”
“I suspect that the ransom for me would be considerably less than the price Kuwei has on his head. Really, it’s a bit of a blow to my self-esteem.”
“You don’t seem to be suffering,” said Kaz.
“Sturmhond was a creation of my youth, and his reputation still serves me well. I cannot bid on Kuwei Yul-Bo as the king of Ravka. I hope your plan will play out the way you think it will. But if it doesn’t, the loss of such a prize would be seen as a humiliating blunder diplomatically and strategically. I enter that auction as Sturmhond or as no one at all. If that is a problem—”
Kaz settled his hands on his cane. “As long as you don’t try to con me, you can enter as the Fairy Queen of Istamere.”
“It’s certainly nice to have my options open.” He looked back out at the city. “Can this possibly work, Mister Brekker? Or am I risking the fate of Ravka and the world’s Grisha on the honor and abilities of a fast-talking urchin?”
“More than a bit of both,” said Kaz. “You’re risking a country. We’re risking our lives. Seems a fair trade.”
The king of Ravka offered his hand. “The deal is the deal?”
“The deal is the deal.” They shook.
“If only treaties could be signed so quickly,” he said, his easy privateer’s mien sliding back in place like a mask purchased on West Stave. “I’m going to have a drink and a bath. One can take only so much mud and squalor. As the rebel said to the prince, it’s bad for the constitution.” He flicked an invisible speck of dust from his lapel and sauntered out of the solarium.
Now Kaz smoothed his hair and pulled on his jacket. It was hard to believe a lowly canal rat had struck a deal with a king. He thought of that broken nose that gave the privateer the look of someone who had been through a fair share of fistfights. For all Kaz knew, he had, but he must have been tailored to disguise his features. Hard to lie low when your face was on the money. In the end, royalty or not, Sturmhond was really just a very grand con man, and all that mattered was that he and his people did their part.
Kaz checked his watch—past midnight, later than he would have liked—and went to find Nina. He was surprised to see Jesper waiting in the hall.
“What is it?” Kaz said, his mind instantly trying to calculate all the things that might have gone wrong as he slept.
“Nothing,” Jesper said. “Or no more than usual.”
“Then what do you want?”
Jesper swallowed and said, “Matthias gave you the remaining parem , didn’t he?”
“So?”
“If anything happens … the Shu will be at the auction, maybe the Kherguud. There’s too much riding on this job. I can’t let my father down again. I need the parem , as a security measure.”
Kaz studied him for a long moment. “No.”
“Why the hell not?”
A reasonable question. Giving Jesper the parem would have been the smart move, the practical move.
“Your father cares more about you than some plot of land.”
“But—”
“I’m not going to let you make yourself a martyr, Jes. If one of us goes down, we all go down.”