Six of Crows: Part Two

To know that he could betray himself, betray his country again even in sleep, to know that—after everything she’d done—some sick part of him still hungered after her ... it was too much.

Traitor, witch, abomination. All those words came to him, but others crowded in, too: beautiful, charmed one.

The passageway outside the cell was chaos. Costumed men and women surged past, screaming and pushing each other, trying to get away from the arena. Guards had their guns out, and he could hear shots being fired.

He’d heard Brekker’s name in prison, and the words associated with him—criminal prodigy, ruthless, amoral.

And now this demon was talking about breaking into the Ice Court, about getting Matthias to commit treason.

It was a compound, Fjerda’s ancient stronghold, home to an unbroken succession of kings and queens, repository of their greatest treasures and most sacred religious relics.

The cause is righteous enough for a zealot like you.

Brum had warned Matthias that the world was full of liars, pleasure seekers, faithless heathens.

In light of new evidence, Matthias Benedik Helvar is granted full and immediate pardon for all charges of slave trafficking.

“It seems Nina Zenik has recanted her statements. She will face charges of perjury.”

Even if he could have borne the disgrace, he’d have lived each day as a fugitive from the Kerch government, a marked man.

And his crimes had been meager things, the actions of a naive boy.

If he was part of this mission, Matthias could make sure Bo Yul-Bayur never took another breath outside the Ice Court’s walls, or he could arrange for some kind of accident on the trip back to Kerch.

Jesper Fahey is our sharpshooter, Zemeni-born but try not to hold it against him, and this is Wylan, best demolitions expert in the Barrel.

“Even if we go straight to Djerholm,” Inej said, “we’ll need most of a week to travel. There isn’t time to secure documents or create cover that will bear up under scrutiny.”

“Oh, Saints, you are something. The mark, the pigeon, the cozy, the fool you’re looking to fleece.”

“The easiest way to steal a man’s wallet is to tell him you’re going to steal his watch. You take his attention and direct it where you want it to go. Hringkalla is going to do that job for us. The Ice Court will have to divert resources to monitoring guests and protecting the royal family. They can’t be looking everywhere at once. It’s the perfect opportunity to spring Bo Yul-Bayur.”

I want you working on the plan of the Ice Court every minute until we sail. No detail is too small or inconsequential.

“The Djerholm harbor is crawling with customs agents, and I’m going to bet they’ll be tightening security during your big party.”

He’d learned sleight of hand from the cardsharps and monte runners on East Stave, and spent hours practicing it in front of a muddy mirror he’d bought with his first week’s pay.

She’d been privy to his consultations with every member of the crew, but she knew she was seeing only fragments of his plan.

The Ice Court had been built to withstand an onslaught of armies, assassins, Grisha, and spies.

But there was no beauty here, no real merriment or joy, just transactions, people seeking escape or some colorful oblivion, some dream of decadence that they could wake from whenever they wished.

Just a house full of locks to pick, safes to crack, pigeons to dupe.

They all wore the nondescript clothes of sailors—roughspun trousers, boots, thick wool coats and hats.

Behind them, she saw the little schooner Kaz had commandeered, Ferolind written in bold script on its side.

That sound—the swift, shocking report of gunfire—called the scattered, irascible, permanently seeking part of his mind into focus like nothing else.

Helvar was beside her with his back to the crate, his hands bound. A reasonable precaution, but the Fjerdan was valuable, and Jesper had a moment to wonder why Kaz had left him in such straits before he saw Nina produce a knife from her sleeve and slash through Helvar’s bonds.

First, she took down a girl holding a massive, unwieldy rifle, then skewered the man who was supposed to be watching her flank.

He hesitated, then stomped back the way he’d come, stopping to purloin a clean shirt from another cabin.

Kaz leaned in so that no one else could hear it when he said, “My Wraith would counsel mercy. But thanks to you, she’s not here to plead your case.”

Helvar stood silent sentinel, observing it all, looking seasick green beneath his blond beard.

A killing stroke took decision, clarity of intent.

A tremor of fear passed through Nina, and she felt it reverberate through the Grisha in the cell, a warning call none of them were free to heed.

What stands before you is the next generation of druskelle, the holy order charged with protecting the sovereign nation of Fjerda by eradicating your kind.

“If by witchcraft, you mean the arcane practice of reading. Your commander said we’d be tried for our crimes. I want you to tell me just what crime I’ve committed.”

“I shouldn’t blame you. You can’t help yourself. It’s your nature to dissemble.”

And don’t feign concern for Inej when you’re planning to send her climbing up six stories of chimney with only a rope and a prayer.

He knew that the man was a gang leader and that he lined his pockets with proceeds from the Hellshow.

Besides, if we enter from Ravka, we have to contend with Ravkans and Fjerdans.