Chapter Text
JESPER
The smell of the sea, salty and cool, lingered on Jesper's cracked lips, blending nicely with the metallic taste of blood.
The cold weather had been unkind to his body, a body accostumed to the bright sun and humidity of Novy Zem; his skin felt dry, rougher than a hawser. He should've asked Nina for an ointment before the winter hit full force, but somehow, he remembered things in a way he'd always forget.
Glancing at the mirror hung above his chamber pot, he saw Lirael stirring awake on his hammock.
"Good morning," she yawned. Her gaze followed the curve of his spine and the shape of his hips, still bare from the previous night.
Jesper only smiled politely. He fidgeted with the buttons of his shirt and threw it on, suddenly bothered by the whispers he could hear from the adjacent cabin.
"Ahoy," he said. "Shall I accompany you out?"
Something akin to disappointment flickered in her emerald eyes. Perhaps she'd hoped to share a meal, to tease him once again, to chat about trivial stuff.
But he knew he couldn't afford that. He'd clarified it from the very beginning: it would be a few nights of fun, and nothing more.
"Such a gentleman, but no need," Lirael muttered. "No mourners, mate."
She picked up her clothes and left, almost slamming the door behind her.
Jesper answered regardless, "No funerals," just to feel very stupid a moment later.
He shook his head and finished getting dressed. As he laced up his boots, he noticed that his blanket was perfectly folded under the hammock.
Of course Lirael would do that. Nothing could be messy when she was involved—not work, not sex, not murder.
Her meticulousness was almost scary, although, well… she was their sailmaker. It wasn't like Kaz would choose anything less than a perfectionist for that role.
Jesper sighed when he heard two Dregs arguing over one of the rooms under the quarter decks. Not everyone had private cabins like him, thus having to organize shifts for their intimate activities. Friendly conversations often ended up in quarrels and fistfights.
To be honest, it was still a better compromise than what Per Haskell used to do: ban sex and whip the offenders to avoid the spreading of legs and diseases. But naturally, corporal punishment hadn't stopped nightly rendezvous nor illnesses.
When Kaz had taken the lead, he'd provided safety measures for everyone and told the crew: "Listen, you're allowed to fuck as many people as you want. But here's the thing: if you 'forget' to put a condom on your dick or finger or whatever and you or your mates get sick, I will rip your precious nether jewels off and leave you bleeding on the main deck for everyone to see."
Their three Healers said they had yet to see a single symptom of syphilis since then.
A double knock disrupted his thinking flow. "Come in," he answered, not turning around.
The creaking of wood was followed by the irregular steps of captain Brekker, who stopped behind him and silently stared at his back.
Jesper peeked behind his shoulder. Kaz was standing in the doorframe in full black suit, leather gloves, and crow-headed cane. The early morning light shaded his sharp features in gold, disclosing him as the twisted, deceitful saint he was.
"We need to talk," he said.
Jesper grumbled. "I promised Rotty to do his tasks for a week, for I have lost to him."
"Not about your gambling debts, you podge."
"Oh. What is it, then?"
He traced the pearl handles of his revolvers, trying to guess what had brought Kaz in his cabin at the crack of dawn.
Secret news? A special mission? Maybe he had finally realized his feeling for Inej and wanted advice?
"You're going to Ketterdam, to the court of king Jan Van Eck."
He nearly choked with laughter. "I beg you pardon, I'm doing what now?"
"As a spy, obviously. You'll pretend to be a professor with a degree in Languages, searching for a suitable student; coincidentally, the young prince has trouble with reading and writing."
Of course, the more he went on, the more crazy the plan became.
"After signing the indenture, you must learn where Van Eck's privateers store their ships, so that you may burn the place to the ground."
Kaz's voice was rasp and unyielding, as usual. He explained his scheming without even blinking, in the same way he'd request for another bottle of rum.
Jesper forced himself to reply, imbuing his words with skepticism and shock. "You're sending me into the house of our biggest enemy. And for what, learn where a couple of crafts are? Are you out of your mind?"
"Now, now, don't be so quick to judge. Do you not trust your abilities?"
A sarcastic remark about his arrogance. How annoying.
"That's not the point," he mumbled. "It's just… you want me to fake a Languages degree, spend months near a man that could—and would—kill me in a cannon shot, somehow learn where Van Eck's privateers are hiding, and get out alive?"
"Glad we're on the same page."
Jesper snorted. "You're right, there is nothing that could go wrong in this plan."
"Shut up for a moment and listen." The captain inhaled heavily, adjusting his ridiculous hat on his equally ridiculous undercut. "The king's ships are not bothering us for now. But in a year, they're going to defeat the pirate fleets around our sea zone and attack us. They have better cannons, a bigger crew, ten times our resources. We need to prevent a battle, because if there is one, either one of our ships gets destroyed and half of the crew dies, or everything blows up. Us included."
"I still don't like it."
"Do you have a less dangerous idea? If you do, please, share it with me."
Here it was: the catch, the trick, the trap that ensnared him every time. Kaz's schemes were so insane and yet so reasonable, no one but him could make better ones.
"Nina actually speaks many different languages," Jesper pointed out. "She is a better—"
The captain raised a hand to stop him. "She's coming too, I've just spoken to her. She has prior experience in spying, this is the work for Nina Zenik."
"Then how am I useful? She needn't my help."
"You're the face of the mission. The cover for the real objective. Your goal is to make you and Zenik seem innocuous."
Something was definitely amiss. Like Kaz could be completely truthful for once.
"Okay, captain," Jesper said, running his fingers over the fabric of his shirt, "can you be honest, just this time? I'd like to know… Why me? Why not another sailor? Because I'm sure you have your reasons."
Kaz sighed. "It's not of any—"
"It is for me. Please."
Jesper lowered his voice, ignoring the insidious little voice in his head.
He wants to get rid of you. He doesn't care if you live or not, business comes first.
"Actually, the 'reason' is stupid. It's a matter of taste."
Taste? Well, Kaz couldn't possibly mean his own.
"Whose…?"
"The prince's. They say he had an impressive amount of lovers in the past. All rumors, as you can guess, but I believe there must be some truth in it. Our dear Wylan Van Eck seems to have a specific type: tall, charming, bold—"
"Doesn't Nina fit all three?"
"—boys. He likes boys."
Oh, now he understood.
Seeing his pensive expression, Kaz raised a brow. "Don't say Nina could tailor herself to look like a male. Not even Genya Safin could pull off a sex change."
"I think she could, but I wasn't going to say that."
"Liar."
"Fine, I was. You know me too well."
Silence settled between them like dust. When the captain spoke again, his voice was also barely louder than a whisper.
"So. Are you in?"
There wasn't really a choice, but Jesper grabbed onto those crumbs of trust, though merely illusions of an independant decision, rekindling his lifeless hope in a cannon shot.
"I get to seduce somebody and help my crew, of course I am," he quipped.
Kaz smirked. "Don't forget free food, plus living in a castle with a comfortable bed, a bathroom, privacy and silence."
"No diseases. Clean clothes. Oh, Saints, clean clothes."
Kaz tapped the head of his cane and they returned serious.
"You and Zenik are leaving next week. I found a… very special ship, and for a good price, too; she will take you to Ketterdam in less than an hour."
"That fast? Nice. What's her secret, an all-Grisha crew?"
"Not only that. I'm not allowed to disclose her confidential features, but I think it's going to be fun. Unless you're afraid of heights."
Before Jesper could pry for details, Kaz had turned around and stepped out of the cabin.
"I'll inform Rotty he's won a gunner master position while you're away. No mourners."
And he was gone.
Nonetheless, Jesper whispered back, "No funerals, captain."
Notes:
Hey, thanks for reading until the end! I hope I can publish the next chapter within the month, but I'm not sure.
Anyway, see you soon!
Chapter Text
JESPER
Kaz Brekker wasn't exactly the farewell type. Nevertheless, Jesper… Jesper wanted to hear it from him.
They were standing side by side on the forecastle deck, waiting for the 'very special ship' to show up. Despite the comforts the mission would bring him, he knew he was going to miss the Dregs and the sea. They'd become his second home, after all.
Would Kaz miss him, too?
Probably not. Well, who cares about him anyway?
Nina's bright voice joined their unspoken words, filling the empty space between them.
"How long is it going to take?" she asked, not bothering to greet Kaz but waving vigorously at Jesper. She was holding a large suitcase in her other hand.
"You tell me," the captain replied, lightly tugging his coat, "but if you haven't discovered anything after six or seven months, we'll need to revise the plan."
"We're bound to find out something. We just can't guess how useful the information will be."
"Patience, Zenik. No need to get annoyed before even starting. Instead, let's revise what you're supposed to teach…" And they delved into the types of degrees in Ravkan universities and fricative consonants in Kerch versus in Kaelish.
Jesper stretched his aching limbs and yawned, letting the morning breeze lift the hem of his sleeves. He tried to listen, really, but immediately got distracted by the small vessel appearing below the horizon.
As she came nearer, sliding on the imperceptible waves, he couldn't help but appreciate her excellent quality. Her curved hulls resembled a flat shoe, a wise shape for speed reasons, and her massive white sails were controlled by two crew members and a Squaller each. In addition, her figurehead wasn't a standard beautiful woman, but a teal bird with a golden belly.
The elegant, graceful creature looked lighter than any silk or parchment. It was carved masterfully, as it could burst to life and soar toward the sky at any moment, careless and free.
Nina pointed at the vessel. "Oh, I've seen her, back in Ravka. She's the Kingfisher."
The craft stopped a few feet from theirs and Kaz started shouting orders at his crew; a plank was promptly lowered from the Slat to the deck of the other boat.
In no time a young man in teal jacket and feathered hat boarded their ship, bowed almost excessively, and shook hands with Kaz.
"Captain Brekker, a pleasure to meet you again."
"Captain Sturmhond. Watch your feet, or you're going to trip on your very own boots."
The Dregs gasped and started whispering all at once. Nina tilted her head and muttered, "Sturmhond. I've heard of him, but… I feel like I've seen him before. Where?"
"Maybe in Os Alta?" Jesper suggested. "He must have visited the palace at some point."
Everyone knew his name, he was the one and only Ravkan privateer and perhaps the most famous among all. The real question was why would a royal employee work with a bunch of pirates like them.
Sturmhond peeked behind Kaz and met Jesper's gaze, who shifted his weight to his other leg and smiled nervously.
"A good choice," the privateer said. "Well, if we consider the looks. I hope he can put up a convincing act, too."
"If he couldn't, I would send someone else."
Jesper grimaced and cleared his voice. "You know, I'm right here. I can speak."
"No doubts," Sturmhond replied with a smirk. He turned to Nina. "You used to be a Ravkan spy, yes?"
She narrowed her eyes. "And how would you know that?"
"I work with the king himself, darling."
"Sweet. He yearns for me already?"
"You're a prideful girl if you think that. No, I believe he pities you. Away from your land, your people, your home." A flicker of sympathy flashed across his face, but it vanished in a cannon shot.
Nina scowled. "He can stick his pity up to his—"
"Please, Zenik, have some decency."
Casting a glance at the Kingfisher, Sturmhond addressed Kaz again. "We'll leave as soon as she's settled. You need something else other than what we agreed upon?"
She? Is he referring to the boat?
Jesper looked at Nina in search of answers, but she shook her head in confusion.
"No. We're okay," Kaz said. His gaze shifted from the privateer to the plank hanging between the ships.
A girl in navy blue jacket and matching trousers was boarding the Slat, her rubber shoes not making a sound over the wood. She took off her broad silk hat to greet them, revealing silver earrings shining against her bronze skin.
No way… She's back!
The earrings resembled a crow and a dagger; Jesper had gifted them to her the last time they'd talked, and she'd promised to wear them whenever she could.
Now, he couldn't help but grin and throw his arms around her.
"Inej! What are you doing here?"
Not much time had passed, but Saints, he'd missed her.
She squeezed his shoulders, her voice soft as ever. "Business and friendship," she answered. "Though you can guess that, can you?"
As they parted, Nina came forward and embraced her, planting a kiss on her forehead. The suitcase banged funnily against their hips.
"How are you? Ah, you must tell us everything."
Inej sighed and stepped back. "I'd love to, but I'm afraid we don't have the luxury of time."
She glanced at Sturmhond, who had moved away to talk with Kaz. Both captains pretended they weren't listening, possibly tracking the amount of heartbeats she was wasting.
"Don't mind those killjoys," said Jesper. "We won't see each other for months, we deserve to breathe."
"And we've heard of your accomplishments, you know." Nina smiled, ruffling Inej's hair. "Seven slaver ships sinked in less than a year? That's impressive, you have to be proud."
She chuckled. "You're already informed, I see. To be honest, there's not much to add: ups and downs, new allies and enemies, a crew that calls the Wraith home. It's been a good year, despite all the complications."
"Where's your vessel now?" asked Jesper.
"It's berthed at Vellgeluk, you'll see her when you dock there. My mates are on land now, but I say you're allowed to have a look."
Sturmhond, a few steps from them, coughed just a little too loudly.
"I'll be quick," Inej said, raising her voice. She lowered it again and took out a piece of paper. "Here's the address where you must send your reports. Oh, and if you have any problems… Search for Chandrakant's shop in Little Ravka. They're a friend of mine, they will know how to help."
Nina opened a hidden pocket in the suitcase and Jesper put away the note.
"Thank you," he said. "No mourners, captain Ghafa."
"No funerals to you."
Sturmhond coughed again, and Nina rolled her eyes. "We're coming, darling, don't worry."
They bid their goodbyes briskly; Jesper patted Rotty and other mates on the shoulder, hugged Inej again, and nodded awkwardly at Lirael. He glimpsed Nina kissing her dearest, Mattthias, on the lips.
The two pirates crossed the improvised bridge after Sturmhond. Stopping halfway, Jesper turned around one last time.
Inej smiled at him while Kaz stood there, his black coat flapping in the breeze. He hesitated, then muttered something alongside of, "Don't die, idiot."
Jesper hid his grin and continued walking.
Not a farewell, but close enough.
NINA
Nina had worn every kind of clothes in her spying career, but these ones were especially fancy.
The satin gently hugged her shoulders, folding in soft avory waves, and the blouse buttons captured the sunrays in copper glints. The trousers had a single split under the knee and refined red embroidery at the hem; they highlighted nicely her full hips and sturdy ankles.
It wasn't a kefta, sure, but the fabric was almost as exquisite.
She returned to the upper deck, heels clinking against the stairs, and found Jesper sitting with a cup of rum under the main mast. In addition to the shirt and embellished trousers, he was wearing a lime and orange tie.
"You look gorgeous," he noted.
"Thanks, I know. You too."
He snorted. "The girl's modest."
"Modesty is for the weak. And I just praised you, so shut your mouth."
"My deepest apologies, Your Imperial Majesty, Mistress of Virtues."
Sturmhond yelled something behind them and five Grisha—Squallers, judging by their keftas—scrambled below the sails, raising their hands as in a sort of dance.
"We're setting off, finally." Nina sat down, rubbing her palms together.
Jesper sipped the rum and frowned. "We've been moving for fifteen minutes."
"Yes, on the sea."
"Where else are crafts supposed to sail? Should they float in the clouds instead?"
"Moron, this is a—"
The engines of the Kingfisher turned on with a boom. Simultaneously, several gusts enveloped her from five different directions: her white sails filled and trembled and the winds lifted the whole ship, first only a few feet from the waves underneath, then higher and higher, until the sea became a vague bluish clump.
Sturmhond continued to shout orders, attempting to stabilize the vessel. Despite the situation, he was breathing pretty calmly. On the other hand, Jesper was clutching the mug tightly, his heartbeat fast and irregular.
Nina squeezed his arm. "Are you all right?"
"When Kaz said 'I hope you aren't afraid of heights', I wasn't picturing… this."
"You mean a flying ship."
"A fucking flying ship, yes."
"This is Sturmhond, he's basically the pioneer of innovative technologies. It's not unpredictable news. Though I understand it might be frightening to you."
She drew a tiny circle in the air and felt his pulse steadying.
"By the way, it's almost over. See, that flat island covered in barren sand should be Vellgeluk."
Jesper blinked and took a huge breath. "Have you ever been there?"
"No, saw it during one of my missions. One where I had to dye my hair blonde and, somehow, it ended up ice blue. Like Matthias's eyes."
"…It's not a bad color, is it?"
"The point was to blend in with the crowd, but alas."
The Kingfisher descended abruptly, her engines roaring and hissing. After a minute of struggling and panicked Grisha she sinked in the low water, causing sighs of relief from more than one sailor.
Jesper had to hold onto Nina to get up. He murmured, "Not so graceful after all."
She smirked. "Who, you? You've never been."
"I was talking about the boat. How dare you, I am the grace incarnate."
"Sure, and I'm the lost princess of Fjerda."
The Wraith was towering over them in utter stillness, her beauty untouched by the rain that had started to pour. She stood silently, a true ghost akin to her captain. Unfortunately, there wasn't time to properly look at her.
They got off the ship as another one appeared in the fog: an ordinary liner built for rich merchers, the type of people that probably overlooked sails and relied a little too much on big, powerful machines.
"I bet it has a dining hall too," Jesper said mockingly.
Nina turned to Sturmhond. "Won't the stop be suspicious? There are passengers on this thing, I suppose."
"There are. They're all sleeping, and its crew is loyal to me. It's useful to have a cover like this if you need to sneak away."
It's definitely for Nikolai Lantsov, Nina thought. She wondered wheter he fled often.
"And how much were you paid for granting us this privileged service?" she asked with nonchalance.
"I owed captain Ghafa," Sturmhond explained. "Brekker just added some money for the clothes and the forged documents."
Inej. May the Saints bless her soul.
The privateer gestured toward the liner, now approaching closer. "Farewell, pirates. The court of Ketterdam awaits you."
Notes:
Wow, I actually updated on time? Am I a god?
Anyway, the next chapter is kind of complex so I'll probably publish it in February. Cheers!
Chapter 3: Phantoms of royal red
Notes:
This is probably kind of obvious since the story is a literal AU, but just so you're aware, more than a few things may differ greatly from the canon. You probably won't notice much right now, but later it becomes pretty evident so I thought you should know in advance. That's it, enjoy the chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
JESPER
The carriage stumbled on the busy road, shoving them against the seat. Jesper grabbed their luggage before it could fall from their lap.
"Can't believe the pompous liner was steadier than this wreck…" he grumbled. "And why is Sturmhond's suitcase so heavy?"
Nina smoothed the wrinkles of her blouse. "It's either the steep clothes, or the incommensurable weight of lies."
"Forged degree certificates are still paper, though."
"Then you're simply a weakling."
He nudged her on the shoulder. "Hey, I'm the one who insults people until their tongue bleeds. Don't steal my only hobby."
The sound of hooves on cobblestone ceased after a hoarse "Halt!" and a couple of neighs and grunts. Jesper reached out to open the lateral door, but the coachman—young, thin, clothes too baggy—preempted him.
"Ms. Ivanova, Mr. O'Dunn, we've arrived."
"Thank you," Nina said, accepting his hand. Jesper didn't want to be rude and did the same, but his icy, feeble fingers gave him the creeps.
Has he perhaps drank seasoned death and melancholy? That, or this city must be gravely polluted. Though the guy appeared just a little older than him, his face had the same color of rusted weapons.
The coachman departed, a generous tip in his pocket, while the two pirates turned to admire Van Eck Palace.
They'd already glimpsed the chaotic face of Ketterdam from the carriage porthole: canals and slanted chimneys blended with the façades of pleasure houses and casinos, ships constantly docked in the harbors, turists in eccentric costumes mingled among merchers, students, and criminals.
The Geldin District, however, stood out from the others. It wasn't just the royal palace, which had red tulips painted over the front walls and actual tulips clinging to the stained-glass windows; all the houses in the area were refined, built to seem modest at first glance but clearly not cheap to an attentive eye.
"It looks more like a merchant mansion than a regal residence," Jesper mused. "Compare to the other buildings, their architecture is basically the same."
Nina nodded. "The whole thing was burned to the ground during the last outbreak of firepox. At least, those were the rumors in the Little Palace during that period."
"You heard of it? Weren't you like, ten?"
"Children may talk a lot, but they listen and remember way too much. I did. Kids, my friend, are a danger one must not underestimate."
"You're being dramatic. A child is…"
Before Jesper could complete his thought, a Kerch man with a rifle approached them. The baton dangling from his belt, but mostly his purple livery, identified him as a stadwatch guard.
"Define your names and intent," he demanded. He had a voice like dripping wine.
"Professor Ivanova and professor O'Dunn from Os Kervo," Nina answered immediately. "The prince's new tutors. We've been hired by His Majesty via letter."
She elbowed Jesper on the back. He stared at her, confused, then remembered he was the one carrying their documents.
"Erm, these are our degree certificates," he said, pulling them out of his pocket. "And this is the pre-indenture paper."
The soldier basically squinted at the Ravkan words, a pitiful attempt to extrapolate their meaning. In the end, he probably gave up and decided that the sheet with Van Eck's seal was enough. "Fine, follow me."
The guard didn't walk through the garden, he marched through it, moving past lines of perfectly trimmed trees and bored patrols. Jesper could barely acknowledge the doorframe and the multitude of people around them and the tapestry or frescos or whatever adorned the ceiling.
What he very much noticed, though, were the staircases. It couldn't be legal to have such a ridiculous, endless amount of them, there had to be a law or something.
Finally, the man stopped inside of a study. It had a nice desk, a matching armchair, and various maps splayed on the wall, as well as papers scattered everywhere. The large windows let in all the available light—which was little, because the sun rose from the opposite side of the building.
"Wait here," the soldier said. He went out without closing the door.
Both Nina and Jesper dropped off the suitcases. He panted, "At least we're used to physical work."
"Ugh, speak for yourself."
They had to wait, of course, and Jesper was close to falling asleep when they heard footsteps from the hallway. And there he came, king Jan Van Eck, guarantee of peace, lord of trade and fairness, father of all houses.
His gait could be only described as confident and mechanical. His blond hair was combed back, his eyebrows stretched in an impassive frown; he wasn't wearing a crown, yet he held up his chin as if there were one.
They bowed. He halted coldly before them—Jesper noticed the purple cape trailing at his feet, folding akin to a curled-up snake—and dipped his head, following etiquette requirements.
He then lifted a hand, a giant ruby glinting on his middle finger. "Rise."
They obeyed. Jesper hated how his body had reacted, instantly, submitting to what his ego claimed as a more powerful man.
"Greetings, professors. I'll be candid, I was intrigued to meet you in person."
Nina lowered her head in scarily convincing embarassment. "We're honored to hear that. Working with the Van Eck family is a great opportunity for us scholars."
"Of course," the king said. A brief emotion clouded his eyes, seeping through his composure for a cannon shot. Was it mistrust, or something worse?
Trying to control his shaking hands, Jesper started fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt. "Your Majesty, it isn't my wish to rush things, but my colleague and I are quite exhausted. Besides, we surely… smell like fish and rotten wood. Shall we unpack now, so that we may procede with the indenture details?"
"Let's finish the paperwork first," Van Eck suggested, though it was less a suggestion than a stern order. "Hian?"
A tall woman materialized at his side—a servant, judging by her red and gold uniform. Jesper hadn't noticed her arrival, nor he'd seen her standing in a corner until now.
She gave them a stack of sheets without uttering a word. Jesper only skimmed through, leaving to Nina the burden of checking the contract's veracity.
Van Eck, however, seemed to grasp the shallowness of his examination. "Professor," he inquired, "in your last letter, you told me about the university you attended together. Os Kervo's?"
"Precisely, Your Majesty." The letter had actually been written by Kaz, his schemes, and his connections on land, but the king couldn't know that.
"Do you have the certificates here? And the pre-indenture I've sent?"
He promptly reached for the folded papers in his breast pocket and let Van Eck examine them. After a moment of silence, the man noted, "Ms. Ivanova, you served in the First Army. Why this… abrupt change of profession?"
Nina raised her eyes from the contract. "It wasn't a choice, Your Majesty. There was a war going on, and Ravka needed soldiers. Even if otkazat'sya aren't as powerful as Grisha."
"I understand," Van Eck said, but his voice was stone. He returned the sheets and clasped the pen the servant handed out to him.
"Sign on the last page. We'll renew the indenture on the first day of every month, when you'll be allowed to place any complaint."
So they couldn't point out problems or change the terms whenever they wanted. It was to be expected. It was frustrating nonetheless.
"Very well." Nina wrote her name just under the king's, then passed the pen to Jesper. But after he'd traced a big 'J', his gaze fell on the numbers above.
"One and twenty only?" He straightened, his fingers tapping on the mahogany desk. "We agreed upon two hundreds, if I'm not mistaken."
Nina shot him a warning glare. The king ignored her and replied, "I don't make investments on mere promises. Get results out of my son, and money will come."
That man was starting to annoy him. He forced himself to swallow several times before fully signing the document, but his wrist trembled anyway.
Van Eck nodded once, sharply. "Thank you. Since you are tired, Hian's going to accompany you to your rooms."
The woman bowed at his words.
"Anyhow," the king said, "welcome to the court of Ketterdam."
Hian led them to a spacious area that consisted in two adjacent rooms with a bathroom in common. Each looked surprsingly cozy thanks to the canopy beds, shelves, and carved desks. One had a fireplace, while the other was adorned by a little balcony, which faced the nearest canal and was covered in crimson buds.
"I'll bring you lunch later," the servant said in a controlled, monotonous voice. "Pull the bell lever if you need anything."
Jesper turned around to thank her, but she had already vanished. She... sort of reminded him of Inej, only that Hian didn't have her same freedom.
Nina was already inspecting the place. She studied the black and white tiled floor, the velvet curtains, the oak tables with vases of fresh flowers, even the bottom of the wardrobes.
To be honest, it looked a little excessive. It wasn't like they were going to find the privateers' names hidden between the pillows.
"Found mines under the carpets?" Jesper scoffed.
Not taking her eyes off the furniture, she twisted her palm and a stitch clutched his side.
"That was unecessary! I was joking," he groaned as the pain subsided.
Nina scowled. "It's not about your antics."
"Then what's the matter?"
"You acted rashly earlier. We must keep a low profile, especially during the first period, and yet you've already objected to the fucking king. On day one."
"He modified the clauses without even telling us!"
"Yes, because we were supposed to read the contract and learn them so. And for all the Saints, Jesper, he's royalty. What else did you expect?"
"I—" He turned away, realizing she had switched to Zemeni.
Nina, always so prudent. Nina, the perfect choice for the mission. And then him: incompetent, impulsive, chosen for his flirting abilities and body despite his reckless mind.
Kaz got rid of you because he hates you. Nina thinks you're irresponsible and hates you. Inej—
"Jes." Nina grabbed him by the shoulders. "We all screw up from time to time, but mistakes in a mission like this can be fatal. So get yourself together, remember to be more cautious, and don't get trapped in your own guilt. You understand?"
"I'm not trapped in anything."
"Do you understand?"
He inhaled sharply. "I do. I do, I'm sorry. I'll be careful."
"Good."
She stepped back and cleared her voice, looking around in a pensive, almost awkward way. "Anyway, I'm searching for clues before we unpack. Just so you know."
"….Okay." Jesper shrugged and started loosening his itching tie. "Clues about…?"
"The people who stayed here before us. How a court treats its guests reveals a lot."
"Uh, sure. I guess. What have you discovered?"
She grimaced, yanking the straps of Sturmhond's suitcase. "Nothing too curious, except that they clean excessively. Now come help me."
They hung all the clothes and laid out their belongings—most of which were fake, since a pirate's real personal effects tended to be easily recognizable. They let a deck of cards bestow the nicer room, the one with the balcony. Fate, for once, chose Jesper.
As Nina pouted, "Well, I'm bathing first," somebody knocked.
Without waiting for an answer, Hian came in and bowed. "Goedendag."
Jesper blinked, stunned for a moment by the different language.
Thankfully, Nina easily shifted to Kerch. "Oh, hello, is it lunch time already?"
"No, it's only ten bells. Pardon my intrusion, but…"
She glanced behind her and a boy came into view. He wore exquisite fabrics and gold around his neck, his wrists, in his auburn hair, but apart from that he was not so different from the servant. Same lowered gaze, same dancer stride, even the red of their outfits almost matched.
The corners of Hian's lips lifted in an expression that vaguely resembled a smile. "His Highness asked me to introduce him to you. Salute Wylan Van Eck, prince of Kerch."
Notes:
Here we go! First thing first, thank you all for reading, and a special thank you to the people that are leaving me kudos, comments etc. I really, really appreciate your support. Now that Wylan is here, the plot can start to thicken and I can't wait to write the next chapters.
Hope to update around the first days of March. See you soon!
Chapter Text
JESPER
His first thought was very pragmatic.
Those jewels could buy a whole fleet, as well as feed twelve families for years. Wish I had this much money.
Hilarious that the prince didn't need ships nor food anyway. Not when his father had an army of privateers, the best chefs cooking for him, and the political influence of an earthquake.
Nina bowed deeply and Jesper awkwardly mirrored her movements. She'd always been more agile than him; it was, however, a grace that she wore when needed and shoved aside in any other situation.
Wylan Van Eck dipped his head in respect. "Good morning. Was your journey pleasant?"
His voice was soft, almost shy. Light, but not as a sail full of wind, light as a caged bird trying to catch glimpses of sky.
Wow, that could've been a great poem.
"It was quite good, I would say," Jesper answered. He frantically scratched his wrist as he searched for a harmless topic. "You… Have you ever been to Ravka, Your Highness?"
The prince smiled, but his eyes stayed gloomy. "I haven't. How is it?"
"Beautiful," Nina said, a hint of bittersweet in her words. "The most beautiful place I've seen in my life."
Silence followed, and Hian's gaze moved to the floor like she wanted to melt between the black and white tiles.
Finally, Wylan spoke again. "I hoped to have lunch together, if you'd like. We can have our meal in my chambers. To get acquainted before the lessons."
Jesper's mind wandered off in inopportune directions. He couldn't help but smirk. "Your Highness. Do you invite your tutors to your rooms often?"
Wylan blinked as a sleepy man blinded by the cruel morning sun. Hian covered her mouth, an unsuccessful attempt to hide her scoff.
"We'll be glad to accept," Jesper added, not holding back a mellifluous hint. "Don't we, Nina?"
She pursed her lips. "Right."
Oh, she was definitely trying not to laugh.
"…I'm happy to hear that." The prince hadn't grasped the innuendo, or perhaps he was just pretending he hadn't. He extended his palm to them, the golden bracelets tingling after his movement.
Nina shook his hand without hesitation. Jesper paused, then leaned forward and kissed his knuckles instead.
They were warm, less smooth than he'd guessed. The prince almost tripped as he took a step back, his cheeks pinkening in a very satisfying way.
"You—Ahem. I'll see you later."
With a nervous smile, Wylan shut the door behind him and Hian.
Nina rubbed her forehead and grunted. She waited until their footsteps had died down before muttering, "Saints, you're a dis-as-ter. Flirting as soon as you meet him? Is this your grand plan?"
He crossed his arms, vaguely offended. "You would've done the same."
"That doesn't mean you're going to succeed."
"Well, we can only wait and see." Jesper undid his tie and threw it on the desk. "Funnily enough, he seems already smitten by me."
"Or, he's cringing at your advances." She lowered her voice. "Please tell me that your weird strategies do usually work on Lirael."
He felt his smug grin withering in a cannon shot. "She has nothing to do with this."
"Oh. Okay." She shrugged, looking sort of disappointed. "By the way, your girl gave me a gift for you. Wait just a moment…"
A gift from… his girl? What the hell.
"We're not together, Nina. You must have misunderstood."
She rolled her eyes. Reaching for the chest that contained her belongings, real and fake, she unwrapped a sheer night robe, two layers of lace and delicate black silk. The fabric swashed in a web of intricate patterns.
"Holy shit," he squawked. "Holy shit."
The weave was stunning, a marking of Lirael's precision. The quality and obvious attention for details made everything even worse.
"She found the time to… She shouldn't have. Why? No, no, it's all wrong…"
Nina's tone softened a bit. "She likes you, dumbass."
"She has no reason to! I told her, 'it doesn't mean anything, I want sex, only sex,' it's not logical for her to—"
"Mate, it's not like she chose to." Nina folded the robe and placed it on his bed. "Love doesn't work that way."
Jesper let out a frustrated growl. He'd always thought Kaz was the most awkward with feelings and stuff… but apparently he wasn't that better.
Leaning against the wall, he stared at everything and nothing at the same time. "We won't see the Dregs for months, she'll… get over it. I hope."
Nina watched him stuffing the robe under the other clothes in the wardrobe. She exhaled in exasperation, but headed toward the bathroom without replying. Jesper mentally thanked her tact.
She was right, though. He was truly a disaster.
WYLAN
Laying the table for lunch was something his father had never done.
Based on Jan Van Eck's beliefs, only servants and poor folk did that. He enjoyed affirming, "Royal blood shouldn't meddle in filthy, dishonorable work." So Wylan, naturally, always made sure of dirtying his hands as much as possible when the king wasn't looking.
Being kind, for how naive it might have appeared, felt revolutionary, a little act of rebellion in its own way.
Hian pointed at what he needed to arrange. She never said much, there were days when she wouldn't speak at all, but somehow Wylan understood her quietness.
Like in music, silence made every sound stand out.
He placed the last knife and glanced at Hian, who reached out to align the glasses. Then she clasped her hands left on right, like she did every time a question popped in her mind.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
She met his gaze confidently. "Are you certain about this?"
"The welcoming lunch? It's good manners."
"No, the issue is another. You know, too."
He fell silent, because he knew indeed.
Hian sighed. "Are you fine with having tutors again? The last ones—"
The words stumbled and tangled in his throat. "I am enough, I think. It doesn't… It's not my decision to make. At the very least, my father thinks I can… learn. For now, he still has faith." Not in me, though.
"I'm aware it's not your choice, Wylan. It doesn't mean you are necessarily happy to comply."
"And why would I be?" he snapped. "In the best case they're unable to understand my 'problem' and leave, in the worst I fucking die."
Hian didn't move. She stared at him until Wylan processed what he'd said.
"Sorry. It's not your fault, I'm… I'm an idiot." He collapsed onto the nearest chair. "But I still need them to like me. I'd rather not spend the next months dodging insults. Or worse."
"As you wish." Hian bowed, going back to her usual politeness. "I'll call them. Just… Stay vigilant, kid. Caution is never stupid."
Small talk was laughable: you could go on for hours and learn nothing.
"Your Highness, you've had other tutors in the past, right?"
"I did, but I fear we weren't compatible."
"Ah, I sympathize. I've had teachers like that."
Okay, perhaps not nothing nothing, but a futile amount of information for sure. The weather, the family, how delicious the food was, the type of clothes they were wearing, and all over again. Wylan didn't consider himself irritable or unsociable, but that kind of conversation drained him.
And yet! He had to undergo this if he wanted the slightest possibility with them. People usually reacted badly when they realized the extent of his inability.
Nina pierced a big chunk of chicken, twirling the fork in the air. "Is the king a strict father, Your Highness?"
"Erm, not too much." He glanced at Jesper, who had spoken exactly twice and was looking at the food like he expected it to come alive.
"Mr. O'Dunn, is lunch not of your liking?"
He startled, gripping the napkin. "No, it is! Very much of my liking. But this doesn't look… fully cooked."
"It's rare meat, it's normal and completely safe to eat."
"Once I tried a similar dish and spewed all over the table. Are you sure?"
Wylan was unable to hold back a brief laugh. "I'll take responsability if you feel sick."
Jesper grumbled, but started eating anyway. After a few mouthful, he admitted, "Well, His Highness wasn't entirely wrong, I suppose."
Wylan refrained himself from quipping, 'You owe me a thousand kruge and a pair of socks now'.
Nina suddenly stood up. "Excuse me, may I use the bathroom?"
"Sure. Hian, can you show her where it is?"
She nodded. The two women disappeared in the hallway.
As Wylan's attention returned to Jesper, he noticed that his new tutor was staring at him, his finger tapping on the plate.
"Yes, professor?"
He tilted his head, propping on one elbow. "Pardon me for the personal question, Your Highness, but… have you really lay with thirteen lovers?"
The lower part of his neck began to burn. He's got no shame whatsoever! What game is this boy playing, dropping a topic like that in the middle of nowhere?!
Half of him rejected any hypothesis, but the other half was excited to find out. Or rather, it had ideas that went far too wild.
"Why are you interested?" Wylan retorted. His voice staggered. "You have no reason to be."
Jesper snorted. "Can't it be genuine curiosity?"
"It never is." He'd learned that in the hard way.
"Fine, you've caught me red handed. You've seen through my act!" He dramatically tossed the napkin over his shoulder. "The truth is, I can't fathom that you've slept with more people than me."
Wylan was so thrown off by the explanation that he cracked up. Literally.
And there goes etiquette.
Jesper shook his head. "Dumb, I know. What can I say, I'm a petty one."
"Yes." He took a sip of water before continuing, "But the rumors exaggerate."
"Mmh. Do they?"
"What makes the difference isn't quantity, it's quality. It's the first thing you learn."
Jesper's smirk widened. "In my opinion, waiting for the best is not worth it. I'm open to discussion, though." He pondered for a moment. "Maybe you have an intelligent… approach, Your Highness. Or maybe you've simply been lucky?"
Wylan felt his face catching fire. For Ghezen, he was way too relaxed! And why were they talking about sex so casually, like two old friends meeting in a bar?
Oh, screw it. Small talk was boring, while Jesper was… definitely not boring.
"Luck's absolutely my enemy," Wylan said, "considering that my last lover—and tutor for a week—tried to stab me to death."
Notes:
Don't look at me like that, I am not sorry for the cliffhanger.
But if it consoles you, you'll discover more in chapter 5! Until next time :)
Chapter Text
JESPER
Jesper gulped. "That's not funny, Your Highness."
"Oh, but he did stab me. With this elaborate, ornamental dagger."
What the hell.
"Through the heart," Wylan continued, "like in some cheap play. By the way, his name's Arjen Hummel."
What the hell again.
Every ounce of flirtatiousness had instantly vanished from Jesper's body. He couldn't tease the prince while listening to… that.
He wasn't bothered by stories of violence, but the detached calmness in Wylan's tone felt unsettling.
Stifling.
When Inej tensed up near men she didn't know, or Nina breathed heavily in cramped spaces, or Matthias got all serious about drüskelle education, or Kaz avoided physical contact and scowled at every sign of affection…
He'd seen it all before. It was the surface of an obscure, ocean-deep pit.
But Jesper didn't care, did he? Whatever problems the prince had, they weren't his business. They didn't affect the seduction plan anyway, besides maybe slowing down the process.
They didn't matter. At all.
And yet he whispered, "Why? Why did he want to kill you?"
For science, of course. Not because of the suffocating lump in his throat.
Wylan avoided meeting his eyes, as if his sole gaze could break him into pieces.
"I'm the heir to the Kerch throne, professor. That's a valid motivation, isn't it?" He laughed, but it wasn't genuine like earlier. "When the stadwatch interrogated him, he said the Shu had sent him. Evidently, the tension between our countries wasn't high enough already."
Jesper frowned. The whole tutor-lover disguise seemed a great waste of time and energy, at least to him; a hired assassin could just smack a brick on their target's head and call it a day.
It made no sense to complicate the work even more.
"You must be scared, Your Highness," he said, cautiously. "I'm sorry such a horrible event occurred."
Wylan shrugged. As if people attempted to murder him everyday. "I don't fully believe the Shu are responsable for this."
"You think he—I mean the assassin—lied?"
"I suspect the main goal was to destroy my reputation, a goal he achieved. You've heard the… well, you must have heard the stories."
Kaz's connections had, indeed.
The prince runs the West Stave on his knees. The prince loves a size double his own. The prince doesn't discriminate between criminals and cousins. The prince likes his boys like he likes his paper: easily bended.
The captain had repeated the rumors to him, counting on his fingers, and Jesper deemed them quite amusing, though somewhat absurd. Now, he noted how ridiculous and shallow they were.
He found himself seeking for proper comfort words, but his mind went blank. He ended up saying, "At least, you are alive."
It was far from reassuring. Wylan didn't reply and shifted in his chair.
Had Jesper troubled him with his questions? Shit, had he deepened his wounds by trying to flirt and be nice? Saints above.
The prince glanced at their plates, still half-full. "My apologies if I've ruined your appetite," he murmured. "My father claims that I ramble often, and also trust others a little too much."
Jesper shook his head. "It's fine. I'm glad you answered."
Maybe, he mused, I should've not asked in the first place.
God. He always ruined everything.
NINA
As expected, Hian hadn't taken her to the prince's private bathroom. Nina had counted up to ten occupied toilets before they'd reached an empty one.
"Pardon me for the long walk," the servant had said. "We have tons of visitors these days, and we strive to mantain everyone's privacy."
Nina finished washing her hands and slowly patted them dry. I hope Jesper seizes this opportunity to speak with Wylan, she thought.
Hian led her back in the main hallway, a spacious area with high archs and paintings adorning both walls to cover the old stucco underneath. The three flying fish, symbol of the kingdom, hanged loosely from the chandeliers.
At some point, the few whispers around them exploded into an indistinct chatter.
Doors opened. The servants carried off dirty plates and unfinished drinks, and the palace's current guests returned to the east wing gossiping in any language but Kerch.
Nina inspected the people moving past her: a Zemeni woman from the navy, Grisha in ugly reproductions of kefta, tutors with books pressed against their chests, a couple of merchers, a boy too scantily clothed to be one.
Could they possess information about the royal privateers? Could they be privateers themselves?
The sailor, for example, was easily imputable. Nina had seen Novy Zem's warships, the robust canvas of their sails, their weaponry and cannons; the sea wasn't only their home and domain, it was their deity, their only object of worship.
Secretly signing a pact with the Zemeni would bring a great advantage to Kerch.
However, she had to remember the lesson all the 'second dynasty of Shu Han' shenanigans. The less suspicious weren't to be underestimated.
Act convicing, and you'll fool even the almighty gods.
Back in the pre-war days, Zoya had told her the legend after her morning bath. While narrating, she'd thrown back her head, her body wrapped in a silk robe, and Nina had immediately decided that history lessons were not that boring after all.
"The plotters had killed the previous monarch, so people searched everywhere for her daughter," she said, wringing out her ebony hair. "Nobody knew how she looked like: her parents kept her 'peculiar appearance' hidden."
"Why? Was she sick?"
"Possibly, we can't be sure. Anyway, they found a girl in the royal chambers. She was scattered in blood, eyes wide with fear, and clutched the queen's favorite necklace. Her hair was paper-white, her irises scarlet."
Nina nodded and fastened her kefta. "I remember what happens next. She ascends to the throne, secures it, and since all her relatives are gone she changes her name to Daifeng Kir-Taban, thus starting a new lineage."
"Yes." Zoya smiled at her from the mirror. "She reigned wisely and passed away at a respectable age. But here's the twist. When she died, someone—a servant, a guard, perhaps an envious friend—spilled a tremendous truth about her."
"What truth?"
"Daifeng Kir-Taban wasn't the legittimate heir. She was actually the princess's cousin. The real one? She'd died in the plot."
Nina turned to her, incredulous. "That's insane! Insane." She shook her head. "Though… Do you believe that Daifeng would pretend to be somebody else… just to be queen?"
"And who wouldn't?" Zoya placed a hand on her shoulder. "The point is, that's the way to deceive others: blend with your fake identity so much that you become them."
Now, Nina realized, she had to imitate Daifeng's course of action, sort of.
Could she pull that off? Could she be credible enough, confident enough?
While she was still pondering, she and Hian took the turn at the end of the hallway and halted in front of the prince's room. The servant raised her fist to knock, but the door swung open in her face.
An embarassed Jesper stumbled out. "Oh fuck, I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry—"
"I am well," Hian cut him off. Abashed, he fell silent.
She straightened the inexistent creases of her uniform. "Why are you in such a hurry? Is His Highness fine?"
"No, no—I mean yes, he's fine, he was just… tired. But we did finish the lunch."
Nina raised a brow. Jesper grimaced and mouthed, 'later'.
"Good," mumbled Hian. "Well, do you recall the way to your room? If you need, I can accompany you again."
"Thank you, we'll manage," Nina answered, surprised to catch a hint of impatience in her tone.
The servant bowed. "Have a lovely afternoon."
With that, she turned around and went inside. Very curt, and also ill-mannered compared to her behavior earlier.
As they started walking away, Nina tugged at Jesper's sleeve. "What happened?"
"Long story," he said. His shoulders sagged. "I might have overstepped into dangerous territory."
"Dangerous?"
"Delicate, mostly. Sex and assassination attempts. You know, the ordinary conversation topics."
Nina thought she'd heard it wrong, but Jesper looked tremendously serious.
"I'll explain in detail when we arrive in our room. Okay, no one's listening, but it's a—"
A deafening "SCREEECH!" hailed on them.
Jesper jumped against the wall, and Nina istinctively raised her arms, her body ready to twist ankles and splinter bones—
"SCREEECH!"
A girl twirled out of a room, howling and screaming like she wanted to rip her lungs off. For all the Saints, how was she not breathless yet?
She freezed below the chandelier, noticing their stares, and her eyes went wide. She finally stopped… doing whatever she was doing. A faint blush appeared on her cheeks.
"Pardon me! I'm studying a new song, it's not perfect but I need to train!"
Those noises were supposed to be verses!? They followed a melody!?
Nina could almost hear Matthias snickering at the situation. Hear that, little bird? She's just as terrible as you.
Jesper muttered in his native tongue, "Fish pierced by crowbars are better singers."
Nina felt the urge to throw a bucket of water on him—she agreed, but saying it aloud was outright reckless.
Fortunately, the girl didn't understand Zemeni. She lifted her dress in a curtsy and giggled. "You're Wylan's new teachers, arent' you? Have you visited the palace? You have to, it's stunning. I'd love to show you around!"
Jesper opened his mouth, clearly appalled, but Nina was faster.
"We haven't yet. It's a kind offer from you, madame…?"
"Just Alys. Or Lady Alys, if you prefer."
Ah. Nina glanced meaningfully at Jesper. He sighed quietly, accepting defeat.
After all, it would be ungracious to refuse a favor from the king's fiancée.
Notes:
This isn't the longest chapter in the fic, but it was kind of difficult to write? Probably because of the heavy psychological aspect. Soooo I hope you liked it, though not much happens!
See you in three weeks, give or take :)
Chapter 6: A salamander in a crow's beak
Notes:
I'm sooo excited for this chapter. I rewrote it completely because I wasn't satisfied with the first draft; I hope you love reading it as much as I loved writing it!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
WYLAN
Perhaps 'personal experiences regarding murder' wasn't the best matter to start a conversation with.
In fact, an average person would logically avoid sharing their dark, embarrassing incidents. Especially with strangers.
Yes, he'd be a terrible spy, and not only because he couldn't read.
"Kid. The plate."
He snapped out of his pondering and handed the plate to Hian, almost dropping it in the process. She glared at him in a good-natured way.
"Mr. O'Dunn was nervous," she said then, jumping straight to the point. "He didn't attempt to kiss you on the mouth, did he?"
The way she'd chosen her tone, measured like she was addressing a foreign ambassador, clashed comically with her question.
Wylan flushed a little. "No one is that impulsive."
"Don't feign blindness. We both see how he acts around you."
"He hasn't been forthright yet." He stared at his fingernails. "And he isn't the first, anyway. I can deal with a few veiled comments."
Honestly that kind of teasing, not cheeky but not proper either, had never bothered him. Well, at least until his last tutor.
Ghezen, why had he brought up Arjen Hummel at all? And with his new teacher, of all people.
Hian shrugged and turned around. "Whatever. Call if problems arise."
She left, somehow taking away dishes, cutlery, and tablecloth at once—a skill he could only dream of having.
Wylan felt the silence weigh on him, wrap him tightly in its insolent embrace. Musing, he folded his arms around his chest and turned to the window.
The glass reflected the guise of a prince: embroidered shirt, high-waisted trousers, a waistcoat with a double tail that fell mid-thigh, polished heeled shoes. Then bracelets, three for each wrist, and a heavy necklace, and the circlet basically weaved into his hair.
The picture of the perfect son. Of the perfect Kerch heir.
Since he was a child, he knew how to dress appropriately to the situation. Wear red to show your lineage, said his older, wiser cousins. Add a hint of purple when traveling to another country. More gold for formal events. Blue or dark green for balls. Full black for funerals.
He looked as royal and refined as he could look. He did everything his father dictated: always obeyed, always smiled, always kept quiet.
But it was never enough.
If only I weren't… me.
At the moment, Nina and Jesper weren't aware of his particular issues. But the chance of preserving their respect was slim, assuming it wasn't in shreds or nonexistent already. Hey, he'd let an assassin in his bed—unconsciously, stupidly—and admitted it instantly, so it was a possibility.
It was a struggle every time, describing his condition to others. He couldn't decide which felt worse: their silent judgement and scorn, or their pity.
No, no. Mulling will get you nowhere. Don't make things worse.
Okay. He had time to prepare. If not a whole speech, at least a bottle of brandy.
Because, well, he may be dressed like a prince, but he had the courage of a salamander in a crow's beak.
JESPER
"My goodness, it's Adem Bajan!" Alys waved at the young man passing by, who politely bowed in her direction.
When he disappeared around the corner, she started blabbing about him.
"It's my newest music teacher, you know. He's so kind and patient with me, even though I get every note wrong sometimes, and in truth he never ceases to amaze me. You should hear him singing…."
"I hope we'll get the chance to," Nina replied dryly.
She did not hope that, and Jesper didn't either. Actually, he'd rather endure Alys lecturing them in the palace's architecture again.
How much time was left before the meeting with the prince? He regretted not bringing a watch, but the pockets of his close-fitting trousers were too small anyway. Ugh, he should've considered wearing a jacket.
He noticed Alys's gaze lingering on him, inspecting his eyes as a seagull hunting a cod amidst the waves. He suppressed the urge to walk faster.
"Beautiful color," she chirped. "Is it natural?"
"Uhm, yes. My father's Kaelish." He chuckled nervously. "Why wouldn't it be natural?"
"Some friends of mine have tailored irises, it's really cool! You see all these silver glints and shades, they nearly look like a different person…" She suddenly beamed. "Oh, I' meeting Anneliese and Cornelia in two minutes, I can introduce them to you!"
Nina coughed into her fist. "Forgive us, lady, it's almost three bells—"
"Already? Time is such a trickster…"
"Yes, already. We have a lesson with His Highness scheduled for this afternoon," she said, her voice firm. "I'm afraid we can't make him wait."
Jesper nodded, following her thought process. "Precisely. Besides, you must care about his education as much as His Majesty. Isn't that right?"
Alys blinked and stuttered, "I don't—Well of course I do care, I care a lot…"
"You want him to read and write without troubles, no?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then we shall go, so that your wishes may become true. Farewell, lady Alys."
And with that, he and Nina hurried away. Alys's protests dwindled until they'd disappeared completely.
An atrocious amount of staircases later, the two arrived in the long corridor with the flying fish. Jesper dragged himself to the last door, the one leading to Wylan's chambers, but Nina seized his arm before he could knock.
She switched to Zemeni. "Did you disguise the material?"
"We'd planned to do it after lunch," he said, defensively. "So no, I didn't."
She cursed under her breath, unfamiliar Ravkan words pouring from her tongue. "…Servants go through all the guest rooms at this hour. If they discover—"
"They won't find anything, it's in a hidden pocket for a reason."
"We can't afford risky gambles, Jesper!"
The prince's voice from behind the door startled them.
"In case that you need to enter, it's open."
Thank all deities for our multilingual knowledge.
Nina whispered, "You go, I'll join in a cannon shot."
He wanted to remind her that he possessed awful teaching skills, but she sooner slipped away and got out of his sight.
Oh, he was surely going to trip somewhere and embarrass himself and his whole family too. He hated it, the situation and everything.
Groaning, he stepped in.
He immediately noticed two things. One: the window was open, and the chilly air had converted the room into New Fjerda. Two: Wylan Van Eck, sitting at the same mahogany table they'd eaten on, was drinking brandy. There was also a lot of it at his feet. The three glasses and the half-empty bottle, placed among the stacks of papers and books on the improvised desk, stood out like dirty underwear in a kitchen.
"Professor O'Dunn," he smiled, his words surprisingly clean.
Jesper decided to ignore the copious amount of alcohol that had clearly been spilled. "Your Highness, hello. Would you mind if I locked the window?"
"On the contrary."
He went to close it, only that he had no idea how that thing worked. He pushed and pushed, but the pane remained stubbornly ajar.
As he stared at it, he realized he was also supposed to bow to the prince. Saints, he could've slapped himself in frustration.
"The handle." Wylan rose from his chair and approached him. "You have to rotate the handle." He shut the window in a precise, confident gesture.
And there goes my dignity.
Jesper cleared his voice, trying to appear unfazed. "Thank you, I was freezing."
"My pleasure." His gaze darted to the door. "Is your colleague okay? She seemed upset."
"She… We were just arguing. Trifles. She'll come back, anyway."
He wasn't entirely lying. They had bickered, earlier.
"I understand. Well, take some brandy, if you'd like." Wylan looked away, rubbing his wrist against his bracelets.
Perhaps because of their prior conversation, or perhaps because Jesper had seen the prince's mess on the floor, there was… a lingering awkwardness between them.
He couldn't stand it. It made him feel naked, powerless. It was better—easier—to play dumb and pretend he hadn't seen his void.
As they returned to the table, Jesper chose one of the glasses and took a sip. Too sweet for his liking, but mostly tolerable.
"Ahem. In the meanwhile, I suggest we start." He attempted to sound enthusiastic. "Do you have any preferred topics? I love fiction, though history can be interesting. Science… I'll be honest, I'm not an expert. Doesn't thrill me much, haha."
The silence that followed felt like a mouthful of seawater and coffee powder.
Wylan's posture stiffened, his nails clawing into his skin. "I can't read, professor."
"I'm aware you have problems. The goal is to—"
"I don't think you get it." His exhausted tone cut him off harshly, although it wasn't aggressive nor louder than a murmur. "When I look at letters, I don't see sentences. I see incomprehensible lines and dots and symbols without meaning. It's a miracle if I recognize my own name."
Oh. Okay. Okay.
"You…" Jesper gulped. What was the crack that he'd heard in Wylan's voice? Why was it so excruciating? "What about writing?"
"Same state. After all, one comes after the other."
He desperately ran after a random observation. "His Majesty didn't tell us."
"He never does. Otherwise no teacher would apply for the position."
"Are you certain you have no chance to learn?"
"What, you think I haven't tried? You think the king would've hired twenty-four different tutors just to throw around some money?" He laughed. It was a crooked, grim noise. "My father despise that I can't do what an average six-year-old can do. He despise that people gossip about me, that I bring shame to our entire lineage, that I could never, ever be the son he dreamed of. I'm just a huge disappointment. For him. For the kingdom."
Their gazes met. Jesper wished he could erase the impetuous feelings stirring in his chest—shock, pain, anger. Understanding.
No, this is not possible. Empathy is a weakness. Bonds are a weakness.
And yet again, his mouth moved faster than his judgement.
"I don't know if I can help you. Sincerely, I… I don't even know if a solution exists. I'm no Saint. And I'm no academic genius, either." He paused. "But I promise that I'll try. We're going to work together and study until our minds bleed, until we want to slam the books against the wall. We will try, and to hell with the results. Your worth is not determined by your success, or else I'd be screwed long ago."
Wylan's eyes widened as he'd just witnessed the resurrection of Alina Starkov. It was odd... He didn't deserve such awe.
To lighten the mood, Jesper gestured to himself. "I'm still young! I don't want to be screwed, I have years and years ahead of me!"
The other stared at him, and slowly, cautiosly, his lips curved in a shy smile. He didn't comment, but the gratitude and relief in his expression was evident. Jesper grinned, felt that his reaction was excessive, and turned his attention to the ceiling.
It was the brandy. It was obviously the brandy, evoking strong emotions in both of them. There was no other explanation.
"The salamander survived," Wylan muttered then. "Do you fear I might hurt you with my poison? Or is this genuine kindness?"
Okay, now the boy was acting a bit drunk. Luckily, a knock on the door saved him from answering.
"Nina Ivanova is here and alive. I apologize for the lateness."
"It's fine," Wylan said. "Come in, we were just about to start."
Notes:
It is angst again. Delicious.
(I think I spent way too much time reasearching what a salamander is, but no regrets.)
See you all in the next chapter!
Chapter 7: Old conflicts
Notes:
I AM BACK FROM A VERY SHORT HIATUS, in which I fixed some spelling/grammar mistakes in the previous chapters because yes.
Enjoy the chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
WYLAN
"That's it, I'm moving to the countryside to work as a farmer."
Wylan pushed the sheets away, the letters—he assumed those were letters—still dancing around his vision.
"All right, perhaps… We just have to find a method that suits you?" Nina didn't sound too convinced.
She'd reacted calmly to the more-issues-ahead reveal, in an optmist light even, saying that learning was a difficult process and teachers weren't always so good. All true things, but Wylan had spent a whole hour analyzing signs he still had no clue how to recognize. After staring at them so long, on the other hand, his eyes had gone sore.
On the opposite side of the table, the unfinished bottle of brandy was chanting his name. He wanted to grab it and take it down in a gulp, an impulsive thought as well as a fool idea.
Jesper crossed his legs and stretched. "I think we need to rest. There's no use in working while tired, frustrated, or, well…" His gaze lingered on the stained floor.
The implication set Wylan's cheeks on fire. But the boy had a point: he couldn't handle anything that day, not even alcohol.
"By the way, managing a farm is far from easy. And it's also boring."
Nina shook her head. "You find long meals tedious, which is madness."
"It's not the eating, it's the sitting for hours that is a pain in the—"
"A little price to pay! It's food, Jes."
Oh, they were exhausted. At least he wasn't the only one.
Wylan rose from his chair. "This reminds me, you're invited to dine with the royal family tonight. The king will send a servant for you when it's time. So, uhm, I'm counting on meeting you later."
"Nice."
"Very well."
The two professors stood up. Nina said, "Goodbye, Your Highness," and took her leave after an elegant bow.
Jesper bowed too, but then hesitated on his feet. He prickled his own shirt's sleeves. "Listen," he began, "about before—"
The words rolled off Wylan's tongue. "I apologize, professor."
"…What for?"
"Everything, I suppose." He surprised himself with his own frankness. "I did not behave in the way that's expected from a prince. I didn't respect your position, or the reason you're here. Instead I… I ranted about my emotions and whatnot. I took it out on you, and that was unfair."
They let the silence stick on their skin, subtle yet weighty.
At some point Jesper spoke, his tone steeped in bitterness and… compassion?
"We barely know each other, Your Highness. I cannot imagine what brought you to confess similar things to a stranger, and I won't judge whether it was appropriate, since I lack the details." He looked at him, hesitantly holding his gaze. "But… I'm sorry you feel like this, seriously. And please don't blame yourself. Believe me, you are not the problem."
They remained quiet for a while, the words sinking in their bodies. Eventually, they woke up from that bizarre state.
"So supper it is."
"Supper. Yes."
"Great. Kerch food is also great."
"I… guess it is?"
"Erm. It was my pleasure talking to you. A pleasure, I mean."
He dashed away, not waiting for an answer.
Wylan sat down slowly to control his trembling. Jesper… Jesper seemed sincere, unbelievably so.
He should probably doubt, be wary of people like him—hope was a fragile thing. But how could he be, when a mere effort stirred warm feelings in his chest?
It didn't happen often, kindness without egoistical purposes. Not to him. He wanted to believe that this time was going to be different.
Maybe he was deluded, maybe Jesper and Nina were exceptional liars and he was falling for some beginner's tricks once again. It wouldn't be shocking, just a let-down.
And luck, of course, had never failed to mock him. Only three people in his whole life had really cared about his happiness and well-being: Hian, his mother, and his first music teacher. Death had already taken away two of them.
He refused to think about the consequences of Hian's potential passing.
The sound of knuckles on wood ended his pondering.
"Yes?"
The door opened to reveal a young servant with pale, stringy hair.
Sylven, son of the king's attendant. Wylan instinctively tightened his finger's grip on the pen.
They'd avoided each other for the entirety of autumn, openly and stubbornly. They hadn't talked since… since the event.
"Your Highness." A bow. He was drawling and dragging his cadence, as usual. "His Majesty has requested your presence in his study. He wishes to speak with you right away."
Perfect, exactly what he needed: a lecture about his indecorous gait or whatever.
Wylan swallowed a groan. "What is the reason?"
"He has not told me."
He knows. He knows, this shithead, but he won't disclose anything.
Why was he even surprised?
"It is… fine," Wylan muttered. "Lead the way."
They spent the next moments walking in a blissful silence. Wylan would've gladly refrained from a conversation, but as they reached their destination Sylven turned around.
"You still judge me, when you would have done the same. It is evident."
Ghezen, the audacity. The audacity!
"I don't care about your justifications."
"I am just explaining my perspective—"
"What's unclear about the sentence 'I don't give a fuck but I'm trying to be polite because I've got manners'?"
Sylven blinked, struggling to keep his gaze on him. "No, it is… it's you and your weird behavior, it makes me…"
"Listen, why are you suddenly acting like this? It's been months. Are you hoping for forgiveness or something?"
"I need you to understand!"
His anger stunned him for a heartbeat.
And the poison in his words… It wasn't a half-lie this time. But it was too late for honesty.
"Step aside, Sylven."
Yielding, the other obeyed.
Wylan pushed the heavy door. As soon as he was in, the stench of withered roses stinged his nose.
The desk was strangled by dozens of documents—his father's study was never tidy, but in the afternoon's light it looked even more cluttered. Jan Van Eck stood in the middle of the chaos, hands crumpling an unsealed letter. A trickle of sweat ran down his neck.
Don't recoil, just don't do it. It's a symbol of meekness.
"Father…?"
"De Heusch is blinded by ambition, that arrogant snake," the king blurted. "His insolence is beyond belief."
Frederik De Heusch was a merchant specialized in the trade of exotic birds and reptiles. 'Snake' as an insult for him was… an ironic choice. Wylan held back a snort.
"What has he done?"
"He made a proposal I can't ignore. Even though he isn't highborn." A futile pause. "He'd like to dine with us tonight."
That didn't sound like a disrespectful move.
"And…?"
"And, he wants to bring his youngest daughter, Maartje. It's a total outrage."
Wylan nodded, but he still didn't understand the problem. He'd met the girl at her debut party: she'd been corteous and friendly, and she'd danced well, too. Hell, her reputation was better than his.
"You must behave exceptionally well this evening," Van Eck continued. "You'll wear your good earrings and polish your shoes. And change your trousers while you're at it, they're dirty."
Crap, he'd noticed.
"You have to persuade De Heusch that he's wrong about our family."
"Wrong about what? Does he think you'll be an awful host?"
The king's eyes narrowed. "Are you an idiot? This is about you."
"But I—"
"Despite being aware of your…" Another futile pause. "…flings, he wishes to expand his commercial empire. Ergo, he offered a marriage arrangement between you and his daughter."
Ah.
Splendid.
He glanced outside of the window and repressed a sigh. The end of the day was nowhere close.
Chatter. The clinking of glasses. Rustles and pleasantries. The smell of hot stew. Faint laughters. Strong perfumes stirring in the air.
Wylan was seriously going to fall asleep.
"Investing in boas isn't quite remunerative right now."
"Have you seen my cousin's new girl?"
"My, my, this soup is lukewarm!"
"Not convenient, you agree? The Council of Tides has strict rules, after all."
"Following astrology-aligned scholars willl lead to nothing…"
He glanced at his pocket watch: not even eight bells yet. He wanted to fucking scream, and they were barely at the first course.
"Your Highness, I've heard you can play the flute."
Maartje had been seated in front of him; as expected, she was trying her best to follow etiquette. He coughed and put on a cordial tone.
"I do. Are you also interested in music?"
"Not exactly, I just go to concerts from time to time. It's entertaining."
He opened his mouth to object—concerts were not simply entertaining—but the glimpse of pale hair caught his attention. Any answer he was processing evaporated from his tongue.
It couldn't be him. Sylven hated serving during meals. Why would he be here? He was drawing illogic conclusions.
But then he got nearer, and the doubts dissipated. His mind was brutally grounded to reality.
No, no, no. His day was already bad. He'd just developed a headache after that stupid lesson, he didn't need another one.
His eyes stumbled upon Jesper's, several seats away. It was a strange coincidence, they hadn't even greeted each other in all the confusion. The professor raised a brow and said something, but he was too far to understand and be understood.
Wylan flinched when he felt Sylven's breath on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Your Highness."
Frost stuffed his throat. Everything was wrong—that mumbling, the indiscreet looks, the whole situation was wrong.
It was not supposed to happen in this way.
In his mind, Sylven would show remorse, he'd promise to change and do better. But that? That wasn't an apology, it was a threat.
Sylven plunged the ladle into the pot, emerging with an abundant portion of stew. Wylan recognized the gleam on his face, sly and unwavering, and a sense of dread washed over him.
Shit, shit. What is he planning?
As if he'd heard him, the servant pretended to trip over his chair. Pieces of meat scattered everywhere, and the soup executed a parabola in the air…
Before landing directly onto Maartje's dress.
Notes:
Cliffhanger level: it wasn't so bad this time, no?
Chapter 8: A loud but soft heart
Notes:
WARNING: this chapter contains a (brief) scene of physical abuse.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
NINA
She should've expected something to go wrong: first days were magnets of misfortune. On the bright side, it wasn't her fault nor Jesper's.
The king calmly stood up, his voice vibrating in the glacial silence. "Please accept the house's apologies, Mr. De Heusch. This servant won't go unpunished." He addressed one of the guards positioned near the doorway. "Fetch a riding crop from the stablehands."
The servant's expression went from mortified to fearful.
"Father, wait."
All eyes turned to the prince. The king's twitched. "Not another word, Wylan Van Eck."
"You can't do that, father."
"I can't? Men do not take orders from their children. Haven't you learned your place by now?"
Nina mentally encouraged the prince to be quiet and let it slide. He did neither of those.
"Are you no better than the criminals in our streets, the ones who kill each other for every little inconvenience? You say that you're above them, that you represent fairness and justice, yet you don't hesitate to exert their same violence."
The blunt sound of a slap filled the room.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Nina had to look away and dig her nails into her palms.
Van Eck shoved his chair under the table. "I use corporal punishment to discipline. It's apparent that you also need it, since you dare to compare me with the lowlives." Wylan shrunk in his seat, covering his face to conceal his tears.
The king glared at the rest. "Return to your rooms, your dinner will be delivered there. Mr. De Heusch, you and your daughter can remain to assist."
Nobody protested.
As the people dispersed, anger crammed into Nina's mind. What kind of father would slap his own son and humiliate him in front of family and guests?
And I just stood there, like I was indifferent to this crap.
She was known as the defiance herself, at the Little Palace—always objecting to unfair treatments, always biting. Despite being raised as a soldier, she was born a rebel. But hiding her true nature was a necessity, it was part of the act.
No, the rationality of her inaction didn't soothe her much.
"Nina, let's go." Jesper took her by the elbow.
They left a distressed Ms. De Heusch, an incredibly distressed servant, and an even more distressed Wylan behind, and unhurriedly headed toward the exit. They collided with a few murmurs still hovering in the hallway.
Suddenly a familiar, exasperating chirp called out to them.
"Professors! Good evening. Would you have dinner with me? My room is large!"
Nina turned to Alys Screech-Of-The-Year and forced a smile. "Thank you, but we do not wish to trouble you."
"Don't be coy about your curiosity! You seem friendly. I'm certain you'd love to get acquainted with new people!"
Ha, incredible. How could she be so carefree after witnessing a scene like that?
"You must be tired," Jesper said after a deep breath. "I'll confess we are, too."
"I always have energy for my guests."
"But we are—"
"Come! You're welcome!" She snatched their arms with startling hurry, keeping her voice high as she led them to her chambers.
Nina and Jesper exchanged a drained, resigned glance.
One last effort, she sternly reminded herself. Then we can go to sleep, hopefully not too late.
Eleven bells. She could hear the tolling from the half-closed window.
Between the end of the meal and the empty thanks afterwards, the notorious Anneliese and Cornelia had joined them. Though Genya could've done better, Nina had to admit their tailored eyes looked convincingly real.
But for all the Saints, those three young women never shut up.
Jesper had excused himself around ten, not even needing to fake his sleepiness. Nina couldn't blame him. Regardless, she'd chosen to stay: she intended to collect some information about the court.
She was regretting her decision. Very.
"You still fancy Adem Bajan? Cornelia, on a scale from 'vaguely feasible' to 'the literal Kerch prince', how much bad is it?"
"I'd say a solid 'pray and time will tell'. Minimum."
"Ladies! Don't use my future stepson as an example of unattainable love, all right?"
"Why not? He's cute, he just happens to have preferences."
"I agree. Besides, Annie. How old is he, twenty?"
"Nineteen."
"See, not that younger than us."
"You're disgusting!"
"We're in our twenties, not our sixties, remember?"
Drunk Dregs had deeper conversations, probably. Nina felt terribly out of place anyway.
Oh well. She was going to listen until they kicked her out. It was a chance to shun the images of 'physical castigation' that tormented her since the civil war—a whip cracking, bloody knuckles, screams—because if she thought about what was happening to that unlucky servant…
End the misery. Focus on this girls' gossip.
But to her frustration, they began talking about it.
"… His Highness? His behavior today was… peculiar."
"He and the waiter were involved, no? The prince must have feelings left."
"It would be strange. That servant sleeped with a scullery maid a few months ago, and I doubt His Highness is the type to condone cheating."
"He may be, since he's a proverbial idiot. He can't even—"
"Anneliese! Would it be so difficult to show some respect, for Ghezen's sake?"
"Calm down, Alys dear. I was joking. And don't blaspheme in front of—"
"Then stop badmouthing Wylan for something he can't control!"
The light mood died in a tense, embarrassed silence. Perhaps because of the abrupt quietness, Nina sensed a thundering heartbeat thumping just out of the room.
She hastily stood. "I'll return to the guest wing. Thank you for your hospitality."
"My apologies, Ms. Ivanova." Alys rose, her chair rattling against the floor. "I didn't… If you're offended, I understand. We were not exactly proper hosts, so…"
"Everything's fine. Have a good night, Lady Alys."
She left as fast as politeness allowed. Although she couldn't be completely sure—she wasn't that powerful—she'd recognized that frantic, now distant heartbeat. It was the prince's.
Was... was something wrong?
WYLAN
Sylven was a total dickhead.
Wylan popped out of the shrubs lined in the back of the royal garden. Brushing off the leaves from his night clothes, he squinted at the darkness. Nothing to be seen at the moment.
He waited for several minutes, mentally listing geometry formulas to keep himself awake. He was considering returning to his warm, comfy bed when the bushes rustled.
Two figures emerged from the foliage. They were wearing dark hooded coats, and the low glinting in their pockets revealed the presence of silver and gold.
As I expected. Wylan stepped behind them. "I thought at least you wouldn't steal my dead mother's ring."
They both tensed. Sylven partially turned around. "Your Highness, I can explain—"
"No need, you vile thing. Give me back the jewel and sail away to a new life, I won't hinder you."
A sigh. "Love, you've taken it?"
"I didn't know, sorry," the other person murmured. Wylan didn't remember her name and couldn't bother to care.
She handed him the ring, a weaved metal band studded with pearls. He clasped it in his palm, caressing its bumps and imperfections.
"How did you discover our plan?" Sylven's tone was weary.
He snorted. "A third of my valuable accessories disappeared while the king and I were conveniently busy in the dining room. You were the one starting the chaos. It does add up, no?"
Actually, he'd suspected him since their first talk that day. Discovering the theft in his chambers? That'd been just a confirmation, and not even a world-shaking one.
He lifted his gaze to the starred sky; the light breeze carried the smell of the sea. In a summer night quite similar to this, he'd dragged Sylven through the servant door and out in the city, trying to kiss him senseless in Ketterdam's dirty alleys. And then...
No. Dwelling on their past risked tearing him apart.
"Wylan, just… a question. Why'd you stand up for me?"
The way he'd whispered his name sounded tart, resentful. Never mind, Wylan wanted to vomit on his shoes, insult him, and set his nasty hair on fire, in no particular order.
"My morals don't change," he scoffed instead, "just because you're an asshole. I defended you because it's right. It's that simple."
Sylven shook his head. "You're too soft-hearted, I told you."
"I'll decide that for myself. Now get lost."
He didn't have to repeat himself. In a moment, Sylven and his partner had sneaked through the shrubs and vanished.
Wylan inhaled and exhaled, slowly, the chilling air running over his skin. Far above, a pigeon cooed.
"Your Highness?"
"What the…!" He startled and jumped back. That wasn't a bird noise.
His eyes fell on the silhouette that now stood in front of him: Nina Ivanova, his new tutor.
"Ahem, professor! What a surprise, finding you here."
"I could say the same." She tilted her head. "The thing is, I was having dinner with Lady Alys—she's an insistent woman, isn't she?—when I heard somebody running in the hallway. I… I was concerned. Why did you come here, if I may?"
He instinctively looked down. "It's a complicated matter."
"I won't dig, then. But… are you fine?"
Was that worry in her hesitant voice? He wasn't sure what to make of others' worry. His own was already difficult to manage, and on top of that, he deemed it utterly pointless.
"My apologies," Nina said, evidently regretting her directness. "It wasn't my intention to intrude—"
"No, no, it is all right, I'm just… I'm just mildly baffled. I might be unused to this." He cleared his voice. "And well, it's a mix of a post-lesson helplessness, an alcohol-induced headache, and actual problems. My father's been… himself. He blamed me for tonight's mess, but that's normal. And Sylven's whipping was undeserved, although I don't like him and I'm happy he went away in the end…"
Ghezen, he was talking too much. He cut short and concluded, "I've had better days, but I'll survive. So, uhm, I guess this sums it up."
Nina half-bowed. "Got it."
An enormous weight had been lifted from Wylan's mind. He still didn't understand his emotions, nor could explain them clarly and concisely, but he felt more serene. At peace. It was like discovering he could breathe again.
A firework exploded somewhere in the sky, followed by enthusiastic shouts. The random cheering striked him as fated.
"Your Highness, I should go to sleep. Shall we return inside?"
He nodded. As they started walking he added, "Oh, Ms. Ivanova?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you again for listening. It's not typical of all teachers. And thank Mr. O'Dunn for me, too… Earlier, I sort of panicked and forgot."
Notes:
Consider this chapter the end of Part 1. Onto Part 2 we goooo!
Chapter 9: Once more again
Chapter Text
NINA
"This is not ending well," Nina grumbled. It was almost nine bells and they were awfully late, but that was just a little bother on top of the others.
"Serious?" Jesper hopped in her direction from behind the wardrobe. "Since we've arrived, you've repeated that every morning."
"I'm convinced now. This is a problem."
"What, my sore feet after days of stairs?"
"The prince."
He raised an eyebrow, his fingers half-tangled in the strings of his undershirt. "Him, or his lack of progress?"
"The latter."
He sighed dramatically. "I knew you'd bring it up eventually."
"Hey, it isn't like our mission depends entirely on it, right?"
"…Don't. It's too early for your pointed sarcasm."
"We can't keep going on without results. The king will kick us out if he doesn't see the important developments he wants." Nina proceeded to glare at her asymmetrical plait and, groaning, she undid everything.
"I suppose." Jesper paused and turned to her. "Need help with your hair?"
"Thank you, but don't change the topic."
He started gathering her rebellious locks. "Can we even do anything about his situation? I've yet to learn how to perform miracles."
"We needn't miracles. But a plan of action wouldn't hurt."
They stayed silent for a few minutes, each immersed in their own deliberation. The rain sang against the window.
Nina made a decision.
"I'll go to the port. Maybe sailors and merchers have something useful to share."
"Is it permitted? Leaving the palace grounds during work time, I mean."
"No, but I'll pretend it's an emergency. Besides, entertaining the prince for a while shouldn't be hard for you."
"Because last time went sooo well…"
"I'll buy waffles!"
"…Okay, deal." He finished her fishtail braid and wrapped its end with a ribbon. "Just don't take too long, please."
A few words with the guards and Nina was out in the streets, past the palace's main door. The cold air settled on her long coat, various voices and scents mixing in the background; a veiled fog already rose from the canals, shrouding the buildings in its typical gray cloak.
She grabbed a crumpled map and a Scarab Queen costume from the nearest seller. She sped up to the north, toward the Government District—Second Harbor was the closest to the palace. Soon, rows of docks filled up with crafts and busy workers came into view.
She seeped into the crowd, her green shawl and gilded mask identical to the Scarab Queens' around her. As she strolled around, seemingly uninterested in the stench of fish and vulgarities, the passerby spared her no glance.
She sat on the edge of a quartz fountain, whose water gleamed with coins thrown in for luck. Her eyes went over the map, but she didn't pay attention to it: rather, she focused on her surroundings.
A mother scolding her kids. A group of longshoremen smoking together. A street magician bewitching tourists with card tricks.
Two university students, listening to a heated sailor's tale.
"…my sister's first child, Yuri. A talented Durast. He never came home."
"Wasn't he sick?"
"Where'd he catch a illness? He was locked up, the youngling. Always doing work for that master of his."
"His employer."
"Aye, aye, same bullshit but fancier."
"My friends, you know what they say: both a legal execution and a murder end up in the unfortunate's death."
"You should not speak this way in public! The Grisha was a valuable asset to Hoede."
"I've heard they used processed jurda to simulate the effects of an amplifier."
"Ja, experiments on him. It's got a logic."
"That is ridiculous, you can't believe that."
"Only your strictly academic ass can speak wisdom, eh?"
The crowd was growing too large, and the conversation was soon strangled by the others.
"Prices have gone up again…"
"Ghezen curse her rotten soul!"
"If that's true, the king is incapable as he looks."
"Didn't stand a chance against a pirate ship, no matter."
"When is the wedding taking place?"
Nina fixed her mask and ducked in a side alley, away from the stifling chatter. She doubted a privateer would be imprudent enough to reveal their presence in that chaos. And even if they did… How was she going to hear them?
She halted in front of a random house and breathed heavily, in and out, hands buried in her coat. Nothing more could be done, nothing. But that was fine, she could come back another day. Panicking wasn't going to help her.
She needed waffles. Now.
WYLAN
Wylan was surprised to admit it, but he'd grown fond of that week's routine.
His tutors had been patient, repeating the same notions over and over, writing and reading thousands of words for him. The days blurred with the others—lessons that brought no improvement, but… but he didn't hate them, not necessarily.
He could've got used to it.
"Have you argued with Ms. Ivanova again?" Wylan asked as Jesper sat down. Nina was nowhere to be seen.
"What? No, no, she went to buy food."
He laughed and shook his head. "She could've snatched some from the palace kitchen."
"…Isn't the breakfast shift over?"
"They always make too much for Lady Alys to eat, so they can share the leftovers in the next hours of work."
"Clever." He thoughtfully rubbed his lower lip. "Perhaps, I could persuade them with my undeniable charm and—"
"Undeniable, even? You sound very convinced," Wylan remarked. His dubiousness was forced, because those gorgeous lips, full and proportionate…
He had to stop staring at them.
A question! A question to divert his attention. "What are we doing today?"
"Oh, who can tell. I suggest that we hold hands and sing the Kerch national anthem."
"We… don't have a national anthem."
"Then we shall write it."
"Maybe we should."
They both smiled, only to look away a moment later. Of course, they'd crossed the line of admissible informal tone once more.
"Your Highness, I'm sorry," Jesper said after a while. "These days must've been boring to you. Our fault, though. Teaching isn't as easy as it seems on paper."
Wylan chuckled under his breath. "No, that's… Why'd you apologize? You've done well."
"Not well enough."
He fixated his gaze on the empty sheets upon the table. "Surely, a normal boy would've learned already. Don't overthink it."
Jesper interlaced his fingers and closed his eyes. The minute dragged on.
"You know music," he noted, looking at him again. "That instrument over there…"
Wylan shrugged. "It's a flute."
"That, I can see for myself. Do you play it?"
"I do."
"May I hear a piece, if you don't mind?"
"Professor…" He glanced at his bejewelled hands. The gold glinted back at him. "Should I?"
"I'd like you to."
How could he refuse such a sweet plea?
"All right. What genre do you prefer?"
"I'll pay the respect that is due and let you choose. My taste is, erm, questionable."
A snort left Wylan's nose. He stood and picked up the flute, bringing it to his lips. He slowly danced his fingers over it; the notes he'd scribbled, rewritten, and played a hundred times reverberated in the room.
Him, his flute, the melody. Everything else became distant noise.
He lowered his instrument at the end of the first movement. He mumbled, "It goes on, but it isn't finished, so… And I don't want to bore you with a whole concert, anyway."
Jesper's brows shoot up, the rest of his body perfectly still.
He then propped on his elbows, wrinkling his shirt's white-laced sleeves. "You're… an extraordinary musician, Your Highness. I'm amazed no one talks about it."
"Thank you." He turned away to put back the flute and, more importantly, hide his impending blushing.
The chair scraped when Wylan sat down again. For a couple of moments, the intensity of their locked gazes sounded the loudest.
"When you played," said Jesper, "you looked different. Relaxed and confident. More at home."
Wylan stared somewhere on the floor. "There are few things I like doing as much. That's why, I guess."
Jesper nodded. He didn't need to point out they'd gotten too deep and personal again.
Until Nina arrived, they sat in silence. The music echoed in their hearts.
Notes:
A calm chapter with no big drama to soothe my soul. It was needed.
Chapter 10: Past and new
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
JESPER
Under Wylan's suggestion, Nina started ordering supplemental waffles for breakfast and then sharing them during the morning lesson. Jesper couldn't be more pleased.
Only one problem, at least from the prince's viewpoint: crumbs. Everywhere.
"Please be careful," he scolded them that day. "We can continue this as long as we keep the room clean."
"I'll sweep the floor myself if needed. I'm sorry, I don't think I'm able to eat without making a mess." Nina took a generous bite and chewed.
"She's not trying to be umpolite, Your Highness. She really does lack table manners."
"Right, Jes, why don't you look at your own lap!"
Wylan raised a hand to stop them. "Simply, avoid angering Hian."
"Why?" Jesper had trouble picturing that shadow woman angry.
The prince just shook his head and muttered, "Trust me. Don't."
"You… okay, I suppose. By the way. Is she from the south of Shu Han?"
"Yes, Nehlu. How'd you guess?"
"Her Kerch accent sounded familiar. I have… acquaintances from the area." Fellow crew members, obviously: southern Shu had a long tradition of weapon mastery, and after all, a good fighter could turn easily into an excellent pirate.
"Hian's name means 'brave one'," Nina mused. "The kind of name given to a future warrior…"
Wylan stared at his fingernails. "Her parents are both royal soldiers. Wrong expectations, one could say."
They all looked at the bunch of paper on the table; they got a new pile every day, but the old sheets stacked under the new with no visible difference. That was the main reason no one was ever eager to start.
"I heard there were troubles in Hoede's house," Nina said. Jesper recognized her seemingly casual tone, the one that hided interest under passable nonchalance. "This Hoede's a noble, I suppose?"
"A councilman," Wylan corrected her. "You must be talking about the missing Grisha. They tried to cover his disappearance with rumors of a serious disease, I think, but few buy it."
"To be truthful, I pity his family. What could've happened to him?"
"A significant number of things, no?" Jesper observed. "Abduction, avenging murder, suicide even. Or he wandered in the wrong neighborhood. With no offense to Your Highness, Ketterdam isn't known for its safe streets… especially to foreigners."
"You are right, but this isn't an unfortunate occurrence on its own." Wylan was speaking in quick whispers. "In a month's period, several Grisha indentured to nobles, council members, or merchants have gone missing. Including one of my father's."
"Ah. They can't be casualties, then: something larger's at play."
"It is, Ms. Ivanova. But those who have power are unconcerned. In their head Grisha are instruments, not human beings." He poked the table with a pen and sighed. "I imagine Ravka's treatment of Grisha is better?"
"Depends on the people, but yes. The societal stance on it is different…"
Jesper listened, but he could barely keep up with those two and their discourses on cultural differences. Maybe they bore too much resemblance to the few university courses he'd attended.
And I am supposed to be the professor? The absurdity.
Apparently His Grand Pomposity Jan Van Eck—and, according to Nina's investigation, not only him—thought of Wylan as stupid. But Jesper didn't know anyone who could remember the name of each person met and list their entire personality, preferences, and family tree. Kaz, perhaps. But Kaz had no morals, and he certainly couldn't play the flute.
Somebody knocked and entered the room. Hian.
"Your Highness. I came to—" Her eyes shrinked. "All of you are eating… in a bedroom."
Jesper choked on his waffle. "We'll clean! I swear. We will clean."
"You better, professor."
The absence of a threatening intonation in such a sentence was terrifying, actually.
Wylan stood up. "Hian, hello. What were you saying?"
"My apologies. His Majesty asked me to check how you've been faring."
An awkward silence followed.
"Understood. Let me remind you of the upcoming ball…"
"Eight bells, in the eastern ballroom since the piano in the western is broken. Three days left." Wylan counted on his fingers. "To be more precise, two days and ten hours. Don't stress yourself, seriously, I can handle it."
Hian bowed. "Good. I'll leave you to your lesson." Before she turned away, Jesper glimpsed her lips quirking up.
The picture of his mother's smile hit him and vanished, abrupt as it appeared.
"We should start." Nina glanced subtly at him.
They'd talked, earlier, about the course of action to take. Nina was growing nervous, more on each day passed; they had considered sneaking in the king's study to gather at least some documents, reports, anything. But the risk wasn't insignificant.
"No, it's better to work on the roots," Jesper had said. "Prevent our expulsion."
She'd waved her hand in resignment. "How?"
"Well. When I was little, my Ma teached me the alphabet by relating every letter to a dance step."
"…You want to do the same? Is this a joke?"
"Not necessarily the same. I'm just suggesting to resort to unconventional methods. We haven't tried those yet."
"Fine, fine, but you'll be leading this alternative class. You're the creative one."
Jesper looked at the prince. Time to implement some crazy tactics.
"Your Highness, how many notes can the flute play?"
Wylan blinked. "Uh, three full octaves. About thirty-six notes."
"You can write those, right?"
"I can, but why—"
Jesper pushed a blank sheet in his direction. "Write all thirty-six notes, please."
"…Is this secretly a music lesson?"
"In that case, you would be teaching me. Have faith and do it, Your Highness."
"As… as you say."
He traced five straight lines and began dotting them with contorted symbols and circles, going from the lowest space to the highest. He even went above them.
"Wouldn't it be more convenient to add other lines?"
"The stave always has five, Mr. O'Dunn. I could technically change the key and put everything inside of it, but since I'm depicting consecutive notes, it would waste my time. Easier this way."
"Uhm… Yes. Of course. I was thinking that, too."
Nina finished her waffle and snorted. "Now it really is a music lesson."
"I'm done, in any case," Wylan said. "Tell me how to proceed."
Jesper breathed in deeply. "Do you remember the number of letters in the Kerch alphabet?"
"Uh. Maybe?"
"...No matter, I'll answer for you. They're twenty-nine, including vowels, diphthongs—diphthongs are the compound of two vowels—and consonants."
"Are we going over the alphabet again? I can recite it, even if by pure memory. I struggle in distinguishing the types of sounds, though."
"We're doing a second attempt, to go beyond simple memorization. "
They'd tried some exercise for that, indeed. But those had been more tiring than fruitful.
Jesper fished an alphabetical list of words in decent calligraphy from the tower of old paper. "Now, I'll be reading like this: A for 'altaar', vowel. B for 'bediende', consonant. In the meanwhile, you must play each note on your sheet."
"All right, but I have seven notes in excess. Could I remove the most acute ones?"
"Is there a practical difference, or do you merely dislike high sounds?"
"They're the hardest to play."
"Okay, understandable."
The next minutes passed, the exchange between Jesper's voice and Wylan's flute becoming increasingly more bizarre. Once they reached the last letter, the prince put down his instrument.
"Professor, perhaps it's me, but I don't feel the learning. Are you sure this is a method that works?"
"No. I'm testing my ideas only now." He turned toward Nina. "Any impromptu tips?"
She thought for a moment. "Let's write the letters next to the corresponding notes. It could stimulate a helpful ear-to-eye association. And he needs to repeat and repeat and repeat."
Wylan's shoulders slumped, but he didn't complain. He never complained, despite how tired he was or how hopeless their attempts looked. Jesper appreciated it, given that he was himself the opposite of uncomplaining.
In all probability, the Dregs would find Wylan less annoying than me, and he's the prince of a nation we bully daily.
He snapped out of his considerations.
"As the wisest scholars say, Your Highness: the journey to comprehension is long, and we've just started."
"And I can't wait until it's over," he replied. "Again with the music, then."
Notes:
For who wants to know, the Kerch writing system referenced here is based on the alphabet found on "https://thegrishaverse.fandom.com/wiki/Kerch_language" (without the quotation marks).
Raise a glass to the next obscure rabbit hole I'll end up in because of chapter 11!
Musical_frog_1 on Chapter 1 Mon 06 Jan 2025 11:33PM UTC
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