My Dearest Inej

Chapter Eighteen: Persuasion

Brekker,

I can't believe you. Honestly, you are the stupidest smart person I know. The next time Inej is in jail, I implore you, that is the thing you are to open with.

In the interest of expediting this process, since you've already cost me valuable time, I'm enclosing a list of names of Stadwatch who used to be clientele of mine. Use this how you will.

I am already en route, and I am furious with you. I suggest you take this time to devise how you are going to make this up to me. In case you've forgotten, my favorite flavor of cake is all of them.

- Zenik

P.S. – I'm sorry you were poisoned. That sounds, well, probably well-deserved, but also dreadful.

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My sweetest jailbird,

See what you can do with this list of names. It would be helpful to know their shifts and routes.

Tell Jesper there is a Stadwatch uniform in my wardrobe that may fit him, as long as he hasn't eaten too many toffees. He's going to need it.

Also, what's the name of Nina's favorite bakery? No reason.

Yours,

Kaz

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Dearest treasure of my heart,

Sweet of you to recall my birthday at a time like this. It hardly seems to be a priority. But since you asked, I want exactly two things. The first is Artie's head on a pike.

The second is hardly appropriate to write in these letters, since Jesper is undoubtedly reading them first. But you are welcome to use your imagination. In fact, I encourage it.

Look at that – neither of these things will cost you a kruge. I believe that's what the professionals call growth.

Yours,

Kaz

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Sweet, stubborn, love of my life,

How to phrase this exactly...

No.

Ah, yes. That's the word.

No. No, you cannot persuade me to spare Artie from the consequences of what he has done. If defending my would-be murderer is more valuable to you than my offer of running away with me to the destination of your choosing, then I am not interested in having this conversation with you. I am simply going to pretend it didn't happen.

I invented stubborn, Inej. You cannot out-stubborn me. There is no bargain you could put up that could sway me on this. On this, I am Fjerda. I am ice-cold, and I intend to ruin lives.

Yours,

K. Brekker

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My dearest Kaz, my terrible, ice-cold Fjerda,

I am baffled by you, since you've already acknowledged that there is reason behind my request for mercy. I know that, while your pride is bruised and you find yourself terribly inconvenienced, it is difficult to see that Artie was a tool of your murderer, not the actual offender himself (who, I would like to remind you, I've already taken care of). I have to believe that, somewhere deep down, you know that you would have hoped for the same kind of reprieve, if you'd ever found yourself in his shoes – tricked, manipulated, wielded without concern to your wellbeing.

But, you're right. Let's put that aside a moment. You've shown you're not willing to listen to reason.

I have other ways of appealing to you.

I dream of you while I am stuck here, you know. There's not much else to do but think, and so often, it's only of you. Aching and longing to be near you again. To be in your arms, to be touched by your hands. I remember your sleepy smile the morning after my birthday, breathing in your scent while you kissed my mouth, my cheeks, my throat. And I think there is still so much more you have not kissed.

More often than I care to admit, I find myself thinking of the moment you covered your eyes, the moment before I slipped out of that gown. How I loved you for it. And I now often wonder how different it might have been if I'd asked you to open your eyes. I think I would have loved to have seen your face then, Kaz, how you would have looked when the fabric slipped from my shoulders. When the gown and the layers and the bindings all finally fell away, and there was just me standing there, all for you.

You would like that, wouldn't you? I think that you would. I think you might even like it if I'd crawled the bed to you, let you have a closer look. Maybe you'd even like to touch. Wear your gloves, if it feels too overwhelming. It wouldn't matter to me. All I want is you.

But you're far too stubborn, aren't you, to consider any alternatives to murdering Artie? That's really too bad. I was so excited by your proposed holiday.

I suppose I'll just have to settle for day-dreaming.

Unless, maybe, you're considering thawing.

-Your Inej

(in Jesper's handwriting)

OH MY GODS MY EYES

(in Kaz's handwriting)

Serves you right, you sneak.

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Captain,

I must inform you that Brekker has, against the advice of Shu mediks, discharged himself from the hospital. Van Eck and I are overwrought trying to convince him otherwise, but he won't be persuaded. He insists on returning to Ketterdam. None of us feel right about sending him back against his will, so we are setting sail.

- Specht

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Brekker,

Message received. I will meet you at Fifth Harbor.

- Zenik