𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹 | 𝑘.𝑏.

23

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T H E P Y R E
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THEIR QUESTIONS WERE CEASELESSLY ANNOYING and rather unbearable, if you asked Matthias. Each one welcomed a hidden chorus of crows cawing traitor traitor traitor.

"How many guard towers are on the White Island again?"

"Do you think Yul-Bayur will be in the palace?"

"There are guard barracks on the White Island. What if he's in the barracks?"

The entire time Feta was chattering away with the others her head was on a swivel taking in as much of the landscape as she could. The farther south they traveled, the calmer the wind got, which allowed for a half-pleasant experience. The coast was long gone, so there was no longer the hint of salt scattered on the wind, but now there were jagged slashes of forest breaking up the ice, glimpses of black earth and animal tracks, proof of the living world.

Again, not half bad.

Jesper and Wylan were debating which kinds of explosives might be assembled from the prison laundry supplies and if they could get their hands on some gunpowder in the embassy sector. Nina tried to help Inej estimate what her pace would have to be to scale the incinerator shaft with enough time to secure the rope and get the others to the top.

Feta and Kaz's conversation may as well have been private. They were only drilling each other on the architecture and procedures of the Court, the layout of the ringwall's three gatehouses, but they matched each other's pace and angled towards each other when they spoke.

"First checkpoint?"

"Four guards," Feta supplied.

"And second checkpoint?"

"Doubled," Feta answered. "Eight guards. Give me something harder, Brekker."

Kaz smirked down at her.

The others recognized this easy routine from when the two would wander off together after missions, leaning in close, exchanging smirks and whispers like currency.

"All right then," Kaz pressed on. "How about protocols?"

"I've got those, I think. Hey, Jes!"

"Yes, dearest?" Jesper called from near the back of their cluster.

Feta spun on the balls of her feet and began walking backwards so she could face the rest of them, though she stayed level with Kaz. "Give me yellow protocol."

"Sector disturbance."

"Brilliant. Inej, red."

"Sector breach," she answered seamlessly.

"Matthias," Feta called, eyes glittering mischievously, perhaps cruelly, "black protocol?"

"You all are doomed," he said gruffly. He pulled his hood tighter and trudged ahead.

"We, Matthias," Feta said cheerfully. "We're doomed."

Matthias wasn't sure if Brekker almost laughed or if he was just breathing weird.

Some time later, Jesper spoke loud enough for the entire group to hear, though it took a couple tries before Feta and Kaz gave up their private talk. "When I'm rich, I'm going someplace I never have to see snow again. What about you, Wylan?"

"I don't know exactly."

"I think you should buy a golden piano—"

"Flute," he corrected moodily.

"And play concerts on a pleasure barge. You can park it in the canal right outside your father's house."

Feta glanced up at Kaz slyly and found that his eyes were already slipping to meet her's. Right before she'd tied up her business with Owen Marshall in a neat little bow and started slumming it full-time with the Dregs, Marshall thought he'd booked her a couple gigs on a few of the flashier pleasure barges. Really, Kaz had pulled all the strings. She remembered it fondly, always delighted to travel the city by canal and more than overjoyed to witness the lights from the barge glittering against the buildings on the wealthier side of the city. Wakey wakey, merchers, the fun's here.