Tainted Opal - Kaz Brekker x Reader

9 - His Eyes of Hatred

"We met before, haven't we?" I try to keep my voice calm, but the tone was desperate; a consuming curiosity brewing in the cauldron of my mind. It began to bubble over as the existence of silence grew. The sliver of sunlight left in the day cast a long shadow across Kaz, exaggerating the sharp parts of his face; the dark lines left from a life in the Barrel. It is a constant reminder of who he is and what he will always be. The Bastard of The Barrel.

"Life isn't fate driven, Y/n," Kaz finally mutters while tapping the metallic crow head of his cane with a long, gloved finger. My eyebrows crease in annoyance, I'm not going to get a direct answer out of him. I sigh softly and lean against a barren tree. The sharp bark still pierces my skin through the thick jacket wrapped around me; Kaz's jacket. A blanket of heavy silence draped over us as the moon became the only source of light. I close my eyes and attempt to sift through the old, painful memories from my arrival into Ketterdam.

✶ ♧ ✶

The thick smoke of the endless line of boats had filled my lungs. I surepressed coughs that tried to escape my cracked lips. The smoke and fog masked my clumsy escape off of the wooden ship; off of home. I looked back for longer than I should have, soaking in the remnants of my childhood.

I trudged past bellowing merchants at makeshift stands filled with stealable goods and promising services. The voices of the bustling streets meshed together into a white noise more crackly than the sea I was used to, and diverse smells wafted through the air; food, dirt, death.

My stomach growled like a starved beast, my muscles felt strained and tight. My hungry gaze had landed on a man selling fresh fruits and breads; a strange assortment, but an appetizing one. He was younger, but old enough to have to avoid taxes illegally. His dark skin and curly hair contrasted pleasantly with his orange button up. He had been calling out to possible customers; the walking wallets that roamed the streets. I shifted my demeanor and softened my expression; an attempt to look sweet and desperate. Do what your mother taught you, I had told myself. I took long, elegant strides toward the stand, clasping my hands together as he looked at me. A glint of intrigue sparkled in his deep, dark eyes as he rested his elbows on the wooden counter. It was covered in apples and grapes, as well as warm baked goods.
I greeted him with an innocent smile as he spoke to me, "Ah, what can I do for ya' miss? Maybe a pear, a biscuit... a date?" He had winked and flashed me a dimpled smile. I giggled softly and batted my eyelashes. It felt so embarrassing— so degrading at the time.

"Well, maybe a loaf of bread and an apple?" I requested with my honeydew voice, which poured into his ears with a pleasurable vibration. He nodded with another wink and placed both into a cloth bag. I searched in my pockets, calm at first, but then frantic, a false panic spreading across my face. "My wallet! Oh no, I think someone stole my wallet," my lip quivered as I looked at the shop man with desperation. His expression was unfazed, he even huffed with a deep chuckle.

"You're not from here, are ya', little miss?" He rested his soft-edged face in his hands, amused with how naive I seemed. I had blinked a few times, cocking my head in confusion. He sighed as tears began to pool in my eyes, wiping them away with a calloused finger. "I'll give em' to ya' for free, but next time you come around, take me out for a nice meal," he smirked and extended his hand towards me. I accepted the bag of finessed foods from his outstretched palm, thanking him excessively.

I had whisked my way through the tight crowds until the outdoor markets became scarce. The streets were darker now, oiled lamp light more haphazard the further I walked. The way people took up space was different here. Before, in the markets, pedestrians had grand attires, with even grander ambitions. The cramped space was borrowed by anyone who took it, and the attempt was abundant.