Drowning (Kaz Brekker)

ix - Seasick

THE THRILL OF NEARLY DYING FADED QUICKLY. It always did. Asra felt alight as the fake Ferolind when they first set out, and the show with Oomen had only helped. The first night on the Ferolind had been bloodshed and bandaging and savouring the looks everyone had given her. The shootout had been wild and unexpected and everything she loved. The bullet had been stronger than any shot. Patching herself up on the deck had been the closest thing she knew to peaceful.

The only calamity had been Inej.

Asra had taken to high ground. She loved the thrill of seeing the world above, and a fight was no different. She'd raced along the crates stacked along the harbour, making the place almost labyrinthine. Asra ran along the tops, leaping over walkways, pistol in hand, wind in her hair, nerves alight. It was the best she'd felt in months.

Oomen's voice hit her like last call.

"Ghezen! I've got Brekker's Wraith!"

Fuck. She knew she should've kept heading for the ship. Inej could handle herself. And catching the Wraith was like catching shadow. Impossible.

Despite it all, Asra found herself leaping to the crate below. She grabbed the corner of the crate by her side and swung towards Oomen's voice. She ran and ran with a new urgency, one she hadn't known before and one she didn't want to again. Or at all. She was worried for Inej, a girl she'd hardly known and knew wouldn't like her. Yet that didn't stop her racing along the crates, quicker somehow when Oomen's scream cut through the foggy air. She knew that scream well. If Oomen had kids, he wasn't getting anymore.

Oomen had been on his knees. Asra had glided to the floor with the quick silence she'd been taught long ago and came up behind him. He didn't hear her, and jumped out of his skin when Asra spoke.

"Got the Wraith, eh? I don't see her."

He'd glared at her over his shoulder, then spat.

Asra had beat him for a long while. Longer than she should've. She hit him till his face was little more than blood and bruises. She only stopped when more Black Tips swarmed her. Asra had looked, and in that split second Oomen had shot through her arm. She'd turned and ran, climbing up onto the crate and following the trail of blood Inej had left.

She clambered to the next crate. Inej had lay there, dark tunic darker with blood, dagger pressed to her chest. It would slide between her ribs and straight to the heart. Inej really did know her knives.

Asra had gripped her wrist. "Let's not be dramatic now, Wraith."

Her eyes had fluttered open. "Asra?"

"The one and only." She'd looked at her body, trying to find the wound. It was too dark. There was too much blood. "We need to move. I'm gonna carry you, okay?"

"Did we win?" Inej asked as Asra scooped her into her arms. She was light as anything, slim. An acrobat's build, Asra had thought dimly. She could've sworn someone had mentioned Inej as an acrobat once.

"I don't lose, Inej." She'd stood, glanced down at the grunts clambering after them, took off at a run. "This is gonna hurt."

She leapt and landed on the next crate over. Inej had shudded in her arms. Asra had stumbled. She wasn't used to carrying someone else. She didn't let it stop her.

"I don't want to die." Inej had murmured.

"Don't worry, I won't let you." Asra said, grinning slightly despite it all. Fear was her lever, and death her friend. Death was the first thing she'd known, the only thing she'd really known. She'd been made in death's image, its soldier and servant. She'd served it well. It owed her this. "You there, Wraith?"