Drowning (Kaz Brekker)

xiii - Broken and Bound

ASRA HAD ALWAYS PRIDED HERSELF FOR BEING OBSERVANT. It was one of her many skills, but it was always the most natural. Ever since she could remember Asra had preferred watching people to interacting with them. She remembered sitting in the barracks of the House, the maze of white walls and suffering she grew up. None of them would ever call it home, but it was the closest thing. She would sit on her bed in the corner and watch as the other children played and talked and moved and thought. When training came, and the inevitable first punch was thrown, she was already ahead.

While everyone else had played and enjoyed themselves while they still could, the girl that would one day be Asra Behandelar watched them. She noticed the dark-skinned boy two bunks over hanged his foot against the bedframe. She noticed the red-headed girl was always the bravest of the group and most daring. She noticed the dark-haired boy whose eyes didn't seem to work quite right. She noticed everything, strengths and weaknesses, so when the first hit came, the girl had known what to do.

She stamped on the dark-skinned boy's bad foot and sent him hopping about the room. Then it was easy to sweep his legs from beneath him and keep him down. The red-headed girl was always too bold and brave, and the girl who was always watching was able to predict every obvious move till she had her opening. She kept close to the boy who needed glasses, and he couldn't see her punches coming quite right. She watched, she won, and then she was made a daughter. That was when things really started to go wrong, but the fact remained.

Asra Behandelar was always watching, waiting for the next hit, noticing the tells and weaknesses and predictable first moves. She did it to everyone, more habit than hobby by now, and Kaz Brekker was no exception.

The gloves had always facinated her. She'd scoured the streets, listened to every tale supposedly explaining them away. Claws, blood, sickness, prudish. None of it sounded quite right, so Asra started doing what she did best.  Watching.

She's watched and watched and watched. He never took them off, never gave in to the questions or insults, never acknowledged them. The leather didn't affect his lock picking or sleight of hand, didn't hinder him the way gloves would most. He'd been wearing them a while, long enough to work with them as good as his own skin.

She'd asked around older members of the Dregs, those who'd known Kaz since the day he joined, all of nine years old. The gloves had come not soon after. No one knew why.

No one knew anything about Kaz Brekker, so Asra would have to find out for herself.

She'd watched him for a while, those silent nights in his office and long days in the Crow Club. He never touched. He'd shake a hand or throw a punch, but Kaz Brekker wouldn't touch another person's skin. It was strange, it was facinating.

Asra remembered the first time she'd seen Kaz without his gloves. She'd wanted to show him her scars, her target tattoo. She felt like she should've given something up in return, a piece of her armour or mystery swirling around her. Instead she'd sat and watched silently as he washed his hands, transfixed by the normality of his skin. No claws, not even a scar or two. It was almost disappointing.

Kaz Brekker did not touch. Asra Behandelar did not know why. And for once she was okay with not knowing. She kept so many secrets. She could keep one of his as well. He didn't know she knew, but she did. But she didn't know what to do when Kaz panicked.

"Shit." She whispered, staring into the wagon. The prisoners were hooded, chained, and shackled, same as the ones they'd seen yesterday. The only difference was their number. Yesterday there'd been ten, neatly sat on the benches lining the walls of the wagon. Today, Asra couldn't count how many they'd crammed in. They must've put the prisoners from the second ride in too, that way they wouldn't have prisoners and guests coming in at once. As a result, the wagon was filled to bursting with men and women, all pushed against each other, struggling to find space to stand. So many, so close. Asra turned to Kaz.