Drowning (Kaz Brekker)

vii - Family Reunion

SHE WAS ON FIRE. She was fire. Flames had eaten away at each of her nerves, every one of her atoms, until she simply became her own damnation. Hell looked a lot more like Ketterdam than she expected. Maybe she'd just been born dead. Maybe from day one her soul had been judged filthy and she'd been tossed into the devil's waiting arms. It would explain a lot.

She was being dramatic, ridiculous. But that's just what it was like whenever her mother entered the picture. Everything just seemed so surreal, like a nightmare within a coma, fighting for her life in every which way.

She willed herself to remain grounded, here. Ketterdam, Asra, the Forbidden Fruits, Deyanira. Roses. Roses meant business. Business meant family.

Asra had been fourteen when she first met Deyanira Ruiz. She'd been working for two years, drinking for five, and fucking for one. She'd been to Kerch a few times before, though she'd never been on the West Stave of the Barrel. She knew what it was to be owned, to be a slave. There was a solidarity among people like her, they didn't judge what had to be done, and they didn't gain from it either.

Until that day. The nameless girl had headed down the streets of West Stave and ducked into the house of the Forbidden Fruits. She knew she had no place in there, according to the owner anyway. She sat in the parlour, sipped her wine as her eyes drifted over the girls in their shimmering silks. She'd smiled. One girl had smiled back, a knowing in her eyes. The girl had paid for an hour with her, and the two had disappeared into her room.

"I want you to kill my father." The indenture said. She was a couple years older than Asra, about sixteen. Her skin was golden, her hair impossibily dark as it fell down her back in thick waves. She wore a dress of loose red silk and golden bangles around her neck and wrists and ankles.

"What's his name?" The nameless asked. Her face was dotted with pale scars, her red hair a crown of power as the braid fell down her back. Her suit was red as dried blood.

"Bram Janssen."

The nameless girl raised a brow. "He runs this place."

"No shit." The girl, Deyanira Janssen, said, pushing away from the door. She grabbed a bottle of wine from her dresser and poured two glasses. "When he dies, I take over this place. I'll run it better than he ever could and I'll treat these people like people."

The girl nodded, taking the wine glass. "May I ask how someone winds up indentured to her own father?"

"By having their father be a drunk dickhead. By being pretty like her mother. May I ask how someone becomes nameless?"

"We're born into it." She sipped her wine.

"Pitty." Deyanira said, running her finger around the rim of her glass. "I'd like to be dangerous like you people are."

The nameless girl had smirked. She started to walk around the indenture, eyes flicking over her poorly hidden body, wine glass hiding her lips. Deyanira had tensed.

"What are you doing?" She'd asked.

"Looking. Noticing. It's my expertise." She'd stood before her again. "You have the look of a snake, I reckon."

She recoiled. "What?"

"Where I'm from, we aren't human. We've given ourselves titles, of sorts. Snakes are quick, deadly, precise. You don't see them coming till it's too late."

She'd run her finger along the rim of her glass. "I... don't hate the sound of that."

The nameless girl had smiled, sipped her wine, set it down. "Deyanira Janssen, I'm going to go kill your father. I'll be right back." She went to leave.