𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹 | 𝑘.𝑏.

24

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T H E P Y R E A L L O V E R A G A I N
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"THIS HAS TO STOP, NINA," Matthias pleaded with only a smidge of exasperation.

Nina's venomous tongue was already poised, mouth dropped open, for her next attack, but Jesper beat her to it. "He's right. You can't go on this way."

"Stay out of this," Nina snapped.

"If you two keep fighting, you're going to get us all killed, and I have a lot more card games I need to lose."

That much was true. The rule when Feta was younger was hash out any disagreements in a whisper. Losing your temper, losing track of what you've exposed with your yelling, was five seconds of fame that would only get you killed. Best to just save it for later.

But Feta and Inej had been up the hill already when Nina clenched her fist, cut off the air to Matthias' throat. Nina had not been taught to be furious quietly.

Maybe Feta was a hypocrite.

After all she'd felt no shame for her performance with her sea whip. But then, the Ferolind had been nothing more than a blur on the horizon for the whaling villages, and they'd maintained a safe distance from any other drifting ships. So what if she caused a scene if no one was around to see it? It was safer than shouting for Grisha rights when they had only just passed a pyre of still smoking Grisha bodies.

"Level your heads," Feta commanded, voice steadier than her tear-stained cheeks implied. Not that she knew it, but her eyes had hardened too: Fjerda had stolen them back, made them less of Ketterdam's harbors on a good day and more like the sheets of ice they'd marched across. "You're going to swallow whatever you're about to say and save it for later. When we settle down, you can whisper whatever nasty nothings you'd like, but don't air your private affair out here. Please."

Nina seemed geared up to bring Feta into this, shoulders bracing for a blow Feta would not and could not deliver. But she'd said it soundly, just as her father used to, and there was no arguing with that tone.

Matthias glared at her, his glacier eyes going up in flames when they landed on Feta. It was the same glare he'd given her Rusalye, the one that insisted he would slay whichever creature he could reach first.

Feta longed for the repentant boy she'd seen in the Hellshow arena, the one who buried his face in the matted fur of feral wolves and sobbed. The reluctant killer, not the dutiful soldier.

Where was the Matthias she pitied?

He's still in there, Feta reminded herself, locking her jaw, bracing for whatever was to come. I know what I saw. It's just like Kaz.

Shockingly, all Feta got was a dangerous growl of, "This is not your concern, witch."

Kaz stepped forward, expression alone a thousand times more dangerous than Matthias' mewl. "It is very much our concern. And watch your tone."

Matthias threw up his hands. "You've all been taken in by her. This is what she does. She makes you think she's your friend and then—"

Inej crossed her arms, looking formidable for her small size. "Then what?"

Nina's shoulders sagged. She looked wearily between Inej and Feta. "Let it go, Inej." Of course, Feta already knew their history, knew Nina's guilt. Just because Feta had listened to Nina's outburst that night and returned with waffles in the morning didn't mean everyone would.

Though Feta thought differently. Yes, Dirtyhands hadn't pried, and yes, the Siren hadn't sung her secret, but the Wraith and the sharpshooter understood, too, that the Dregs all did things they weren't proud of, acts of betrayal even, depending on where you stood. But they always had a reason. Kaz made sure of it.