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CHAPTER NINE ▪▫▪▫▪
HAVE I GONE MAD?
The question echoed in his head at every waking hour. He had been driven to madness, dragged into her chaos unwillingly, and without meaning to he had begun to lean on her, look for her, and need her near.
That was what the Whisperer did to people. To him. She made sure her face was etched in his mind from the moment they met. Her face had been an ethereal dream that seldom visited him in his sleep throughout his years in Ketterdam. And even though he hadn't recognized her when she came back to him, her smile was enough to unlock a part of his soul that couldn't refuse her.
Dirtyhands had fallen far into the Whisperer's trap. Unwillingly. And willingly he remained.
In the blissful agony that was her touch. A touch that woke every ghost inside him, that triggered the sickness he felt at the thought of flesh, and proceeded to slaughter them back into their shallow graves with her melodic voice, her saintly laugh, the golden smile she wore like a loaded gun.
When they stood together, in the little corner of the busy city of Bhez Ju, he had held her wrist in his hand, running his thumb across her pulse point, feeling her heartbeat through her skin. Alive, alive, alive, that was the thought running through his head as they plotted their next move, as Dirtyhands and the Whisperer used their talents to try and get their payment—and save Ravka—as he lost himself in her hazel eyes, and realized something he wasn't ready to speak yet.
It was their secret. Something that went unspoken between them. The need to feel the closeness, the need to lower their walls around each other when the world turned their backs. Don't go soft on me now, Dirtyhands. Kira didn't need him to be selfless, she didn't need him to die for her. He would kill for her. Turn the world to ashes if it was her wish. But he would be by her side when it happened, and perhaps...
Perhaps he would be able to pull himself together into a semblance of a man for her. For the blissful agony of her touch. He would be able to pull her into his arms as he'd often seen Jesper do. Perhaps Dirtyhands could be capable of something more than damage.
But maybes and what-ifs were a gamble in life, and Kaz needed to know the odds before he took it. And first, he needed to empty Ravka's pockets.
"Ohval's not just a fence," Kaz told the group as they gathered in a room. His eyes met Kira's before he added, "She's The Disciple."
He saw her hide her smirk and nearly rolled his eyes. They had agreed not to tell the others about Kira's assumptions, because if they were right—and Kaz didn't have any reason to doubt they were—that would make Ohval, Sakta Neyar. Which meant part of their group would refuse to steal from a Saint—his eyes flickered over to Inej and Tolya.
