𝑽𝑬𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑨 | 𝒌.𝒃.

01

• { S M E E T } •

WHAT AM I DOING HERE? Wylan thought. Wylan tugged at the hem of his sky-blue jacket, the uniform worn by the waiters of Club Cumulus, and tried to look at ease. All he had to do was stay quiet, follow Kaz's instructions, and figure out what to do with his hands.

Clasp them in front? Too much like a singer at a recital. In back? Too military. He tried just dangling them at his sides, but that didn't feel right either. Why hadn't he paid better attention to the way waiters stood?

Feta would have known. He could have followed her lead, if she was here. She made it her business to know how everyone was supposed to act, how others expected them to act. She always knew exactly what others wanted to see. There was no doubt Feta would have fit right in at this private parlor at one of the Lid's most luxurious gambling dens, fit right in to another of Kaz Brekker's schemes.

A player at the table lifted his champagne glass for a refill, and Wylan darted forward from his perch against the wall. His hands were shaking as he took the bottle from the silver ice bucket, but there were some benefits to the years he'd spent at his father's social functions. He at least knew how to pour a proper glass of champagne without it foaming over.

As Wylan filled another glass, he chanced a look at Jesper, sitting amongst the players at the table, hunched over his cards. He wore a battered navy waistcoat embroidered with small gold stars, and his rumpled shirt shone white against his dark brown skin. Jesper rubbed a tired hand over his face. They'd been playing cards for over two hours. Wylan couldn't tell if Jesper's fatigue was real or part of the act.

Wylan tried to focus on Kaz's instructions instead.

"Just take the players' orders and keep one ear on Smeet's conversation," he'd said. "It's a job, Wylan. Get it done."

Kaz dealt another hand to Smeet, Jesper, and the other players at the round table. He wore the same sky-blue staff jacket as Wylan and his hands were bare. Wylan had to fight not to stare at them. It wasn't just the strangeness, the wrongness of seeing Kaz without his gloves, it was that his hands seemed animated by a secret machinery. They moved as if they'd been made for no other purpose than to manipulate cards, long white fingers flexing in easy rhythm, the shuffle precise, each turn economical. Kaz had claimed he could control any deck. So why was Jesper losing so badly?

When Kaz had outlined this part of the plan at the hideout on Black Veil, Wylan had been incredulous, and for once, he hadn't been the only one with questions.

"Let me get this straight," Nina had said. "Your grand scheme is to give Jesper a line of credit and make him play cards with Cornelis Smeet?"

"Smeet likes high stakes Three Man Bramble and blondes," said Kaz.

Perfect job for Feta, everyone thought and didn't dare say. The blonde to Jesper's Three Man Bramble.

If Kaz had sensed the thought rippling through the group, or thought it himself, he didn't show it. "So we're going to give him both. I'll deal the first half of the night, then Specht will take over."

Wylan knew Specht was a former navy seaman and he knew Feta had liked the man well enough, but that was about all he knew. If Wylan was honest, between the grizzled jaw and the tattoos that ran halfway up Specht's neck, he found the sailor slightly frightening. But even Specht had looked concerned when he said, "I can deal cards, Kaz, but I can't control a deck."

"You don't have to. From the time you sit down, it will be an honest game. The important thing is to keep Smeet at the tables until midnight. The shift change is when we risk losing him. As soon as I stand up, he's going to start thinking about moving on to another game or calling it a night, so you all need to do everything you can to keep his ass firmly planted at that table."