Natasha Van Doren is a shadow summoner. She bides her time and resides in darkness, feared and esteemed by Ketterdam's civilians, a ghost . She cons Kaz Brekker into joining a heist he can't refuse and with thirty million kruge on the line, the crow...
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"SHE ISN'T WAKING UP,"
"You're a fucking healer,"
"I can't hear her heart,"
"Fuck,"
___
"Mama," The young Zemeni crawled into her mother's arm. The thin nightgown brushing against her thin ankles. Growing up, Natasha Van Doren had been nothing but bones, a literal skeleton wandering the small villages of Ketterdam.
The little family had travelled here by boat, seeking asylum from the Council of the Tides. They had been granted a small beach house until Mr Van Doren was able to find work on the harbour. "I'm so bored,"
The girl sulked, dropping onto the red footstool. Her mother was shucking peas with a crooked knife, her fingertips rough but warm. "I want to go play outside. Why can't I go play outside?"
"The outside is not good for a girl like you," Ms Van Doren reached out, catching Natasha's screwed fists in a single palm. "The barrel is a bad place for little ladies,"
"I am big, mama," Natasha flounced onto her feet, curtseying on the cold kitchen floor. "I can look after myself," She dropped down beside her mother, flicking peas against the wall. "Mama, please, I want to make friends,"
"Friends do not exist," Ms Van Doren said darkly. "Pray to your saints, eat your peas, and listen to what your mother says," She drew Natasha to kiss her forehead, patting the space beside her on the floor. "Now help me make dinner before papa comes home."
___
"Go to hell, Brekker,"
"Do your job, Zenic,"
___
"Can you keep a secret?" Natasha had been wearing gloves for as long as she could remember. Black satin gloves that crawled up to her elbows. The fingertips were slit, its palm embroidered with eclipsed suns.
Kaz Brekker hadn't asked questions. He wondered what she might be hiding. Claws - was she a witch? Or maybe she was in an accident or fire and her hand melted into the bones? His gaze twitched down to her gloved palm.
"Yes,"
Natasha sighed deeply, grabbing his hand and pushing it into her chest. "Swear you won't tell a soul,"
