ASRA WAS LEFT ALONE AND SHAKING ON THE FLOOR. She didn't bother to move from the heap Van Eck's men had left her in. She was crying, terrified sobs that racked through her whole body. She'd tried. She'd tried so damn hard to keep it all at bay. All she ever did was fucking try. But all it had taken was one needle to her neck as Asra's mind went wild.
She was twelve when her mother first sent her on a job, when she got her first dose of clearance. She'd known coming and going from the House required her to be sedated, at least partially. It was a security messure. Even so young, the prodigal daughter had understood the necessity of everything. It was why her mother loved her so.
The girl always knew what was coming. It was her pride, her skill, her secret comfort when she had nothing else. The next hit, the next test, the next job, the next security messure. She always knew, or at least had a very good guess, as to what was coming.
When the doctors had first come to take her, she hadn't let herself panic.
"What is this about?" She'd asked, stood defiant at her bunk. She had her own room, smaller than the shared dorms, but she'd never needed much space. She'd been back from her first job for half an hour. The thrill of it all was still fresh in her blood, but she contained it within herself. She'd let her mother see her excitement when she got back, but she'd simply hit her.
What have I told you about emotion? She'd said, not looking up from her papers.
It is unbecoming. She'd replied slowly. She dropped her hand from her stinging cheek. Sorry, Mother. I'll leave you to it.
The doctor scowled. "You're to come with us. Do I need to repeat myself?"
She steeled herself. She knew that tone well. "No, sir. Lead the way."
A doctor either side of her, she'd been led through the halls. She'd tried countless times to make a map of the House. It had never worked. She'd tried to draw one once. By the time her mother was done with her, the girl hadn't been able to stand. She'd had to drag herself from the office and back to her room.
She knew, vaguely, where everything was. And so the girl quickly came to realise these doctors were not taking her to the infirmary. But she didn't ask, didn't let it show. Knowledge was dangerous. She knew that well.
Her mother had been waiting before the door. The prodigal daughter had been twelve, insufferably small, and trying to swallow the dread building within her. She stopped, back straight and head high, before the woman she called mother.
"What's this about?" She'd asked.
Her mother had crouched before her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's a safety messure. Everyone has it after their first job."
"I've never heard anything about this." The door beside them was heavy set. Doors like that were used for the kennels, to keep beasts inside. She'd always liked to go into the kennels. These weren't the kennels.
"It's a secret procedure." Her mother had whispered, a grin on her painted lips as she poked the girl's nose. "Only the biggest, bravest of us get to know about it. It's the final step to becoming a Nameless."
She'd drew herself up. "I am no one and nothing. I hold no self and claim no name. I live to serve and will die without ever knowing what it is to be truly human." Those were the words they'd all been taught. She liked to speak them when she was scared.
Her mother had grinned. "That's right, darling. So do this for me, yes?"
She'd nodded. Her mother had stood, grin dropping in an instant. The Boss, as she was more commonly referred to as, faced the doctors and nodded briskly. One opened the door and guestured her inside. The girl had obliged.
Inside was like the kennels too. The walls were unpainted and stained. The floor was rough stone. There were no windows, no clock, no lights. Once the door shut, it'd be pitch black. It was empty, besides the girl.
The doctor pushed her ponytail aside and pressed a syringe into her neck. The girl stiffened as he injected something into her, then they were gone. The door was shut, the room was dark, the girl was alone.
The panic came first. Then the confusion. They'd bled into fear. Everything was too much. Her mind, her clothes, the stones beneath her bare feet. She wanted to claw her skin off. She wanted to go home. Where was that? She didn't have one, did she? That room? That woman? Mother? She didn't remember anything. Her bile was acid in her throat. Her own body was trying to kill her. She scrambled away from herself, the shattered reflection of her sins that sat before her. Was she hallucinating? Was she mad? Was she even human? What did it matter? The girl who didn't have a self to know pushed herself into a corner and let the snarls and snaps she'd learnt from her dogs to free themselves of her throat. Was this fear?
She didn't know how long she spent in the room. She'd been naked when they opened the door, pressed into the corner on all fours, clothes and shoes torn to shreds. She was coated in grime, two clean streaks running along her cheeks from tears. Her fingers were bleeding, her fingernails wore to nothing, her face and arms and body and neck and everything coated in claw marks.
They'd refused her a trip to the infirmary. She hadn't asked for one anyway.
Naked, bleeding, filthy, she'd went to see her mother. She stood in her office, eyes downcast, body slack, and waited silently for answers.
"We call it the clearance." She'd said, sparing a look from her papers. "It's use is, well, in the name. Tell me about your job again."
"My...? I- I had to... I was... I went to..."
"You don't remember, do you?"
She shook her head.
"That's what the clearance is for. It's so you can't remember anything from jobs. It's for safety, privacy, anonymity. You understand, don't you darling?"
"Of course, Mother. It's very effective, impressive." She nodded.
Her mother smiled, nodded approvingly. "The more you take, the easier it will be. The effects will slowly become permanent, so you don't have to take it as often."
She nodded. "I see. Will I take a dose after my next job?"
"Most likely." She said distractedly.
The daughter nodded again. "I'll leave you to it, Mother."
She'd walked, dazed and ignored by everyone around her, through the House. She didn't know where she was going till she was there. She'd gotten a shirt and trousers. She'd braided her hair how she liked it as a child. She'd found herself a bottle of kvas from her mother's room. She sat down in the kennels, nestled into the corner, surrounded by the panting beasts she loved so, and drank.
She was about seven when she first tried alcohol. She'd been deemed old enough to accompany her mother to a meeting. She sat at her side, eyes scanning everyone at the table, a glass of wine absentmindedly pushed into her hand.
She'd drank dutifully. She'd liked it. Halfway through her head had started to tingle and her mother had taken it off her. The next day, she snuck into her mother's liquor cabinet and found another bottle of red wine. She'd taken the bottle, a glass, and drank again.
Her head was light and fuzzy. She couldn't think. It was so incredibly easy. Everything was. Existing had never felt so easy. She'd drank herself to sleep under her mother's desk and awoken to a smashed glass against the side of her forehead.
"I- I tried it yesterday and I liked it so... I thought I'd have some again." She'd said, pushing herself up slightly on the floor, one hand pressed to her bleeding head. Her mother stared down at her.
"You aren't allowed alcohol. Especially not my alcohol." She'd said simply.
The girl, seven years old and bleeding, lay at her mother's feet and quaking subtly in fear, steeled herself. "Everyone else is allowed alcohol."
The House had one rule, follow orders. That was it. Someone higher up told you to do something, you did it. Otherwise, well, it was a free-for-all. Nowhere was off-limits, nothing for forbidden. There was a bar, and children and elderly alike could order a drink there. The girl had never gotten the opportunity to try it. Anyone could go anywhere so long as they had reason.
"Yes." Her mother said, stone stil and terrifying. "But you aren't everyone. You're my daughter, the prodigal daughter. You don't give in to this urge. It makes people sloppy, forgetful, slow. You can't afford those things."
You drink, the Dog Girl thought. But she didn't say it. She was not her mother. Her mother was powerful, important despite their nature. She could afford to be slow and sloppy. Though not forgottful. Her mother did not forget.
She dropped her gaze, hand still pressed to her forehead. "May I go to infirmary?" She hadn't yet learnt not to trust that place.
"No." Her mother said. "Clean up this mess."
She picked up the half empty bottle and left the girl to it, picking up a fresh glass on her way. The girl cleaned up the wine and blood and glass. She went to her room and picked the glass from her forehead, patched up the ruined skin. It would probably scar, but she already had a few of those, and she rather liked them.
She was four when she got her first scar, the day she met the woman who would become her mother. They'd begun combat training that day. The girl had been buzzing with excitement. She'd been to every theory and technique class. She'd watched the older children train. She'd watched the others she would have to face. She was ready, she knew she was.
She won her first fight, and the second. Laughing, the trainer had sent another to fight her. She beat that one too. There were ten children in her year. By the time the last had failed to best her, the girl was bruised and shaking and exhausted. A dull ache of pain had spread through her. Her knuckles were split and bleeding, as was her lip and forehead. All she could really feel, though, was a giddy pride that she'd been right. Her notes and observations were correct. Her predictions had been accurate. She'd won.
"Proud of yourself?" The trainer asked.
The girl nodded, wiping her bloody lip on the back of her hand. She sucked on the open wound, letting the coppery taste of blood flood her mouth.
The trainer scoffed. "Pride is dangerous, you know."
She drew herself up. She was four, fierce, and absolutely nothing. "I won. I'm better than them. Arrogance is good if it's founded."
The trained laughed, a warm sound like a forest fire. "You beat children. I admit, it's better than I'd expected, but you are hardly the best."
"But I will be." She was sure of it. She steeled herself. "I could beat you, you know."
He raised a brow. His skin wad dark, hair close cropped. He favoured his left foot, kept himself guarded constantly. He was underestimating her. "No, kid, you couldn't."
"Prove it." She wasn't sure what she wanted from this, maybe just the thrill of another fight. "Beat me."
He walked closer. The top of her head was nearly in line with his waist. His left shoe was coming untied.
He sent his left knee into her face. The girl saw it coming.
She stepped to the side and threw herself against him. He stumbled, but righted himself before he could fully fall. The girl who knew she would be the best if she wasn't already stepped back as her trainer sent an elbow towards her face. Not fast enough. He clipped the side of her head and sent her stumbling back.
She was small. He was being lazy. His kick was slow and light. He wasn't really trying to hurt her, just teach her a lesson in respect. Well, the girl could play this game too. She stepped beneath his leg, grabbed his ankle, and ran behind him. He fell flat on his face.
The girl smiled and stood before him. "Told you, I'm the best."
His teeth were bloody. He'd bitten his tongue. He went to push himself up, the girl asssumed, but his hand suddenly shot out, a knife in his grasp. Before she could move the blade embedded itself in her side.
She screamed. The girl fell. Her trainer hovered over her, face impassive. The girl spat in his face.
"We aren't using blades!" She yelled, ignoring the pain and nausea flowing through her. "That's cheating."
His head cocked to the side slightly. "All's fair in a fight, kid. There's no cheating, just winners and corpses. Go to the infirmary."
She had. She'd been stitched up and told to rest for as long as she could stomach it. She was told it would scar. She wasn't sure if she was meant to care, but decided she didn't.
She'd never seen the woman before, but she still knew who she was. She had the air of importance, the rich red of control. There was no wealth in the House, just power. The girl wore grey, stained and ragged. She was still in training, the lowest of lows. The woman before her was decked in the brighest red the girl had ever seen. Her lips were painted the same colour, as was the skin around her eyes. Blood red, she noted.
"Boss," the girl greeted with a nod.
She smiled like a monster. "You're the girl who challenged her trainer, yes?"
She wasn't sure what to say. "I would've won if he hadn't pulled a knife." Danger and power were like lovers here. The girl was always scrambling for them.
"So I've heard." The woman sat on the edge of the girl's bed. "That's very impressive."
"Thank you."
"Do you know why I'm here?"
"No." She said. "Should I?"
The woman smiled again and reached out for the girl's hand. "You know we can take people under our wings, yes?"
She nodded. Anyone, in theory, could claim someone below them as their ward. No one ever did, though, only the most important, the brightest reds. Survival was hard enough in this place. A responsibility beside yourself was nothing but risk.
"I'd like to take you, girl. I'd like you to be mine."
Her eyes widened. "I... thank you, boss." She wanted it. Of course she wanted it. To be this woman's, to be seen beside her... The girl was meant for power, she always knew it. This could be her way to the top.
The woman smiled that monster's smile again. "Please, darling, call me Mother."
The girl was thirteen when someone next said they wanted her. She'd been working for a year. She'd been drinking constantly for four. She'd been a daughter for nine. She looked older than she was, acted older too. She was sat in a bar dressed in a dull red suit, sipping her glass of kvas. No one watched her jobs anymore. She could go back to the House whenever she wanted, in theory. But she only ever stayed till the morning after her business was finished. The longer she stayed, the more there was to forget when she left. The more there was to forget, the worse the clearance seemed. The girl drank her kvas.
"Now what's a pretty girl doing drinking alone?"
She looked up. She was pretty, she knew it, so long as they didn't spot the scars on her face. She had quite a few now. The girl was known for her ruthlessness, her danger. Her mother was making a habit of sending her prodigy on more dangerous jobs than most her age. The scars were racking up, another name was starting to be whispered in her wake. The Scarred One. She didn't like it.
She just smiled, looking into her glass. It wasn't exactly uncommon for someone to flirt with her. She sometimes flirted back, though mostly only with the girls.
This boy was cute enough, though. He was a few years older than her, with dark hair tussled out of place. He wore the olive drab of the First Army and the easiness of youth. He was a soldier, a new one. The girl doubted he'd even killed yet.
He slid into the seat beside her. She let him. He was cute, she was drunk. He flirted, she flirted back. He moved closer, she let him. He grabbed her thigh, hand light and grip gentle. Her breath caught.
"I've never... done it before." She said. Were those nerves real? The girl she was being for this boy had confidence, allbeit fake. She would've been nervous, but the girl without a name? She didn't know. She went to sip her drink, but Maksim caught her wrist.
"Don't worry," he guided her hand till she set the glass down. "I know what I'm doing."
He'd kissed her, slow and slightly hesiant. She'd kissed before, at least. Soon they were doing a lot more. They were in her room in the inn upstairs. She was chanting his name between curses. He was whispering her. Anna, she'd told him. It sparked nothing within her. His cock, on the other hand... The girl hadn't expected herself to enjoy this. She was wrong.
The girl was sixteen when someone first truly wanted her. She'd run away. She'd given herself a name. She'd become something almost like friends with the boy she worked for. She'd made herself stop drinking. She'd come to love her scars. The boy had scars too, as well as leather gloves and an adpt skill for lying. She'd know he was lying when he'd told her.
Kaz Brekker was something Asra didn't want to think about, but that locked box in her mind had been reduced to splinters and she didn't know if she'd be able to lock these memories away again. Kaz had been stood beside her on the Ferolind. They'd been talking, which was odd for them, though not unpleasant. He'd hesitated, almost stuttered, and then he'd told her.
"I want you."
Kaz Brekker was probably the first person to truly meet the real her. Even she didn't know the real her, if such a person even existed. She'd lived a life of masks and lies, and until recently she doubted there was anything behind it. Whenever whatever mask she wore fell away, all that seemed to sit behind it was fear. Asra refused to be nothing more than that.
Kaz Brekker was the first person to meet Asra Behandelar. He was there to watch a nameless girl become a real person for the first time. Asra liked who she'd become, usually, but the nameless girl within her hated herself and every version of it.
She was a monster, she knew that. She was drowning in the blood of those she killed. She had more scars than skin or sanity. She was a lair and, frankly, horrible to be around. She knew she was, and she was okay with that.
Kaz didn't want her. He wanted a monster, something filthy and inhuman to do his dirty work. He wanted a weapon, a beast, a guard dog. She could do that. She already was all those things. She didn't know why Kaz let her sit in his office late at night, why he indulged her flirting at the Ice Court, why he'd sought her out that night, but she didn't care.
Asra had realised early on she didn't like people, and so people didn't like her back. If Kaz had someone become an exception, so be it. She didn't know what was between them, but she didn't care, so long as one rule she'd decided they had was followed.
Asra Behandelar was not an honest person. She could lie like anything, she could dance around the truth like a performer at the circus. But not Kaz. She'd never lied to Kaz. She'd avoided, ignored, half-truthed, but never lied. She wasn't sure why. She hadn't even noticed till he told her those three words that night. That lie.
Because it had to be a lie. She wasn't sane, neither was Kaz, but he wasn't so delusion as to want her. Her uses, her conveniences, her easiness. He could want that. But not her. She didn't know what she'd do if it was true, but it wasn't, so it was fine.
People did not want Asra Behandelar. And Asra Behandelar did not want to think about Kaz Brekker. Or her mother. But when had she ever gotten what she wanted?
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Author's note:
Bit of a shit end but hey ho
We like this? We ready to see Kaz next chapter? Hope so :)