SHE WAS ON FIRE. She was fire. Flames had eaten away at each of her nerves, every one of her atoms, until she simply became her own damnation. Hell looked a lot more like Ketterdam than she expected. Maybe she'd just been born dead. Maybe from day one her soul had been judged filthy and she'd been tossed into the devil's waiting arms. It would explain a lot.
She was being dramatic, ridiculous. But that's just what it was like whenever her mother entered the picture. Everything just seemed so surreal, like a nightmare within a coma, fighting for her life in every which way.
She willed herself to remain grounded, here. Ketterdam, Asra, the Forbidden Fruits, Deyanira. Roses. Roses meant business. Business meant family.
Asra had been fourteen when she first met Deyanira Ruiz. She'd been working for two years, drinking for five, and fucking for one. She'd been to Kerch a few times before, though she'd never been on the West Stave of the Barrel. She knew what it was to be owned, to be a slave. There was a solidarity among people like her, they didn't judge what had to be done, and they didn't gain from it either.
Until that day. The nameless girl had headed down the streets of West Stave and ducked into the house of the Forbidden Fruits. She knew she had no place in there, according to the owner anyway. She sat in the parlour, sipped her wine as her eyes drifted over the girls in their shimmering silks. She'd smiled. One girl had smiled back, a knowing in her eyes. The girl had paid for an hour with her, and the two had disappeared into her room.
"I want you to kill my father." The indenture said. She was a couple years older than Asra, about sixteen. Her skin was golden, her hair impossibily dark as it fell down her back in thick waves. She wore a dress of loose red silk and golden bangles around her neck and wrists and ankles.
"What's his name?" The nameless asked. Her face was dotted with pale scars, her red hair a crown of power as the braid fell down her back. Her suit was red as dried blood.
"Bram Janssen."
The nameless girl raised a brow. "He runs this place."
"No shit." The girl, Deyanira Janssen, said, pushing away from the door. She grabbed a bottle of wine from her dresser and poured two glasses. "When he dies, I take over this place. I'll run it better than he ever could and I'll treat these people like people."
The girl nodded, taking the wine glass. "May I ask how someone winds up indentured to her own father?"
"By having their father be a drunk dickhead. By being pretty like her mother. May I ask how someone becomes nameless?"
"We're born into it." She sipped her wine.
"Pitty." Deyanira said, running her finger around the rim of her glass. "I'd like to be dangerous like you people are."
The nameless girl had smirked. She started to walk around the indenture, eyes flicking over her poorly hidden body, wine glass hiding her lips. Deyanira had tensed.
"What are you doing?" She'd asked.
"Looking. Noticing. It's my expertise." She'd stood before her again. "You have the look of a snake, I reckon."
She recoiled. "What?"
"Where I'm from, we aren't human. We've given ourselves titles, of sorts. Snakes are quick, deadly, precise. You don't see them coming till it's too late."
She'd run her finger along the rim of her glass. "I... don't hate the sound of that."
The nameless girl had smiled, sipped her wine, set it down. "Deyanira Janssen, I'm going to go kill your father. I'll be right back." She went to leave.
"Ruiz." She'd called. "I go by my mother's name. Deyanira Ruiz."
She'd smiled, nodded, closed the door behind her. The kill had been easy, slow, pained. Bram Janssen suffered. Deyanira Ruiz had stiffened at the sight of his corpse, the makings of a smile on her lips. The nameless girl had held out a knife to her, still wet with Bram's blood.
"Take it. What's a snake without her fangs?"
"The knife used to kill my father," Deyanira had mused, turning the blade over in her manicured hands, staining them red. "That might be the best gift anyone's ever given me."
The nameless girl had smiled, nodded, turned to leave.
"What are you?" Deyanira had called.
"What?" Asra had looked at her over she shoulder.
"If I'm a snake, what are you?"
She'd grinned. "They call my kind mutts."
The snake had laughed. "If you ever need a place to stay, hound, you have one here."
The mutt had laughed back. "Serpant, I'm flattered."
The House of Forbidden Fruits had been renovated. Deyanira Ruiz had taken over after Bram Janssen's sudden and mysterious death. Rules changed under her rule. The Serpant would not deal with slavers, would not tolerate abuse towards her indetures, would not turn away a certain stray mutt that always seemed to find her way there.
Over the years, almost every time Asra had found herself in Ketterdam, she'd come up with an excuse to see Deyanira. Sometimes they'd simply chat and drink and gossip. Sometimes Asra would come in covered in her own blood and Deyanira would call Tatiana Semyonova, a Heartrender from Ravka to help. Over the years, Asra and Deyanira became friends, confidants. They developed codes, plans, agreements. Roses meant business, and that meant Asra's family.
The House of Forbidden Fruits was located towards the Lid. It was, regrettably, not immune to the Barrel's customary gaud. The building was a pale orange, with great green curtains hanging heavy from every window and doorway. Their symbol hung above the door, a snake curled around an apple, fangs bared. Asra couldn't help but smile slightly at the sight of the place. She hadn't been to this place in over a year.
She stopped at the bar on the bottom floor. The girl behind took one look at her scars and took her through to Deyanira's room. She sat on her bed, a cigarette between her lips, dark hair wrapped elaborately around her hair, golden skin glowing in the dim light. Her dress was a deep shimmering green, embedded with rubies.
Asra pushed the door closed behind her. She knew she'd changed since Deyanira had last seen her. Her hair was now dark and unremarkable, cut short around her face. Her suit, still a dull red, was hidden beneath a Komedei Brute costume she'd snatched.
Deyanira hummed. "Even looking like shit, you make it work."
Asra grinned. "Good to see you too, Serpant."
"Likewise, Hound. I thought you were dead."
"Sorry to disappoint." She sat down beside Deyanira on the bed. She offered her the cigarette. Asra took it. "I got your note. Who'd they send?"
"No," Deyanira held up a hand. "No first you give me some answers. You disappear for nearly a year, then I hear you're running with Dirtyhands, and show up looking half a bloody corpse."
"I have been kidnapped for a week and staying in a graveyard." Asra took a drag of the cigarette, wincing slightly at the burn in her throat. She passed it back to the Deyanira.
"Answers, Hound." She demanded simply.
"Asra."
She paused, cigarette between her painted lips. "What?"
"My name. It's Asra."
She watched realisation cross Deyanira's face, her mouth slowly falling open. "Holy shit." She whispered.
"Yeah. I ran off. Been staying on East Stave with the Dregs. Asra Behandelar, at your service." She offered a hand.
"Sweetness," Deyanira muttered.
"De." She said. "And it's Asra now, so you can stop calling me that."
"This is huge." Deyanira said. "I mean... I mean it explains everything but still..."
Asra nodded, taking the cigarette again and having another drag. She sighed heavily. "Who came to see you?"
"Your sister. The Witch."
"Shit." Asra muttered. "She didn't hurt you, did she?"
"No. No I'm fine sw- Asra. I'm fine." She took her hand, offering a smile. "What will you do?"
"Leave, probably. Haven't decided where." Asra shrugged.
"Will I see you again?"
"I... I doubt it. I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"Alright. Glad I won't have to put up with your perfume again."
Deyanira's mouth hung open. "Excuse you, it's not that bad. I have to smell of fruit, my house is named the Fruits."
"You could've changed the name."
"But I like the tattoos. And I'm shit at names so, couldn't be bothered."
"You never had problem coming up with nicknames for me." Asra shrugged.
"But Sweetness suits you! You're so sweet, like a poison."
"You give the best compliments."
"I learnt from you, Hound."
"My pleasure, Serpant."
Deyanira smiled. Asra smiled back. Both knew they weren't real. Asra sighed, handing the cigarette back. She pushed herself to her feet. She headed to the door, stopping with one hand on the handle.
"If I get the chance to see you again, I will." Asra said. It was the best she could offer.
Deyanira nodded. "Good luck, Hound."
Asra nodded back. "And you, Serpant."
Outside, Asra wanted to scream. Instead she pulled her hood low and made her way back towards Black Veil. It was half eight bells. She wouldn't make it to Sweet Reef in time to help Nina and Inej. She would wait with Jesper, Matthias and Kuwei to help the Grisha out the city.
A witch was after her. The Witch. Asra shouldn't have been surprised.
She kept her head low as she walked down West Stave, heading over to East and down the widing alleys towards Black Veil. The roofs would've been quicker, but Asra didn't want to risk being seen. Head down, hands in her pockets, acutely aware of her own breathing.
She'd been six when she met her sister, who had been seven. She'd been a daughter for two years. She knew she was a prodigy. She knew she was best. The girl that would be her new sister thought herself the same, a revolutionary of Grisha abilities. They'd hated each other instantly.
It made sense that her mother would send the Harbinger. Asra wondered if her sister would just kill her. Probably not. Her mother wanted her alive, and that sister had been eating out of their mother's hand since day one. Asra would be fine, mostly.
She'd quickly learnt how to control herself. The prodigal daughter was a master of self-restraint anyway, but learning to master her own biology had been difficult even for her. She learnt to slow her breathing, steady her heart, keep herself calm and awake and ready. Her sister had free range of the other children to toy with and practice on, but the sister she was always privately jealous seemed to be her favourite.
Asra felt her hold in a second. She realised suddenly how the street she'd found herself on was empty, eerily quiet. She felt her heart strain, her lungs tighten. She couldn't breathe. She pitched forward and fell to her hands and knees.
A laugh like a locust swarm sounded from the shadows. "Well well well," a voice like a cat's cry. "The prodigy herself, on her knees before me. It's good to see you again, mutt."
Asra coughed up blood. It splattered onto her sister's boots. She looked up at the womam before her, her dress the second brightest red available to their kind. She was tall, dark like the Zemeni, her hair braided down her back, a fist clenched beside her, grin on her painted black lips.
The Witch clenched her fist tighter. Asra suddered as her heart spasmed in her chest. Her sister's grin widened. "What, nothing to say? You usually do."
A trembling hand went to her throat, then her arm shot out suddenly into the side of her sister's knee. The Witch fell, her grip on Asra's insides slipping with her. Asra gasped, crawling towards her and pinning her sister's arms to her side with her knees, hands around her throat. "I see you're still a cocky bitch."
The Witch's fist clenched by her side. Asra's pistol fired on her hip, bullet lodging itself in her thigh. "I see you're still predictable."
Asra pushed herself away, examining her thigh. Her sister sat up, rubbing her throat.
"Are we really doing this?" Asra asked.
"Yes." Her sister stood. "I want to beat the shit out of you again."
The Butcher laughed, throwing her head back. She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the screaming in her thigh. "As if you ever could."
The Harbinger grinned and held up her hands, wiggling her clawed fingers. The air around her rippled with power. "Let's do this, shall we?"
Asra squared her shoulders, adjusted her stance. She felt like she was eight years old again, sparring relentlessly with her newest sibling. They were the best of their respective groups, mutts and witches. They wanted to be best of them all. Prodigy and revolutionary. It was a wonder they hadn't destroyed each other.
The air ignited around the Witch's palms. She thrust out her hands, sending the flames shooting at Asra. The Butcher dived to the side, pistol in her hand. She shot at her sister.
And so they went, dancing back and forth with blows and dodges and taunts. Sometimes they'd miss, mostly they wouldn't. Both were bleeding. Both were breathless. Neither were giving in.
Asra had her hands around her sister's throat again. The Witch had Asra's heart in her hold. It was simply a matter of waiting, seeing who would give out first.
Asra grit her teeth, blood threaded between them. "You want me alive." She choked out.
"Mother wants you alive." Her sister bit back.
"And you want mother happy." She grimaced, forced herself to breathe. "Truce?"
Her sister hesitated. "Truce."
At once, they let the other go. Both dropped to their hands and knees and heaved for breath. The street was wet with blood and canal water, stones scorched black by flames and scuffed white by stray bullets. The silence felt fake.
Asra pushed herself onto her knees, pushing her hair out her face, heaving a breath. "Don't suppose I could trouble you for a hand?"
Her sister spat, nodded. She sat on the stairs to one of the buildings nearby. Asra sat beside her. The Witch paid her no mind as her hands hovered over her side, stitching the skin back together with a scowl.
"You're Van Eck's security?" Asra asked, watching her sister work, feeling her clothes wet with blood.
"No." Her sister said.
"Lie. What are you doing here?"
Her sister's scowl deepened. She moved from her side to her throat, hands moving carefully over the skin, bruises already fading.
"Witch." Asra said, grabbing her wrist.
She yanked her hand back, the other swiping over Asra's shoulder. "Mutt."
Asra pressed a hand to her shoulder, glaring at her sister. When she was nine, their mother had managed to secure the Harbinger an amplifier, some kind of cat. The Witch had the claws grafted to her fingernails. She kept them sharp.
"Answer the question." Asra said, feeling the blood trickle between her fingers where the Harbinger had sliced her. "And Heal me, damnit."
She swatted her hand away and pushed the ruin shirt aside. Asra started undoing her buttons while her sister started healing her, willing herself not to feel the itch.
"Mother sent me to gaurd Van Eck while you're still on the run, but moreso I was meant to watch you."
Asra pushed her shirt off her shoulder, looking away. "And?"
"You're fucked, in my opinion."
Asra rolled her eyes. "I didn't ask for your verdict, idiot. What's your situation?"
She sighed, moving away from Asra's shoulder to a burn on her arm. "I'm here to watch you and keep you away from Jan Van Eck. When Mother arrives I'll report back to her. In the meantime, I'm not technically meant to interact with you unless totally necessary. How are you holding up? You seem... wyuss."
Weak. Her native tongue sparked something wild in her. "I've been kidnapped for the last week and denied food and water all the while. Excuse me if I seem a little slow."
Her sister hummed, pulling her hands away. Asra's wounds weren't fully healed, and they'd all scar, but she expected no less of her sister's Healing. She shrugged her shirt back on.
"So why are you here, talking to me? What's happened?"
Her sister shrugged. Her wounds were, of course, Healed completely, not so much as a bruise left. She never let Asra leave a scar on her. "You'll see. I want to meet your crew."
She tensed. "Why?"
She shrugged again. "If we're fighting them, I may as well meet them first."
"You're not fighting them. I'm leaving Kerch as soon as we all get our money."
"To go where?"
"Like I'd tell you."
"I could make you."
"You could try. Rak i yuss." It was a warning. Their language had no direct translation, but that was easy enough. I'm better than you. Even now, Asra could beat her sister if she had to. She might've been The Witch, but Asra was the Butcher. No one beat the Butcher.
Her sister snarled. "You don't get to speak my language. You don't deserve the red you wear."
Red, the colour of power. Asra wasn't sure why she kept wearing it in Ketterdam. Here, the rich wore black. "It's a colour, sister. This isn't the House. I wear what I like."
Her sister's scowl deepened. She pushed herself up suddenly. "I want to meet your crew."
"And I want you dead. We don't often get our wishes granted."
"If you wanted me dead, I'd be dead. Get up."
"There's a bullet in my thigh."
The Witch flicked her hand. The bullet shot from Asra's leg. She swallowed a scream, bunching her trousers in her fists as her sister closed the hole in her leg. It still hurt. Everything hurt. But she'd lived with pain her whole life. She pushed herself up to her feet. Her sister was infuriatingly tall.
"You're not to touch them, mock them, or report anything back to Van Eck. Understand?"
"You're not in charge of me."
Asra snarled, a warning. Her sister tensed, ever so slightly, then nodded. Something warm bubbled in Asra's stomach at the sight.
"Fine." Her sister snapped.
"Wonderful." Asra smiled, falling into a mock bow as she guestured her down the stret. "Follow me, sister."