The Mask leaned forwards, pulling the chess-table in front of him, and Kaz sat down on the other side. "State your terms, Mister Brekker."
"For every piece I take of yours, you answer a question truthfully. For every piece you take of mine, I answer one of your questions truthfully. If I win, you call off Raven and close the Silver Sun Casino - permanently."
"And if I win?" the Mask said smoothly, his gaze level and piercing. "What do I get to ask of you?"
"I wouldn't know. What do you get to ask of me?"
The corner of the masked man's mouth turned upwards. "I ask of you," he murmured, voice almost down to a whisper, "to join my gang, and break off all ties you have with both Lantsov and the Dregs, and close the Crow Club – permanently."
Once more, Kaz nodded. "I accept."
But there was something niggling at the back of his mind, telling him he'd missed something. Something big.
"I play white," he stated, leaving no room for any negotiations. "I start." One pale hand reached for the king's pawn and moved it to E4.
Kaz replied by slowly sliding his own pawn out to E5. He knew he had to be careful. Being good at chess was a completely different thing to being good at the card games like poker that Kaz had mastered. Those games were about luck – what cards you were dealt – intelligence – how you play your hand – memory – if, like Kaz, you could memorize the order of each card in the pack – and possibly sleight-of-hand – if the people you were playing with were stupid enough or drunk enough to not notice you cheating. But there was no way of cheating in chess. It wasn't about memorizing moves or rules, it was about skill and how you adapt to the way your opponent plays. It needed you to be mentally strong, not deft with your fingers and guarded with your expressions.
Kaz was out of his depth, and he knew it.
They took turns moving, and still Kaz couldn't see where the Mask was aiming or which piece he was trying to take. His plans stayed as hidden as his face, concealed behind that white, antlered mask.
And then Kaz saw an opening and moved his knight, taking a white pawn. He felt a slow smile spread across his face.
"So," said the Mask, steepling his fingers, "what question will you ask of me?"
"Who are you?"
The dark-haired man sitting across from him laughed – actually laughed. "And they told me you were intelligent! That's the oldest of all word-traps."
"Answer the question."
"I am the Mask."
Inwardly, Kaz cursed. Goddamnit. I should have seen that coming from a mile away.
The Mask moved his bishop to take Kaz's knight and he nearly groaned with shame. So obvious, and I still fell for both traps! He forced his expression to stay cool and nonchalant, despite the humiliated and angry red flush creeping up his neck, obvious against his pale skin. "What will you ask of me?"
"Let's start with an easy one, Mister Brekker. This shouldn't take you too long." His eyes narrowed slightly and Kaz suspected that this question was going to be anything other than simple. "Is Kaz Brekker your real name?"
Kaz was momentarily stunned. Glad his years of poker playing had let him keep an entirely neutral expression at all times, he struggled to answer. "It is a name I have chosen and a name I have been given, and, like all names, it is mine alone. And what defines a 'real' name, but our own choices?"
He could have just answered with a simple 'no', but he knew that wasn't what the Mask wanted, and for once, he was going to play his enemy's game, being fairly skilled at riddling talk and hiding the truth amongst obscure sentences. He wasn't playing this game to win, he was playing it to draw it out as long as possible to get as many answers as he could, and the Mask liked riddles. Why not humor him? He wasn't going to give a direct answer anyway, so Kaz would do the same.
"A fair answer."
Once more, they bent their heads to the chequered board.
The sun had escaped beneath the horizon and flecks of dust danced in the fading light of the gloaming. The mellow glow softened the sharp edges and corners of Ketterdam's skyline, making it look almost beautiful. She couldn't have asked for a better scene for their fight.
"Enough with your games and riddles, Raven. Who are you?"
"Let's see if you can find out," the grey-eyed assassin snarled, all semblances of calm gone from her face, and she drew her weapon in a glinting flash of steel and threw it in one swift motion.
Inej bent backwards and it whizzed over her head. She released the triggers on the sheaths at her forearms, waiting for Sankt Petyr and Sankta Alina to slide in to her hands, but was met with a disappointing click. In a flash she realised that the weights of Sankta Marya and Sankta Anastasia on her thighs were gone as well, the familiar lump of Sankta Lizabeta at her belt was absent, and Sankt Vladimir in her boot too. Her mind darted back to Kaz and his rare lopsided half-smile, the leather sash with all six of her knives dangling from his hand.
No.
Her mind reeled, panicking. My knives. I don't have my knives.
Inej only just managed to duck in time. Raven's weapon whistled over her head once more, cutting back to the assassin in a shining arc. She reached up a hand and caught it smoothly.
"A little off your game, Wraith? I'd have at least expected you to try."
Inej ran her hands over her chest, not moving her eyes from Raven, and sighed with momentary relief as she felt the leather strap holding her knives. Thank the Saints. She drew the first two knives from the sling – Sankt Petyr and Sankt Vladimir, courage and resilience. Though Sankt Petyr was small and aerodynamic, Sankt Vladmir was long and curved, designed for one-on-one knife fights and closer to a dagger or even a short sword. Not the best pick, but Inej couldn't afford to be choosy.
Her hesitation could have been costly, but Raven hadn't attacked again. Instead, the black-haired assassin was holding her weapon out for Inej to see. "Do you recognize this, Wraith? Do you remember what my weapon is?"
Remember?
Have I fought Raven before?
The object she was holding was a small disc circled with gleaming blades that Inej could tell even from a distance were sharp as a serpent's tongue. It resembled a tiny spiked star. Her thoughts flashed to the casino the Lost had built – the Silver Sun – but she could find no reason as to why Raven would fight with something resembling the casino's emblem. Yes, she was part of the Lost, but Inej couldn't remember her having any real connection towards them.
"No?" Raven sneered, her hate incandescent, her rage a blazing inferno. But there was something underlaid in the girl's tone, something cooler and bitter – grief. "Let me refresh your memory."
And Inej was jerked brutally from her racing thoughts as Raven's wrist flicked out, sending the tiny spiked star glittering through the air to slice painfully into her calf.
Already she held another disc and once again there came the glint of silver. Inej responded on instinct alone, lashing out with Sankt Vladimir's long blade. There was the bell-like ring of metal on metal and the star clattered to the ground.
She darted forwards, Sankt Vladmir's handle slippery with sweat in her hand, and lunged for Raven who shimmered back up the slope of the dome, her footing nimble as a dancer's. Her blades flicked from their sheaths in twin blurs of glinting metal in time to parry Inej's next blow easily, catching Sankt Vladimir on the cross of her two blades. "Fast," she commented, before retaliating with a flurry of metal, sparks flying as Inej struggled to block them all. Her twin blades were as much a part of her as the claws of a great cat. "Unfortunately for you, I'm faster." And she was.
Raven was retreating, backing up the dome until she was standing on the top of the cathedral roof. Her eyes were alight with a bitter joy. She's playing with me, Inej realised. She wants to draw this out. Again, they exchanged blows, but Inej couldn't break the whirling wall of steel that was her blades. Raven lashed out and their knives met midway with the tortured screech of metal on metal.
Inej gritted her teeth and pushed against Raven's two blades. Moonlight glinted cruelly off the gleaming surfaces of the twin knives. No matter how hard she tried, Raven didn't give an inch, her taller frame not having to strain as hard as Inej did to keep Sankt Vladmir out of reach. As she leaned against the crossed blades, both hands on Sankt Vladimir's long grip, Inej was glad that she'd returned Sankt Petyr to her leather sash. She wouldn't have been able to stop Raven from cutting her throat with only one hand.
The grey-eyed assassin was panting – but not with exertion; with anger. "You still do not recognize me, Wraith? You still don't remember what you've done to me?"
"You did this to yourself," Inej growled, her eyes flitting around the cathedral rooftop for something she could use to give herself purchase. "I did not make you into a monster. The monster in you was already there. I just brought it to the surface."
Inej took a risk. She threw all her weight against Raven's blades then at the last second slid between the assassin's legs, letting Sankt Vladimir slide off the crossed blades. Raven stumbled, nearly fell, her own driving momentum nearly making her lose balance. Inej's knife nicked her shoulder as Raven spun to face her and blood stained the black fabric an even darker colour.
"I am not a monster," Raven hissed, her voice breaking slightly. She darted towards Inej and managed to rake the silver of her knife across Inej's chest, the wound long but shallow. There was desperation in her voice now, as well as anger.
"You killed a boy – an innocent boy – for no reason but to spite me. You ruined my friend's life."
"His death was not about you, Wraith. Not everything in this world orbits your sun."
Inej feinted, ducked, twisted, but nothing threw Raven's guard. Her blades hovered in her hands, ever-watchful, waiting for Inej to make a false move. There's no way I'll be able to get past her like this, Inej thought. She's faster than me and she's better with her blades.
"You fight like a common street thug," the assassin jeered, and Inej had a flash of recognition, of silver stars and falling with no wings, of sneered words that struck home. Who had said that to her?
I've bested a better opponent. Dunyasha fell not from the skill of my blades but her lack of knowledge. Can I use my familiarity of this rooftop to beat Raven too?
It was worth a try.
Inej ducked away from the flurry of blades and sprinted down off the dome, feet sliding on the tiles, to land on a scrollwork spire jutting from the roof. She'd done this before with Dunyasha. And like the ivory-and-amber girl, Raven followed.
"I know what you're trying to do, Wraith," she snarled. "But I've planned this fight out since I arrived in this Saintsforsaken city. I know this rooftop as well as you do."
And she was right. Dunyasha had been new to Ketterdam but Raven had had nearly three years to familiarize herself with it. What else? What else do I have that she doesn't?
Inej's mind scrambled frantically with an idea even as she backed down along the spire, the jarring rhythm of their blades clashing becoming more and more out of time as she struggled to keep up with the frantic pace. She flicked through every fight, every brawl, every move, then back further to her childhood in the circus, but all idea evaded her, slippery as lies.
A sharp pain in her upper arm and the bloodied flash of silver as Raven yanked out the knife. Think, Inej. The spire had nearly run out – soon she would step backwards into empty space, and there would be no net this time, no wings to catch her fall.
Think, Inej. Hurry.
Her foot slipped, her shoes not the rubber-soled slippers she'd had remade after the Ice Court but normal pumps. She was unprepared for this fight. She'd rushed into it recklessly. Kaz had been right. Raven saw her stumble, pressed her advantage. Inej had to fight to regain her balance, her breath coming in gasping sobs.
"Look at me, Wraith." The onslaught of slashing cuts slowed and Inej found space to breathe, her dark eyes meeting the storm-coloured ones of the assassin. Raven reached up a hand and pulled off her mask in one swift motion. "Do you still not recognize me?"
She was beautiful, in a classical way, her face reminding Inej of a Saint of painted glass. She seemed almost carved of ivory, sculpted features and long lashes, like a statue from a long-ago era, but no sculptor would ever carve a face written with such grief and anger. And Inej knew her, knew her from somewhere, but her thoughts just kept looping back to the cathedral roof they stood on. What was the connection?
"I have bested you. You know it." Not yet, Inej thought, but she nodded anyway.
"But you still have not killed me. Why, Raven?"
"You know why I am here. I can see it written on your face. You are close." She bared her teeth but her attacks had ceased. "I want to see you when you finally realise who I am." Her arm gestured to the purple sky, darkening like a ripe bruise as the twilight faded into night. "Who will save you, Wraith, in all this city? Who comes to your aid? What will you do now, Wraith, now you are alone and I have won?"
And as her foot slipped again and she found no more spire behind her, she remembered Kaz's words.
Don't walk into a trap.
Set your own.
A/N
I have literally zero experience on writing fight scenes, so hopefully that went well.
Opinions?
This time it was Kaz who took the next piece. He had been preparing his question, and knew exactly what he would ask. "Tell me, who are you really behind your mask?"
"A man, like you – if you can be called a man, considering your age – but I once was more, though some thought me less. You may say I am a monster, and that is also true, but then we are all somebody's monster. We are all somebody's villain."
Who is this man? Kaz thought, and how can you be more than human?
Now the Mask was the one to slide a black piece off the marble board. When he smiled now, it was far crueler, and Kaz was almost ready to believe that he truly was a real monster. "While we are on the subject of hidden identities; why do you wear your gloves?"
Ah. Damn.
He took longer to prepare an answer, choosing his words carefully. "We all have scars. Some bear them with pride, whilst others hide them beneath pretty smiles and carefully constructed masks. And then there are those who take their broken parts and build them back up into a protective shell, those who use their scars to harden their souls, those who make their weaknesses into dangerous assets. I'm one of those people." Subconsciously, he adjusted his cane against where it leant on the desk. "My gloves not only hide my scars but build my legend. They call me Dirtyhands, and they fear me. They fear what I hide beneath the black leather. And that makes them fear the thoughts I hide inside my head, too. It makes me less likely to be scarred again."
When Kaz took the next piece, he knew that technically he should ask about the Mask's mask, but there was another question pressing on his tongue. "You say you were more than human. What were you before you came here?"
"I was an angel and a devil. I was a hero and a villain. I was a sinner and a saint. I was the darkness eclipsing the sun, and I had the sun outshining the darkness. I had day, I was night. I lived and then I died, and with me, the night faded away, but so did the light, for all suns must set."
It was the Mask who asked the sixth question, having slid one of Kaz's pawns off the board. "Why did you come to me for answers?"
Kaz laughed. "Surely you know already. Raven is a member of the Lost, your lieutenant and spider, and you are the leader. Of course you know about her." He tilted his head back slightly. "Also, I wanted to see who I was up against. We both know this is going to have to end in someone's favor."
"With the high stakes you've put on this game, Mister Brekker, you're going to have to hope it'll be in yours."
They resumed play, and suddenly Kaz saw an opportunity. He checked to see if it wasn't a trap, then moved his bishop to take the Mask's rook.
"Congratulations, Mister Brekker. What will you ask of me now?" he drawled.
"What is Raven's identity?"
"She is a kindred spirit, a gifted assassin, an acrobat with a taste for revenge. She is a black blade in my hand, but the white blade is gone, and now she must fight alone. She says the blood of kings runs through her veins; but the blood of kings must have been spilt freely if all those who claim it as their own truly have royalty in them. And what are kings, but slaves to their people? She is a slave too though, so I suppose her claim might be true, but truth and lie have little distinction in a world of grey lines and blurred borders. Her master is her thirst for vengeance; he drives her ever onwards. Her father is pain; he never leaves her. Her mother is redemption; long gone because of the former, but always on the edge of sights, never too far, but always out of reach. Her and I, we are slaves to the same things, but I have shackled my masters and made them my servants, whereas she bears their chains still." He stopped and took in Kaz's expression, quartz eyes unreadable.
There was something about the Mask's words that stirred some distant memory in Kaz's mind. He couldn't quite reach it, but he could sense he was close. The blood of kings. Where have I heard that before?
The Mask took one of his pieces – an easy trap that he'd walked into. "Mister Brekker," he said, calmly, coolly. "Do you really think your Wraith will beat Raven?"
Shock grabbed Kaz before he forced it back down, swallowing. Had he heard right?
"Did anyone tell you it's impolite to gape?"
Kaz closed his mouth. "You know about what Raven did?"
He smiled. "I was the one who ordered it."
"You killed Adrik, not Raven?"
"In a literal term, it was Raven," he said, shrugging, "but yes, I was the one behind it. She is my puppet, Mister Brekker. I am the one pulling the strings."
"And you just sit here with a grin on your face, telling me that? What sort of a son of a bi-"
"Language, Mister Brekker. You are my guest, remember?"
"Why? Why did you do it?"
The Mask's quartz eyes blazed. "Adrik was a traitor. He deserved to die."
Well done. You just answered a question without me even taking a piece, you stupid skiv.
His expression changed dramatically as he came to the same realization. "That's-"
"You answered it."
He snarled with anger. "Answer my question now, Mister Brekker. Do you think your Wraith will beat her?"
Kaz didn't bother to reply with riddles. "Yes."
The next piece was won by the Mask again.
"What is your agreement with Lantsov?"
Again, that niggling feeling of unease. Kaz pushed it aside. "He lives, we get paid. It's not complicated." No riddles once more – Kaz was nearly done with this word game. He just had one more question.
And he got it, taking the next piece – a lowly pawn, but he wasn't going to be choosy.
"What is your relationship with Raven?"
"She is my slave," the Mask stated in a matter-of-fact tone, "and she does my bidding like the blade she was meant to be. For souls are blades – they must be tested in the fires of the forge before they are ready for battle. Her soul has been tempered by the flames of grief, and now she is a weapon in my hand." He tilted his head slightly, the smile playing around his lips now more secretive, like he was confiding in Kaz. His voice dropped to a whisper, and despite himself, Kaz leaned forwards, intrigued. "But should she break, I would not hesitate to dispose of her – for what is the use of a sword that does not do its master's bidding?"
Kaz shuddered slightly. He considered himself ruthless, but the relish on the Mask's face when he talked about killing Raven was chilling.
And then it clicked.
The white blade is now gone.
The blood of kings.
The flames of grief.
Kaz sat back, eyes widening. It was so simple.
I know who Raven is.
A/N
Kaz has figured it out!!!
How about you guys?
And the Mask: who is he? Why did he kill Adrik?
PS: SausageySasuke , guys, look what I made: