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...
" You're a murderer, you're a thief, you're a betrayer. You put Kaz fucking Brekker in good light, "
- A.I
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"I won't help her,"
"It's an order. I'm telling you to fix her fucking legs before I break yours,"
"That's an empty threat,"
"Want to bet?"
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THE STORM HAD CALMED. The waves fell back into a gentle lull beneath the stars, water rippling as the schooner glid through the mist. The crew whooped and hollered like animals, passing bottles of kvas between themselves.
Below deck was anything but. The small cabin was brightly lit with string lamps much like Hellgate. The boat rocked lightly, but even the slightest movement left Natasha winded on her back, splattering the boat panels with blood.
When she looked down she couldn't see her legs. Someone had draped Kaz's jacket across her belly, and no matter what way she moved she couldn't shrug it off. They felt heavy, two parts of her that didn't belong. Natasha was too weak to lift them so she fell back down against the makeshift pillow.
The cabin was empty, besides a few crates and loops of ropes. She could still feel the vine of grapes in her pockets, the berries squished and its juice leaking through her trousers. She shifted uncomfortably.
Water was placed beside her, just out of her reach. She stretched her fingers out moaning in pain, but it only seemed to tilt away each time she turned. Cruelty, Natasha scowled. There were no windows, so Natasha used the waves to tell the time.
She was sure she was far from accurate, but when she heard the masts flip low, she could guess nightfall had come. Natasha was alone for two more days, along with the gentle rocking of the boat, and nothing but her sobs to keep her company.
As far as she tried to remember. She couldn't. Everything just seemed so dark, so delirious, something out of a fever dream. She remembered roses and warmth, but it was all just her imagination. Roses may carry thorns, but they don't break your legs.
Natasha sighed, struggling onto her back. Kaz's coat was splattered with blood, like a twisted abstract painting. She could feel the dried blood against her neck and cleavage, some droplets even beading down to her stomach.
So with nothing, but little movement in her arms she practised her magic.
On the third day, she managed to drive the cut through a water bottle, the glass shattering across the floor. She grinned satisfactorily, before practising dimming parts of a room and sucking in the darkness before repeating it all over.
