Crooked Kingdom (The Six of Crows Duology #2) - Leigh Bardugo Page 0,153

“Okay, maybe a little.” He joined Jesper by the window looking out over the city. Dusk was falling and the streetlamps had bloomed in orderly formation along the edges of the canals. Patrols of stadwatch were visible, moving through the streets, and the Staves were alight with color and sound again. How long would they be safe here? Jesper wondered if the Kherguud were tracking Grisha through the city, seeking out the houses of their indentures. The Shu soldiers might be surrounding the embassy even now. Or maybe this hotel. Could they smell a Grisha fifteen stories up?

Periodically, they could see bursts of fireworks over the Staves. Jesper wasn’t surprised. He understood the Barrel. It was always hungry for more—money, mayhem, violence, lust. It was a glutton, and Pekka Rollins had offered up Kaz and the rest of the crew as a feast.

“I know what you were doing back there,” Jesper said. “You didn’t have to tell her you can’t read.”

Wylan took the miniature of himself from his pocket and propped it on the end table. Young Wylan’s serious blue eyes stared back at them.

“Do you know Kaz was the first person I ever told about … my condition?”

“Of all the people.”

“I know. It felt like I’d choke on the words. I was so afraid he’d sneer at me. Or just laugh. But he didn’t do any of that. Telling Kaz, facing my father, freed something in me. And every time I tell someone new, I feel freer.”

Jesper watched a browboat vanish beneath Zentsbridge. It was nearly empty. “I’m not ashamed of being Grisha.”

Wylan ran his thumb over the edge of the miniature. He wasn’t saying anything, but Jesper could tell he wanted to.

“Go ahead,” Jesper said. “Whatever you’re thinking, just say it.”

Wylan looked up at him. His eyes were the clear, unspoiled blue Jesper remembered—a high mountain lake, an endless Zemeni sky. Genya had done her work well. “I just don’t get it. I’ve spent my whole life hiding the things I can’t do. Why run from the amazing things you can do?”

Jesper gave an irritated shrug. He’d been mad at his father for almost exactly what Wylan was describing, but now he just felt defensive. These were his choices, right or wrong, and they were long since made. “I know who I am, what I’m good at, what I can and can’t do. I’m just … I’m what I am. A great shooter, a bad gambler. Why can’t that be enough?”

“For me? Or for you?”

“Don’t get philosophical on me, merchling.”

“Jes, I’ve thought about this—”

“Thought of me? Late at night? What was I wearing?”

“I’ve thought about your powers ,” Wylan said, cheeks flushing pinker. “Has it ever occurred to you that your Grisha ability might be part of the reason you’re such a good shot?”

“Wylan, you’re cute, but you’re a whole lot of crazy in one little glass.”

“Maybe. But I’ve seen you manipulate metal. I’ve seen you direct it. What if you don’t miss because you’re directing your bullets too?”

Jesper shook his head. This was ridiculous. He was a good shot because he’d been raised on the frontier, because he understood guns, because his mother had taught him to steady his hand, clear his mind, and to sense his target as much as see it. His mother. A Fabrikator. A Grisha, even if she never used that word. No. That’s not how it works . But what if it was?

He shook off the thought, feeling the need to move ignite over his skin. “Why do you have to say things like that? Why can’t you just let things be easy?”

“Because they’re not easy,” Wylan said in his simple, earnest way. No one in the Barrel talked like that. “You keep pretending everything is okay. You move on to the next fight or the next party. What are you afraid is going to happen if you stop?”

Jesper shrugged again. He adjusted the buttons on his shirt, touched his thumbs to his revolvers. When he felt like this, mad and scattered, it was as if his hands had a life of their own. His whole body itched. He needed to get out of this room.

Wylan laid his hand on Jesper’s shoulder. “Stop.”

Jesper didn’t know if he wanted to jerk away or pull him closer.

“Just stop,” Wylan said. “Breathe.”

Wylan’s gaze was steady. Jesper couldn’t look away from that clear-water blue. He forced himself to still, inhaled, exhaled.

“Again,” Wylan said, and when Jesper opened his mouth to take another breath, Wylan leaned forward