“Careful,” I said, smirking. “You get a blot of ink on that shirt and we’ll never get it out.”
His eyes flickered up, running over me, and for a moment, he seemed sad. But the frown on his face lifted as he spoke. “You look lovely.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
He abandoned the quill and went to the mantel over the fireplace, taking a small case from between the candles. It opened in his hands and the light shimmered on what lay inside as he came around the desk, toward me.
My lips parted as I laid eyes on the earrings. They were made of a silver so smooth and polished that I could see my reflection in its surface. The metal was cast in the shape of two birds, their wings unfolded in flight and studded with star sapphires.
“They’re beautiful,” I whispered.
“Well, go ahead.” He waited.
I reached inside, picking them up and holding them in my hands.
“They’re part of the collection we’ll be presenting to the guild at the exhibition.”
My eyes widened in wonder. “Ezra made these?”
Henrik looked behind me and I turned to see Ezra standing there, framed in the doorway like a portrait. I stilled, my hands closing over the earrings. His coal-colored jacket fit him like a glove, making his dark features even more striking. He was somehow always buttoned up and clean-pressed, even after working entire days in front of the forge, but this Ezra was a masterpiece.
He gave me a side glance, tugging at the neck of his shirt. He was embarrassed and the thought delighted me. I liked seeing him that way.
“Well done.” Henrik looked him over with satisfaction. “I think we just might pull this off.”
He looked between us, but I was still staring at Ezra, waiting for him to look at me. He didn’t give in, keeping his eyes on the desk until I opened my hand and fixed the earrings to my ears. The birds dangled from a delicate silver chain, hanging just below my jaw.
Finally, Ezra’s gaze dragged over my shoulder, up my throat, and I turned, giving him my back before the color rushed to my cheeks.
“Bryn, you’ll excuse yourself toward the end of dinner.” Henrik went over the plan again. “The door to Simon’s study is at the end of the hall off the salon. You’ll see it when we come into the dining room.”
I nodded as I listened, still heavily aware of Ezra’s presence behind me.
“The desk is against the window, and from what Ezra’s told me, you should have no problem with the lock.”
Ezra said nothing, but I couldn’t help but wonder how Ezra would know. Maybe it had something to do with the reason Henrik was bringing him along.
“You’re looking for a name and a date, that’s it. Don’t worry about the sums. And don’t take anything.”
“I understand.”
He came around the desk and sat on its edge, putting himself in front of Ezra and me. “One more thing.” He paused. “I want you to give special attention to Simon’s son, Coen.”
Ezra stiffened next to me and I blinked, confused. “What?”
“He has a good deal of influence over his father and he’s sure to inherit his merchant’s ring when he dies. He’d make a good match for you and an even better ally for this family.”
I could feel the blood draining from my face, leaving me cold. “You want me to…” I wasn’t sure I understood. “You want to match us?”
“Why not? If his son is infatuated with you, Simon will agree to the patronage with the guild.” He flung a hand at my gown. “You should have no problem catching his notice looking like that. And despite that temper of yours, I know you can be amenable.”
I was so stunned that I had no clue what to say. The idea was humiliating. Insulting.
Heat crept up my neck, searing as it climbed. This wasn’t what I thought Henrik meant when he told me he wanted to bring me into the family business. In fact, this was the very reason I couldn’t wait to leave Nimsmire.
Beside me, Ezra was like stone. The muscle in his jaw ticked as he watched Henrik with stormy eyes.
Henrik clapped his hands together, as if to dismiss us, but I stood glued to the floor as he made his way down the hallway. Ezra didn’t move, and we stood there, shoulder to shoulder, staring into the fire without a word until he reached up, fidgeting with his cravat again. He pulled at the satin so hard that it looked as if it might tear.
“Stop it,” I snapped, turning toward him and slapping his hand away.
He flinched as I reached up, tugging at the tie’s ends, and when he tried to step backward, I pulled him to me more forcefully than I needed to. I was breathing too hard. My ribs pulled under the construction of the gown and I had to bite down on my lip to keep it from quivering. I was angry. Ashamed of myself. Embarrassed.
Ezra looked down into my face as I unraveled the poorly tied knot and started again, with practiced hands. I drew in a long, measured breath to slow the racing of my heart. I’d tied ties like this a hundred times because Sariah had made me. She’d been training me to dress a husband, and I’d played along because I thought it was an old woman’s fantasy. That once I got to Bastian, it would be over. But here I was, being led by a leash to an auction block. Again.
“Did you know about this?” I kept my voice low.
I was terrified of his answer. And even more terrified of the reason it mattered to me.
For once, he didn’t take his eyes from mine. “No.” The word dragged on a deep rasp.
I blinked back the tears in my eyes and folded the gleaming satin around my finger, pulling the end through. I would throw myself into the fire before I let a single one fall.
When I was finished, I reached into the buttoned collar of Ezra’s shirt to straighten the knot. But as my knuckles skimmed over the hollow of his throat, my hands stopped, and I let the back of my fingers move slowly over his skin. More slowly than was necessary.
He swallowed, his chest rising and falling beneath the shirt. I didn’t dare look up then. I let my hands slip from his shirt and I brushed off the shoulders of the jacket, steadying myself.
The door to the street opened down the hallway, and the flames in the fireplace shifted violently, lighting Ezra’s face. After what seemed like forever, he took a step back and this time, I didn’t stop him. He turned on his heel, shoving his scarred hands into his pockets, and I stood there in the empty doorway, fingers tangled together so tightly at the top of my skirts that it felt as if the bones might break.
Henrik stood on the street when I came down the steps, holding open the door. There was no point in arguing. He had a plan and he’d see it through. Tonight, I was Bryn Roth. Henrik’s lovely, refined niece who would make an eligible match with the watchmaker’s son. Tomorrow, I’d have to dig myself out of that grave.
SIXTEEN
The watchmaker’s door was set with a gold knocker cast in a circle of stars.
Henrik rapped four times and I took a deep, steadying breath. I drew my shoulders back and found Ezra’s warmth unexpectedly close where he stood behind me on the lower step. Henrik wanted me front and center when that door opened and I put on my most elegant smile, the feeling souring in my gut.
Ezra hadn’t spoken for the entire walk from Lower Vale to the Merchant’s District. He’d trailed behind us at a clipped pace as Henrik rattled off information about Simon and his son for me to memorize. I pretended to listen, watching the gleam of light on the wet cobblestones and wrapping my arms around myself beneath my cloak.
Henrik straightened his arms, pulling his cuffs into place, and adjusted the hem of his dinner jacket. He didn’t look nervous anymore. Excitement lit up his face, transforming his whole demeanor.
Henrik lived in a world made of glass, one that he had a tight grip on. He was always thinking ahead and preparing for different scenarios and it kept him from being surprised very often. Even now, as he waited, he was calm and cool, with no trace of the iron-fisted patriarch that ruled the family and its business. We were about to find out if Simon could
be fooled.
The door opened and a servant in a smart black waistcoat stepped back to let us in.
Behind him, Simon was waiting with his hands clasped together and he gave me a genuinely warm smile. From where I stood, I couldn’t even see so much as a shadow of the cutthroat man from North End that Murrow had spoken of.
“Henrik.” He welcomed my uncle with a polite smile, stepping forward to shake his hand. “I’m very happy you accepted my invitation. Please, come in.” He beckoned us inside and I took up my skirts to step over the threshold.
The marble floors were polished so brightly that the light reflected off of them like still water and a wooden staircase with a carved bannister wound up in a spiral above our heads. The home was a beautiful one, fit for the likes of the guild, but Ezra didn’t look impressed. He came inside without so much as a glance at the extravagant entry.
“You’ve already met my niece,” Henrik crooned, stepping back as if to present me. He’d been the one to send me to the watchmaker’s shop and I wondered now if matching me with his son had been on his mind even then.
“We have.” Simon nodded.
“She’s recently arrived from Nimsmire where she’s been living with my aunt,” Henrik said. “You remember Sariah.”
There was a brief but palpable pause at the mention of Sariah’s name, and I watched the subtle change in Simon’s face before the strange expression was lost to the shifting candlelight.
“Of course.” He reached for my hand and I set my fingers into his, bowing my head a little. “It’s lovely to see you again, Bryn. I trust your watch arrived and is to your satisfaction?”
“It did.” I smiled sweetly. “It’s such a beautiful piece that I’d be wearing it now if this gown had anywhere for me to put it.”
Simon laughed. “Well, I do look forward to seeing it on you.” He glanced to Henrik. “She has exquisite taste if I do say so myself.”
“She does,” Henrik agreed.
“I heard about that terrible business with the smith,” Simon said quietly, his eyes running over my cheek. My face burned as he inspected me. I’d tried to cover the last remnants of the bruise so it was undetectable, but you could see it if you looked hard enough.
“Yes. A very unfortunate ordeal,” Henrik tsked. “But I don’t have to tell you that Arthur doesn’t exactly do business like a gentleman.”
Simon grunted in answer.
“And you know Ezra,” Henrik went on.
“Of course I do. How are you, son?”
I looked at him, surprised. Ezra hadn’t said anything about knowing Simon.
“I’m well,” Ezra answered politely. He was playing along, too, but there was a stiffness in how he held himself. He was on edge.
“Never one to elaborate, is he?” Simon scoffed.
Henrik laughed. “No, he isn’t.”
Ezra didn’t appear amused, looking between them with an unreadable expression.
“All right, shall we go in?” Simon turned without waiting for an answer, leading us along the wood-paneled hallway.
My eyes studied the closed doors we passed and when we reached a set of two doors with bronze knobs, Henrik made the slightest lift of his hand in their direction.
The study. My mark. By the time dinner ended, I’d need to find a way into it.
The room ahead was aglow with firelight and it spilled out into the corridor as we entered. Two enormous fireplaces sat at either end of a rectangular salon and the papered walls shimmered with a golden hue. Fine furnishings and the gleam of silver trimmings were tucked into every corner, the handwoven rug plush beneath my shoes. Henrik hadn’t been exaggerating when he said that Simon had climbed the ranks of society. This home was as fine as any I’d seen in Nimsmire.
A cluster of men was gathered before the fire at the far end of the room, their conversation cutting short as we entered. I suspected Simon had invited them for a second opinion. He wasn’t going to agree to a patronage unless he had support in the guild and thought he could win the vote at the exhibition. We were performing for an audience tonight.
Simon cleared his throat. “I’d like to introduce Henrik Roth, his niece Bryn Roth, and his silversmith, Ezra Finch.”
My eyes cut to Ezra. Finch. I hadn’t heard anyone say his full name before and I’d never thought to ask. My hand lifted to one of the earrings dangling from my ears as the realization set in. The birds—they were finches.
“Those are quite beautiful.” The man with combed blond hair leaned in close to me, eyes narrowing as he inspected the earrings.
“They’re Ezra’s work,” Henrik said, proudly.
They turned to him, but still, Ezra said nothing. He stood against the wall, looking as if he didn’t like the attention.
“What he lacks in conversation, he makes up for in talent, I assure you.” Henrik’s mustache tilted in a devious grin.
The men laughed, their voices filling the warm room, and I shrank back a little, grimacing.
“I think we would all agree that talk isn’t always the best judge of character,” I said, looking to Henrik. I kept the smile on my face, but the laughter petered out.
Henrik’s grin faltered as I met his eyes, confirming that he understood my meaning. I held more power in this room than I did anywhere else, and I wasn’t afraid to use it. If he wanted to use me to get Simon in his pocket, so be it. He was using Ezra, too, putting him and his work on display. But he wasn’t going to laugh at his expense.
“Very true.” Henrik cleared his throat.
The blond man smiled down at me. “A nice change to have a lady among us.”
“Agreed,” Simon said. “Keeps us civilized.”
The others seemed to almost enjoy my rebuke, but Henrik’s eyes turned suspicious as he surveyed me. They drifted to Ezra and back, narrowing.
“I know your work well,” one of the men said, reaching out a hand to Ezra. “I don’t know if there’s a merchant in Bastian who doesn’t by now.”
Ezra shook it, nodding appreciatively.
Technically, Henrik wasn’t supposed to be producing pieces of any kind to be sold in Bastian. His trade was limited to Ceros in the Narrows. But obviously word had gotten around about his silversmith.
Simon snapped his fingers and a woman with a silver tray set with small etched glasses appeared beside us. Henrik took one and handed it to me, meeting my eyes coldly while Simon’s back was turned. He was playing his part perfectly, taking care to remember everything I’d told him, but he didn’t like being put in his place. It looked like his fangs would drop from his mouth and sink into me at any moment.
“Henrik, I’d like you to meet Peter.” Simon waved him toward the fireplace and the smile returned to his lips as he stepped forward.
The sizing up had begun. We were being weighed.
I took a step back as Henrik fell into conversation, finding a place to stand beside Ezra. He had a glass of cava in his hand, and surprisingly, he didn’t look completely out of place.
“Don’t do that,” he said under his breath.
“Do what?”
He took a drink. “You know what. I don’t need you to protect me.”
I lifted my glass to my lips, staring into the fire. I knew he didn’t need protecting, but I didn’t like the look in Henrik’s eye when he’d spoken about Ezra. Maybe I was angry about what Henrik had said before we left the house. But it wasn’t only that. I’d felt fiercely protective of Ezra in that moment.
The room shifted, falling quiet as a young man came in from the entry.
“Ah!” Simon said. “Coen.”
The men stepped aside, and I laid eyes on Simon’s son. He was handsome and lean, with wide blue eyes and light brown hair that was combed back from his face and tucked behind one ear.
I swallowed down the cava in three anxious gulps, leaving a burn in my throat.
Simon tilted his head toward me, leading his son across the room. I resisted the urge to fidget with my glass. “Coen, this is B
ryn.”
Coen stopped before me, his appraising gaze studying me from head to toe. It made me feel like a hundred eyes were on me. “I’m pleased to meet you.” A small smile lifted on his lips as he raised an open hand between us.
I took it. “Pleased to meet you,” I said, careful to keep my voice even.
He wasn’t what I’d expected. When Henrik said we’d make a good match, I’d imagined an older man with enough coin to flood into Henrik’s business. But from the looks of him, Coen couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me.
“And you remember Ezra,” Henrik said.
He stood behind me, his shoulders so straight in his jacket that it looked like he might bust the seams. “Of course.” Coen offered his hand to Ezra next.
Ezra hesitated before he relented, shaking.
Pain woke in my jaw from clenching my teeth. Ezra looked more than uncomfortable now, not bothering to fake a polite smile. He didn’t want to be here, but deep down, I was glad he was.
“Coen, you’ll escort Bryn, won’t you?” Henrik interrupted my thoughts, and I realized the men were already moving to the dining room.
“It would be my pleasure,” Coen answered, lifting his arm so I could take it.
I watched Ezra disappear through the archway ahead of us and as soon as he was out of sight, I forced another smile in Coen’s direction.
Henrik was deep in conversation, his warm congeniality a useful skill in a situation like this. But I could feel half his attention still on me. He was playing the long game.
This was about more than catching Coen’s attention. My uncle wanted to be tied to his influence by blood. All the pieces had been placed by him. In time, they’d be played by him, too.
SEVENTEEN
It was like coming home.
Simon’s lavish dinner table was set and attended by a throng of servants beneath flickering candles atop crystal chandeliers. Their light danced, casting broken colors over the walls, and the warmth of the room grew with the booming voices as we gathered around the chairs.
Coen pulled mine out, waiting for me to sit, and I resisted the urge to laugh, thinking about my first night at the Roths, when no one could be bothered. The customs I’d grown up with in Nimsmire were everywhere in this house and they were familiar to me. They felt safe. But I was reminded of that caged feeling I’d always had beneath my great-aunt’s roof. It wasn’t until that moment I realized I hadn’t felt it since I got to Bastian. Not until tonight.
The Last Legacy Page 11