The city was changing in the dying light, with lanterns hung in doorways as the last of the wash lines were pulled in and carts were hauled from the market. Ezra didn’t stray from the main street until we’d left Lower Vale. He took the turn toward the harbor and I followed, trying to keep sight of him amidst the crowds streaming up from the merchant’s house.
Henrik had no business in this part of the piers that I knew of, but Ezra had the look of someone walking a well-worn path. One that was memorized. Wherever he was headed, it wasn’t on my uncle’s order.
Every few steps, his eyes shot up to the buildings overhead, like he was watching for something. The Roths were always watching for shadows. A lesson that would have served me well before I began to trust Ezra.
When he turned again, I stopped short, tucking myself between two open shutters. He was headed into the piers, where I’d gone the night that I’d knocked on Arthur’s door. But Ezra did his pickups at the piers at the beginning of the week.
I let out a deep breath before I followed. The maze of buildings climbed the hill, dark-roofed structures in a tangle of tight alleyways and twisting roads. The farther we walked, the emptier they became, and I was forced to let Ezra pull farther ahead, worried he’d spot me.
He made turn after turn and I picked up my pace, trying to keep track of where we were. I looked back over my shoulder. The water was a cascade of black behind me, the city fading into a blanket of twinkling candle flames. When I turned to the street, a door flew open and a woman came barreling out with a bucket of water, slamming into me.
She screamed, almost tumbling to the cobblestones and I held onto her, keeping her on her feet. But as soon as she righted, she shoved me off. “What the hell are you doing?” She flung the dripping water from her hands and I scrambled around the open door, searching the street.
I shoved past her, my jacket soaked, to the next alley. Ezra wasn’t there. The next, too, was empty.
I turned in a circle, my breath fogging in the cold. There was no one. Only the faint sounds of work within the piers and the harbor bell ringing in the distance. I groaned, pulling the hat from my head, and my hair came spilling down over my shoulder.
Ezra was gone.
TWENTY-FIVE
I didn’t leave the tea house the next day until dark had fallen. Things were coming together, piece by piece, and with only two days left before the opening, I’d thrown myself into the work. It was a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest. Henrik. Coen.
Ezra.
The Roths liked to talk about family and blood ties, but the truth was that every one of its members was looking out for themselves. I was doing the same.
I stopped in the open doorway of the kitchens when I spotted Murrow. He had the collar of his shirt unbuttoned, his wild hair falling into his eyes—a sign that Henrik wasn’t home. Behind him, Sylvie was vigorously kneading a round of dough on the butcher block.
“There you are,” she crooned. “Have you eaten?” One of her eyebrows lifted, her lips pursing.
It sounded like an accusation. I hadn’t been at a single meal that day, and my appetite had vanished. Every moment not spent dreading my return to the house had been spent working. I had no desire to sit around a table with the people who’d pretended to care about me only to stuff their own pockets with coin. When the tea house was opened, that would become my home.
Murrow took a bite of an apple as he flipped the page of the ledger he was reading. “Ezra’s looking for you.” He gestured to the workshop door without taking his eyes from the sums.
I drew in a tight breath, willing myself to cross the hallway. I could hear him working at the forge, but I knocked on the locked door and the clanging instantly stopped. When it opened, Ezra bristled, stepping back.
“Hey.” He opened the door wider, and I stepped inside without a word.
Hey. That’s all he had to say for himself. I clenched my teeth to keep myself from replying with the string of curses dancing on my tongue.
“Murrow said you wanted to see me,” I said flatly.
Ezra let the door swing shut. “Henrik asked me to show you the gems before I start the other sets.”
I stared at him, waiting. I had no interest in a conversation. Every moment I stood in the same room with him was like breathing underwater. The only thing more infuriating than his lying was how much it had hurt. That was on me.
I wove between the tables behind him, stopping before the glowing forge. Ezra was working on a small silver box studded with diamonds. Or at least, they looked like diamonds. For all I knew, it was a batch of Henrik’s fakes destined for Ceros.
He reached across the table for the small leather pouch that sat atop a stack of books and I flinched when his arm grazed mine. He noticed, holding out the pouch from a distance. I took it, not meeting his eyes, and when I turned it over, three dice tumbled into my palm. Amethyst, moonstone, and rose quartz.
I let out a long, soft breath. They were perfect. Exactly as I’d imagined them.
I picked up the amethyst die between two fingers and inspected it. The stone was polished so smooth that I could almost see my reflection in it, but the corners were sharp and the notches that marked the numbers perfectly round.
My eyes flitted up to meet his.
“Will they work?” He leaned into the table. Again, he was too close.
“Yes,” I answered, dropping the dice back into his hand.
The look that flashed in his eyes almost looked like satisfaction. As if he was happy that I liked them. But I didn’t care. At least, I didn’t want to care. I just needed him to do his job.
“It’s a good idea,” he said. His voice was so deep that it sent a chill running up my spine. I hated that I felt that way. Like Ezra was an open flame. I could feel its heat anytime I was near him.
“We’ll see,” I murmured.
I didn’t know what Ezra gained by pretending to be on my side, unless there was something he wanted from me. He already knew I’d lied to Henrik about Simon’s ledger. Perhaps he thought that if he needed an ally against my uncle, I was it. He was wrong.
“What were you doing in the merchant’s house the other day?” I asked.
Ezra’s cool manner remained intact, but I could see I’d caught him off guard. He turned his back to me, busying himself with something on the worktable.
“How did you know I was at the merchant’s house?” he asked.
“I saw you.” I paused. “With Arthur.”
“What were you doing at the piers last night?” he shot back. But it was calm. Missing the anger that laced my voice.
So, he had seen me.
“Whatever you’re doing”—his eyes were as black as I’d ever seen them—“stop. Before you do something that can’t be undone.”
It was a threat, and the words drew a very clear line between us. We stood there, eyes locked, each of us waiting for the other to relent. But I refused.
It was Ezra who finally blinked. His jaw ticked slightly, but he gave away nothing. “I’ll have them finished in time for the opening,” he said, tossing the pouch of dice back to the table.
My gaze trailed over the shelves behind him. He spent hours in here every day with the door locked. Alone. I wondered for the first time if there was some clue between these walls about what exactly he’d been up to. Why he’d been going to the other side of the city on nights that he should have been at the tavern or somewhere else.
The words nearly made it to my lips. The questions. The accusations. But I couldn’t say any of them aloud without him knowing how much he’d hurt me. And that was a price I wasn’t willing to pay.
The door to the workshop flew open, making us jump, and Murrow appeared, out of breath.
“Better get your asses in here.” He arched an eyebrow at us, tilting his head toward the study.
Ezra shot a look in my direction before he untied his apron and pulled it over his head. Beneath it, he was wearing his white shirt and suspenders. He w
orked the buttons at his throat closed as he made his way to the door and I followed.
Henrik’s study was like a bright torch in the hallway, the doors open and the fire illuminating the darkness. I swallowed hard as soon as I saw him. He was pacing, one hand clamped on the back of his neck, his wild eyes searching the floor. Casimir and Noel were already waiting.
It wasn’t until I found a place to stand in the corner that I saw the message on Henrik’s desk. The corner of the parchment was crumpled, the envelope torn.
“That bastard.” Henrik’s voice sounded strange. Like the faraway hum of a storm before it made landfall.
Noel looked as if he was dreading whatever was about to unfold. “Who?”
“Arthur!” Henrik snapped.
“What about him?” Casimir asked, impatient.
“He’s secured a patron from the gem guild,” Henrik snarled.
There wasn’t a single face in the room that wasn’t covered in shock at that news. A razor-thin silence settled, making the air cold despite the fire.
“Would anyone like to tell me how we didn’t catch wind of this?” Henrik spoke through gritted teeth, nostrils flaring.
Casimir’s eyes cut to Noel before they dropped.
“They clearly wanted to keep it hidden,” Murrow muttered.
“Clearly,” Henrik echoed sharply, turning to Ezra. “You were supposed to be watching him.”
My gaze slid discreetly to Ezra. Only last night, I’d seen him at the piers. Maybe he was going to see Arthur. A painful twist ignited behind my ribs as the possible scenarios came together in my mind.
Ezra lifted his eyes from the rug. “I was. I am.”
There wasn’t the slightest trace of anything in Ezra’s tone. He stood with a blank face, listening. It wasn’t until I saw the hand tucked beneath one of his elbows that I blinked. His finger was nervously tapping against the seam of his jacket.
I’d been right. Ezra wasn’t only working against me. He was working against Henrik. If that was true, the smartest thing he could do was ensure that Henrik didn’t get the merchant’s ring. Perhaps he’d helped Arthur find another patron.
“Then how the hell did this happen?” Henrik spoke so low that his voice cracked.
“I don’t know,” Ezra admitted.
“You don’t know,” Henrik scoffed. “Seems there’s a lot you don’t know lately.”
Ezra went still, and for a moment, I thought I could see fear in his usually composed expression. I could see whatever scheme he had going unraveling behind his eyes.
Noel finally broke the silence. “Who’s the patron?”
“Roan,” Henrik spat.
“Who’s Roan?” I cut in.
“Gem merchant in North End,” Murrow murmured beside me.
Henrik’s knuckles were white, his grip on the back of the chair so tight that it looked as if he might snap the wood in two.
“We could just take care of him,” Casimir said, flinging a hand into the air. “Arthur can’t present at the exhibition if he isn’t breathing.”
My eyes widened as I looked between them. They all seemed to be seriously considering it. Killing him.
“It’s too late for that,” Henrik grumbled. “If we know about the patronage, then others know too. It will be too easy to pin on us.”
Noel nodded in agreement. “You’re right.”
“No one sleeps until this is fixed,” Henrik said slowly.
There was no argument to that. This wasn’t just bad for Henrik. It was bad for them all. It was bad for me.
If Henrik didn’t get that merchant’s ring, he would never agree to forgo the match with Coen. He’d need it more than ever.
He pushed off the chair, turning toward the fire, and Casimir disappeared into the hallway, followed by Noel. Murrow and Ezra were next, and the door to the street opened and closed more than once. They’d been deployed and they’d make their rounds, finding out what they could.
But I had a feeling Ezra already knew what was going on. I also had a feeling it was too late to fix whatever he’d done.
When Henrik came back to the desk, he stopped short, surprised to see me still standing there. “What?”
My heart thumped heavily inside my chest as I looked at him. If I said it, there was no going back. There would be no shelter from Henrik’s retribution, and there was still a small part of me that didn’t want to see Ezra at the other end of Henrik’s knife. That part of me needed to be cut out, like a sickness.
“I think…” I said, the words like poison on my tongue, “I think it was Ezra.”
Every corner of the room suddenly seemed drenched in blackness, the fire reflecting in Henrik’s eyes.
“I believe he somehow secured a patronage for Arthur.”
“How? Why?” Henrik’s rage made the hot room scorching.
I pulled at the neck of my shirt, shifting on my feet. “I followed him to the piers last night. It looked like he was headed to Arthur’s.” I was breathing so hard that my head was light. “And I saw him with Arthur at the merchant’s house a few days ago.”
Henrik went so still that he looked as if he were one of the statues in the Merchant’s District.
“You were right. He’s hiding something,” I breathed.
He didn’t look angry. He was thinking. The wheels of his mind were turning. And that was even scarier.
“Can you find out what it is?” he asked, his demeanor changing to an eerie calm.
I could feel it—the slow drip of his mind sifting through every scenario. Every possible plan. Each of them ended the same—with a noose around Ezra’s throat. But Ezra had made his choices and I had made mine. The tea house was one thing. Loyalty was another. With this, I could slip the noose of a match with Coen. So, I gave him the only answer I could.
“Yes.”
TWENTY-SIX
The man in the window had been watching me for hours.
I stood with my shoulder tucked into the corner of the brick, watching the bottom of the hill. As the merchant’s house closed and the work on the docks wound down, my post in the enclave of a boarded-up window grew cold, but I didn’t move. I hadn’t since I’d arrived that morning.
Across the street, the door to a smith’s workshop was opened to the sea air and the man working inside eyed me. His gaze had grown more suspicious by the hour.
I’d managed to mostly avoid Ezra that morning, keeping my eyes on my plate at breakfast. I didn’t want to think about what he would catch a glimpse of if I met his gaze. He always seemed to see beneath the surface. That’s what had kept him valuable to Henrik and the others. But now his cunning had worked against him, and when I figured out what he was up to, I’d be the one at my uncle’s right hand. A position that would require him to keep me unmatched.
It had taken only seconds to decide whether I’d give Henrik the proof he needed that Ezra was a traitor. To me and to the Roths. In turn, I’d ensure my freedom from the match with Coen and whatever else was planned for me.
I’d slipped out of the house as soon as he got to work at the forge, but it was only a matter of time before Ezra headed back to the piers, like he did almost every day. And when he did, I would be waiting.
My eyes strained in the waning light, fixed on the bottom of the hill. It was the only entrance to this side of the piers so Ezra would have to pass if he came this way. All day, I’d watched merchants and tradesmen and hucksters come and go, waiting for Ezra’s tall, lean frame among them. His dark tweed cap, his pristine jacket and shined boots. I would be able to spot him anywhere. But if I was careful, he wouldn’t spot me. Not this time.
It was nearly dark when finally, he showed. In a blink, Ezra appeared at the corner of the intersecting paths below, his steady, quick gait carrying him across the opening between buildings.
I sucked in a breath, jumping from my post and squinting as my vision refocused. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he crossed the cobblestones, but I knew the shape of him better than I wanted
to admit. It was carved into my mind, the outline of him as he worked before the light of the forge.
I set out, cutting through the alley and walking parallel to his path. I held my breath every time he was hidden behind a building below and let it go every time he reappeared. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake I had last time. The Roths watched the streets and windows around them, but from here, I had a bird’s-eye view of Ezra’s path.
The streetlamps were like floating orbs in the thick fog that draped the streets of Bastian and I walked with the collar of my jacket pulled up against the wind. The black buildings were giants in the mist, towering over me as I followed the map etched into my mind. I’d studied it late into the night, trying to get my bearings on the intricate layout of the piers.
According to the assignments doled out at breakfast that morning, Ezra was supposed to be at his post in the tavern, but he was on the other side of town. He’d likely paid the barkeep to cover for him if any of the Roths came sniffing. It was the only explanation for how he’d gotten away with it under Henrik’s watchful eye. But with Arthur securing a patronage, I could only guess that he’d worked out a deal. One where he wasn’t only a silversmith and had a stake in the business.
The incline of the narrow street rose, and I climbed the hill as the sun disappeared over the horizon behind me. In the distance, the harbor was drenched in darkness, making the piers almost vanish against the sky, but I could hear the work carrying on within them.
There was no night for this part of the city. Gem merchants, sailmakers, smiths’ workshops … the tradesmen and -women of Bastian worked on after the day ended, filling their quotas and inventories for the merchant’s house and the traders that would be docked in the morning.
I reached the next opening, stopping short when Ezra didn’t appear on the street below. The swath of lamplight illuminated the alley between the buildings, but it was empty. He couldn’t have turned off without me seeing him, so that could only mean one thing. He’d reached his destination.
The Last Legacy Page 17