The Last Legacy

by Adrienne Young

  But pier fourteen, Arthur’s workshop, was farther up the street, almost at the end of the claustrophobic cluster of buildings.

  I looked around me slowly, listening. No footsteps. No voices. There was no one out except for the man with a ladder on his shoulder, walking from streetlamp to streetlamp in the distance.

  When Ezra still didn’t appear, I turned, setting out down the hill where he should have been. The crossing was empty when I reached it, but I kept to the shadows, studying the street. Between this alley and the next, there was only one building. One door.

  Two chimneys lifted on either side of the roof, each of them billowing smoke. But from the outside, I couldn’t tell what kind of workshop it was. I walked slowly, coming around the corner until I saw the rusted sign.

  PIER SIXTY-FOUR

  It sat along the edge of the city wall that served as a boundary before the foothills began. This wasn’t the workshop of an influential merchant or a successful criminal. The cornerstones were crumbling in places and it hadn’t been painted in my lifetime. No, this was something else.

  I followed the tall, windowless exterior until I reached the lone door. It was almost impossible to detect, covered in the same chipped, black paint as the brick. There was no handle. Only a row of iron rivets that ran along one side, where the hinges gave the passage away.

  I pressed an ear to the cold metal, listening. It sounded like every other pier I’d passed, with the rumble of work going on inside, but the hum of voices was faint.

  It wasn’t unusual for tradesmen to have more than one workshop, so it could have been Arthur’s. If Ezra was working with or for him, he was likely paying him a high sum. Or he’d offered something to Ezra that he couldn’t refuse. Maybe even a partnership. Whatever it was, Henrik had been wrong when he said Ezra had no ambition. In fact, I suspected that my uncle had underestimated Ezra in more ways than one. Like I had.

  A loud pop sounded behind the door and I jumped back as it flew open, almost knocking me down. A figure barreled out into the alley without looking up from the pipe in his hand and a soft glow lit its chamber as he puffed. I froze, pulling my cap down lower and pressing myself to the black wall, but he kept his eyes on the pipe, biting down on the stem before he started walking in the other direction.

  The door slowly creaked closed beside me, but I didn’t move as he disappeared into the fog, leaving only the scent of mullein trailing behind him. As soon as he turned the corner, I stuck one boot in the jamb before it could latch.

  The sounds inside poured out into the alley and I watched through the crack in the door, trying to see what was inside. A long wall shielded the main floor of the warehouse from view, but lantern light crept down the long passage, painting the darkness in an amber glow.

  I slipped inside, letting the door click softly before I followed the wall with my fingertips. The warehouse was warm and smelled of something familiar. Like oak or earth. Firewood, maybe. The passage curved and the lantern glow brightened with every step, until it dead-ended into an opening. I winced against the bright light as I peered around the corner of the wall, my lips parting as I laid eyes on what was inside.

  Ahead, the enormous skeleton of a ship was perched up on rafters, like the bare bones of a giant whale.

  My eyes jumped over the room frantically. Glass lanterns hung from nearly every post, lighting the long worktables of the men and women busy below. They were laborers, surrounded by metal tools and stacks of lumber and iron bolts in every size. And among them, a head of slicked black hair. A clean white shirt.

  Ezra stood at the end of one of the tables, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had a long, flat piece of metal in his hands, and he was scraping it along a slender cut of wood methodically.

  He was … working. But this wasn’t a gem merchant’s workshop. Or a smith’s. This pier belonged to a shipwright.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I stepped out from behind the wall, watching him with my heart lodged in my throat.

  Ezra leaned over the long table, running one purposeful hand down the smooth side of the newly shaped wood. His eyes were focused, his mouth set the way it always was when he was at the forge. He was working. In a shipwright’s workshop. It almost appeared as if he was … an apprentice.

  The moment I thought it, his hands stilled on the wood and slowly, his gaze lifted. As if he could feel me standing there. Ezra’s dark eyes were like polished, glinting tourmaline and his jaw tightened as he stared at me. There was something fearful in them. Like he’d been caught. But caught doing what?

  I stood there, hands dropped to my sides, my stare unwavering. He set the tool down carefully, thinking. I could almost see his mind racing, but around the room, the work went on. No one seemed to notice me or the sea of cold silence that stretched between Ezra and me.

  Behind him, the great frame of the ship towered up into the rafters. It looked like a clipper, the kind my great-aunt chartered from time to time on behalf of Nimsmire’s merchants. But what was the most talented silversmith in Bastian doing building ships?

  When I dropped my gaze back to the table, he was starting up the aisle toward me with slow steps. I held my breath until he reached me, but as soon as I opened my mouth, he took hold of my arm, leading me down the passage I’d come from. It wasn’t until we were hidden in the shadows that he let me go. His pale skin was glistening, his shirt darkened with sweat at the center of his chest, and his cheeks were flushed.

  “What are you doing here?” The words were clipped, riding on a tight breath.

  I bristled, searching his wide eyes. I’d never seen him like that. He almost looked panicked.

  “What are you doing here?” I snapped.

  “I’m…” He ran both hands through his hair, pushing it back from his face. “I’m working.”

  “For a shipwright?” I said, hoarsely. None of it made sense.

  Ezra finally looked at me. Really looked at me. His eyes jumped back and forth on mine, like he was making a decision. “Come on.”

  He pushed past me, up the passage, and I watched him disappear through the door before I followed. Outside, the man who’d been lighting the streetlamps was gone.

  I followed closely as Ezra walked up the alley, toward the black sparkling water beyond the next pier. His white shirt glowed in the moonlight, rippling around him, and his breath fogged, drifting into the air.

  When he reached the bank’s edge, he stopped, waiting. The water crashed on the rocks below, foaming white in a curved line. I came to stand beside him, but he was looking out to where the divide between the sea and the sky had vanished into darkness.

  “You were the one in my room.” He was calm now, the anxious look he’d had before replaced with something that resembled resolve.

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. He’d already begun to put it together. He’d probably connected the pieces the moment he saw me. But I was still lost.

  “Ezra,” I said his name softly, surprising myself. “What’s going on?”

  He kept his gaze pinned on the water. “I’m an apprentice for the shipwright. For almost a year now.”

  It was exactly what it had looked like. And there was only one reason for it. “You’re getting out,” I whispered. “Aren’t you?” The thought pressed down on top of me, making me feel like the weight of the entire sea was on my chest.

  He was leaving.

  He nodded, falling into a long silence. “When Henrik got the merchant’s ring to trade in Ceros,” he finally began, “I knew it was only a matter of time before he got one in Bastian. When that happens, I won’t have a way out.”

  In many ways, Ezra was already trapped, but once Henrik was relying on him to produce for the guild in Bastian, he wouldn’t just be a silversmith anymore. He would be the Roths’ prisoner. This wasn’t about Arthur or betraying Henrik. This was about Ezra.

  “I knew if I left, I had to have a trade.”

  “You have one. You’re a silversmith.”

&nbs
p; “No,” he said, heavily. “The day I first stepped in front of the forge is the day my life ended. I don’t ever want to smith again. Not for anyone.” He paused. “Building ships is as good a way to make coin as any. It’s one of the few trades that doesn’t often cross paths with Henrik.”

  That’s what this was to him. There was no way he could have known as a child, when he first held a crucible in his hands, that he would turn out to be such a rare talent. That powerful men would gamble with his life and he’d be beholden to Henrik forever. To him, his gift was a curse.

  “Where will you go?” I asked, my voice small.

  “Somewhere that I’m no one.”

  I turned to look out at the water, pinching my eyes closed. This was a disaster. In the morning, Henrik would be waiting for me to report whatever I’d found out about what Ezra was doing at the piers. But I hadn’t imagined it would lead here.

  “Does Murrow know?” I asked.

  “No one does.”

  “Well, Henrik suspects you’re hiding something.”

  Ezra swallowed. He’d probably put that together, too.

  “I told him…” I closed my eyes again. “I told him I thought you were the one who’d helped Arthur get a patronage.”

  “You what?” His voice rose suddenly.

  I wiped a stray tear from my cheek. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know why I was crying. What exactly the source of the pain inside of me was. I just knew that this hurt. All of it.

  “Why? Why would you say that?”

  “Because I saw you with Arthur. In the merchant’s house,” I stammered. “And I was angry with you for lying to me.”

  Ezra pinched the bridge of his nose as if his head hurt. “That wasn’t about Henrik. That was about me.”

  “You? How?”

  “Arthur got wind of my agreement with the shipwright. He was threatening to report it to Henrik and I had to pay him off to shut him up.”

  I bit down onto my lip, trying to keep it from quivering. If he wasn’t behind what happened with Arthur, he was in a world of trouble. Trouble I’d landed him in.

  “And when did I lie to you?” He still looked confused.

  In an instant, the anger that had taken me across the city to the piers returned. “I know about Coen,” I scoffed.

  Ezra’s brow pulled. “What about him?”

  “I asked you if you knew about the match with him.”

  “I didn’t.”

  I studied him. He looked like he was working hard to understand. Like he was genuinely baffled. “Henrik.” My voice caught on his name. “He told me the match with Coen was your idea. That you were trying to get rid of me.”

  Ezra smiled suddenly, but it was bitter. “Of course he did.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “He lied, Bryn. He’s a liar.” He flung a hand to the black, empty sky. “I didn’t have anything to do with that. I didn’t know about it until you did.”

  “I saw the letter!”

  “What letter?”

  “From Simon. He said you wanted to bind the families.”

  “With the patronage.” Ezra was shouting now. “I’m the one who had a history with Simon, so Henrik asked me to approach him with the idea. So, I did. That letter had nothing to do with you.”

  The slow realization sunk in, drip by drip. Bind our families. He was talking about business. Not marriage.

  “But Henrik said you wanted to get rid of me. That you didn’t want me brought in.”

  “I didn’t. I don’t.”

  I stared at him, waiting for an explanation.

  He sounded exhausted. “Bryn, you’re not like them. You never should have come to Bastian.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.” Each word sounded less true as it left my mouth.

  Ezra didn’t speak, but I could see in his eyes what he was thinking. In a way, I did have a choice. Sariah had made her deal with Henrik, but I’d gone along with it. I’d longed to come here and be a part of the Roths. The truth was, I’d had no idea what I was getting myself into. Not really.

  Henrik had lied. He’d known how I felt about Ezra. I’d given myself away at the dinner when I’d defended him. But my uncle needed my allegiance to be to him, not to his silversmith. I swallowed against the pain in my throat. He’d told me exactly what I needed to hear to get me to do what he wanted. And I’d believed him.

  “You thought the match with Coen was my idea,” Ezra said lowly, his hands sliding into his pockets.

  I didn’t answer. The coil of knots inside of me slowly unwound, making it easier to breathe than it had been in days.

  “I’d rather see you leave Bastian than see you with him.”

  “With Coen?”

  “With anyone.” His eyes didn’t leave mine. For once, they held my gaze, filling the darkness between us with the admission. “But I don’t get to make decisions like that. That’s not how my place in the family works.”

  It was the first time he’d acknowledged whatever it was between us. This aching, haunting thing that lived in my thoughts, day and night. It made sense now why he hadn’t kissed me in the workshop. He was leaving. He was always going to be leaving.

  I stared past him, to the black water. “I’m sorry,” I said again. I was a fool. I’d walked right into Henrik’s trap and Ezra was the one who would pay for it.

  He was quiet for a long time, watching the ripple of moonlight on the water below. “Let’s go.”

  I blinked. “Go where?”

  He buttoned the top of his shirt, raking his hair back into place. “To Henrik.”

  I searched his face, trying to understand. “Why?”

  “You’re going to tell him the truth,” he said.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes,” Ezra said, more sternly. “You are. He already doesn’t trust me. There’s no fixing that. But you can use this to get what you want. Tell him the truth and that will earn you the leverage you need with him. It’s worth more than you know.” The last part, he said almost to himself.

  “But what will he do to you?”

  His jaw clenched. “I knew the risk I was taking, Bryn.” He started back toward the pier, but I didn’t move.

  “I’m not going to tell him,” I said.

  Ezra’s eyes narrowed when he turned to look at me. “That would be a mistake.”

  “I’m the only one who knows what you’ve been doing here. I’ll go to him in the morning and tell him you have a girl in North End or something. He’ll believe it. I’ll keep your secret long enough for you to finish the apprenticeship and leave.” The thought was almost unbearable.

  “It might look that simple, but it’s not.” His focus on me grew sharp. “You don’t want to be Henrik’s enemy, Bryn.”

  “I already am.” It was true. I’d lost. Henrik had used me in more ways than one to get what he wanted. And now I was going to use his own game against him.

  The sound of the water crashed on the rocks in a steady beat and he stared at the shore below, silent for a long moment. “Why would you do that for me?”

  “Because…” I said, the word hollow.

  He took a step toward me. “Why?”

  “Because I care about you.” I met his eyes, the words swirling on my tongue. But I couldn’t say them all. They already lived in the air between us. In every look. Every silence. And if he was leaving Bastian, I couldn’t speak them aloud.

  He knew the risks, but so did I. We would find a way to get Henrik his merchant’s ring and I’d use the tea house to get out of the match with Coen. But in the end, Henrik would lose the only thing that gave him power—his silversmith. And I would lose him, too.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  My eyes were open long before the sun began to swell beyond the sea.

  I stared out the window, watching the color of the distant water turn from black to gray to blue. Sylvie could already be heard in the kitchen downstairs, but there was only one sound I was listening for: Henrik’s study door.r />
  I checked myself in the mirror, smoothing my hair back from my face and straightening the watch chain that dangled from my vest pocket. Ezra and I had agreed on a plan. Before the table was set for breakfast, I would report to Henrik that Ezra had been seeing a girl in North End for the last few months.

  According to Ezra, members of the family discreetly entertaining companionship wasn’t unusual, but it was something you were expected to disclose. It would put Henrik’s suspicions to rest, and still satisfy his assumption that Ezra was lying. Between the tea house opening and the impending exhibition, there would be plenty to take Henrik’s attention off of Ezra. I just hoped it would last long enough for him to get out of Bastian.

  Ezra’s room was silent beside mine, but he was probably awake. He’d returned home well past midnight, his footsteps stopping at my door for three agonizing seconds before they’d continued to his room.

  I met my eyes in the reflection, blinking slowly. There was one thing I hadn’t let myself think about for more than one moment at a time. If I did lie to my uncle, then Ezra really was leaving. And if he left, he would never return.

  I put the thought away, turning toward the door. Ezra was the last thing I’d expected to find when I’d answered Henrik’s letter and boarded the Jasper, but he felt like a vine that had grafted itself onto me. I didn’t want to think about what would happen when it was torn out.

  I followed the stairs down to the sunlit first floor and walked straight toward the closed study. I drew in a breath before I knocked and only a few seconds later, Henrik’s voice answered.

  “Come in.”

  I let the door swing open. Henrik sat behind his desk, quill in hand as he scribbled. He didn’t look up as he finished writing the line of numbers he was working on. I let myself inside, coming to stand before him.

  It looked like he was recording sums from one of Noel’s reports. At breakfast, he’d hand the ledger off to Murrow, who would check the math. I realized I finally knew the order of things in this house. The inner cogs and wheels that turned were familiar now. Even my uncle’s small movements and expressions had lost some of their mystery.