The Last Legacy

by Adrienne Young

  “Don’t worry about the match,” he said hollowly, dropping the hammer to the table.

  “What do you mean? You heard Henrik.”

  He took a step back from me, busying himself with the vise on the anvil. “I know Simon. I can make a deal with him.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  He shook his head, not answering.

  “Ezra.” I took hold of his arm again, my grip on him tightening.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said. He wasn’t going to tell me, whatever it was.

  I watched helplessly as he went back to the worktable. He was unraveling inside. I could see it. But on the outside, he was stone. “What about the shipwright?”

  “What about him?” He sounded exhausted.

  “Maybe he would help you. Help us.”

  Ezra shook his head. “It took doing just to get him to take me on. He would never cross Henrik. Or Simon.”

  “Maybe…”

  “Bryn,” he cut me off sharply. “This.” He gestured to the workshop around us. “This is my life. This has always been my life. Whether I’m swinging a hammer here in Lower Vale or in the Merchant’s District, it’s all the same. But you with Coen…” He shook his head, dragging one hand over his face. “I won’t survive that.”

  When he looked at me then, he was defeated. Afraid. He took slow, measured breaths, like he was trying to keep whatever was inside from escaping. Like he was about to come apart at the seams.

  I closed the space between us and wrapped my arms around him tightly, trying to feel that calm quiet I’d felt when I awoke in his room. But it was gone. His hands came around me and there was pain in the way he held onto me. An anguish in his breath.

  I didn’t let go of him, holding him there until he pressed his face into the hollow of my neck and finally let out the tight breath he’d been holding. Slowly, he softened.

  This was the only safe place in the city. This small space that we fit into. And I wasn’t Eden. I wasn’t going to let it go. Not for anything. If there wasn’t a way out of this, I would make one.

  When I pulled away to look at him, there was a single glistening streak on his cheek. It disappeared beneath the line of his jaw.

  I wiped it with my thumb, meeting his eyes. “Are we still in this together?”

  He thought about his answer before he gave it. His eyes seared into mine. “Yes.”

  As soon as he said it, I exhaled. “Then I have an idea.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  For the two days that the tea house had been opened, it had been filled to the brim.

  I sat in the booth at the back corner, watching from behind the thick velvet curtain. The seats were full, but still, the door kept opening, pushing small crowds around the tables where games of Three Widows were already entire coin purses deep.

  The most disturbing thing about the scene was that in Lower Vale, there would be knives drawn over losses so large and accusations of cheating. But here, among the merchants, there was so much copper in the purses that it was just … fun. A kind of sick, forbidden fun.

  They held their dainty teacups filled with rare heirloom teas with jeweled ring fingers, throwing their coin away round after round. And yet, there was nothing but smiles. Laughter and cheer.

  Back in the Roth house, my very small world was coming apart, but here, mayhem was merriment. Silly, Coen had called it. But in this moment, it was revolting.

  My plan was, admittedly, a very thin one. And it required a specific set of stars to align. But I had very few threads to weave together in this city and I didn’t have enough time to take the chance of asking Sariah for help. I wasn’t sure I was willing to pull her into this mess, anyway. She’d built her own ship to sail away from this family. I wasn’t going to be the one to sink it.

  I pulled my pocket watch from my vest, checking the time. I’d hung every hope on this meeting and the later the hour drew on, the more foolish I felt for thinking it would work. But right when I’d become convinced that she wouldn’t show, Violet Blake appeared at the door of the tea house.

  Her brilliant purple frock drew the attention of every soul in the room and she watched them all with a hungry gaze from beneath her hat. She enjoyed the attention. And she didn’t care who knew it. That would be an important detail if I was going to convince her to help me.

  She pulled the black lace gloves from her hands, holding them delicately in the air until a server took them. When she’d had her fill of onlookers and whispers, her eyes moved over the tea house slowly until they found me. She glided through the room with a dancer’s steps as I slid from the booth.

  “Bryn.” She greeted me with a smile, her perfect lips like the strokes of a paintbrush.

  “I’m glad you came.” I gestured toward the booth and she sat, spreading her skirts over the velvet seat so they wouldn’t wrinkle.

  “An invitation from the most scandalous member of the merchants’ circle is hard to resist.”

  I eyed her. “You’ve heard.”

  “About the patronage? Of course I’ve heard.”

  I studied her. That didn’t make sense. Henrik had agreed to Simon’s terms, but the guild wouldn’t announce the patronages to the merchants until the exhibition.

  “I keep a close eye on things, Bryn. Which is why I know this isn’t a social call,” she said.

  I was glad she wasn’t interested in tiptoeing around it. She may have had the manners of the guilds in her blood, but she wasn’t above stepping out of line. I picked up the pot of tea from the table and set the sieve into her cup.

  “I smell argon’s whisper,” she said, leaning forward to breathe in the steam as I poured. “That’s a rare brew. Trying to impress me?”

  I set down the pot between us. “I couldn’t decide whether to offer you cava or tea.”

  “Whatever’s most expensive.” She grinned, picking up the small spoon and stirring. “Now, what is it you need, my dear? I assume you need something from me.”

  I folded my hands on the table, sitting up straighter. I’d only get one chance to ask and there was no delicate way to do it. “I’d like you to take on the patronage for Henrik.”

  She instantly winced, as if it hurt to swallow the tea. Her hand was pressing the napkin to her lips before she’d even gotten it down and the white linen came away with a smear of pink. “What?”

  I didn’t react. I kept my voice even and confident. “Simon’s patronage hasn’t been announced yet. I’d like you to take it over before it is.”

  Violet’s blue eyes were so bright that they looked as if they were carved from sapphire. “Why on earth would I do that?” She spoke very slowly.

  I leaned back into the booth, not breaking her gaze. “The merchant’s ring isn’t the only part of Henrik’s deal with Simon. So is the silversmith.”

  “Ezra.” She frowned. Her demeanor suddenly changed as she placed her cup on the saucer.

  I knew she wouldn’t like that. She and Simon were already at odds and having Ezra in his workshop was only going to make him more of a competitor. Giving him the most talented silversmith would only cement her place beneath him in both coin and renown.

  “The tea house is also to come under Simon’s business.”

  That caught her attention. “Why would Henrik agree to that?”

  “I’m to be matched with Coen,” I answered.

  “Of course you are.” Violet sneered. “Ask any man in the guild and they’d tell you the answer to any problem is as simple as putting someone in their bed.” She sighed. “So. Simon gives Henrik the patronage, and in return, Henrik gives him his silversmith and his niece, along with her holdings.” She laid out the pieces of the puzzle, examining them. “I admit, I don’t like the sound of that at all. And Sariah will not be happy when she hears Henrik has married you off the first chance he’s gotten.”

  “No, she won’t. But there’s not much she can do about it from Nimsmire,” I said. “If you take on the patronage, you’ll keep Simon from holding th
ose cards.”

  Violet seemed to think about it, still stirring her tea even after the sugar was dissolved.

  “And maybe you’ll find some favor with my great-aunt as well.”

  She grinned. “Not an easy thing to come by.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Whatever Violet was thinking, it didn’t show on her face. She knew how to keep her thoughts to herself.

  “And the silversmith?” she asked, one eyebrow arching. “Do I get him, too?”

  The words carved an edge into me and she noticed. “He’s not part of any deal,” I answered.

  “Then it doesn’t do me much good, does it?” She paused, assessing me. “You know, your great-aunt was something of a mentor to me. She’s the one who taught me how to survive in this world and I have a feeling she did the same for you. So, I don’t think I have to tell you that if I make Henrik a candidate to the guild, I keep Simon from gaining something. That’s all well and good, but if I gain nothing myself, that’s not very good business.”

  I set my elbows onto the table, not caring that it was vulgar. In fact, I had a feeling vulgarity would serve me well in this instance. “What do you want, Ms. Blake?”

  “I want the thing that Simon cheated me out of. I want the contract with the Serpent.”

  I stared at her, my heart sinking. I had very limited power in this city, and none of it lay with traders. “The Serpent? What makes you think I could get you something like that?”

  “Either you can, or you can’t, Ms. Roth.” She enunciated my name, her eyes flashing.

  “You’d have a much better chance of getting that contract than I would.”

  “True. But my name can’t be anywhere near this. I know you’re new here, but Simon’s reputation for revenge precedes him. It doesn’t matter how many ships I have sailing for me. I can’t very well collect my coin if someone’s cut my throat, can I?”

  No, she couldn’t. If Simon got wind of her involvement in this, she would pay a price. It didn’t matter what kind of loyalty she had to Sariah; she wasn’t going to stick her neck out that far for me.

  “You find a way to get me that contract and I’ll give Henrik my patronage.” She took one last sip of her tea and stood, smoothing her frock with her delicate hands. “Thank you for the invitation. I hope to receive another very soon.”

  I gave her a tight smile.

  Her attention floated over the room and heads were already turning toward her. She wound the chain of her necklace around her finger, her eyes sparkling. “It really is a pretty little tea house.” Her skirts swayed as she turned and walked away.

  I watched her go, cursing under my breath. I’d known it was a long shot, but it was the only bet I’d had to make. And what she’d asked was impossible. I knew how contracts worked and I’d spent enough time around traders to know that they cared about one thing, and one thing only—copper. Simon had outbid Violet. It was that simple. Getting the helmsman of the Serpent to change his mind and keep his mouth shut was impossible. I had a better chance of getting Simon to agree to the deal himself.

  My brow pulled as I stared into the teacup, my reflection rippling in the amber liquid. The only way to change the contract now was to cancel it, and that required a signature and a seal. But maybe it wasn’t Simon’s that I needed.

  THIRTY-SIX

  There were only two places I could think that Coen would be at this hour, and he wasn’t at Simon’s workshop.

  Ezra and I stood at the mouth of the harbor, watching the ships below. Coen had been down on one of the farthest slips, supervising the load of one of the traders’ inventories for the last hour and he kept checking his watch, as if he had somewhere else to be.

  He wouldn’t be on the docks if the cargo hadn’t been important, so I guessed it was some of their most valuable pieces headed to Nimsmire or some other port city with high-paying customers in need of pretty things. Simon wouldn’t trust the task to anyone else, and with Ezra headed back into their ranks, Coen would be on his best behavior. When it came to his father, he always was.

  Every time he pulled the timepiece from his vest, the knot in my stomach wound tighter. This was the only way I could think of to get what we needed, but I didn’t know Coen well enough to guess what he’d do. The only thing I was sure about was that he loved his father. Worshipped him, even. And Violet Blake was our only hope of escaping Simon’s scheme.

  I knew how to listen to the words people weren’t saying in order to work out who they were and what they wanted. And I’d known very soon after I met Coen that he wanted only one thing—his father’s approval.

  When the last crate was loaded onto the ship, Coen lifted a hand into the air, waving to the helmsman up on deck. He started up the dock, pulling his collar up and his hat low, but he had no chance of blending in. He was handsome and striking, with a jacket that drew the eye of everyone he passed. He may not be the most important man in the Merchant’s District yet, but I had a feeling that eventually, he could be.

  “You really think this will work?” Ezra asked, keeping his back to the stairs.

  I looked into his eyes. The bruising on his face was beginning to fade, but there’d be invisible scars left behind. “I don’t know.” I told him the truth.

  “If it doesn’t?”

  I didn’t have an answer to that question. If I couldn’t give Violet what she wanted, she wouldn’t give Henrik her patronage. He would take Simon’s instead, and Ezra and I would be traded in the deal. The only other option was to risk running, but my uncle would follow. Simon, too. Being one dangerous man’s enemy was one thing. Two was another.

  Coen started up the steps and Ezra stood up off the streetlamp, pulling his hat down low over his eyes. I did the same, watching from the corner of my eye until I saw Coen’s red leather boots come into view. I immediately started walking, falling into step beside him.

  It took him a second to notice me, but when he did, his steps faltered. “Bryn.” He said my name in a gasp.

  He spotted Ezra on the other side of him and his hands lifted into the air, as if he was bracing for one of us to swing. It didn’t sound like such a terrible idea after everything that had happened.

  “Walk,” Ezra said, his voice a rumble.

  Coen looked around us before he obeyed, starting up the street, away from the harbor. We passed under the entrance, rounding the corner of the merchant’s house before he finally spoke.

  “Look, Bryn.” He pulled off his hat, running one hand through his hair nervously. “I didn’t know what he was doing with the patronage. I swear. He didn’t tell me.”

  “I know.” Coen may have been a cheat, but I had never gotten the sense that he’d lied to me.

  His relief at my answer was all over his face. It had been obvious that morning in Henrik’s library that Coen was as shocked as the rest of us. In a way, his father had played him, too. And most important, he cared what I thought of him. That would work in my favor.

  “But that doesn’t change that we have a serious problem. You as much as the rest of us.”

  Coen stopped. “Me?”

  I leveled my gaze at him. “You want Ezra back in your father’s workshop?”

  Coen’s eyes slid to Ezra, who stood motionless beside him. “Not particularly.”

  “Then you’d better listen to me.” I started walking again and it was a few steps before I heard him follow, his boots slapping the cobblestones.

  “All right. What?” he said between breaths.

  “I know Simon is working with Holland,” I began. “Trading her pieces under his own seal.” The details, I was only guessing at. But his reaction confirmed it.

  Coen’s eyes went ablaze, his lips pursed. “You don’t know anything.”

  “I’ve seen the ledger,” I said.

  “What? How?”

  I gave him an irritated look. “That night when I spilled the cava on my dress, I snuck into your father’s study and picked the lock on his cabinet. Her name is in there a
hundred times. And I would bet most of those transactions took place after she lost her merchant’s ring.”

  Coen looked horrified but not shocked. That was an indiscretion he did know about.

  “And there’s more than one merchant in this city who would help me find the proof. If that happens, the guild will turn on Simon. And then we won’t need a patronage because there will be enough rings to go around for all of us.”

  Coen fumed, but he’d already given himself away. He was antsy and anxious, checking over his shoulder every few seconds. As if he was afraid someone would overhear us. “What the hell do you want from me?” he growled.

  I jerked my chin to the lamppost ahead, where the street opened up to another. Ezra shoved Coen toward it. We slipped into the narrow passage.

  “I want you to cancel your contract with the Serpent.”

  Coen scoffed, looking between us. “You can’t be serious.” When we said nothing, he scowled. “No.”

  “Do it or I report your father to the gem guild.” My voice didn’t even sound like my own. My anger was like hot rye in my veins. I felt nothing as I watched his panicked face. His frantic shifting. I was the one with the power now.

  Coen looked up and down the alley, his breath fogging in the evening cold. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t do that.”

  Ezra watched him with a look of satisfaction. He was enjoying this—seeing Coen squirm. “You’re a partner in Simon’s business. You signed the contract.”

  “The helmsman of the Serpent would never buy it. He would insist on speaking to my father and you know what he would say. He’d sooner see both your bodies floating in the harbor than give up that contract. He would never agree. I don’t care what you have on him.”

  “He might not care,” I said. “But you do.”

  Coen settled his eyes on me then.

  “Maybe because you really do love him. Maybe because you know you’ll inherit whatever he leaves behind. It doesn’t really matter to me. I just need you to do this.”

  Coen was struggling to keep himself at bay. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his face turning red.