The cloth fell from my mouth and I stared at the pink stain there before I looked from him to Murrow, stunned. I waited for some clue as to what I was supposed to say, but Murrow kept his attention on the fire flickering in the hearth.
“Bryn?” Henrik leaned into the desk with both hands. His eager eyes were on mine.
“I did what you said.” The cut in my lip pulled painfully as I spoke. “I asked for the payment and he told me to leave.”
“Yes?” Henrik pressed.
“When I insisted, the man … Arthur”—I swallowed—“he hit me when he saw I had no mark.”
Henrik straightened and crossed his arms over his chest, his bottom lip protruding in thought. “I see.”
“I didn’t get the payment,” I said, dropping the cloth to the desk and bracing myself for his disappointment. This was exactly what I didn’t want to happen. There was no way for me to earn my stake in the family if Henrik didn’t trust me, and I’d botched one of the first tasks he’d given me.
The wrinkle cast across Henrik’s forehead deepened, as if he was confused. “Oh, don’t worry about that.” He waved a dismissive hand in the air.
I tried to read him. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t even look surprised. If I didn’t know better, I would have said there was a sparkle in his eye. A glimmer of dancing light. My head was aching and my jaw throbbing, but more unsettling than the memory of the man in the alley or the pain in my mouth was the expression on my uncle’s face. He looked almost … pleased.
Again, my gaze trailed to Murrow. This time, he managed a quick glance in my direction, but still, he said nothing. His eyes went past me and I looked over my shoulder to see Ezra standing silent in the corner of the study. He was half-wrapped in shadow, his coal-colored suit making him look like he was folded into the darkness.
I swallowed hard, a sudden chill creeping over my skin. I hadn’t even heard him come in.
His jacket was buttoned, one foot crossed over the other as he watched us. Black eyes flitted over me, to Henrik, but he didn’t speak.
“Would you like me to have Sylvie look at that for you?” Henrik said, finally acknowledging my face.
I blinked, turning back to him. His attention dropped to my lip for a fleeting moment, but he seemed wholly uninterested despite the offer.
“No,” I said, too quickly. Too sharply. There was some scheme at play here that I didn’t understand. It was evident in how the three of them looked at each other. But I couldn’t tell which side of it I was on.
“Thank you, Bryn,” Henrik said, sincerely. “You’ve been very helpful.”
I stared at him, trying to make sense of the hollow words, pulling them apart and putting them back together in different arrangements. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected when I walked into the house with blood on my skirts, but it wasn’t this.
“Helpful?” I repeated. Beside me, Murrow shifted on his feet. “The man hit me.”
Temper, Bryn. Sariah’s warning echoed in my mind again. My hands fisted at my sides and I swallowed down the curse on my tongue.
“Yes, that really is unfortunate.” Henrik tsked. “I do wish that hadn’t needed to happen.”
I didn’t miss the way he said it. Not I wish that hadn’t happened. He’d said, I wish that hadn’t needed to happen.
The number of questions I had was growing by the minute, but there were no answers in Henrik’s icy gaze as he surveyed me.
“Murrow, you’ve got work to do, I think,” he said, lifting a finger to the door behind him.
Murrow answered with a silent nod, turning on his heel and dismissing himself. His footsteps trailed down the hallway until the door to the street opened and closed. It was well after dark, so I didn’t know where he could be going. The only places open at this hour were the haunts of trading crews docked for the night.
“You best get up to bed. Sleep will do you some good.” Henrik’s attempt at gentleness fell short. It was missing any semblance of concern or warmth. He was ordering me to my room again.
Maybe he was disappointed in me. Or maybe he was thinking he’d made a mistake by asking me to go to the pier in the first place. Either way, I’d failed his test and I didn’t want to know what I’d have to do to make up for it.
I stared at him for another moment before I finally snatched the bloody cloth up from the desk. I flung the door to the study open with the burn of Ezra’s gaze following me, but my uncle’s voice made me stop short.
“And Bryn?” Henrik’s voice cut into the silence.
I turned, clenching my teeth painfully to keep from speaking.
My uncle’s gaze dropped to my feet. “Please do something about those boots,” he said, each word like the swing of a hammer.
I gaped at him, no longer needing to swallow down the curse that sat on the tip of my tongue. I was completely speechless.
I’d been taught to deal with men. How to charm them. How to persuade them. I’d been doing it for my great-aunt for years. But this man was something entirely different. He was so tangled in knots, I realized, that there may be no unraveling him.
He gave me a nod, as if allowing me to go, and I stepped out into the dark hallway, forcing one foot in front of the other until I reached the stairs. I paused midstride halfway up when I heard his voice again, going still. My hand clutched the railing and I slowed my breath, leaning into the wall as I listened. But the sound was muffled, distorted by the wind rattling the windows upstairs.
I took a careful step backward, and another, until I was at the bottom of the stairwell. Sylvie was still shuffling around in the kitchen and the glow from Henrik’s office bled out into the hallway. I could see his shadow rippling over the worn, uneven floorboards.
“… by morning. Should do the trick.” Henrik was speaking to Ezra now.
I took another step, my eyes searching the darkness as I listened. The sound of a drawer sliding open and shut in his desk, the tap of his pipe as he emptied the chamber.
“How’d she do?” he rasped.
“Fine,” Ezra answered.
“Fine?” Henrik was growing impatient again. Annoyed, even.
“She did fine,” Ezra said. “It happened just like she said.”
His deep voice was like a hot iron as the words sank in. He said it as if he was reporting what he’d seen. As if he’d been there.
Frost filled my veins, my heart beating so loud in my chest that it was difficult to hear over the heavy thrum. That presence I’d felt in the alley had been real. Someone had been watching. Ezra.
“Arthur checked her for the mark and when he didn’t see it, he figured it was a trap. Said something about the harbor watch, and when she tried to stop him, he struck her.” The words went on, making the walls of the stairwell feel as if they were closing in.
He had been there. Ezra had been there, watching. And he’d done nothing. Even more unsettling was that Henrik knew. It almost sounded like it had been planned.
“I want you working on the collection night and day. I want it done in time for the exhibition.”
The exhibition.
Slowly, the thoughts came together. The exhibition was the last step in the process of securing a merchant’s ring. There were only a certain number of rings in each guild and they only became available when a merchant died or was denounced. It was a rare opportunity, with a strict set of rules. Anyone vying for an available ring first had to secure a patron—an existing merchant who put you forth as a candidate. Then, the candidates submitted a collection to the guild, who would vote on who received the ring.