Henrik had a merchant’s ring to trade in the Narrows. Now he wanted one for the Unnamed Sea. But what did that have to do with a precious-metal smith on the other side of the harbor? What did it have to do with me?
“I told you, didn’t I?” Henrik said, a sudden, arrogant lightness in his tone.
There was a long pause. “You did.”
The frost turned to sharp, brittle ice and the sight of the firelight wavered as my eyes filled with furious tears. Henrik had known exactly what he was doing when he sent me to the pier. He’d sent me to Arthur for exactly this purpose. But why?
A sick feeling twisted inside of me and I took the wooden steps slowly, careful not to make a sound. I drifted toward my room, my whole body cold, and after I closed the door and lit the candle, I sank onto my bed with my heart in my throat.
My mother and father were stealing six crates of gemstones from a pier on the night they died. It was a carefully planned job gone horribly wrong when the man Henrik paid off to miss his shift at the harbor watch was replaced by another.
My uncle had sent my parents to their deaths for gemstones and tonight, he’d sent me into harm’s way, too. It occurred to me just how close to death I may have come. If Arthur thought I was with the watch, he could have killed me. Maybe Ezra would have watched as he dumped me into the dark water to be devoured by the sea’s creatures.
I swallowed down the nausea in my belly as I unlaced my boots with numb fingers and pulled them off. They toppled to the floor, the candlelight moving over the muddy leather. A tear slipped down my sore cheek as I got back to my feet and picked them up, opening the door. I set the boots into the dark hallway and then closed it, staring at the wood.
Sariah had tried to tell me, many times. But the words were only beginning to make sense. There was family, and there was business. And there was more to the Roths than the name.
EIGHT
The boots practically looked new. I stood in the open doorway in my nightdress, staring at them on the wooden floor. They’d been lined up perfectly side by side and were fit with new laces, the nutmeg-stained leather glowing rich in the morning light.
I’d always taken Sariah’s preoccupation with presentation as vanity. Eccentricity, even. But now, it was beginning to make sense. Tidy and timely. She’d grown up in this dark, damp house with the same rules as the other Roths and I was less and less curious what the consequences for breaking those rules were.
Beside the boots, my frock was neatly folded on a short stool. I bent low to pick it up, letting the violet fabric unroll before me. The blood had been scrubbed clean and the button at the wrist replaced with another that was almost identical. Everything was as it should be. As if the previous night had never happened.
The door beside mine suddenly swung open, filling the hallway with bright light, and I jumped, clutching the frock to me. Ezra came out of his room and shut the door heavily behind him, barely glancing in my direction as he made his way to the stairs. There was a coldness to him that filled the air every time he entered a room, and it made me shiver beneath my nightdress.
I didn’t know what kind of hard-heartedness it took to stand in the shadows and watch someone be slapped across the face. More infuriating was the knowledge that he’d probably watched me cry in that alley, wiping the blood from my chin.
I swallowed down the thought and picked up my boots by the laces. When my door shut, I let out the breath I was holding. Maybe Ezra thought his problem had been dealt with, his point proven. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want the long-lost niece from Nimsmire here and that his part in the family business was his alone. Maybe he and Henrik had schemed together on whatever plot they’d been discussing in the study last night. But Ezra didn’t know me, and neither did Henrik. I’d spent years dressed in petticoats with combs in my hair, but I was still a Roth. And if I was going to avoid another incident like the one at the pier, I needed to act like it.
I tossed the frock on the bed and went to the mirror, inspecting the bruise at the corner of my mouth. My face looked much worse this morning. Even though I’d told Henrik I didn’t want Sylvie’s help, he’d still sent her to my room, and she’d done her best to clean it by candlelight. She’d also ordered me to use a compress every hour that she’d had delivered to my room throughout the night. Clearly, she’d seen her fair share of cuts and bruises in this house. I didn’t doubt that it came with the territory. And if he troubled himself with the upkeep of my boots, I could only imagine what Henrik would think about my looking like this. There was a part of me that relished the idea.
I got dressed quickly, checking myself in the mirror more than once to be sure nothing was out of place. This time when I went downstairs to the busy breakfast room, I wasn’t late.
Casimir, Murrow, and Ezra were waiting beside their places at the table. When I came into the room, Casimir stared at my cheek, studying the bruise.
“That’ll smart for a few days,” Murrow jabbed. That seemed to be his way—making light of heavy things.
But I wasn’t laughing. “Yes, it will.” I enunciated the words, speaking more loudly than was necessary as I set my gaze on Ezra. I waited until his eyes lifted.
The corners of his mouth turned down just slightly, giving him away. He knew that I knew. I may not have known who my allies were in this house, but I’d definitely marked an enemy. And I wanted him to know it.
Murrow’s fingers tapped the back of his chair impatiently as Sylvie set out a silver tray of cheese and two pots of tea. When he took the watch from his pocket to check the time, the hand moved to seven. The very same moment, Henrik’s footsteps sounded from the hall and he appeared, his own watch in hand. He snapped it closed as he took his seat and the rest of us followed, pulling out our chairs.
“Any messages?” He glanced at Casimir, reaching for the tea.
Casimir answered with a shake of his head. “Not yet.”
“It’ll come,” Henrik said, almost to himself.
I was beginning to recognize when there was something at play, and this was one of those times. Henrik had asked the same question at dinner two nights before and again at breakfast yesterday.
“What do you have on this business with the Serpent?”
Casimir tore the piece of bread in his hands. “Looks like both Violet Blake and Simon are vying for the contract. Won’t be pretty by the time all is said and done.”
“Violet Blake,” Henrik echoed, the wheels turning behind his eyes.
That one was easier to decipher. Simon was the watchmaker, and the Serpent was the ship they’d spoken about at family dinner. The contract was likely an agreement for trade. If Simon was bidding on it, then Violet Blake was his competition, another gem merchant in the guild.
“Wouldn’t want to be caught between those two,” Casimir added. “Violet Blake is playing with fire. No one crosses Simon and lives to tell the tale.
I took a bite, listening. The Simon that Casimir described didn’t sound like the Simon I’d met. But I knew enough about the guilds to know that there was plenty of dirty business to drown every single merchant in.
“I have a feeling Simon has underestimated Violet. There’s a snake beneath all that pretty silk and lace,” Henrik mused. “Either way, Simon and Violet at each other’s throats will only help us. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”