Home > The Last Legacy(6)

The Last Legacy(6)
Author: Adrienne Young

“Is that not what we do at every family dinner?” Henrik shot back, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

“Surely Bryn doesn’t want us to bore her.” Anthelia smiled, but it was stiff on her lips.

I wasn’t stupid. It was clear that not everyone was happy to have a new face at the table, even if I was Eden’s daughter. And I couldn’t blame them. To them, I was an outsider.

The silence pulled taut, filling the room with a choking tension that coiled itself around me and squeezed. I bit the inside of my cheek nervously.

Henrik set down his quill, turning to me with what looked like an attempt at patience. “Are you bored, Bryn?”

My lips parted as I looked around the table, my face aflame. “No.”

“Satisfied?” Henrik’s attention swiftly returned to Casimir.

Casimir let out a heavy breath, relenting. I watched as he opened his ledger, following the numbers with the tip of his finger and reading them off. “Forty-three to Drake’s apprentice and one hundred and twelve to the helmsman of the Emerald,” Casimir answered.

Bribes, I guessed. The family business relied upon sensitive information and that required coin. Sariah did the same thing in Nimsmire, paying off traders for ratting out helmsmen or reporting to her what was going on at other port cities. There was nothing delicate about it and I kept my eyes on the fire, careful not to show even the slightest bit of interest. Too many people at this table didn’t want me listening to this conversation and I wasn’t going to give anyone reason to notice me.

“And the rye?” Henrik murmured.

“Fourteen cases from the Narrows coming in on the Alder day after next.”

“You’ll be ready?” Henrik looked up.

Casimir answered with a nod, closing his book.

“All right, what about you, Noel?”

“Sounds like Tula has a new ship. The Serpent. She’ll be looking for a merchant to contract with and expanding her route to the Narrows. I’m guessing Simon will make a play for it.”

Henrik grunted. When traders expanded their routes and added to their fleets, it opened doors for merchants. But this was an opportunity Henrik wasn’t eligible for. The ring on his finger gave him permission to trade in the Narrows, but not in the Unnamed Sea.

“I’m heading to the tavern tonight to see what I can find out,” Noel said. “There won’t be any shortage of merchants trying to land that contract.”

Henrik’s head tilted to one side as he looked up from the book. “And the harbormaster’s logs?”

“Being copied as we speak. They’ll be ready for delivery tomorrow.”

Each member of the family had a stake in the business—a scheme or trade that put coin in the coffers. It sounded like Casimir’s was a rye side trade and Noel’s had something to do with the harbormaster. According to Sariah, my mother’s stake had been a tea house that never opened. The only advice my great-aunt had offered me when I left Nimsmire was to build my stake as soon as possible. The sooner I was bringing in copper, the sooner I’d earn their trust.

Henrik scratched another set of numbers into the book. “And the inventory, Ezra?”

He was the only one who didn’t pull out a leather-bound book, answering from memory rather than notes. “Six crates of bronze bricks and eleven barrels of mullein. There will be silks next week and a few gems to choose from. Other than that, it’s the usual.”

“What do you think?” Henrik paused.

Ezra thought about it for a moment before he answered. “I’d say the bronze.”

“All right, the bronze it is,” Henrik said, making another note.

He finished going around the table as the food on our plates went cold. Each of them gave their cryptic reports as Henrik notated them with a careful hand, asking questions and assigning tasks. It sounded mostly like ship cargos and merchant goods, many of which they shouldn’t have if Henrik wasn’t a merchant with a ring to trade in Bastian.

“Has the invitation from Simon come yet?” Noel leaned forward, eyeing Henrik.

There was that name again—Simon.

Henrik’s mustache twitched as he snapped the ledger closed. Whatever Noel was talking about, it had clearly struck a nerve. “No.”

A quick hush fell over the table and Casimir and Noel shared a look before they picked up their forks. Just like that, talk of business was over, and with it, there seemed to be a collective relief. Not another word was said about it and everyone finished eating, growing more relaxed with every glass of rye that was poured. Everyone except for Ezra.

Every time I thought I could feel his eyes on me, I looked up to find him staring at his plate. He’d barely spoken, answering Henrik quickly each time he was asked a question but offering nothing more.

I picked at my food, grateful that no one acknowledged me for the rest of the meal. Henrik had summoned me to Bastian to take my place in the family. But it hadn’t occurred to me that some might not want me here.

The sharp scrape of chair legs over the floor made me blink and I looked up to see Henrik standing. As soon as he tossed his napkin to the table, Jameson slipped from his mother’s lap and ran down the hall. The others followed, leaving their places at the table but taking their rye glasses with them. I’d barely touched mine, but Murrow refilled it anyway.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You’ve survived your first family dinner and not a single punch was thrown.” He snickered.

I almost laughed, picking up the little glass and taking a sip. I winced as I swallowed, my lips puckering. The rye would take getting used to.

The others had flooded into the kitchen, gathering around a long counter as the small woman I’d seen earlier set out platters of pastries. No forks or plates. They simply picked up the cakes with their hands and took bites between laughter, speaking with full mouths. I couldn’t help but smile. They may be missing the manners of the guild society, but they were also missing the cold cordiality.

I watched them from the doorway. They had a rhythm with one another, something that I could only assume came from growing up in a family. It was something I’d never had before, and I found the noise and lack of decorum comforting. There was a warmth among them. And despite the awkwardness of the dinner, I found that there was something I liked about these strange people.

I slipped back down the hallway once they were lost in conversation and went up the stairs, finding my room. The second floor was drafty and quiet and when I reached for the latch, I noticed a thin beam of moonlight beside my feet. The door beside mine was cracked open and I could see flashes of white in the darkness as I took a step toward it, gently pushing the door open.

It was another bedroom that looked almost exactly like mine. The bed was made, the wardrobe shut up tight, and the window was shimmied open, letting the night air inside. But it was the wall above the small desk that caught my attention. It was covered in pieces of parchment, fluttering in the breeze. Each one was filled with scrawling handwriting. Stacks of books and papers covered every inch of the desk beneath it with a kind of orderly chaos.

On the dressing table beside the doorway sat three dice that looked like they were shaped from a pale moonstone. They were the kind of dice used to play Three Widows, the unsavory game of chance that had filled my great-aunt’s parlor on many late nights.

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