“Ezra, I’d like you at the tavern tonight,” Henrik said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“The tavern?” Ezra set down his cup.
“That’s right.”
Ezra propped his elbows onto the table, his brow pulled. “I have a pickup for the harbor logs tonight.”
“No, you don’t.” Henrik leaned back into his chair. “Bryn is going to do it.”
Murrow and Ezra caught each other’s gaze across the table and my knife froze in midair over my plate.
“What?” Ezra’s voice was careful.
But Henrik looked to me. “There’s no better way to learn than by doing. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“That pickup is my route. Every week.” Ezra’s voice took on an edge, but if Henrik noticed, he didn’t show it.
I looked between them. It was obvious that Ezra didn’t want me here. From where I sat, there were two explanations as to why. Either he didn’t want me involved in family business because he didn’t want his own toes stepped on, or he didn’t trust me. Maybe both.
“Pickup?” I asked.
Henrik leaned onto the table. “A little gift left behind after our friend Holland fell from grace. Every week we distribute copies of the harbormaster’s logs and there isn’t a bastard in Bastian who doesn’t want a copy.”
Holland. I knew that name. She was the most powerful merchant in the Unnamed Sea before she was stripped of her ring and ousted from the guild for trading fake gems. News of the scandal had made its way to Nimsmire and people still talked about it.
“She used to control the distribution of the manifest. Now we do.”
It was only one of many illegal parts of the family business and every port city had an enterprise just like it. Someone always had the harbormaster in their pocket, and they’d sell copies of the weekly manifest for coin. Somehow, Henrik had been lucky enough to seize hold of the trade when Holland lost her place of power. It was probably the reason Ezra knew what was in that ship’s inventory.
“You’ll pick up payment and deliver the manifest, that’s all,” Henrik said. “She can handle it,” he added, glancing at Ezra.
Something unspoken passed between them, but beside me, Murrow was silent.
“Bryn?” Henrik looked to me. “What do you say?”
Ezra’s gaze left a burning trail on my skin as it raked over me. I’d dealt with men like him my entire life. He wasn’t going to accept me unless I played their game, and I couldn’t do what I’d come to do if he was against me. “I can do it,” I said.
Henrik’s smile lifted the corners of his mouth, making the wrinkles around his eyes come to life. “Of course you can.”
Ezra let out a deep, controlled breath as his eyes dropped down and I was sure he was going to argue. But just when I expected him to open his mouth, he stood, straightening his vest and buttoning his dark gray jacket.
He pushed out of the room a moment later and Henrik and Murrow said nothing, finishing their breakfast in silence. Once Henrik’s cup was empty, he, too, was standing. “Do put on something a little more presentable, Bryn. Yes?”
My eyes flickered up. “What?”
“The watchmaker,” he said. “First impressions are important.”
My lips parted with an unspoken argument, but I snapped them shut before I could utter a word.
Temper, Bryn.
My great-aunt’s perpetual rebuke was so loud in my head that it was as if she were standing in the room.
I gritted my teeth, glancing down at my frock. I may have escaped Sariah’s narrow attention, but apparently being out from under her watch wasn’t going to afford me the luxury of choosing my own clothes.
Murrow slid back in his seat as soon as Henrik was gone, relaxing.
“He doesn’t like me,” I said, shooting an irritated look to Ezra’s empty chair.
Murrow half laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wouldn’t take it personally. Ezra doesn’t like anyone.” There was an ease about Murrow that I found calming, but I wondered what lay beneath it. He was all charm and quick-witted tongue, but he was the first to straighten under our uncle’s gaze.
“Best to listen to Henrik, though. He likes for things to run on a strict schedule and he won’t tolerate disorder.”
“I didn’t know about breakfast,” I muttered.
“If I were you, I’d start assuming there are rules where maybe there weren’t any before. Starting with those boots.”
I scowled at him. “What’s wrong with my boots?”
“They’ve got mud on them.”
I lifted my skirt slightly to get a look at them. A stripe of dirt was dried along the sole from the walk through the city the day before.
“Put them outside your room at night. They’ll be cleaned and waiting for you in the morning.”
I dropped my skirt and tucked my foot under the table, a little embarrassed. “Anything else I should know?”
“Yeah,” he answered. “You need to start talking.”
“Talking?”
“Speak up or they won’t respect you. Being so quiet is going to make them wonder what you’re thinking. And you don’t want that.” He looked down at me, the humor gone now. It was a real warning. But I didn’t like the feeling it gave me, as if I was being watched more carefully than I’d realized.
“Thank you,” I said, setting the silver back down and abandoning the cheese. My stomach was in knots.
“You’re welcome.” He tossed his napkin on his plate and stood with a sigh. “Now, let’s go.”
“Where?”
He smiled, giving me a wink. “To get you a watch.”
“All right. Just let me get my coin.”
Murrow laughed. “You’re a Roth, Bryn. We have everything you need.”
FIVE
There were things about the world of the guilds that were true everywhere. Hallmarks of the way they lived.
The grimy streets of Lower Vale bled away as I followed Murrow up the hill, toward the Merchant’s District. I wouldn’t have needed a guide to find it. As soon as we reached the freshly painted buildings with new roof shingles, we were among the city’s deepest pockets.
This was a world I knew. And as we passed the decorated shop windows and I caught my reflection in them, I belonged in the picture I saw. Sariah had made it her intention to bring me up a proper young lady who would charm the likes of the guilds and build a bridge between the Roths and the merchants that had long been their enemies. One that would reflect well on her and the family. But now that I’d met the Roths, I also wondered if it was her attempt at some kind of redemption. Maybe she wanted to re-create them in a new image and erase the more unseemly deeds they were known for.
Murrow kept a quick pace as we walked, his eyes cutting up to the windows overhead every few steps. I recognized the habit. Sariah always did that, as if she thought that at any moment someone would come for her out of the shadows. It was a practice I’d unconsciously picked up, too, and it was rare that I didn’t feel as if there were eyes on me.
In this case, I wasn’t imagining it. Everyone we passed on the street was looking at us, some even taking second glances. I’d changed my frock as Henrik instructed, and I’d pulled up my hair, but in this part of the city, it was probably unusual to see unfamiliar faces. Murrow wasn’t a stranger here though, and I was sure that there were many among the guilds who didn’t like the idea of a Roth in the Merchant’s District. Their business with my family was like a game of Three Widows—the merchants liked to keep both in the shadows.