“Don’t be rude, Ezra,” Henrik spoke again.
The muscle in his jaw clenched before he cleared his throat and finally, he looked up, his eyes catching mine. They were so focused that a flash of heat raced over my skin, making me swallow.
Ezra. A name I didn’t know.
“Pleased to meet you.” The words were polite, but they were missing any semblance of sincerity. And as soon as they left his mouth, his gaze dropped back to the table.
“Pleased to meet you,” I echoed, stabbing an apple with my fork. It hovered over my plate as I studied him.
There was something different about him, and not only in his features. I was sure I’d never heard his name from Sariah, but he looked about Murrow’s age. Maybe two years older than me. If that was true, he wasn’t blood. But if he was sitting at this table, then somehow, he was considered family.
“Ezra is our silversmith,” Henrik said, sensing my curiosity.
I looked down to his hands. That explained the scars. They were from the forge.
Henrik took another too-large bite of roast and chewed, setting his fork down on his plate with a clatter, and everyone looked up, dropping their own silver. My other uncles settled back in their chairs, pulling out small books from inside their vests, as if waiting for something.
I followed suit, setting my knife on the edge of my plate neatly and folding my hands awkwardly in my lap.
Henrik opened his book, flipping to a page filled with markings. From where I sat, it looked like a ledger.
“Casimir?” he began, picking up his quill.
There was a tense silence and I looked up to see more than one person looking at me. Whatever was being discussed, they were uncomfortable with me hearing it.
“Cass,” Henrik said, impatiently.
Casimir set his elbows on the table, shooting me a quick glance before he answered. “Are we discussing business tonight?”
“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.
A soft creak sounded in the hallway and I turned, sucking in a breath when I saw Ezra standing behind me. So close I could reach out and touch him. His scarred hands were tucked into his pockets, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and he looked down at me in the dark with narrowed eyes. I hadn’t even heard him come up the stairs.
“Stay out of my room.” His deep voice filled the space between us.
He stepped around me before I could speak, the door latch clicking in the silence as he disappeared behind it. Soon after, the glow of an oil lamp illuminated beneath the door, touching the hem of my skirts.
I wasn’t a fool. I’d known when I got off that ship at the docks that joining the Roths wouldn’t be as simple as taking my mother’s chair at the table. I’d counted on the fact that to them, family was everything. It was the net that would catch me if I made a mistake or if I fell from grace. But there was a clear line drawn between those who belonged and those who didn’t. It would take more than blood to cross it.
FOUR
My room was filled with the smell of the sea.
I opened my eyes to the first of what would be many mornings in Bastian, drawing the damp air deep into my lungs. The footsteps of little feet trailed across the upper floor, where Noel’s children were waking, and the room was cold, making me burrow deeper into the quilts as I watched the birds outside the window. Their feathers were puffed against the early chill, their pale colors almost vanishing in the fog.
I shared a wall with Ezra’s room, and though I’d heard him late into the night, parchment rustling and footsteps heavy against the floor, now there was only silence. Daybreak was lifting over the city in the distance and once the sun rose just enough to paint the floorboards, I finally willed myself up and out of bed.
My trunk had been meticulously packed by Sariah’s servants, complete with the silver brush and jeweled hair combs she’d gifted me. I’d never liked decadence the way she had, but in my sometimes pathetic attempts to gain her approval, I did myself up in a way that I knew she liked. Among the Roths of Bastian, the pretense felt silly. But it was no secret what Henrik and Sariah wanted from me. I was the polished stone among them, and my uncle would make use of that.
I chose the simplest of my frocks, a dark purple with a full skirt and long sleeves that buttoned at the wrists. The fabric was warmer than the ones Sariah usually had me wear and raw silk would draw less attention out on the streets of Lower Vale. After fourteen years of being paraded before the elite of Nimsmire, I liked the idea that I could disappear.
The boots I’d brought with me were perhaps the only practical items in my trunk. They’d take the uneven cobblestones and keep my feet dry. I laced them up, keeping the cord symmetrical as I tightened them, and knotted the ends above my ankles. When I stood, I turned in front of the mirror, eyes falling down my reflection. I almost looked like one of the girls I’d seen out on the street yesterday. Almost.
The smell of freshly baked bread was thick in the air as I came down the stairs. The dining room was empty, but the kitchen was busy, and the sound of voices pulled me down the long hallway that led to an open door. A small square-shaped chamber was tucked into the corner of the house, where the fresh air from outside was coming in through propped-open windows that completely lined the walls. At its center, Henrik, Casimir, Murrow, and Ezra were seated at a round table. They looked up almost in unison as I appeared.
“Breakfast is at seven,” Henrik said, abruptly.
My cheeks bloomed hot and I reached up to the collar of my frock, fidgeting with the lace. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
The stern look in his eye melted into a smile as quickly as it had appeared. “Well, now you do.” He pointed the bread in his hand at the empty chair beside him and Murrow gave me an encouraging nod.
Anywhere else in polite society, one of them would have stood to pull the chair out for me, but they kept right on eating. I may be of use, but I wasn’t a precious thing to them, I realized. And I found that I liked the idea as much as it made me nervous. I wouldn’t be handled gently in this house.
“Have you got a watch?” Henrik asked, still chewing.
It took a moment for me to realize that he was still speaking to me. “I—I don’t.”
“You’ll be sure she gets one. Take her to the watchmaker’s shop,” Henrik said to Murrow, who answered with a grunt. “We like things tidy and timely, Bryn. That’s what keeps this family running.”
“Of course,” I answered, carefully unfolding my napkin into my lap. I felt like a child being scolded, but the others didn’t look fazed by the reproach.
Across the table, Casimir’s attention was on the running yolk of his egg as he wiped it from the plate with his bread. But Ezra was watching me over the steaming teacup clutched in his hand. He didn’t hold it by the delicate handle. Instead, his fingers wrapped around its rim and he lifted it to his mouth, taking a sharp sip.
I dropped my eyes, placing a piece of cheese onto my plate.
“I want those deliveries made before noon, Cass,” Henrik said.
“It’ll be done,” Casimir answered.
“The bronze, tonight.”
Casimir nodded.
I wondered if they were talking about the bronze that Ezra had mentioned at dinner. It had sounded like they were discussing a ship inventory that was headed to port and Ezra was making his recommendation on what to lift from their hull.
It was the kind of job they pulled again and again, and it kept the coin coming in. It was also the same kind of job that had gotten my parents killed.
Casimir wiped his mouth before dropping his napkin onto the table. He stood, draining his teacup as the woman from the kitchen came gliding in, a fresh pot of tea in her hands.
She scowled at Casimir. “Now, wait just a minute. You’ve barely eaten a thing!”
He set the cup down on the little saucer, giving her a smile. It was the first one I’d seen on his face and it made him look more like Murrow. “I’ve had plenty. I’ve got work to do down on the docks.”
She gave Henrik a disapproving frown, as if expecting him to agree with her, but he ignored the exchange, cutting into the egg on his plate with his fork.
“A belly of tea will do you no good, Cass!” she called after him as he left the room.
When he didn’t answer, she set the pot of tea down with a huff.
“Sylvie, Bryn.” Henrik spoke without looking at either of us. “Bryn, Sylvie.”
The woman set both hands onto her hips, giving me a look over. “I see.” She smiled. “Welcome to Bastian, honey. Don’t let these brutes scare you off.” She let a purposeful gaze fall on Ezra, who looked thoroughly irritated by the sudden attention.
“I won’t.” I smiled.
&n
bsp; “Messages?” Henrik grunted.
Sylvie shook her head. “None.”
A muscle in Henrik’s jaw ticked before he took another bite.
She left the room and my eyes trailed from Henrik to Murrow as I ate. Noel and his family were nowhere to be seen, so I could only guess they took breakfast at a different time. Many households did when there were children underfoot.
I didn’t dare look to Ezra, though I could feel his gaze every few minutes. Sylvie had made her quip at him with humor, but a clear truth was in the words. There was a balance of scales in this house and until I had some idea of what they were, I wasn’t going to take any chances with him.
“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.
The Last Legacy Page 3
