He laughed, and my hands froze on the laces. I didn’t know if I’d ever seen him actually laugh. A slice of white teeth stretched up one cheek and I stared at him in awe.
He snatched his pocket watch up from where it sat on the dressing table. “What?”
“Nothing.” I smiled, but it faded as I finished tying my boots. That glimpse of him was what he could be. What he might have been if he’d been able to escape this house.
I wanted to believe that we could make our own rules under this roof. Ones that made it easier to live. I wanted to believe that there was some bit of light to be found in the way Ezra had touched me the night before, but grief had risen in me when I saw him smile like that. I didn’t want to wonder if I’d ever see it again.
He waited with one hand on the doorknob and I came to stand before him, listening to the hallway. When I didn’t hear anything, I stepped back so he could open it. But Ezra leaned down, catching my mouth with his and he kissed me softly.
He was gone in the next breath and I let myself smile then. There was some light to be had. And I was going to hold onto it. No matter what.
I waited a full minute before I went downstairs. Henrik’s smooth voice was coming from the library and I could hear Simon, too. They prattled on about something to do with a trader in Ceros and the sound was relaxed. Happy, even. I hoped that meant Simon was here with the good news we’d been waiting for.
But as I passed the breakfast room, Sylvie was beginning to set the table and it occurred to me that such an early visit was strange. The fleeting thought conjured to life a faint warning in the back of my mind, but I dismissed it.
I came through the doors to find Henrik and Simon sitting in the leather armchairs. Coen stood against the bookcase behind his father’s seat and gave me a warm smile when he saw me. His eyes were clearer than they’d been last night.
It made me recoil inside, knowing what he’d done to Ezra. It wasn’t all that shocking though. He’d grown up with the customs of Lower Vale and North End and a father who knew how to get what he wanted. Coen had found a way to deal with Ezra and I guessed he didn’t have the slightest bit of regret about it.
“Ah, there she is.” Simon gave me a small nod in greeting and I returned it.
“Good morning. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
Ezra was in his usual place, tucked into the corner like a silent observer and I took the wall opposite, resisting the urge to look at him. This was either going to be the moment Henrik had been waiting for, or the one he’d dreaded. The fallout of the latter would affect us all.
“Nonsense,” Simon said. “It’s a beautiful morning. And I wanted you both here for the occasion.”
Beneath Henrik’s cool expression, I could see his excitement. If Simon called it an occasion, it could only mean one thing.
Simon clapped his hands together before him as he turned to my uncle. “I’ve decided to offer you my patronage to the gem guild.”
A smile broke on Henrik’s lips and he leaned forward in his chair, shaking Simon’s hand more firmly than necessary. “Thank you, old friend.”
Henrik’s gaze immediately went to Ezra behind me, a beaming look of pride in his eyes. This is what he’d waited for. Everything he’d worked for. And the first person he’d looked to was Ezra. There was more in that single look than a proud man. There was affection there. This wasn’t only his achievement and he knew it.
That was the scary thing about Henrik. What he did, he did out of love.
“You’ve earned it,” Simon said. “I think we can all agree on that. And you’ll have the collection to present to the guild to prove it.”
“Congratulations, uncle,” I said, unable to truly mean it.
Henrik’s success meant my success, but he’d used Ezra to get it. And when Ezra had tried to mark his own path, he’d beaten him back down. It didn’t matter what was in my uncle’s heart or what his reasons were. I would never, ever forgive him for that moment in the study. I would never trust him again.
“Sylvie!” Henrik called out, rising from the chair. He leaned out of the open doors. “Rye!”
The small woman scurried up the hallway in a frenzy and the chime of glass clinking sounded in the kitchen.
“You won’t regret this, Simon,” Henrik began. “Ezra will have the collection ready before—”
“I have no doubt.” Simon raised a hand to silence him as Sylvie poured the rye and handed out glasses.
I held mine before me, the smell making me feel sick so early in the morning. When Henrik lifted his glass, so did Simon, and the rest of us followed suit.
“To the exhibition!” Henrik crowed.
“The exhibition!” The voices resounded in the tiny room.
Henrik was visibly lighter with the news and I hated how the sight of him like that made me relax. Being at the whims of his caprice was exhausting.
I snuck a look in Ezra’s direction, wanting to steady myself, but he was looking into his glass with an empty expression. He didn’t appear to be happy or relieved. He didn’t look disappointed, either. He was more experienced in Henrik’s changing winds than I was. He was an expert.
“There is still the matter of Arthur.” Henrik leaned forward, trying to be delicate. But there was nothing delicate about him. He had the smoothness of a sea urchin. “I’m sure you’ve heard he’s also secured a patronage.”
“I have.” Simon sipped his rye slowly, taking his time. Something about the deliberate movement made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. “I arranged it.”
Henrik’s hand stalled as he raised his glass to his lips again. “What?” He laughed awkwardly.
Behind Simon, Coen was studying his father with a pensive brow. Whatever the watchmaker was talking about, it was news to his son.
“I arranged the patron for Arthur,” he said again. “Of course I did.”
The corners of Henrik’s mouth turned down. “Why would you do that?”
Simon scoffed. “Henrik, you can’t honestly think I’ve agreed to the patronage out of my own goodwill.”
“I”—Henrik stumbled over the words—“I don’t understand.”
Sylvie glided into the room with a silver tray, placing it on the low table. It was set with fruit and cheese, a platter meant for the breakfast table. Simon helped himself, picking a few of the grapes from the stem before he refilled Henrik’s glass. My uncle sat there motionless, like he was unsure of what else to do.
“If you want my patronage, I will require something in return.” Simon popped one of the grapes into his mouth and chewed. His eyes went past me, to the corner of the library, where Ezra watched silently.
Henrik’s nostrils flared, the glass shaking in his hand.
“Ezra will come back to work for me,” Simon said, taking another shot of rye in one swallow.
Coen’s eyes were wide, his mouth dropped half-open. He shifted on his feet uncomfortably. This was clearly a plan Simon had kept to himself. And Coen wouldn’t be happy to be saddled with Ezra as competition for his father’s admiration and respect again.
I looked to Henrik, who was fuming. He was trapped and he knew it. If Simon didn’t agree to be his patron and left Henrik without one, Arthur would get the ring as the only candidate at the exhibition.
“Ezra will come back to where he belongs, and you will get your ring.” Simon held a hand toward Henrik, offering to shake on it.
“What does that guarantee me if you’ve ensured Arthur has a patronage, too? The guild could select him for the ring. Then what do I have?”
“Oh!” Simon dropped his hand, shaking his head. “Of course, I’ve forgotten that detail. The patronage is one thing. Securing the votes in your favor is another. That will require a separate payment.” His eyes lifted to me. “Bryn and Coen will be matched, as previously discussed.”
Coen’s eyes cut to Simon. “Father.” The word was heavy with rebuke, but Simon’s fiery gaze found his son and at that, Coen shut his mouth.
&nb
sp; I couldn’t keep myself from looking at Ezra. He was still as stone, his jaw clenched. There was something rippling beneath the surface of him. He was like the edge of a knife pressed to skin.
“The tea house will fall under our business,” Simon added. “Seems fitting it would come back to dice, don’t you think?” He laughed.
Henrik snarled, fixing Simon with a poisonous stare. “That’s what this is about, Simon? That game of Three Widows all those years ago?”
Behind Simon, Coen was nervous. He looked at me, his cheeks flushed. He and I were the only ones who knew the game Henrik spoke of had been fixed.
Simon stared into his glass before he lifted it to his mouth. A cold, unsettling silence fell over the room before he set it down onto the tray again. He let the tension expand before he answered. “This isn’t about him,” he said. His head tilted to one side, the bitterness in his voice melting away. “This is about her.” He breathed out roughly, glancing up to the portrait on the wall.
Eden.
Simon hadn’t been friends with my mother. He’d loved her. And by the way he was looking at Henrik, it was clear that he blamed him for her death. For everything.
Simon stood, jerking his chin toward his son, who fell into step behind his father as he stalked out of the room. The three of us stood there silent, listening to the door to the street open and close. And then there was nothing.
The color drained from Henrik’s face and he suddenly looked smaller in that decadent chair. Frailer. The sight was almost nauseating. He was a man cut down, a toppled king. And though everything within me was writhing with the words Simon had spoken, I liked seeing my uncle fall.
THIRTY-FOUR
The Roth family sat around the table, but tonight, there was no dinner.
The fire blazed at Henrik’s back as he sat erect in the chair. Everyone waited. For what, I wasn’t sure. My uncle had proved to be an unpredictable creature, but one thing I’d never seen on him was surprise. Pure, uninhibited surprise. And that’s exactly what had marked his face as he’d sat in the library, listening to Simon’s demands. It made the room feel as if it were paved with a thin layer of brittle ice. We were all balancing on its precarious surface, wondering not if it would crack, but when.
Everyone had been called, even Anthelia and Tru. Sylvie had Jameson in the kitchens, stuffing him with sliced apricots, and Anthelia had tucked herself behind Noel at the farthest seat at the table. As if she was ready to shield herself from Henrik’s wrath. This wasn’t the first time a plan had unraveled, and it wouldn’t be the last. At least in this instance, no one had lost their lives. Not yet anyway.
Henrik set a fist on top of the polished wood surface, pulling in a slow, measured breath. “I want to know how this happened.”
My uncles and cousin shot each other glances, as if wordlessly deciding who would be the one to speak. But Ezra only stared out the window, arms crossed over his chest. He would let the others take the lead, like he usually did, and I was glad.
In the end, it was Casimir who answered. “Simon must have set up Arthur’s patronage before he made his demands to ensure we would be forced to comply. The patron is a trade partner of Simon’s, though their business isn’t well known in Bastian. That’s why we didn’t connect them before.”
“Has Simon announced his patronage of me to the guild?” Henrik stared at the table with dead eyes.
“Not yet,” Casimir answered. “He’s waiting for you to accept his terms.” He pulled a message from his pocket and slid it down the table, but Henrik didn’t bother picking it up. “We have until the evening harbor bell tomorrow to answer him.”
I swallowed hard, lifting my gaze to Ezra again. The implications of this weren’t only his freedom and mine. We had already been trapped in Henrik’s snare before Simon knocked on the door that morning. But I could think of few worse things than being forced to marry Coen when I was in love with the silversmith working downstairs in his father’s workshop. The thought was like swallowing broken glass.
I couldn’t tell if Ezra was thinking the same thing. He was unreadable, his dark irises focused on something in the distance.
“Maybe there’s a way we can get a new patron,” I said, my voice giving away my desperation.
Henrik shook his head. “It’s too late for that.”
“The guild vote is in three days,” Noel chimed in. “Simon was already a long shot and securing a new patronage in that time would be impossible. I don’t know of a merchant who’d go against him. If we don’t accept, word will spread, and no one will touch us.”
“Then we don’t accept and wait for the next ring,” I said. “Eventually someone will die or fall from grace. If we’re patient…”
Henrik snorted. “You don’t know the first thing about any of this.”
“That’s not true,” I said, carefully. “I was raised in this world. I know how the guilds work.”
“You know how to charm. How to make connections. You don’t know anything about doing what needs to be done or getting your hands dirty.” The words were sharp. He looked at me with utter contempt, revealing how he really felt. “I never should have agreed to let Sariah take you to Nimsmire in the first place. That was a mistake.”
“What does it matter if I was here or in Nimsmire if either way I’d be sold in a match?” My voice rose.
“Your match is the least of my concerns!” Henrik snapped, “Our prospects with the merchants rely on Ezra’s work. Without him, we have nothing.”
I watched Ezra swallow and his eyes finally dropped to the table. This is why he’d said he never wanted to smith again. He’d built himself a set of shackles with this gift. But what was more illuminating about what Henrik said was that my part of this was of next to no consequence to him. He’d already been prepared to hand me over to Coen and the only reason he’d reconsidered was because I was set to fill his pockets with more coin.
“We have no choice,” Henrik finally said, his fist clenching tighter. “Ezra will return to Simon’s workshop. Bryn will marry Coen. Once I have the merchant’s ring, I’ll find a way to get you back.” He was speaking to Ezra.
“And me?” I said, a sharp sting burning behind my eyes.
Henrik glared at me. “You want to be saved from a good match with a powerful family?”
“Yes.” I hated to admit it. But I was asking to be saved. By him.
“We have bigger problems, Bryn.” Henrik scooted his chair back, dismissing me. “Ezra, come with me.”
I clenched my teeth, staring into the blinding light of the fire until my eyes watered. The others followed him out, leaving me to drown in the racing beat of my own heart. I was no freer than I’d been in Nimsmire. I already knew that. And it didn’t matter if I wanted to take control over my own fate. Sariah’s letter was a fantasy. A false promise. And in that moment, I hated her for it.
Even she hadn’t been free. She’d left Bastian, but the distance between her and her nephews hadn’t cut her ties to them or the family of Roth. She’d been as bound as the rest of us, raising a calf in a pretty dress for slaughter.
“She was in love with him.” A soft voice cut through the silence and I blinked, sending two heavy tears rolling down my cheeks. “Simon.”
Anthelia still sat at the other end of the table, a strand of hair absently slipping through her fingers. She hadn’t gotten up when the others had left.
“What?” I said, the word cracking.
“Eden,” she said. It was the first time she’d really looked me in the eyes since I’d arrived at this house. “She was in love with Simon, but her brothers forbade their being together. Too much competition for the business in Lower Vale, they said. Instead, she accepted a match with Tomlin.”
More tears welled in my eyes as I listened. I didn’t know the woman she spoke of. My mother was a stranger to me. But it still cut deep. I didn’t like knowing that she had gone along with their schemes, like I had. In the end, they were the same ones that killed her.
“Why did you do it?” I said, angry.
“Do what?”
“Become part of this family. Raise children among them.”
She wound her finger into the ends of her hair, taking her time before she spoke. “I loved Noel, so I didn’t feel like I had a choice.” She paused. “But I did. And there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wonder if I made the wrong one.”
“You did.” I swallowed. “You did make the wrong one.”
I didn’t know why she’d chosen now to say what she’d said or why I felt the need to punish her. I wondered if they were words she’d ever spoken aloud to anyone. But I hated her for choosing this path when the rest of us had been born to it.
“Did they love each other? My parents?” I whispered, afraid of the answer.
She sighed. “They made good partners.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
She smiled sadly. “No, it’s not.”
The sharp ping of the silver hammer rang out suddenly and I closed my eyes, breathing through the pain in my throat. Ezra was in the workshop. Back to work. What else was he going to do?
I stood, following the sound and leaving Anthelia behind in the empty dining room. The workshop door was propped open. The cold air rippled out into the warm house, the sound growing louder as Ezra brought the hammer down in angry strikes. When I peered inside, he was a stiff form in front of the forge, his profile in sharp focus against its glow.
I locked the door behind me and went to him. But he didn’t look at me as I came around the table. He didn’t stop swinging the hammer until I reached up, taking hold of his arm. The muscles under the skin were carved from stone, his pulse racing under my fingertips. It took a moment for him to finally turn to me, but when he did, he wasn’t really there. The thaw I’d seen the night before was gone, replaced with the Ezra I’d met the first night I came to Bastian.
The Last Legacy Page 22
