hid whatever he was thinking.
“If what I’ve heard about you is true, then it’s nothing you can’t handle.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” he said.
“Oh, I think I do.” She smiled. An uncomfortable silence filled the space between the four of us before her eyes fell on me again. She stood, folding her napkin neatly and setting it onto the table. “Now, Fable. There’s something I want to show you.”
SEVENTEEN
The doors to Azimuth House opened to the blinding light of late morning. Holland stood at the top of the steps, a shimmering silhouette. She was ethereal, her long silver hair spilling down the gold embroidered cloak that floated out behind her as she made her way to the street.
West hesitated on the top step, watching her. His coat was unbuttoned, the collar of his white shirt open, and the wind blew his unruly hair from where it had been combed the night before.
“I don’t like this,” he said, keeping his voice low.
“Me either,” Clove muttered behind me.
West’s eyes flicked up to the harbor in the distance. But from here, it was impossible to make out the ships. By now, the crew of the Marigold would be worried, and if the harbor master was in Holland’s pocket, he’d be watching them closely. I could only hope that they would lay low and wait it out like West had ordered.
Holland looked between the three of us with a question in her eyes that made me uncomfortable. We weren’t in the Narrows anymore, but the same rules applied. The less she knew about who West and Clove were to me, the better.
We followed her down the staircase to the street. It seemed the whole city was already doing business. I didn’t miss the way people looked up as Holland passed, and neither did West. He watched around us, glancing up to windows and down alleys as we walked, and his silence was making me more nervous by the minute.
Clove hadn’t told me what West had done for my father in detail, but he’d said enough to make me worry about what West was capable of. What he’d be willing to do if he thought Holland was dangerous, and what it would cost him.
Not even a day ago, I’d been afraid I might never see him again. The sinking feeling returned, dropping down the center of my chest, and I moved closer to him. His hand drifted toward mine but he didn’t take it, his fingers curling into a fist. As if at any moment, he would take hold of me and start for the harbor.
There was a part of me that wished he would. But there was a shift in power happening in the Narrows. Zola was gone, and Holland’s sights were set on Saint. Blood aside, that didn’t bode well for the Marigold. If we were going to get ahead of this, we needed to know what was coming.
The coin in Clove’s chest rattled as he walked beside me. He hadn’t taken Holland’s offer to stow the coin in her study, and now he was drawing the eye of nearly everyone on the street as we made our way to the farthest pier on the south side of Bastian. Holland’s crest was painted on its brick, with private slips stretching far enough from shore that each could easily dock three ships. It wasn’t like any I’d ever seen in the Narrows. It looked more like a small port than a shipping pier.
The men standing at the doors pulled them open as we reached the entrance. Holland didn’t slow, walking down the center aisle where countless stalls filled the floor. The rectangular workspaces were sectioned off with polished wood beams, each worker clad in an apron that had Holland’s crest burned into the leather.
These weren’t the kinds of workers that filled Ceros. They wore clean white shirts, their hair combed or braided, and were freshly bathed. Holland liked her post the way she liked her home. Tidy. And the way they didn’t meet her eyes as she passed gave away their fear of her.
My gaze flitted over the people in the stalls as we passed. Some of them looked to be gem merchants cleaning stones, chipping away at the outer rock on crude rubies or tumbling the smaller, broken pieces of sapphires. I slowed when I spotted a man cutting a yellow diamond. He worked with quick movements, making the splice in the stone by muscle memory more than sight. Once he was