Page 36 of Saint
I counted out the purses for the exact amount, not takingmore than I was owed. I wouldn’t steal from a Narrows-born, even if he was a cheat. Not unless I had to.
Down the counter, Isolde was staring at me, her chest still rising and falling in rushed breath. I tucked the purses into my jacket one at a time, rebuttoning it before I reached for the handle of my knife.
“Saint.” A voice like melted honey filled the cold air of the shop, making all three of us look to the open door behind us.
There, Emilia had a hip propped against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest. Her long blond waves fell over one shoulder as her head tipped to one side.
“Expected you this morning.” Her brown eyes glinted as they moved from me to the knife pinning Lander to the counter. It was encircled by a shining pool of blood.
“We were delayed,” I said.
Emilia’s attention went to Isolde and it lingered there for a moment before she hooked her thumbs into her belt.
“Come on. Supper’s waiting.” She took a step backward out of the shop and the sunlight hit her fair face before she started up the street without us.
I reached for the knife, gripping the handle and yanking it free, sending another sharp cry from Lander’s lips. He clutched his hand to his chest, falling into the counter, and Isolde almost stumbled backward, catching herself on the back of a chair.
I dragged the blade over the thick wool of my trousers, turning it twice. When I slid it back into my belt, I looked up to see Isolde watching me, a horrified expression on her face.
“Well?” I said, taking the map case from the counter and slinging it back over my shoulder. “You coming?”
14ISOLDE
Saint didn’t so much as look in my direction as I followed him up the hill in the opposite direction we’d come from the harbor. His dark hair was damp with mist, the collar of his gray-blue coat pulled up to hide the bottom half of his face. But his gaze was on the ground as he walked.
We’d left the merchant’s shop with the sound of Lander’s moaning at our backs, and the pathetic sound echoed between the stone walls, carried off by the wind. I still had a sick feeling curled in my throat, my hands colder than they should have been.
He hadn’t even blinked. Hadn’t hesitated for even a second when he drew that knife and drove it down into the man’s hand. In broad daylight, with the shop door open, and no one had even come running.
The woman who’d appeared in the doorway of Lander’sshop was waiting at the top of the hill, her wavy gold hair drifting in the wind that was rolling in from the water at our back. Her trousers were tied at her middle, a flowing white shirt rippling around her slender frame.
A large wooden market cart was stopped beside her, where the buildings in Sowan began to thin, giving way to an expanse of sprawling hills. They looked like an unrolled painting behind her, yellows and greens in swirling patterns beneath an almost-blue sky. She waited patiently, running a hand over the snout of one of the two dove-gray mules rigged to the cart.
A white-haired man with a bony frame that jutted out from beneath his thin white shirt sat at the front of the cart, leads in hand. He didn’t look strong enough to control the beasts or even clear-eyed enough to see the road.
“Saint.” The old man’s face brightened at the sight of the helmsman, mouth stretching in a smile that revealed a gap between his front teeth.
“Perrie.” Saint made his own attempt at a smile, but it was more in his eyes than anything. His face was always set, eyes always watching from beneath his rigid brow like he was bracing for something.
“We were bringing the grain down to the merchant’s house and saw theRivenin the harbor. Figured we’d save you the walk.” Again, the woman’s eyes roamed over my face. “I’m Emilia.”
I gave her a polite nod.
But Emilia’s attention had already skipped to Saint, waiting for an explanation.
“Dredger” was his only reply.
He didn’t saymythis time. I hadn’t liked the sound of it in Lander’s shop.
“Hope that’s true. I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t have callouses on their hands.” Emilia didn’t look satisfied with that answer. “If you’re taking on crew now, things must be going well.”
Saint’s face was unreadable, giving nothing away. The words couldn’t be further from the truth. He pulled himself up into the cart, finding a seat in the back, and Emilia followed, taking the open place on the bench beside the old man.
“Join us,” she said, looking out over the hills in the distance. “It’s the only decent meal you’ll get for a while yet if you’re sailing with this lot.”
Saint leaned his back into the railing, waiting, as if to see what I’d do after that display at the merchant’s shop. This felt like some kind of test.
I glanced back to the village, where the road bent and disappeared before Lander’s could be seen. My hands took hold of the cart’s side, tightening, before I lifted myself from the ground and climbed in.
