Page 64 of Saint
The reason was one I hadn’t been completely able to work out myself. Clove was right that keeping her out of Zola’s hands would only help us, and it was also true that we needed a dredger on the crew. But I wasn’t foolish enough to lie to myself about the fact that I didn’twanther to go.
Before I could answer, the door to the street was flung open, followed by a sudden hush that rippled over the room, and we both turned.
A flicker of brilliant green moved through the crowd. The shining buttons that adorned the jackets were draped over the shoulders of two men who couldn’t look more out of place. Saltblood traders.
They didn’t usually venture this far into Ceros. Not even for rye. There were taverns closer to the harbor for that. These bastards were asking for a fight just by walking through that door.
The uncomfortable silence waned as they made their way to the bar, where Griff was handing over three rye glasses to Clove. The men searched the faces around them, scanning the crowd like they were looking for something, and Clove’s blue eyes sharpened in the firelight as he watched them from the corner of his gaze. I didn’t like the smirk at the corner of his mouth.
Across the table, Isolde sank lower in the booth, pullingher hair to one side and tucking it into her jacket. The pupils in her gray eyes widened, making her irises almost disappear as her gaze followed the men. She was biting down on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
“Whatever this is,” I said, keeping my voice low as I tipped a chin toward the traders, “I need to know about it.”
I waited for her to nod before I stood, giving my back to the tavern so that she was out of their line of sight, and I reached into my pocket for the key to our room.
“Upstairs. Third door on the left.”
She slid out of the booth silently, taking the key, but her fingers closed over mine for just a moment before she slipped through the tables by the fire. A few seconds later, she was disappearing up the steps to the room.
At the bar, the two men were too busy talking to Griff to notice, but from behind them, Clove’s eyes met mine. He picked up the bottle of rye Griff had set down, that coy grin making the angle of his jaw sharpen.
I exhaled, shaking my head once.Don’t.I mouthed the word.
But I could see the moment I said it that it was already too late.
Clove took a step forward, dipping to one side to catch the shoulder of the first man, knocking into him.
“Shit,” I muttered, already walking.
Clove rocked back, as if he’d lost his balance, lifting the hand that held the open bottle of rye between them. “Pardon me.” He brushed the embroidered fabric of the man’s sleeve with the back of his hand, rye sloshing everywhere.
“What the—” The man’s hands flew up between them, taking Clove by the shirt.
“Apologies!” Clove’s voice rang out, getting the attention of everyone in the room. “Apologies, sir. Please, let me help you.” He dropped the green glasses and they shattered at his feet as he reached between them, pouring half the bottle of rye into the man’s collar in the process.
“A shame.” He could barely keep from laughing. “It’s such a fine jacket.”
Any attempt at pretense was gone now and the man’s face lit red, his nostrils flaring.
I shoved a chair aside, picking up my pace.
Three steps. Two.
The man’s fist reared back, his other hand pinning Clove in place, and the fist came down hard across Clove’s cheek. A spray of blood spattered the smooth wall beside him as the room erupted in shouting. But when Clove’s face lifted to the light again, his eyes were clear, a smile breaking over his lips.
I reached them as the man raised his fist again, taking him by the jacket and wrenching him backward. “He’s drunk,” I lied. “Leave it.”
But the trader wasn’t buying it. Anyone looking at Clove knew exactly what had happened. And there wasn’t a soul in the tavern who wasn’t amused.
The man drew a gold-hilted knife from his belt, raising it between us, and by the time I saw it, Clove was already barreling forward again. The other man plowed toward us and my back hit the wall hard as I launched out of reach of the blade.
The tavern’s patrons were all on their feet now, climbing onto chairs and into booths to watch the fight, and the man looked back long enough for me to take hold of his throat, driving him toward the counter. Behind me, Clove was swinging at the man’s crewmate, catching him in the gut with a fist.
By the time I saw the lantern light glinting on the trader’s blade from the corner of my eye, it was too late. I let my weight fall back into him as I turned, hoping the knife would catch my side instead of finding its way between my ribs to my lung. But just when I expected to feel the landing of the blow, the man’s knees buckled, his face going slack before he fell to the ground.
Behind him, Nash stood with the broken bottle of rye he’d just hit the man with clutched in his hand. His eyes were wide, as if he were just as surprised at what he’d done as I was. But the look of shock turned into one of glee as he looked up at me, panting.
“Thanks.” I exhaled.
