Page 70 of Saint
“She’s either crew or she’s inventory. Which is it?” Clove asked.
“Both. For the sake of my coffers, she’s inventory. For the sake of the Trade Council’s eyes, she’s crew.”
The contract had just been a way for him to cover his bases, but it was also the thing that would chain me to hisship. If anyone suspected what he was up to, he had a crew’s contract to prove I was just a dredger. But when he delivered me to Oliver Durant, he’d need the courier’s agreement from Simon in order to get paid. There was no telling how many gem sages Simon had sold that way.
“The name on that contract is Eryss, and she doesn’t even exist,” I said.
“And would you like to explain that to the Council, or should I?”
Slowly, his point began sinking in, making sense where it hadn’t before.
“More than one member of my crew will tell them they know you as Eryss. You can prove them wrong, if you’d like, but the next question they will ask is who you really are.”
Somehow, Zola had finally worked it out for himself.
“I put two and two together when the traders in the harbor started asking around for Holland’s runaway daughter. I never would have let you on my ship if I’d known I was crossing the single most dangerous merchant in the Unnamed Sea.”
I stared at him.
“You’ve gotten me into quite a mess, Isolde. The least you could do is ensure I get the coin I’m supposed to trade you for.”
I could see the smooth exterior of Saint’s face cracking slowly. He hadn’t expected this. Of course he hadn’t.
“She’s a thief, you know,” Zola continued.
Saint gritted his teeth. “She can’t steal what doesn’t belong to you. Those gems were mine.”
“I’m not talking about the red beryls, Saint.” His eyes darted to me. “Don’t tell me you haven’t told him.”
Gooseflesh woke on my skin again, making me shiver. He knew about the midnight too. Somehow, he knew.
“She’s a problem you don’t need to have. Trust me.” Zola sighed. “Hand her back over to me and we’ll pretend this never—”
“No,” Saint said, not even a beat of hesitation before he cut Zola off.
The sound of him saying it took the breath from my lungs, and it was only then I could admit that I’d been afraid he would agree. That he’d cut his losses as soon as he realized I hadn’t been completely honest with him.
“Do you have any idea what she’s cost me?” Zola’s voice grated.
“I don’t care.” Saint snatched his jacket from the back of the chair, pulling it on. “There’s nothing you can do. You’re bound by the same laws that I am now. You lift a hand against me, and the Trade Council will feed that license to the flames.”
The way Zola’s eyes narrowed told me he knew Saint was right. He couldn’t just take me. Not without the Trade Council getting involved.
“You’re making a mistake,” Zola warned. “I’ll have this reported in a matter of hours. And then the Council will be hauling you in for poaching a contracted dredger from my crew.”
“We’ll see.”
Zola sat there motionless for the length of a breath beforehe stood, his hand curling tightly around the parchment. “You’re making trouble for both of us now.”
“Maybe.”
Zola got to his feet, the bloom of red creeping up from the collar of his jacket. He was angry. Furious.
“That’s not all I heard in Sowan.” He took his time with the words. “I know about that pretty crofter and her daughter. The one who’s selling you the rye. And I know about that ship you’ve got sitting in a pier in Dern.”
The collected demeanor Saint had managed to maintain was gone in an instant. Rage was now rolling off of him in thick waves. It filled the room, palpable in the air. This was getting out of hand. Fast.
“Look—” I said, stepping out from behind Saint.
