Page 81 of Saint
“Ready?” I asked, standing from the stool and setting down the quill.
The map rolled closed in front of me and Saint eyed the notes I was making, turning the parchment so he could read them. He said nothing before his gaze lifted to me and he nodded.
I reached into my pocket and took out the purse of midnight, pressing it into his palm. His fingers closed over mine as the question lit in his eyes.
“Keep it for me?” I asked, swallowing against the lump in my throat.
Saint thought about it for a long moment, his hand still tightly holding mine. He looked unsure. Afraid of it, almost.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “Until you come back.”
“Thank you.”
My voice took on the weight of the words, bending their shape into something that was hard to say. I wasn’t sure whatexactly I was thanking him for. I was mostly just glad he existed. That I’d been lucky enough to find him.
His hand tightened on mine before he let it go, and he tucked the midnight into his jacket.
“See ya, dredger.” Nash crossed his arms over his chest, watching me from across the room.
Saint had made it clear Nash wasn’t invited to the Trade Council Chamber, and he’d looked almost relieved. If he could keep his head on another few days, he’d be back in Dern like the last two weeks had never happened.
He gave me a smile, but it wasn’t one of his easy ones. “I’ll see you next time you’re in Dern?”
“You will.” I held out my hand and he shook it. “Keep that mouth of yours shut and you might be able to keep from getting yourself killed.”
The smile came more easily at that. “I’ll try.”
My hand slipped from his and Saint opened the door to the street, where two little boys were watching Clove like birds perched on a tree limb. He ignored them, taking one more drag of his pipe before he dumped it out and crushed the smoldering mullein beneath the heel of his boot.
We started for the bridges without a word, and the trapped dank heat of the Pinch bled away as we climbed the ladder. It was replaced by a brittle cold carried on the wind, a gust I imagined had come all the way from Bastian. I was one of thousands of faces in this city, I thought. I was no one. And I believed for the first time that it could stay that way.
The market was open and busy when we reached theTrade Council Chamber. The city was lost to its rhythms, and I found comfort in that. This summons, this charge against Saint, the contract I’d signed with Zola… they were just ripples. A fading light that would be followed by the same dawn that rose in the sky day after day.
I stopped in front of the door, Saint to my left and Clove to my right. “Can I tell you something?” I said, giving Saint a mischievous smile. “I’m glad I walked into the tavern that night.”
But Saint didn’t return it. He looked down into my face, eyes jumping back and forth on mine. “So am I.”
Clove opened the door and the hum of voices came tumbling out. The hall that led to the chamber was empty, but as we made our way past the portraits of the guild members, the crowd came into view. The chamber was filled to the brim, making Saint’s steps falter.
My eyes skipped over the long room, finding the Trade Council seated against the opposite wall.
Clove’s deep voice was behind us. “It’s the first charge brought against a Narrows-born trader. I guess no one wanted to miss that.”
He was probably right. Ceros had its own laws and leaders now. The pomp and circumstance of seeing them in action would be a novelty for some time yet. And there wouldn’t be a merchant in the city who didn’t want to see the guild masters in action.
The voices died down as we wove through the crowd and the whispers began, filling the corners of the huge room.I kept close to Saint, following behind him with Clove at my back, and when he made it to the center of the chamber, the Trade Council’s eyes found him.
Across the tiled floor, Zola was already waiting. His black eyes were focused on me, the sneer on his lips revealing a slice of teeth. He’d done exactly what he said he would do, and the look on his face only confirmed that he knew he’d won.
Lander, the merchant from Sowan, was at his side. He watched Saint warily, cowering with his injured hand tucked into a sling across his chest as if he was afraid Saint would cross the space between the platforms and wrap his hands around his throat. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he did.
The Gem Guild master’s eyes sharpened on me when I stepped onto the platform beside Saint and he sat up straighter in his chair. He recognized me, and that would bring its own complications.
He surveyed me a moment before he leaned to one side, whispering into the ear of the woman beside him. But her attention stayed on the parchment open before her.
The heavy knock of a gavel bellowed through the room and, slowly, the whispers quieted into a soft murmur. The faces that surrounded us were here for the business of it, but they were also here for sport. The only ones who seemed utterly disinterested were Saint and Clove. But they’d have to learn to play this game eventually, and now was as good a time as any.
“Helmsman of theAster.” The man at the end of the table stood. “Please step forward.”
