Page 89 of Saint
I poured another round before I asked, “What is it I can do for you in return?”
Henrik wet his lips, his demeanor changing suddenly. I was absolutely sure I’d never seen him that way, as if he were afraid that the air itself couldn’t be trusted with whatever he was about to say. “There’s a boy in Waterside. A baby.”
I stared at him, waiting.
“I want you to make sure he doesn’t stay there.”
A hundred questions raced through my mind. It was possibly the last thing I’d ever expect him to say.
“How am I going to do that?”
“Keep an eye on him. Look out for him.”
The way he didn’t meet my eyes told me everything I needed to know. He had a child in Ceros, with one of the women in Waterside. That was what he was doing in the Narrows every few weeks. And now that he was rising through the ranks of the Roth family, he was leaving them behind.
“I can do that.”
I wasn’t sure I should, but I wasn’t going to refuse him. Henrik had taken a chance on me when no one else had. He’d trusted me and taught me how to trade. He’d done it for coin, sure. But I also had a strong suspicion he did it without his father’s approval.
“Thank you.”
I let another silence fall between us before I stood, leaving the bottle behind for him to finish. He was a man who needed to be alone with his drink. And I could let him have that.
I started toward the door, stopping short before I turned back. “This kid got a name?”
“Yeah,” he answered, eyes still fixed on the reflection of light in the glass of rye. He swallowed hard before they lifted to meet mine. “His name is West.”
EPILOGUEISOLDE
Tempest Snare was where it began. It was fitting that it would end there too.
I pulled the flat-edged chisel from my belt, a stream of bubbles trailing up from my lips. That tight feeling in the center of my chest was like the hands of a clock, slowly twisting tighter, ticking, ticking, ticking.
I had maybe three minutes before I needed to surface, but I wouldn’t need that long. Two clean strikes would have the lock of the rusted iron-framed chest freed.
I liked to work the reef alone through the afternoons when the water was warm and the current was calm. The turquoise waters of the Snare were clearer than I’d ever seen them after two straight days of no storms. The sediment had settled so much that it was like looking through glass, everything beneath the surface touched by cascading beams of sunlight.
It was gilded. Otherworldly. And the only place I loved more than the reef was the netting that stretched across the jib of theLark,where Saint and I slept in each other’s arms most nights.
I could see the belly of the ship no more than twenty-five feet above, a perfect dark oval on the surface.
The lock broke beneath the weight of the chisel and a cloud of algae erupted in the water, clouding my vision as I opened the trunk. This wreck wasn’t as old as some of the others, the wood softened but still intact. Inside, I raked through the disintegrated remains of parchment until my fingers caught hold of what I was looking for. A small coin crate.
The pinch in my lungs surfaced right on cue and I took the crate from the chest, letting it fall into the metal basket at my feet before I gave the rope three tugs. In a matter of seconds, it was lifting away from me.
I kicked off, following it at a steady pace to let my body rise slowly through the changing pressure of the water. When I finally hit the air, a gasp broke from my lips and I blinked until the water cleared my strained vision.
There, leaning on the portside railing of the ship, Saint was watching. He was always watching.
The dark scruff on his face was thick after weeks out at sea, making his blue eyes sparkle. “Was about to come down there and get you.”
“You wouldn’t last two minutes down there.” I smiled, still trying to catch my breath.
I fit one foot into the loop at the end of the line and thecrank clicked as I rose from the water, the wind catching me. But I couldn’t feel it. I’d been under too long.
Clove was perched on the steps to the upper deck, the quill clenched in his teeth as he silently marked the depths of the trench we were working. It had taken almost two years, but we’d finished mapping almost a dozen veins of the Snare.
Saint reached out for me and when I took hold of him, his brow cinched. He pulled me onto the deck, hands pressing to my shoulder, my throat, my cheek.
