“Saint won’t let that happen.” I tried to sound sure. But the truth was that there was no telling what Saint would do.

Auster reached across the table for another piece of bread, and the tattoo of tangled snakes peeked out from beneath his rolled sleeve. Two knotted serpents eating each other’s tails. It was the same one the young man named Ezra had, the one who’d been in Holland’s office.

A distant thought whispered in the back of my mind, making me still.

The midnight would save Saint, but it wouldn’t save the Narrows. If Holland opened her route to Ceros, it would sink every trader posted there.

“Auster?” I said.

He looked up from his plate, his mouth full of bread. “Yeah?”

“Tell me about that tattoo.”

His gray eyes sharpened, his hand freezing in midair. On the other side of the table, West was silent.

“Why?” Auster asked warily.

“What are you thinking?” West leaned closer to me.

“You were right about Holland. This isn’t going to be as simple as trading midnight for Saint. If she gets license to trade in the Narrows, it doesn’t matter. All of us will be working the docks by the time she’s through.”

West nodded. “I know.”

“No one can touch her. She controls the trade in the Unnamed Sea and she owns the Trade Council.”

West shrugged. “The Narrows Trade Council has held out this long. There’s nothing we can do except hope that they don’t grant her the license.”

“That’s not true,” I said, my mind still unraveling the tangle of thoughts.

They both looked at me, waiting.

“We know that Holland wants to take out the traders posted from Ceros.” My gaze drifted, landing on Auster. “She’s got a commission with an unlicensed merchant to sweeten the deal with the Council. A commission she doesn’t want anyone to know about.”

Auster’s mouth went crooked. “With who?”

“When we were with Holland, she made a deal with someone who had that same tattoo.”

Auster looked suddenly uncomfortable, shifting in his seat. “What was his name?”

“Ezra,” I said.

Auster’s eyes snapped up.

“Do you know him?”

“I know him,” he answered.

“What can you tell us about him?”

“Nothing, if I know what’s good for me. You don’t want to get involved with the Roths. Trust me.”

“Wait. You’re a Roth?” My voice rose.

But West didn’t look at all surprised. He’d known exactly what that tattoo was.

“You think we can use them?” West said, keeping his voice low.

“No,” Auster said evenly.

“Why not?”

“They’re dangerous, West,” Auster answered. “Henrik would sooner cut you than invite you to tea, like Holland.”

I pushed up the sleeve of Auster’s shirt, studying the mark. “How do you know him?”