An older man stood in the opening, one hand tucked into the pocket of a leather apron. His mustache was curled up on the ends, his hair combed neatly to one side. Pale blue eyes shone from beneath bushy eyebrows as they jumped from me to Paj, finally landing on Auster.

“Ah,” he crooned, a wide smile breaking on his lips. But it was missing the warmth that Ezra’s had. “Tru said the lost Roth darling was sitting in my parlor. I told him it wasn’t possible. That my nephew wouldn’t have the guts to show up here as long as he lived.”

“Guess you were wrong,” Auster said, meeting his gaze coolly.

“I see you brought your benefactor.” Henrik looked to Paj. “Happy to re-break that nose. Maybe we can get it straight this time.”

“Only one way to find out,” Paj growled, moving toward him.

Auster caught him in the chest with the flat of his palm, and Henrik laughed, taking a pipe from the shelf. “Thought you were done with the Roths, Auster.”

“I am. That doesn’t mean I can’t do business with them.”

Henrik arched an eyebrow curiously. “What business could you possibly have that we would want?”

Auster jerked his chin to the parchment on the desk and Henrik picked it up. “What the—”

“Can you do it or not?” Auster barked.

“Of course we can. The question is, why the hell would we?” Henrik laughed.

“Name your price,” I said, ready to negotiate.

Henrik narrowed his eyes at me. “Who’d you bring into my house, Auster?” The timber of his voice was verging on dangerous.

“I’m Fable. Holland’s granddaughter. And I’m looking for a silversmith.”

Henrik looked down his nose at me. “There is no price I’d take for that commission. Crossing Holland will put an end to our business in Bastian. For good.”

“What if I told you that Holland won’t be your problem anymore?”

“Then I’d tell you that you’re as stupid as you are pretty,” Henrik taunted. “I’d make more coin telling Holland you were here than I would off of your commission.”

It was exactly what I’d been afraid he’d say. There was no reason for him to trust me and there was nothing I could offer him that would be more valuable than what Holland could. He’d be taking more than one chance by helping us.

My eyes trailed around the room. Peeling wallpaper, expensive candlesticks, the finest tailored jacket hanging on a rusted hook. Henrik was like Zola. A man trying to be something he never could. Not until he had one thing.

“Do this commission and I’ll give you what Holland can’t,” I said.

Henrik’s smile faded, replaced by a tick in his jaw. “And what is that?”