An amused smirk played at his lips before he reached into his pocket and pulled a small brown paper package from inside. He held it between us, but when I reached for it, he lifted it up, out of my reach.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” His voice grated.

I glared at him, snatching the package from his fingers. It was the same question West had asked me. The same one I didn’t know if I had the answer to. “I know what I’m doing,” I lied.

He took a long drag on the pipe, his eyes squinting as I tore at the edge of the package, pulling back the thick parchment until I could see the corner of a box. When it was free, I lifted the tiny brass latch and opened it. Inside, the golden tiger’s eye of a gem merchant’s ring stared up at me. I let out a long, relieved breath.

“You look all right.”

I glanced up to see his gaze moving over me head to toe. It was his feeble attempt at asking if I was okay. “You could have told me. About Holland.”

He considered me for a moment before he answered. “I could have.”

“You may have gotten rid of Zola, but I know you wanted to get me off the Marigold. It didn’t work.”

His eyes narrowed. “I figured your grandmother would offer you a place with her.”

“She did. I didn’t want it.”

He reached up, combing through his mustache with his fingers. I could have sworn I saw a smile buried on his lips. He looked almost … proud. “Clove says this ring’s for Henrik,” he said, changing the subject.

“It is.”

Saint let another puff of smoke spill from his mouth. “Not the most reliable of criminals.”

“Are you saying you don’t think he’ll keep his word?”

“I’m saying I think you’ve got a fifty-fifty shot.”

Those weren’t good odds. I leaned into the wall beside him, watching the opening of the alley where people filled the street. “I need to ask you something.”

His eyebrows lifted. He looked curious. “Go ahead.”

“Did she ever tell you?”

He frowned as soon as he realized I was talking about my mother. “Tell me what?”

“Isolde.” I said her name, knowing he didn’t like it. An uneasiness rippled through him. “Did she ever tell you where she found the midnight?”

He took the pipe from his mouth. “She never told me.”

“What?” My voice rose. “In all those years? How could she never have told you?”

He looked away from me, perhaps to hide whatever his face would give away. The shadow of it looked a lot like frailty. “I never asked,” he said, but the words were taut.

“I don’t believe you,” I said, incredulous.