She almost laughed. “Fable, I’m not a fool. The Trade Council hates me. Both of them. They need my coin to keep trade moving, but they’ve drawn very clear boundaries to keep me from controlling their business. You’re Narrows-born, you’re a skilled dredger, and you know how to crew.” She took another sip from her glass. “You’re a gem sage.”

I set my glass down a little too hard. “You’re going to tell them I’m a gem sage?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

My gaze sharpened on her, trying to read the open, honest look in her eye. “Because it’s dangerous.”

There was a reason gem sages were almost unheard of now. The days of gem merchants pursuing the title were long over because no one wanted to hold that much value, not when traders and merchants would do anything to control it.

“I’m not a gem sage. I never finished my apprenticeship.”

She waved a hand, dismissing me. “Those are exactly the kinds of details they don’t need to know.”

I leaned back into the booth, shaking my head. Maybe that was another reason Isolde had left Bastian. If I had to bet on it, I’d say Holland had tried to use my mother, too.

“Now, it’s important that you act as if you know how to behave if we are going to make the right impression,” she continued. “There’s no way to pass you off as if you actually belong, but my guess is that will probably work in our favor.”

There were those words again. We. Our.

“You will not speak unless spoken to. You will let me answer the Trade Council’s questions. You will look the part.” Again, she glared at my clothes. “I’ll have a dressmaker come fit you for something tonight.”

I stared at her. “What if they don’t grant you the license?”

“They will,” she said defensively. “With Zola and Saint out of the water, the Narrows will be hard-pressed to raise up another trade operation that can expand its route to the Unnamed Sea. If you’re running the trade, everyone wins.”

Except Saint. Except me.

I tried to relax, pulling in a slow breath as I picked the silver cup back up and took another sip. Holland had set up her hand well. With Zola gone, every crew in the Narrows would be casting their bids to compete with Saint for what little power was left. But if Holland got her license, she’d be holding it all by the time the sun set tomorrow.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said.

“Get what over with?”

“The contract.”

Holland touched her fingertips together before she picked up a leather-bound satchel from the seat beside her and opened it. I watched her sort through the parchments before she found the one she was looking for—an unmarked envelope. She set it onto the table before me.