“Does it matter?”

The brown-haired young man smirked. “I told Henrik there’s no way you’d come through.” He stepped forward, extending a hand. “Murrow. You must be Fable.”

I stared at it, not moving, and he dropped it to his side.

“That makes me wonder if you held up your end of the deal,” I said, trying to read his face.

But behind him, Ezra was expressionless, his features smooth. “I did. But I covered my bases.” A group of men came out of the tavern’s side door, and Ezra watched them from the corner of his eye.

I slipped the ring from my finger and dropped it into his palm. He immediately pulled a monocle from his jacket and fit it to his eye, shifting away from me so that he could check the gem set into the ring. When he was satisfied, he dropped it into his pocket.

“I kept my end of the deal. Now it’s your turn,” I said, my voice hardening. “How do I know you’ll do what you promised?”

Murrow grinned, a spark lighting his eyes. “Guess you’ll have to trust us.”

West moved beside me, and before I even realized what had happened, he had his hands around Tru’s throat, dragging him toward us.

“West!”

Ezra and Murrow already had their knives drawn. Ezra lunged forward and froze when West pressed the tip of his knife to Tru’s throat. The boy’s eyes were wide, his face draining of its color.

“What are you doing?” I rasped.

I set my hand on West’s arm. Despite his cool exterior, I could feel the heavy pulse under his skin. I wanted to believe that it was a bluff. That he wouldn’t hurt a child. But looking into his eyes now, I wasn’t sure. This was the West my father had hired. The one he’d relied on.

“Here’s the problem.” West’s face was smooth. Tru thrashed in his arms, his scream muffled by West’s hand over his mouth. “I don’t trust you.”

A drop of beryl-red blood trailed down Tru’s neck, staining the collar of his clean white shirt. I watched West’s eyes. They were empty.

“So you take the ring. And we’ll take the boy,” West said. “You’ll get him back tomorrow. After the Trade Council meeting.”

“You’re not going anywhere with him,” Ezra said. His eyes jumped from West to Tru. He looked afraid, and I remembered that with the exception of Ezra, the Roths were family.

But there was something strange about him. Different from the light in Henrik or Holland or Saint’s eyes. He looked genuinely worried for the boy, and I realized that Auster was right. Ezra was cut from a different cloth. So, why was he still with the Roths?

“You saw him that night, didn’t you?” I asked, the words almost a whisper.