I could see Holland weighing her options. She could refuse and risk a scene—one that could reveal her connection to Henrik—or she could agree and risk the same thing happening inside. Either way, she could lose.

She took a step toward him. “You try anything and you won’t make it out of the pier alive.”

“Fine by me.” He smiled.

Holland gave an exasperated sigh before she led us to the threshold of the pier.

“They’re with me,” she said smoothly as the man at the door studied her merchant’s ring.

He answered with a nod, eyeing Henrik. He recognized him, and he wouldn’t be the only one who would.

Inside, glass lanterns hung from the rafters, filling the ceiling with what looked like rows of golden suns. More than one set of eyes lifted to land on me and West as we followed in Holland’s wake. More than one whisper broke the silence.

Holland wove through the fine suits and frocks until the floor opened to a railed rectangle, where two long, empty tables faced each other, each lined with five chairs. The crowd encircled it, filling every inch of the building, and my throat constricted when I realized what they were looking at.

Ezra’s teapots and teacups were set before each chair.

They were exactly as Holland conceived them, their forms astonishing and their grandeur inconceivable. The facets of each gem sparkled, drawing every eye in the room.

Tiered rows of seats marked with trading crests and merchant’s insignias overlooked the platform. Holland found her chair on the row closest to the tables.

I searched the other chairs, looking for Saint’s crest—a triangular sail wreathed by a cresting wave. But when I finally found his seat, it was empty. Behind it, Zola’s crest marked another.

I looked up to West. His eyes were trained on the same thing.

“Do you see him?” I spoke under my breath.

He scanned the room, over the heads around us. “No.”

I touched the back of West’s hand before I shouldered away from him, finding the stairs that led up to Holland.

I took my place beside her, watching the room. Henrik stood at the side of the platform beside West, a look of pure enjoyment on his face. Ezra hadn’t said Henrik was going to be there, and if there was some scheme that betrayed both Holland and Saint, we were about to find out.

A woman came by with a tray of cava glasses, and Holland took two, handing one to me.

The pop of a gavel slamming on the table made me flinch, and the crowd instantly quieted, pressing tighter together as the doors on the balcony flew open.