The gavel struck again, calling the voices to quiet, and a flustered Rye Guild master fidgeted with it in his hands. “I’m afraid we’ll have to reconvene—”

“Not yet,” Saint interrupted, still standing in the center of the platform. “I still have new business.”

The man gaped at him. “New business? Now?”

“That’s right.” He pulled another parchment from his jacket. “I’d like to submit a request for a license to trade at the port of Bastian.” His voice echoed. “On behalf of my daughter and her ship, the Marigold.”

I stopped breathing, every drop of blood stilling in my veins.

My daughter.

I had never in my life heard him say that word.

Saint turned to look at me, his eyes meeting mine. And every face in the room blinked out into black, leaving only him. And me. And the storm of everything between us.

Maybe, I thought, he was paying what was owed. Breaking even after what I’d done for him. Maybe he was making sure that there was no debt to be laid at his feet.

But that was the license. Not the words. That wasn’t why he’d called me his daughter.

I sucked in a breath through the pain in my throat, not able to keep the tears from falling. They slid down my cheeks silently as I stared at him. And the look in his eye sparked like the strike of flint. Strong and steady and proud.

He was handing over the sharpest blade to whoever might use it against him. But more than that, he was claiming me.

“Granted.” The voice shook me from the trance, bringing me back to the room. Where every eye looked between us.

Helmsman. Dredger. Trader. Orphan. Father.

Daughter.

FORTY

The sea looked different that morning.

I stood at the end of the street, looking out over the harbor of Sagsay Holm. It was still dark, but I could see the dance of blue shifting on the waves.

The Seadragon was missing from the docks. A man on a sling hung over the side of another ship, scraping Holland’s crest from its hull. As the news reached the other ports of the Unnamed Sea, it would disappear. As if all those years and gems and ships had never existed. But there would be a vacuum left behind when Holland was gone. One that would have far-reaching consequences.

The silhouette of a long coat appeared on the cobblestones beside my shadow. I watched it move in the wind for a moment before I turned to look at him.

Saint was clean-shaven, his blue eyes bright over high cheekbones. “Tea?”

I smiled. “Sure.”