Clove stared at the table, thinking. I could almost hear his mind turning, formulating. Trying to weave together some kind of plan that would get us all out of this mess. When I opened my mouth to speak, he silenced me with the slightest shake of his head.

It dawned on me then that Saint’s involvement in the bounty wasn’t the only thing Clove had kept secret. He’d also kept hidden the fact that Saint was my father.

“Do you want the job or not?” Holland pressed.

I held my breath. If he turned it down, she’d commission someone else.

Clove’s eyes met hers. “I want the job.”

I set my hands into my lap, my fingers twisting into the skirts. Holland had found a way to reach across the sea, into the Narrows, and draw Zola out. Now she wanted Saint.

“Good.” She popped the berry into her mouth, chewing. “And that brings me to you.” She looked to West.

He leveled his gaze at her, waiting.

“Once Saint is out of the way, there will be an entire trade route left behind. If anyone knows Saint’s operation, it’s the helmsman of his shadow ship.”

And there it was—the other part of her plan. Holland didn’t just want revenge. This was also business.

“I’m not interested,” West said flatly.

“You will be,” Holland said, staring back at him. “Someone like me could always use the talents of someone like you. I’ll make it worth your time.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, watching West carefully. His stoic expression hid whatever he was thinking.

“If what I’ve heard about you is true, then it’s nothing you can’t handle.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” he said.

“Oh, I think I do.” She smiled. An uncomfortable silence filled the space between the four of us before her eyes fell on me again. She stood, folding her napkin neatly and setting it onto the table. “Now, Fable. There’s something I want to show you.”

SEVENTEEN

The doors to Azimuth House opened to the blinding light of late morning. Holland stood at the top of the steps, a shimmering silhouette. She was ethereal, her long silver hair spilling down the gold embroidered cloak that floated out behind her as she made her way to the street.

West hesitated on the top step, watching her. His coat was unbuttoned, the collar of his white shirt open, and the wind blew his unruly hair from where it had been combed the night before.

“I don’t like this,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“Me either,” Clove muttered behind me.