West’s eyes flicked up to the harbor in the distance. But from here, it was impossible to make out the ships. By now, the crew of the Marigold would be worried, and if the harbor master was in Holland’s pocket, he’d be watching them closely. I could only hope that they would lay low and wait it out like West had ordered.

Holland looked between the three of us with a question in her eyes that made me uncomfortable. We weren’t in the Narrows anymore, but the same rules applied. The less she knew about who West and Clove were to me, the better.

We followed her down the staircase to the street. It seemed the whole city was already doing business. I didn’t miss the way people looked up as Holland passed, and neither did West. He watched around us, glancing up to windows and down alleys as we walked, and his silence was making me more nervous by the minute.

Clove hadn’t told me what West had done for my father in detail, but he’d said enough to make me worry about what West was capable of. What he’d be willing to do if he thought Holland was dangerous, and what it would cost him.

Not even a day ago, I’d been afraid I might never see him again. The sinking feeling returned, dropping down the center of my chest, and I moved closer to him. His hand drifted toward mine but he didn’t take it, his fingers curling into a fist. As if at any moment, he would take hold of me and start for the harbor.

There was a part of me that wished he would. But there was a shift in power happening in the Narrows. Zola was gone, and Holland’s sights were set on Saint. Blood aside, that didn’t bode well for the Marigold. If we were going to get ahead of this, we needed to know what was coming.

The coin in Clove’s chest rattled as he walked beside me. He hadn’t taken Holland’s offer to stow the coin in her study, and now he was drawing the eye of nearly everyone on the street as we made our way to the farthest pier on the south side of Bastian. Holland’s crest was painted on its brick, with private slips stretching far enough from shore that each could easily dock three ships. It wasn’t like any I’d ever seen in the Narrows. It looked more like a small port than a shipping pier.

The men standing at the doors pulled them open as we reached the entrance. Holland didn’t slow, walking down the center aisle where countless stalls filled the floor. The rectangular workspaces were sectioned off with polished wood beams, each worker clad in an apron that had Holland’s crest burned into the leather.