“You’re late,” Holland said scornfully. “Did anyone see you?”

“No.” His icy stare settled on her as he came in. I hadn’t seen anyone so much as look at Holland in the eye, but he did. Without reservation.

He stopped before her desk, waiting with the parchments in his scarred hands. They were the scars of a silversmith, striping over his knuckles and wrapping around his palms. I followed them up his arms, where they disappeared beneath his rolled sleeves.

There, just below his elbow, a black tattoo was inked into the skin of his forearm. The twisted shape of two entangled snakes, each eating the other’s tail.

I took a step forward, studying the shape of it. It was the exact same tattoo that Auster had. In the same exact place.

West’s eyes dragged over the man quietly. He noticed it too.

I had never asked Auster about the mark. It wasn’t unusual for traders to have tattoos. But if he was from Bastian, it couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Show me,” Holland muttered.

He tipped his head toward me and West. “I don’t know them.”

“That’s right. You don’t,” Holland said, coldly. “Now show me.”

He hesitated before he untied the leather strap around the parchments, unrolling them carefully across the desk. The page opened to a drawing penned in thin black ink in the style of a ship diagram. But it wasn’t a ship. I took a step closer, eyeing the parchment.

It was a teapot.

Holland leaned forward, studying the rendering carefully. “You’re sure you can do this kind of work?” Her finger moved over the written dimensions.

But there was no way anyone could. I had never seen anything like it. The pot was set inside a silver chamber with geometric cutouts, the design set with several different faceted gemstones. The margin listed them in alphabetical order: amber, fluorite, jade, onyx, topaz. It looked as if the chamber would spin, creating a myriad of color patterns.

“If you don’t think I can do it, get one of your apprentices to.”

I liked the way he glared at her, unyielding. So did Clove. He watched the young man with a wry grin.

“If I had anyone skilled enough to make it, I wouldn’t have commissioned you, Ezra.” Her voice lowered. “Henrik says you can do it. If he’s wrong, he’ll be paying me for the mistake.”

Ezra closed the parchments, knotting the leather ties. “We done?”

My attention drifted to the tattoo again, and when I looked up, Ezra was watching me, his eyes glancing down to the mark.

Holland tapped a finger on the desk methodically. “You have ten days. I need it in hand before the Trade Council meeting in Sagsay Holm.”

I stiffened, remembering what she said that morning. That was also her deadline for dealing with Saint.