“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.
