Fable

by Adrienne Young

  “What?”

  “You can spend sixteen years scraping to buy yourself out from under Saint. Or you can do it in one night. With me. No more shadow-ship work. No more reporting and spying or orders like the ones you had in Sowan.”

  He stiffened, and I could see the words hurt him. He didn’t want me knowing about whatever happened in Sowan.

  “I can’t take you on, Fable,” he said again, running a hand through his hair and holding it back from his face.

  “You think I can’t handle myself.”

  “You lived on Jeval for four years. I know you can handle yourself.”

  “Then what is it? Saint?”

  He stared at his boots, his jaw ticking. “Saint is the only operation in the Narrows running routes to the Unnamed Sea since Zola’s ships were banned. He’s the only legitimate competition for the traders in Bastian. It’s a position any trader in the Narrows would cut their own hand off for, and if anyone finds out who you are, every one of them will be looking to take leverage against Saint.”

  It was a fair point. But before I could even argue, he was speaking again.

  “But more than that, I don’t trust you.”

  “What?”

  “You just tried to sway my own crew against me.”

  My mouth dropped open. “I—”

  “You manipulated the only people I trust with my life. I depend on them.”

  “You wouldn’t even hear me out. I knew that if they knew who I was, they would listen to what I had to say.”

  “That’s not how a crew works.”

  I let out a long breath. “Then teach me.”

  West slid his hands into his pockets, falling quiet for a moment. “If it comes down to choosing us or Saint, you’ll choose Saint.”

  I laughed. “Why would I? He’s never chosen me.”

  “The only reason you want to crew on the Marigold is because Saint turned you away,” he tried again.

  “And the only reason you’re helmsman of the Marigold is because Saint made you helmsman of his shadow ship. It doesn’t matter why we’re here, West. We’re here. I need someone to trust with my life.”

  His mouth pressed into a hard line.

  “You don’t trust me, but I trust you.” My voice lowered.

  “You have no reason to trust me.”

  I crossed my arms, looking away from him. “You came back.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I sat on the cliffs above the beach on Jeval every night, imagining the sails of my father’s ship on the horizon. Hoping he’d come back for me.” I paused. “He didn’t—you did.”

  He looked up then, his eyes meeting mine.

  “I want to dredge for the Marigold. I want to get you out from under Saint.”

  He leaned into the wall behind him, scratching the scruff at his jaw. “I never should have let you onto the Marigold in the first place.”

  “What does this have to do with what happened on Jeval?”

  “Everything.”

  “You just told Saint that you gave me passage to save your own neck.”

  “I took you off Jeval because I didn’t want to leave you there,” he breathed. “I couldn’t leave you there.” It was the first thing he’d said to me that had the heavy weight of truth in the words.

  I tried to read him, studying the shadows that moved over his face, but only fragments of him were visible, as always. He was only pieces, never a whole.

  He was quiet for a long moment before he took a step toward me. “I’ll cast my vote to bring you on as our dredger.” The heat of him coiled around me. “If you tell me that you understand something.”

  “What is it?”

  His eyes ran over my face. “I can’t care about anyone else, Fable.”

  His meaning filled the small bit of space between us, making me feel like the walls were creeping in. Because I knew why he’d said it. It was in the way his eyes dropped to my mouth sometimes when he looked at me. It was in the way his voice deepened just a little when he said my name. West was taking a different kind of risk by voting me onto his crew, and in this moment, he was letting me see it.

  “Tell me you understand.” He held his hand out between us, waiting.

  This wasn’t just an admission. This was a contract.

  So, I met his eyes, not a single hitch in my voice as I took his hand into mine. “I understand.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  A single lantern glowed up on the Marigold as I walked down the dock in the dark.

  The empty ships floated in the harbor like sleeping giants, the crews drinking their weight in the city, and only the harbor workers they’d paid to watch the bays were out. Even Waterside looked empty, the little faces that usually lined the alleyways gone. Ceros looked so much smaller in the dark, but I felt less small within it.

  When I reached the slip where the Marigold was anchored, my boots stopped at the bloodstain on the dock where the two bodies had been that morning. It was scrubbed clean, but the hints of red were stained into the wood. I could still see them, their crumpled frames lying in the sun, and I wondered who they were. Probably poor men spending their nights for hire to make extra coin. It was a pathetic way to die, caught in the middle of someone else’s feud.

  The ladder was unrolled, waiting for me, and I looked up, fitting my bandaged hands onto the rungs. I thought I’d stood on the decks of the Marigold for the last time, but now, this ship would become my home. This crew would become my family. And like the turn of the wind before the most unpredictable of storms, I could feel that everything was about to change.

  I lifted myself up over the railing, and the others were already gathered on the deck, standing in a circle before the helm. The naked masts towered over us like skeletons, reaching up into the dark until they disappeared. The torn canvas now lay rolled up in the hull.

  West stared at the deck as I found a place beside Willa, the tension visible in the way he stood. He’d agreed, but he wasn’t happy about it, and that wounded me more than I wanted to admit.

  “You sure about this, dredger?” Willa’s arm pressed into mine as she leaned into me.

  I looked at West, and for just a moment, he met my eyes. “I’m sure.”

  And I was. It wasn’t just that there was nowhere else for me to go. It was that since that first night sleeping in the empty hammock below deck, there seemed to be a place for me here. I fit. Even if West didn’t want me on the crew, I could make my own way with the five of them. I could trust them. And that was enough. That was more than enough.

  Auster pulled the wool cap from his head, letting his unbound hair spill over his shoulder, and held it upside down in the middle of the circle.

  A lump rose in my throat as I stared into it.

  Willa took a single copper from her belt. “I say we let this good-for-nothing Jevali dredger crew for the Marigold.” She flicked the coin into the air, and it flashed against the lantern light as it spun, landing in Auster’s hat. “Even if she is a bad luck charm.”

  “Fine by me.” Paj snapped a copper between his fingers, shooting it in after Willa’s.

  Auster followed, giving me a wink. “Me too.”

  Hamish took a copper from his vest, eyeing me. The hesitation wasn’t hidden on his face. “What was Saint’s daughter doing on Jeval?”

  I shifted on my feet, my hands sliding into the pockets of my jacket. “What?”

  “If we’re going to trust you, I want to know the story. How’d you end up on Jeval?”

  “We don’t need to know.” West gave Hamish a warning look.

  “I do.”

  “He left me there,” I said, my throat tightening. “The night after the Lark sank, he left me on Jeval.”

  They fell silent, their eyes finding the ground. I didn’t know their stories, but I imagined they couldn’t be much better than mine. I wasn’t foolish enough to feel sorry for myself. The Narrows was the edge of a blade. You couldn’t live here and not get cut. And I didn’t
have it in me to be ashamed of where I’d come from. Those days were gone.

  Hamish gave me a nod before he flipped his coin in, and they all looked to West. He stood silent as the seabirds called out in the dark behind him, and I wondered if he would change his mind, letting the crew outvote him.

  When he finally lifted his hand, the glint of copper shined between his fingers. He dropped it into the hat without a word.

  His words echoed in the silence. He’d take me on. He’d take my coin to save the Marigold. But that was it.

  “Get the rye, Willa.” Auster pushed the hat into my hands, and I looked down into it.

  It was tradition for every member of a crew to give a copper to the newest member as a show of good faith. I’d seen my father’s crews do the same many times. But in the years since I first set foot on Jeval, I’d never been given anything. Ever. I didn’t bother trying to hold back my tears. They streamed down my face one after the other as I hugged the hat to me.

  Like a weary bird flying out over the most desolate sea, I finally had a place to land.

  Willa uncorked one of the ink-blue bottles from the tavern, and Paj passed out the glasses as she filled them, the overflowing rye hitting the deck at our feet. All together, we knocked them back, taking the rye in one swallow, and they erupted in cheers. I coughed against the burn in my throat, laughing.

  “How much?” I asked, turning the empty glass in my hand.

  “How much what?” Willa refilled her glass.

  “How much coin do we need for the sails?”

  Hamish looked a little surprised at the question, but he pulled the book from inside his vest. He took the lantern from the mast and set it on the deck between us, opening to the last marked page, and we all crouched down around it, our faces lit in the dim light. His handwriting scrawled across the parchment in rows with the numbers on the right side organized into sums.

  “After paying the repair crew and making up the losses from the storm, we’ll need at least eight hundred coppers for the sails.”

  “Eight hundred?” Paj looked skeptical.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s what we’ll have to offer to get a sailmaker to do it. No one will want trouble with Zola.”

  “He’s right,” West said.

  The rye in my veins didn’t dull the sting of the number. I knew it would be expensive, but I hadn’t guessed the cost would be that high. I hoped my plan would still hold against it.

  “Can you get it or not?” The light reflected off of Hamish’s spectacles as he looked up from the page.

  “I can get it.”

  Willa twisted the cork back into the bottle and set it between us. “You never said how.”

  “Does it matter how?”

  “Not really.” She shrugged. “But I’d like to know all the same.”

  “Saint’s going to pay for the sails.”

  West’s eyes snapped up to me, and Paj cleared his throat. “Saint?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And how are you going to get him to do that?” Willa was clearly entertained.

  “I have something he wants. Something I know he’d give anything to have back.”

  They didn’t ask what it was, but I could see on their faces that the idea made them nervous. Saint was already angry with them about Zola. As soon as he figured out I was playing him to repair the Marigold, he’d likely want all of our heads.

  “You’re playing with fire, Fable,” Willa said, but the wicked smile on her lips reached her eyes, making them twinkle.

  I could see that West was thinking the same thing, but the amusement was missing from his face. He stared into his empty cup, the light catching the green glass. The cut that ran along his forehead was hidden beneath his hair, but the entire left side of his face was still swollen, one of his eyes bloodshot.

  This crew had already been in trouble when I stepped onto their ship, but I couldn’t help wondering if I was going to be the storm that finally sank them.

  THIRTY

  I’d broken my promise to him, but I was still living by Saint’s rules.

  Dawn swelled behind the land as I stood between two buildings, watching the bridge. If I was right, Saint’s boots would be knocking on the wood planks any moment as he made his way to Griff’s tavern. When I was a girl, if we weren’t out to sea, he took tea at Griff’s every single morning before the sun rose.

  I’d thought maybe Saint had changed in the years since I’d last seen him. But if he was still the same ruthless trader who cut the knees out from everyone around him so that he stood taller, then maybe he was still the same bastard who took tea at Griff’s before sunup.

  The distant sound of footsteps made me look up to the only bridge that led out of the Pinch. Even though they were empty at this time of morning, Saint didn’t like to walk in the muck of the streets.

  A shadowed figure moved against the dark sky, and I could tell by the way his coat rippled in the wind that it was him. I stood up off the crate I was sitting on and stepped onto the street below, following. He took the same turns he always did, heading to Waterside, and I walked with my hands tucked into my pockets, watching the shape of him slip over the buildings as he passed. That was like Saint too—casting his shadow on everything around him.

  When he started down the ladder near the harbor, I pressed myself against the wall of the nearest building and waited, holding my breath. The pale light made his coat glow like the blue coral snakes that slithered over the east reef of Jeval. His boots hit the ground, and he started down the alley just as the lanterns of the city were flickering to life. The street would be busy with dock workers and bakers in a matter of minutes, the wheels of Ceros starting to turn.

  I waited for him to disappear around the corner before I followed, keeping my footsteps light. The sign for Griff’s tavern hung out over the alley, the words scratched off by the brunt of sea winds. But I knew the place. The block stone walls were framed in by huge timber beams, the roof so steeply slanted that even the birds couldn’t land on it.

  Saint disappeared through the door, and I stopped in front of the window, watching him. The place was empty except for Griff standing behind the counter, tying a cloth around his waist. He didn’t bother looking up as Saint slid a chair back from a table and took a seat.

  A woman appeared from the back, a tray of tea in her hands, and she set it down carefully, arranging the pot at the corner of Saint’s table as he pulled a roll of parchments from his coat. The teacup looked tiny in his hand as he took a sip, his attention on the pages.

  I put my hand on the latch, steadying myself before I pushed the door open.

  Griff glanced up from the counter and the woman reappeared in the doorway, both of them startled. But it was Saint’s gaze that fell heaviest on me. He looked up from his teacup, his thick brows arched over his bright blue eyes.

  “Morning.” I gave a nod to the woman. “I’ll take a pot of tea, please.”

  She looked to Griff, as if to get permission before she moved, and he nodded, clearly suspicious of me. But his eyes widened as I took the chair opposite Saint, sitting before him with my hands folded on the table.

  “What are you doing here?” Saint’s gaze fell back to the parchment, but the way he shifted in his seat told me that I’d surprised him.

  “Ledgers?” I leaned over them, feigning interest.

  “That’s right. Two ships came in late last night.” He picked the cup back up, and a ring of tea was left on the corner of the parchment. “What do you want?”

  “I want to have tea with my father.” I smiled, my voice dropping to a whisper.

  But every muscle in Saint’s body tensed, his hand gripping the cup so tightly that it looked as if it might shatter between his fingers. His eyes slid to meet mine as the woman set down a second pot of tea between us, rearranging the table to fit everything.

  “Milk?” she asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  “What about sugar, my dear?”

&nb
sp; “Sure.” I looked to Saint. “I haven’t had sugar in years.”

  He set his tea down a little too hard, and it sloshed out as I filled my own cup. The woman returned with a little dish of cream and a few sugar cubes in a linen napkin. Saint ignored me as I stirred them in.

  “Did any of your ships get damaged in that storm a few days ago?”

  “Everyone’s ships were damaged in that storm,” he muttered.

  “Zola’s too?”

  He dropped the parchment. “What do you know about Zola?”

  “Nothing much, other than the fact that he’s got some kind of feud going on with that gem trader from the Unnamed Sea.” I watched him. “And the Marigold. I heard their sails got slashed.”

  “The less you know about his business, the better.”

  I picked up the teapot on his side of the table and refilled his cup. “You’ve got trouble with him too?”

  “Your mother did,” he said, and my hands froze on the pot. “So, yes. I have trouble with him.”

  “He knew her?” I took care not to say her name. The last thing I needed was for him to get angry.

  “She dredged for him before I took her onto my crew.”

  I stared at him, shocked at his candor. Saint always spoke in riddles, but he was giving me bits of information I hadn’t even asked for. It made sense that Isolde would have dredged for other crews before she worked for Saint, but she had never talked about the time between leaving Bastian and joining the crew on the Lark.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  He leaned over the table toward me. “It doesn’t matter.”

  I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to take hold of his lovely coat and scream.

  You weren’t made for this world, Fable.

  He didn’t think I could take care of myself. He’d given me the Lark, but he didn’t think I could make my own way. Not really.

  I filled my lungs with the air that always seemed to hover around him. The proud, hardened demeanor that was always lit in his eyes. I pushed down the ache in the center of my chest that just wanted him to reach across the table and take my hand. The small, broken part of me that wished his eyes would lift from the parchments and look at me. Really look at me.