I lifted the lid, and the light coming through the window fell on the shine of a hundred gold rings. Every size, some with stones, some without. I raked through them with my fingers until I saw it.
“There.” I held it up before me, turning it in the light. “How much?”
“Ten coppers if you get the hell out of here.”
I smirked, dropping the coins onto the counter. The bell chimed above me as I opened the door, and I went down the steps, pulling the leather string from where it was wound tightly around my hair. I slipped the ring onto it and tied it around my neck, clasping the jacket at the top.
The fog finally cleared as the sun peeked up over the first rooftops, and I looked out over a sun-soaked, shimmering Dern. So many memories crept through the alleyways, so many ghosts. I followed them back the way I’d come, and when I passed the tavern, Saint’s table was empty, the two teacups left sitting alone.
The bell for the merchant’s house rang out, and I cut through a side street to the docks, not wanting to see any merchants or traders from the day before. If we wanted to outrun the talk that had probably already started, we needed to get on the water. By now, the crew would be readying the ship, waiting to shove off.
“A real shame.”
A voice came from the opening of the next alley, and I stopped, staring at the shadow that crept over the cobblestones before me. It stretched and grew as Zola stepped out from behind a whitewashed brick wall, his black coat pulling around him in the wind.
“It’s a real shame to see you waste your time with the likes of that crew, Fable.”
My hand slid around my back for the knife at my belt. I’d never told him my name. “How do you know who I am?”
He laughed, his head tilting to the side so that he could see me beneath the rim of his hat. “You look just like her.”
My heartbeat skipped, a sinking feeling making me feel off-balance.
“And just like your mother, you’ve made some really stupid choices.”
Three men stepped out of the alley behind him.
I looked over my shoulder, to the empty street that led back to the gambit shop. There wasn’t a soul to see whatever Zola had planned, and it wasn’t likely I’d come out the other side of it.
I stepped backward, the trembling in my hands making the knife shake. I wouldn’t be able to make it past all four of them, but if I went backward, I’d have farther to run before I reached the docks.
There was no time to think. I turned, pivoting on my heel and launching myself forward to run with the knife at my side. My boots hit the wet stone and the sound multiplied as the men took off after me.
I looked back to where Zola still stood, his coat blowing in the wind, and slammed into something hard as I turned, the air leaving my lungs. The knife flew from my grasp as I fell forward and arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders.
“Let go of me!” I screamed, shoving into the man who had me, but he was too strong. “Get off!”
I reared my foot back and brought my knee up in a snap, driving it between his legs and he fell forward, a choking sound strangling in his throat. We tumbled backward, and my head hit the wet cobblestones, making the sky above me explode with light.
My hand reached for my boot, sliding West’s knife free, and as another man came over me, I swung it out, grazing his forearm. He looked at the blood seeping beneath his sleeve before he reached down, taking my jacket into his hands and the third man wrenched the knife from my grip.
When I looked up again, his fist was in the air, and it came down with a crack across my face. Blood filled my mouth and I tried to scream, but before I could, he hit me again. The light swayed overhead, the black creeping in, and with another, it flickered out.
FORTY-THREE
It was a love that broke us all.
My mother was high on the mast, just a slice of black against the glimmering sun overhead. It glinted around her and the dark red braid swung at her back as she climbed. I stood on the deck below, fitting my small feet into her dancing shadow.
She was the sun and the sea and the moon in one. She was the north star that pulled us to the shore.
That’s what my father said. The sound of his voice faded in the ripple of wind over the sails, the canvas snapping.
But I wasn’t on the Lark anymore.
The iron taste of blood was still on my tongue when I opened my eyes. But it was too bright. Every inch of my face throbbed, the corner of my eye so swollen that I could barely see out of it. I looked up to the rows of sheets reaching overhead, my heart wrenching in my chest. I couldn’t see over the railing, but I could hear it—the water lapping against the hull of a ship.
The deck beneath me was warmed in the sun, and when I looked up to find it in the sky, my stomach dropped like a stone in my gut. Tears stung in my eyes as I looked up to Zola’s crest burned into the ornate wooden archway.
My arms were pulled behind me, bound around the foremast, and the ache in my back shot into my shoulders, down to my wrists in a quick pulse. I tried to breathe through it, looking for anything nearby I could use to cut free.
Shadows slipped over me as the crew went about their work, their eyes not meeting mine, and I looked for Zola. But he wasn’t at the helm. Men worked the lines on the masts and a woman with cropped hair sat in a pile of nets on the quarterdeck.
Behind me, on the boom, I spotted one figure I knew.
The pain in my body was nothing compared to the slice and sting of recognizing him. The set of his shoulders and the ears that stuck out beneath his cap. The way his hands hung heavily at his sides—hands that had held me as we leapt from the sinking Lark into the churning sea.
I shook my head, blinking to clear my vision. But when I looked up again, he turned, jumping down from the foot of the sail, and I caught sight of the profile of his face. The bridge of his nose and the curl of his blond mustache.
A feeling like frost inside my lungs crept up my throat, the name frozen in my mouth.
Clove.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing this book truly did feel like an adventure, and I couldn’t have done it alone.
I always give my thanks to my own little crew first—Joel, Ethan, Josiah, Finley, and River—because they are the ones who see me through the restless fever dream that is drafting a story. Thank you for the early morning coffee runs, the meals carried into my office, and the late-night glasses of wine that appear beside my laptop. Most of all, thank you for the imagination that keeps my stories alive.
To my father, who this book is dedicated to, this story came to me only days after you left this world. Sometimes, it felt as if you were watching over my shoulder as I typed the words on its pages. There are messages in a bottle throughout this book for you. I have no doubt you’ll find them.
And thank you to the rest of my clan and kin, Mom, Laura, Rusty—king of the Rustyrita—Brandon, Rhiannon, Adam, and Chelsea. I just honestly don’t like anyone as much as I like you guys.
All my gratitude to my agent, Barbara Poelle, and my editor, Eileen Rothschild. I feel like you both had so much unflinching belief in Fable’s story and I’m so glad we could bring her to the shelf together. To my incredible team at Wednesday Books: Sara Goodman, Tiffany Shelton, DJ DeSmyter, Alexis Neuville, Brant Janeway, and Mary Moates—thank you for everything you do. I couldn’t keep this ship afloat without you. And to Kerri Resnick, designer of Fable’s cover, you did it again! So lucky to have you and your talent!
Yet another acknowledgment to my critique partner/work wife/codependent storyteller, Kristin Dwyer. I have never wanted to throttle you more than when you made me delete the first six chapters of this book and rewrite them. Thank you for not ever letting me give less to a story than my absolute best.
To my writer friends, I could not navigate the waters of publishing without you! A huge thank-you to Stephanie Garber, who somehow always has the words that will keep me believing wholeheartedly in my work. Thank you also to my soul sister, Sh
ea Ernshaw, for whom I don’t even need to add specifics because she can literally read my mind. You are a gift. Thank you to Isabel Ibanez, Rachel Griffin, Stephanie Brubaker, Shelby Mahurin, Adalyn Grace, Shannon Dittemore, and the rest of my local writer gang.
Perhaps the most important contributor to this book was Lille Moore, who served tirelessly as my sailing expert on this project. I can’t believe how lucky I got when you answered my request for someone who sails! I am endlessly grateful for the time, energy, and dedication you gave to Fable. Thank you.
Thank you to my beta readers, Natalie Faria, Isabel Ibanez, and Vanessa Del Rio. I don’t know what I would do without you.
And a heartfelt thank-you to my non-writer-world supporters—the A’s, the Ladies, and everyone else who has been there for me along this journey.
ALSO BY ADRIENNE YOUNG
Sky in the Deep
The Girl the Sea Gave Back
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Adrienne Young is a born and bred Texan turned California girl. She is a foodie with a deep love of history and travel and a shameless addiction to coffee. When she’s not writing, you can find her on her yoga mat, scouring antique fairs for old books, sipping wine over long dinners, or disappearing into her favorite art museums. She lives with her documentary filmmaker husband and their four little wildlings beneath the West Coast sun. She is the author of the Sky in the Deep duology. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Map
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Acknowledgments
Also by Adrienne Young
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
First published in the United States by Wednesday Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group
FABLE. Copyright © 2020 by Adrienne Young. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, N.Y. 10271.
www.wednesdaybooks.com
Cover design by Kerri Resnick
Cover photograph of girl by Svetlana Belyaeva; hair © puhhha/ Shutterstock.com; ship © Eva Bidiuk/Shutterstock.com
Map by Isabel Ibañez
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-25436-8 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-25437-5 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250254375
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].
First Edition: 2020
Fable Page 25