Namesake (Fable, #2)

by Adrienne Young

I wasn’t just some Jevali dredger or a pawn in Zola’s feud with West. I was Saint’s daughter. And before I left the Luna, every bastard on this crew was going to know it.

Now I was the girl who’d found her own way. And I also had something to lose.

I glowered at him, not sure I could believe that he was actually talking to me. What’s more, he wanted information, as if we were on the same side. “I guess you’ll find out, won’t you?” “I see.” He reached into the pocket of his vest, pulling a small purse free. “What’ll it cost me?” “Four years,” I answered heavily. His brow knit in question. I took a step toward him, and his hand tightened on the purse. “Give me back the four years I spent on that island. Then I’ll tell you which one of those dredgers is most likely to cut your throat.”

She was a ghost. And for a moment, I thought that maybe I was too. That I was existing in some in-between space where Isolde had been waiting for me.

But that night in Dern, when we said we wouldn’t lie to each other, he hadn’t told me the whole truth. And I was afraid of what I might find if he did. That when I saw him again, he would look different to me. That he would look like Saint.

There are some things that can’t be carved from a person, no matter how far from home they’ve sailed.

“Isolde is the reason Holland has had a bounty on my head all these years. She’s the reason I lost any chance I had at trading in the Unnamed Sea and the reason I haven’t been back since.” “What are you saying?” “I’m saying that when I helped Holland’s daughter escape Bastian, I fell out of her good graces.”

Saint was a bastard, but he was mine. He belonged to me. And even more unbelievable, I really did love him.

“You can’t be serious,” Paj rasped. “Is there a bastard from here to the Narrows you’re not related to?”

I eyed him. “Why aren’t you mad like the others?” “Oh, I’m mad,” he said, reaching for another piece of bread. “What you did was wrong, West. When you took us on, you said we’d each have an equal say. You went back on your word.” “Then why are you playing nice?” I asked. “Because.” He looked past me, to West. “If it was Paj, I’d have done the same damn thing.”

“Can I ask you something if I swear to never tell a soul your answer?” His eyes narrowed at me. I took his silence as a yes. “Why’d you cut the rope?” He scoffed, pulling the cork from the bottle again. He was quiet a long time, taking three sips before he answered. “If anyone’s going to kill you, it’s going to be me.” “I’m serious, Koy. Why?” He shrugged. “You’re Jevali.” “No, I’m not.” His gaze was pinned to the sky. “I figure if you’ve ever fallen asleep on that island not sure if you’ll wake up again, that makes you a Jevali.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to reconvene—” “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. I had never in my life heard him say that word.

“I didn’t leave you on Jeval because I don’t love you.” “Saint.” I tried to stop him. But he ignored me. “I left you there because—” “It doesn’t matter.” “It does.” He looked up then, the blue in his eyes rimmed in red. “I left you there because I have never loved anything in my life like I love you. Not Isolde. Not the trade. Nothing.”

It was one long series of tragically beautiful knots that bound us together.

I found his hand and held it to my cheek, remembering the first time I’d seen him on the docks. The first time I’d seen him smile. The first time I’d seen his darkness and every time he’d seen mine. We were salt and sand and sea and storm. We were made in the Narrows.