Fable

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.

He looked up then, his eyes meeting mine, and I thought I could see the glimmer of tears in them. “You were made for a far better world than this one, Fable,” he rasped. “I was young. I hadn’t learned the rules yet when Isolde came asking me to take her onto my crew.” The words turned to a whisper. “I loved her with a love that broke me.”

He brushed the tear from the corner of his eye, dropping his gaze back down to the table. I didn’t think about it before I reached across the knotted wood and covered his hand with mine. I knew what he meant because I’d seen it. Everyone had. Isolde was the wind and sea and sky of Saint’s world.
She was the pattern of stars that he navigated by, the sum of all directions on his compass. And he was lost without her.

I stopped midstride, looking back at West’s closed door, and a knowing smile spread on Auster’s face as he dragged the blade of his knife down the piece of wood in his hand, but he didn’t look up. He would pretend, the way everyone pretended not to know West and Willa were brother and sister. The same way they didn’t draw any attention to him and Paj. And in that moment, I felt more a part of the crew than I had guiding them through the Snare.

My face flushed again as I leaned against the mast and pulled my boots on.

I opened one eye, and the window in West’s quarters came into view, only one of its shutters closed. Outside, the gray morning was cloaked in fog, the cool mist creeping into the cabin. I rolled over, and West was sleeping beside me, his face softer than I’d ever seen it. He still smelled like saltwater, and I brushed an unruly strand of hair back from his forehead before I pressed my lips to his cheek.

I lifted onto my toes, pressing my mouth to his, and the boiling heat that had flooded into me underwater found me again, racing beneath every inch of my skin. The smell of rye and saltwater and sun poured into my lungs, and I drank it in like the first desperate sip of air after a dive.

His hands found my hips, and he walked me back until my legs hit the side of the bed. I opened his jacket and pushed it from his shoulders before he laid me down beneath him. His weight pressed down on top of me and I arched my back as his hands caught my legs and pulled them up around him.

I closed my eyes and tears rolled down my temples, disappearing into my hair. It was the way his skin felt against mine. It was the feeling of being held. I hadn’t been touched by another person in so long, and he was so beautiful to me in that moment that I felt as if my chest might crack open.

My head tipped back, and I pulled him closer so I could feel him against me. He groaned, his mouth pressed to my ear, and I tugged at the length of my shirt until I was pulling it over my head. He sat up, his eyes running over every inch of me and his breaths slowing.

I hooked my fingers into his belt, waiting for him to look at me. Because it was a wave that would retreat if I didn’t say it. It was a setting sun unless we could really trust each other.

The words wound tight in my throat, more tears sliding from the corners of my eyes. “Don’t lie to me and I won’t lie to you. Ever.”

And when he kissed me again, it was slow. It was pleading. The silence of the sea found us, my heartbeat quieting, and I
painted each moment into my mind. The smell of him and the drag of his fingers down my back. The taste of salt when I kissed his shoulder and the slide of his lips down my throat.

Like light cast over the morning water, it became new. Every moment that lay ahead, like an uncharted sea.

This was a new beginning.

The only thing I know about my father is that his name might be Henrik. I’ve killed sixteen men, protecting myself or my family, or my crew.”

“West, stop.”

“And I think I’ve loved you since the first time we anchored in Jeval.” He grinned suddenly, staring at the floor, and a bit of red bloomed on his skin, creeping up out of the collar of his shirt.

“I’ve pocketed on Saint’s ledgers from the first day I started sailing under his crest, but I’ve never lied to him.”

“What?” I tried to read him, confused.

“The last time we were in Sowan, I set fire to a merchant’s warehouse on Saint’s orders. He was a good man, but he was making another trading outfit rich, so Saint needed him to stop supplying. He lost everything.”

I took a step backward, watching him. “What is this? What are you doing?”

“I’m answering your questions,” he said.

I held my breath as his eyes lifted to meet mine, so green that they could have been carved from serpentine.

He set the stone back down and stood up from his desk. “What else do you want to know?”

“Don’t.” I shook my head. “The moment you tell me anything, you’re going to be afraid of me.”

“I’m already afraid of you.” He took a step toward me.

But his smile turned sad. “I have thought about you every single day since that day. Maybe every hour. I’ve counted down the days to go back to the island, and I pushed us into storms I shouldn’t have because I didn’t want to not be there when you woke up. I didn’t want you to wait for me. Ever. Or to think I wasn’t coming back.” He paused. “I struck the deal with Saint because I wanted the ship, but I kept it because of you. When you got off the Marigold in Ceros and I didn’t know if I would ever see you again, I thought … I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

I bit down on my bottom lip so hard that my eyes watered and the vision of him wavered before me.

“The only thing I feel truly afraid of is something happening to you.”

This wasn’t just enough of the truth to be believable. It was whole and naked, a first spring bloom waiting to wither in the sun.

“I kissed you because I’ve thought about kissing you for the last two years. I thought that if I just…” He didn’t finish. “We can’t do this by the rules, Fable. No secrets.” He stared at me.

“But in Ceros, you said…” The words trailed off.

“I underestimated my ability to be on this ship with you and not touch you.”

I stared at him, hot tears rolling down my cheeks as he lifted a hand between us, his palm open before me. I lifted mine to meet his, and his fingers closed between mine.

He was opening a door that we wouldn’t be able to get closed again. And he was waiting to see if I was going to walk through it.

What he was saying—the things he told me—was his way of showing me he trusted me. It was also his way of giving me the match. If I wanted to, I could burn him down. But if we were going to do this, I would have to be his safe harbor and he would have to be mine.

“I’m not going to take anything from you, West,” I whispered.

He let out a long breath, his hand squeezing mine. “I know that.”

The smell made my mouth water, the hollow in my stomach aching as we all watched Auster carve into the goose and set two medallions on my plate. Paj poured the rye, filling my cup until it overflowed onto the deck, and I fished two plums from the crock.

West sat beside me, tearing the round of bread and setting a piece into my hand. His fingers touched my palm and that same flash of heat reignited inside me, but he kept his eyes down, reaching across the table for the bottle of rye.

“I’d like to make a toast.” Willa raised her glass into the air, and the candlelight made it glow like an enormous, glistening emerald in her hand. “To our bad luck charm!”

I stopped before the archway, where the light from West’s quarters was coming through his open door. His shadow was painted onto the deck, the angles of his face touching the wood planks beside my feet. I hesitated, one hand on the opening to the passageway, before I walked with quiet steps into the breezeway and peered inside.

He stood over his desk, an open bottle of rye and an empty glass on the parchment before him.

I knocked lightly, and he looked up, straightening when I pushed the door open.

“You’re worried,” I said, stepping into the light.

He stared at me for a long moment before he came around the desk to face me. “I am.”