Home > Namesake (Fable #2)(3)

Namesake (Fable #2)(3)
Author: Adrienne Young

“I trust you’ve accepted that we’re too far from land to take your chances in the water.” He popped the bite of pheasant into his mouth and chewed.

The only thing I knew for sure was that we were sailing southwest. What I couldn’t figure out was where we were headed. Dern was the southernmost port in the Narrows.

“Where are we going?” I kept my voice even, my back straight.

“The Unnamed Sea.” He gave the answer too easily, as if it cost him nothing to do it, and that instantly put me on edge. But I couldn’t hide my surprise, and Zola looked pleased at the sight, stabbing a piece of cheese and twirling the fork in his fingers.

“You can’t go to the Unnamed Sea,” I said, setting my elbows onto the table and leaning forward.

He arched one eyebrow, taking his time to chew before he spoke. “So, people still tell that story, do they?”

I didn’t miss that he hadn’t corrected me. Zola was still a wanted man in those waters, and if I had to guess, he had no license to trade at the ports that lay beyond the Narrows.

“What are you thinking?” He smirked. He sounded as if he really wanted to know.

“I’m trying to figure out why this fight with West is more important to you than your own neck.”

His shoulders shook as his head tipped down, and just when I thought he was choking on the bite of cheese he’d shoved into his mouth, I realized he was laughing. Hysterically.

He hit the table with one hand, his eyes turning to slits as he leaned back into his chair. “Oh, Fable, you can’t be that stupid. This has nothing to do with West. Or that bastard he shadows for.” He dropped the knife and it clattered against the plate, making me flinch.

So, he did know that West worked for Saint. Maybe that’s what started the feud in the first place.

“That’s right. I know what the Marigold is. I’m not a fool.” His hands landed on the arms of the chair.

I stiffened, his relaxed manner making me feel as if there was some greater threat here that I couldn’t see. He was too calm. Too settled.

“This is about you.”

The prick of nerves lifted on my skin. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I know who you are, Fable.”

The words were faint. Only an echo in the ocean of panic that writhed in my gut. I stopped breathing, a feeling like twisting rope behind my ribs. He was right. I had been stupid. Zola knew I was Saint’s daughter because his navigator was one of three people in the Narrows who knew. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

If that was true, Clove hadn’t only betrayed Saint. He’d betrayed my mother, too. And that was something I had never thought Clove capable of.

“You really do look just like her. Isolde.”

The familiarity that hung in his voice as he spoke of my mother made my stomach sour. I’d hardly believed my father when he told me that Isolde worked on the Luna’s crew before Saint took her on. She’d never told me about those days, as if the time between when she left Bastian and joined up on the Lark had never existed.

Even then, he and my father had been enemies. The war between traders was one that never ended, but Zola had finally found a weapon that could turn the tide.

“How did you know?” I asked, watching him carefully.

“Are you going to pretend like you don’t know my navigator?” He matched my icy stare. “Saint has burned a lot of bridges, Fable. Revenge is a powerful motivator.”

I pulled in a slow breath, filling my aching chest with the damp air. A small part of me had wanted him to deny it. Some fractured piece of my mind was hoping that Clove hadn’t been the one to tell him.

“If you know who I am, then you know that Saint will kill you when he finds out about this,” I said, willing the words to be true.

Zola shrugged. “He won’t be my problem for much longer.” He sounded sure. “Which brings me to why you’re here. I need your help with something.” He sat back up, reaching for the bread and tearing a piece from the loaf.

I watched him slather a thick layer of butter onto the crust. “My help?”

He nodded. “That’s right. Then you can go back to that pathetic crew or whatever hole in Ceros you were planning to make a home of.”

What was so unsettling was that it sounded as if he meant it. There wasn’t even a shadow of deceit in the way he met my eyes.

My gaze went back to the window’s closed shutters, where slices of blue sea glowed through the slats. There was a deal to be made here. He needed me. “What do you want me to do?”

“It’s nothing you can’t handle.” He peeled back the petal of an artichoke slowly before scraping the flesh between his teeth. “You’re not going to eat?”

I leveled my eyes at him. I’d have to have my toes at the edge of death to accept a meal or anything else from anyone on this ship. “Do you always feed your prisoners from your own table?”

“You’re not a prisoner, Fable. I told you. I simply need your help.”

“You just kidnapped me and tied me to the mast of your ship.”

“I thought it best to let your fire die out a little before we talked.” The smile returned to his lips and he shook his head. “Like I said, just like her.” He gave another raspy laugh before he drained his glass of rye and slammed it down. “Calla!”

Footsteps sounded outside the door before it swung back open. She stood in the passageway, waiting.

“Calla will show you to your hammock in the crew’s cabin. If you need anything, you’ll ask her.”

“A hammock?” I looked between them, confused.

“You’ll be given your duties tomorrow and you’ll be expected to meet them without question. Those who don’t work on this ship don’t eat. They don’t usually make it back to shore, either,” Zola added, a frown breaking his lips.

I couldn’t tell if that look was madness or mirth. Maybe it was both. “I want my knife back.”

“You won’t need it,” he said, his mouth full. “The crew’s been instructed to leave you alone. As long as you’re on the Luna, you’re safe.”

“I want it back,” I repeated. “And the ring you took.”

Zola seemed to consider it as he picked up the linen napkin on the table and wiped the grease from his fingers. He stood from the ornately carved chair and went to his desk against the far wall, reaching into the neck of his shirt. A moment later, a gold chain surfaced from the collar and a black iron key swung in the air before he caught it in his palm. It clicked as he fit it into the lock of the drawer and slid it open. The ring glinted on the twine as he lifted it from inside and handed it to me.

He picked up the knife next, turning it over in his hand before he held it out. “I’ve seen that blade before.”

Because it was West’s knife. He’d given it to me before we got off the Marigold in Dern to trade the haul from the Lark. I took it from Zola, the pain in my throat expanding as I rubbed my thumb down the worn handle. The feel of him appeared like a wind blowing over the decks: there one second and gone the next as it slipped over the railing and ran out to sea.

Zola took hold of the door’s handle, waiting, and I tucked the knife into my belt before I stepped out into the shadow of the passageway.

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