Fable (Fable #1)(44)

“Why?” I croaked, trying not to sound pathetic. My father hated it when people were pathetic.

“Because you weren’t made for this world, Fable.” For a moment, I thought I saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes. The edge of emotion in his voice. But when I blinked, the mask that was the father I knew had returned.

“Saint…” I didn’t want to beg. “Don’t leave me here.” I looked to the boat, where Clove was waiting. But he didn’t look at me, the set of his shoulders like the cut of stone.

“You make me a promise and I’ll make one to you.”

I nodded eagerly, thinking he’d changed his mind.

“Survive. Get yourself off this island. And the next time I see you, I’ll give you what’s yours.”

I looked up into his face. “And if I never see you again?”

But he only turned, his hand slipping through my fingers as he walked away.

I didn’t dare cry as he got back into the boat. I didn’t make a single sound. The tears streamed down my face in hot rivulets, disappearing into my shirt. My heart twisted up on itself and threatened to stop, every part of me screaming on the inside.

And when the little triangle sail disappeared over the horizon, I was alone.





TWENTY-THREE



I sank back into the tufted leather chair behind my father’s desk, drinking in the warm scent of his pipe smoke. It was soaked into every bit of the room, sweet and spicy and so familiar that it made my chest ache.

Traces of my mother were everywhere.

A compass that belonged to her on the windowsill. Dredger tools spilling from a small chest on the floor. Beside the door, a fraying turquoise silk scarf hung from a rusty nail. If I closed my eyes, I would still be able to see it wrapped around her shoulders, her long braid swinging down her back as she walked.

So, I didn’t close my eyes.

I lit the candles as the sun fell and went to the window, looking out over the Pinch. Eyes still watched from dark windows, and I wondered if any of those faces were ones I’d recognize. If any of them would recognize me as the little girl who used to walk these streets on Saint’s heels.

I glanced over my shoulder to the gilded mirror on the wall. The silver had begun to boil behind the glass, making everything in its reflection look like it was underwater.

In its center, there I was.

I stilled. Because I didn’t know the girl in the reflection. And also, I did.

I looked like her. So much like her, in shape and color and angle of jaw.

The years had changed me. I was taller, of course, but there was a curve to my hips I hadn’t realized was there. The freckles that once sprinkled over my nose were now too numerous to count, many of them melting together. My auburn hair was darker, the colors shifting with the turn of light. There was something I didn’t like about seeing myself like that. It was unnerving.

I reached up, touching my face and letting my fingertips trail the shape of my bones. My hand froze when I felt it—like a deep current rushing inside of me.

Isolde.

I could feel her, as if she stood in the room beside me. As if the warmth of her was dancing over my skin. Something flashed on the shelf against the wall, and I squinted, my eyes focusing on the pale green glow.

Inside an open wooden box was something I recognized. Something I never thought I’d see again.

A sharp pain awoke behind my ribs, hot tears springing up into my eyes. It couldn’t be.

The simple pendant sat inside the box, the silver chain spilling over the side. A green abalone sea dragon. Worth nothing, really. Except that it was hers.

My mother’s necklace had dangled over me every single night as she kissed me. It pulled around her throat when we dove the reefs. She was wearing it the night she died.

So, how was it here?

I picked it up carefully, as if it might turn to smoke and disappear.

Voices trailed in through the glass-pane windows, and my fingers closed over the necklace as I looked out.

Saint’s blue coat glowed in the dim light, the only bright thing in the dismal street. People moved out of his way as he walked, his silent presence almost seeming to leave a trail behind him. He’d always been that way.

The tremble in my bones returned and I shoved my hand into the pocket of my jacket. The necklace tangled in my slick fingers as I sank back into the chair. I sat up straight, squaring my shoulders to the door.

His boots stopped outside, and he waited a short moment before he fit his key into the lock. I tried to slow my racing heart, but beads of sweat were already gathering at my brow. I bit down on my bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

The door swung open, letting the cool air in, and the man I’d never been allowed to call my father stood before me, his ice-blue eyes sharpening in the candlelight.

I stilled, unable to even draw breath. “I’m—”

“Fable.” The deep grind of his voice filled the quiet room.

He had recognized me. I knew he had.

Saint closed the door behind him and walked to the desk, leaning into it with both of his hands as he looked down into my face. I tried to blink back the tears threatening to come up into my eyes, but it was no use. I waited for him to speak, my thoughts racing with what he might say. What he might do. But he only stared at me.

“I bartered for passage on one of your ships,” I said, the sound of my voice like a stranger.