Fable (Fable #1)(54)

That was what Willa had meant when she said that she hadn’t chosen this life. West had chosen it for her. “And he agreed?”

She shrugged. “He didn’t throw me over. He said I’d learn to survive or I didn’t belong on the sea.”

“Do you ever wish he hadn’t brought you onto the ship?” I whispered.

“Every day,” she answered without hesitation. “But he didn’t want to leave me in Waterside. And now I don’t want to leave him on the Marigold.”

It was the curse that shackled anyone who loved anyone in the Narrows. Through the crack in the door, I could see West pinching his eyes closed as the physician snipped the length of thread he was stitching with.

“What’s with you and Saint, anyway?” Willa leaned in closer to me, lowering her voice.

I straightened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why cross the Narrows to crew for a man like that? You couldn’t have honestly thought he’d take you on.”

I stared at her, my teeth clenched. “I—”

The physician pushed through the door with his bag clutched to his chest and went down the stairs grumbling, his white shirt now stained with fresh blood. Through the door, West had one hand pressed to his side as he drained another bottle of rye.

“Get in here.” His gravelly voice drifted out into the hallway.

The crew filed into the cramped room, all looking to West. He was mostly cleaned up, but he was covered in stitches and the bruising was only getting worse. If he’d been left in the maze of Waterside another day or two, he might have taken his last breaths there.

“Tell me.” He touched the corner of his swollen lip with his knuckle.

Hamish took a deep breath before he said, “The sails aren’t salvageable. If we patch them, they’ll give in at the first storm we see. And with the inventory losses, we don’t have enough coin to get back on the water.”

West’s gaze drifted past us as he thought. “What if we borrow until Sowan?”

Hamish shook his head. “No one will lend that much.”

“Let me see.” He held out his hand, and Hamish set his book into it.

We stood silently as West flipped through the pages, his finger dragging over the numbers. When he finally closed it, he sighed. “I’ll go to Saint.”

“No.” Willa’s hands dropped to her sides suddenly. “You already owe.”

“So, I’ll extend.”

“No, West,” she said again.

“You want to go back to crewing on whatever crew will take you?” he snapped.

Her eyes narrowed. “No. But at least this way, you can give him back the ship. Call it square.”

“And lose the Marigold?” He glared up at her incredulously.

“It’s better than selling the only bit of your soul you have left. It’s a debt you’ll never come out from under.”

West looked to the others. “What do you think?”

Hamish was the first to answer. “I think Willa’s right. But so are you. Saint is the only way out of this.”

Auster and Paj nodded in agreement, avoiding Willa’s fierce gaze.

West growled as he stood, his hand returning to the dark spread of blue on his ribs.

Willa reached out to steady him. “Where are you going?”

“To the Pinch. We’ll borrow from Saint and find another way out of this mess.”

“I, uh … I don’t think you need to go to the Pinch to talk to Saint,” Auster said, his eyes going wide as he leaned into the frame of the window.

I went to stand behind him, peering over his shoulder into the street. A figure in the rich blue of a fine coat was aglow in the darkening light, a sea of people like parting waters before him.

Saint.

“Get her out of here.” West ran a hand through his wild hair, tucking it behind his ears.

Willa took hold of my arm, shoving me across the room.

“Wait!” I pushed against her, but Paj took my other arm, pulling me back into the hallway.

“You want to make this worse?” Willa spat. She opened the door of the next room and pushed me inside.

“Is that even possible?” I wrenched free of her, and Paj closed the door, leaving us alone in the dark.

Willa lit the candle on the table, and I listened to the hum of the tavern quiet just before heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.

“Move!” Saint’s booming voice bellowed in the hallway, followed by the door slamming on its hinges.

Willa and I pressed our ears to the thin wood-plank wall between our room and West’s, and an uncomfortable silence fell, making the sound of my heartbeat ring in my ears.

“Is this what you call being a helmsman?” Saint spoke calmly, but coldly.

I moved down the wall with light steps until I found a crack where the light was spilling through. My mouth twisted to one side as West came into view. He stood tall before the window, his chin lifted despite the pain he had to be in. He looked Saint in the eye, unmoving.

“We made a deal when I gave you the Marigold.”

“You didn’t give me the Marigold,” West interrupted.

“What?”

“You didn’t give me the Marigold,” he repeated.

Saint stared at him. “I gave you an opportunity—the chance to be the helmsman of your own crew and grow your own trade. Instead, my ship is down in the harbor with slashed sails, and your crew is dragging you out of Waterside half-dead.”