Fable (Fable #1)(57)

“I wouldn’t do that to him.”

“But you’ll run your own side trade and pocket off his ledgers?”

“That’s different,” he said simply.

“Don’t tell me you admire the man who’s got you pinned under his thumb?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered.

“Are you sure about that?”

He seemed to really consider the question before he answered. “A trader picked me up out of Waterside and put me on a ship when I was nine years old. He taught me everything I know about sailing and trading, but he was a bad man. Saint bought me off that ship and put me on his. He’s a rotten bastard, but he’s the only reason I’m not scraping barnacles off hulls down on the docks or rotting at the bottom of the sea.”

I didn’t want to imagine what West meant when he said the trader was a bad man. I could see by the way he swallowed between the words that he was ashamed of it, whatever it was.

“That’s how he knew he could trust you,” I said. “He’s good at that—making sure everyone owes him just enough.”

“He’s smart.”

I shook my head. “How can you defend him after what he just did? He cut you loose.”

“Because he was right. I’m responsible for my crew and my ship. I messed up. And he didn’t cut us loose; he’s just not going to bail us out.”

I stared at him, speechless. West was actually defending him.

“You’re right—I admire him. The traders in the Unnamed Sea think the Narrows is eventually going to fall into their hands. Saint is showing them that we can stand on our own.”

I would never admit it, but there was a part of me that felt proud, even if the rest of me hated him. And I realized in that moment that West was maybe the only other person who could understand how both of those feelings could exist together.

“How long until you buy out from under him?”

He didn’t answer.

“How long?”

West reached up, pressing one hand to his side again as if it hurt. I wasn’t sure how he was still standing. “Sixteen years.”

I took a step toward him, waiting for him to meet my eyes before I said it. “Sixteen years or one night?”

“What?”

“You can spend sixteen years scraping to buy yourself out from under Saint. Or you can do it in one night. With me. No more shadow-ship work. No more reporting and spying or orders like the ones you had in Sowan.”

He stiffened, and I could see the words hurt him. He didn’t want me knowing about whatever happened in Sowan.

“I can’t take you on, Fable,” he said again, running a hand through his hair and holding it back from his face.

“You think I can’t handle myself.”

“You lived on Jeval for four years. I know you can handle yourself.”

“Then what is it? Saint?”

He stared at his boots, his jaw ticking. “Saint is the only operation in the Narrows running routes to the Unnamed Sea since Zola’s ships were banned. He’s the only legitimate competition for the traders in Bastian. It’s a position any trader in the Narrows would cut their own hand off for, and if anyone finds out who you are, every one of them will be looking to take leverage against Saint.”

It was a fair point. But before I could even argue, he was speaking again.

“But more than that, I don’t trust you.”

“What?”

“You just tried to sway my own crew against me.”

My mouth dropped open. “I—”

“You manipulated the only people I trust with my life. I depend on them.”

“You wouldn’t even hear me out. I knew that if they knew who I was, they would listen to what I had to say.”

“That’s not how a crew works.”

I let out a long breath. “Then teach me.”

West slid his hands into his pockets, falling quiet for a moment. “If it comes down to choosing us or Saint, you’ll choose Saint.”

I laughed. “Why would I? He’s never chosen me.”

“The only reason you want to crew on the Marigold is because Saint turned you away,” he tried again.

“And the only reason you’re helmsman of the Marigold is because Saint made you helmsman of his shadow ship. It doesn’t matter why we’re here, West. We’re here. I need someone to trust with my life.”

His mouth pressed into a hard line.

“You don’t trust me, but I trust you.” My voice lowered.

“You have no reason to trust me.”

I crossed my arms, looking away from him. “You came back.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I sat on the cliffs above the beach on Jeval every night, imagining the sails of my father’s ship on the horizon. Hoping he’d come back for me.” I paused. “He didn’t—you did.”

He looked up then, his eyes meeting mine.

“I want to dredge for the Marigold. I want to get you out from under Saint.”

He leaned into the wall behind him, scratching the scruff at his jaw. “I never should have let you onto the Marigold in the first place.”

“What does this have to do with what happened on Jeval?”