Twelve

TWELVE

The faint flicker of sprawling lights glowed like stars on the shoreline ahead.

Bastian.

I stood at the bow of the Luna, watching the city come closer. It was a place I knew only in stories. Streets and lights and colors that formed memories that weren’t my own.

My mother had loved Bastian. The way the wet streets shone in the moonlight. The roll of buildings up the hill and the smell of the markets. But in the end, she left and she’d never gone back.

The hands of the dockworkers below slowed on their tasks as the Luna made port, and the crew pulled up her sails, stowing them neatly on the masts. She looked beautiful in the cloak of night, the dark wood gleaming and polished. But there was no amount of scrubbing or ruffled shirts that could hide where we’d come from. We were Narrows-born traders through and through and from the look of everyone in the harbor, they knew it.

Every other ship anchored in the bays looked as if they were carved from rays of daylight, crisp and clean against the wide sky. The cities of the Unnamed Sea prided themselves on their opulence, and none more than Bastian. My mother had never carried the same air, but it was still there in little things. Like the way she kept her dredging tools pristine on her belt or the way her fingernails seemed to always be clean.

There are some things that can’t be carved from a person, no matter how far from home they’ve sailed.

The harbor master appeared in the distance, followed by a throng of dockworkers trailing behind him. His severe brow made his eyes look squinted and the parchments in his hand fluttered as he waved his arms over his head. But Zola didn’t waste any time making himself at home. He didn’t even wait for approval before having the crew secure the hauling lines.

“Who’s that there?” the harbor master called out, stopping to look up and study the crest on the foresail.

Zola met Clove’s eyes before he took the ladder down, and the crew of the Luna watched over the side of the ship as he walked up the dock to meet him.

“Time to go.” Clove tucked an extra knife into his belt.

I eyed him suspiciously. He hadn’t even glanced in my direction since we’d stood in Zola’s quarters and I realized there was more to his place on the Luna than even Zola knew. But he’d given me no hint of what was going on or what part I was supposed to be playing. Everything had been on a racing clock since we’d left Dern, and I wanted to know what happened when it finally ticked down. Jeval. The dive. Sagsay Holm. Zola was meticulously making each move with careful precision. I knew it had something to do with Holland, but that’s where my revelations had stopped.

Koy watched me from the quarterdeck as I disappeared over the side of the ship. The crew had been instructed not to leave the Luna for any reason, and the Jevali dredgers didn’t seem to mind one bit. Their eyes studied the city on the hill warily, as if something about it scared them. Bastian itself was bigger than the entire island of Jeval.

Zola was still talking to the harbor master with an easy smile when Clove and I slipped around them, headed for the wide stone staircase that led to the merchant’s house. This wasn’t anything like the rusted structure the Narrows merchants traded in. It was built with clean white stone, the corners studded with ornate statues of seabirds that unfolded their wings over the street below.

I stopped when we reached the top step, and the street widened to reveal the rolling expanse of the vast city. I turned in a circle, trying to take it in, but Bastian was immense. Overwhelming. I’d never seen anything like it.

Clove disappeared around the corner of the merchant’s house as I turned back to the street. When I stepped into the alleyway, he was already waiting. He leaned against the brick, the glow of streetlamps lighting half his face. Even standing in the middle of the street, surrounded by buildings that hid most of the sky, he looked like a giant.

The harsh coldness that had been in his eyes since I first saw him on the Luna softened when he looked up at me from beneath the brim of his hat. It was a look that was so familiar that my shoulders drew down my back, the tension that had me wound tight for the last ten days uncoiling itself from me. In an instant, I felt as if I were unraveling. One side of his mustache slowly ticked up and a crooked grin illuminated his eyes with a spark.

I took the four steps between us, my boots hitting the cobblestones in an echo, and I threw my arms around him. The cry that had been trapped in my throat finally escaped, and I leaned into him, my fingers clutching his jacket. I didn’t care that it was weak. That it was an admission to how scared I was. I only wanted to feel like for a moment, I wasn’t alone.

Clove stood rigid, watching around us warily, but after a moment his huge arms came around me, squeezing. “There now, Fay,” he said, one hand rubbing my back.

I curled my arms into my chest and let him hold me tighter, closing my eyes. “Does he know where I am?” I couldn’t say my father’s name without my voice fully giving way.

Clove pulled me back to look up at him and one rough hand brushed the tears from my flushed cheek. “He knows exactly where you are.”

If Saint was in on this, he’d known the morning I saw him in Dern. He’d sat across the table from me drinking his tea without so much as a hint about what was waiting for me in the alley.

I gritted my teeth. I was so tired of my father’s games. But the anger I felt was immediately replaced by desperation. I took hold of Clove’s jacket, pulling him toward me. “I have to get out of here. I have to get back to the Narrows.”

“You’re not going anywhere until we finish this.” Clove planted a kiss on the top of my head before he started up the street again, his hands finding his pockets.

“Finish what?” My voice rose as I followed after him. “You haven’t told me anything.”

“We’ve been working a long time for this, Fay. And we can’t finish it without you.”

I stopped in my tracks, gaping at him.

When he could no longer hear my footsteps, the gate of Clove’s stride broke and he halted, looking back.

“Tell me what’s going on or I’m bartering with the first ship down in the harbor for passage back to the Narrows,” I said, my voice tired.

He stopped beneath the faded sign of a fishmonger, sighing. “In a day’s time, you’ll know everything.”

I could see that I wasn’t going to sway him. If this was the work of my father, then there were a lot of moving pieces and I was one of them.

“You swear it?” I took a step closer, daring him to lie to me.

“I do.”

I searched his face, wanting to believe him. “On my mother’s soul?”

The words made him flinch and his lips pressed into a hard line before he answered. “I swear it.” He shook his head with an irritated smirk. “Same stubborn ass as her,” he muttered.

The collar of his jacket was pulled up around his neck and his fair hair curled out from beneath his cap. For the first time since Dern, I felt like I could exhale. He felt like home. As long as I was with Clove, he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. And the truth was, if he and my father were taking down Zola, I was in.

We walked until the street opened abruptly to a square of shops, all clad with huge, clean windows. Each one was fit with flower boxes and fresh, bright paint. Clove stopped before the first shop on the corner, straightening his hat. The sign that hung over the street read FROCKS & LIVERIES.

He pushed open the door and I followed him into the warm shop, where a woman was crouched beside a dress form, needle in hand.

She looked up with her head tilted to the side, eyes raking over us from top to bottom. “May I help you?” The question sounded like an accusation.

Clove cleared his throat. “We need a frock. One fit for a gala.” I rounded on him, stunned, but before I could object, he was speaking again. “And we’ll need it tomorrow.”

The woman rose, sticking the needle into a cushion on her wrist with a flick. “Then you had better have the coin to pay me to sew through the night.”

“It’s not a problem,” Clove answered.

She seemed to consider it for a moment before she wove through the bolts of cloth piled on the long wooden counter. “New silks just came in yesterday. No one in Bastian has anything like this yet.”

Clove ignored my icy stare, following her to the window that looked out over the street.

“What is this?” I whispered, pulling on the sleeve of his jacket.

“You’re just going to have to trust me.”

I was as angry with myself as I was with him. I should have known the moment I saw Clove on Zola’s ship that Saint was up to something. Now I was entangled in whatever scheme they’d hatched and it wasn’t likely that I’d come out unscathed.

His hand moved over the different fabrics carefully, his lips pursing before he picked one up. “This one.”

It was the richest of blues, the color of the sea on sunny days when it was too deep to see the bottom. The dark fabric shimmered as it caught the light. I couldn’t imagine what Clove could possibly have planned that would warrant a frock made of something so fine, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t like it.

“All right, let’s get you up there. Everything off.” The woman wrapped her arms around the dress form, tipping backward to set it against the wall.

The curtain in front of the mirror closed with a whoosh, and then she was staring at me, both hands on her hips. “Well? Come on.”

I groaned before I pulled my shirt over my head and unclipped the wrap over my breasts. She hung it up, tsking as she smoothed out the trousers and rubbed at the creases in the wool.

“Now let’s look at you.” Her eyes moved over my naked body, and she frowned when she saw the scar on my arm and the stitches in my leg. They weren’t my only marks. “Well, I suppose we can cover those. Turn.”

I reluctantly obeyed, giving her my back, and when I met Clove’s eyes over the curtain, he was smirking again. I flinched when her cold hands took my waist, running up the length of my ribs.

“All right,” she said.

She pushed out of the curtain and returned holding a roll of stiff white fabric with laces. I cringed. “Is that…?”

“Corset, my dear.” She smiled sweetly. “Arms up.”

I bit down onto my bottom lip to keep from cursing and turned again so she could fit it around me. She jerked at the laces until my sore ribs were screaming and I pressed my hands against the wall to steady myself.

“You’ve never worn a corset?” The woman’s tone turned up.

“No,” I snapped. My mother had never put me in one and I’d had no need for one on Jeval.

She fit the panniers around my waist next, tying the strings so the shape of the hoops bulged at each of my hips. Then she started on the silk, cutting and draping and pinning until the form of a frock took shape. It wasn’t until she pulled the curtain open that she turned me around and I saw what she was doing.

My reflection appeared in the gold-framed mirror and I sucked in a breath, stepping back.

The garment was fitted at the bodice, wrapping closed in the front so the skin between my breasts came to a sharp point beneath the folds of the fabric. The sleeves were no more than shredded blue silk waiting to be pinned, but the skirt was full, rippling like waves around me.

“I’ll need pockets,” I said, swallowing.

“Pockets?” she huffed. “Why on earth would you need pockets?”

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t going to tell her it was for my knife, or explain why I’d need one at a gala.

“Just do it,” Clove called from behind her.

“Wait here.” The woman sighed before she disappeared into the back of the shop.

Clove sat in the chair, taking in the sight of me. When he saw my face, he tried not to laugh.

“Enjoying yourself?” I muttered.

His mouth twisted up on one side again. “Your mother wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing that thing.”

I was struck by the ease with which we’d slid into the old rhythms between us when only hours ago I’d been ready to kill him. Growing up, there wasn’t a day I wasn’t stuck to his side on the ship or at port. Looking at him now, I felt like I was ten years old again. And that feeling made me miss my mother.

“What happened between Zola and Isolde?” I asked softly, not sure I really wanted the answer.

Clove sat up straighter, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “What do you mean?”

“Saint told me they had history. What kind of history?”

He gave away more than he knew when he wouldn’t meet my gaze. “I think you should talk to Saint about that.”

“I’m asking you.”

He rubbed his hands over his face, letting out a long breath. When he leaned back into the chair, he looked at me for a long moment. “Zola had just established trade in Bastian when he met Isolde. She was trading at the merchant’s house, and I guess she saw a way out.”

“Out of what?”

“Whatever she was running from.” He clenched his jaw. “She struck a deal with Zola and took a place on his crew as one of his dredgers. But he wanted more from her than her skill with the gems. I don’t know what happened between them, but whatever it was, it was bad enough for her to pay him everything she’d saved to get off the Luna.”

I cringed, trying not to imagine what it could have been. “And then she met Saint.”

“Then she met Saint,” he repeated. “And everything changed.”

“How did she get him to take her on?”

“I don’t think he really had a choice. He was ruined for Isolde the first day she sat down beside him at Griff’s tavern.”

Griff’s. I couldn’t help but grin at that.

“They were friends. And then they were more,” he said, his eyes drifting like he was lost in thought. “And then there was you.”

I smiled sadly. The earliest memories I had were of both of them—Saint and Isolde. And they were cast in warm, golden light. Untouched by everything that came after. They’d found each other.

I took West’s ring from where it hung around my neck, holding it before me. I’d felt that way when he kissed me in Tempest Snare. Like we were a world of our own. We had been, in that moment.

If the rumors in Sagsay Holm were true, West was ready to give up the Marigold and everything else. I had to finish what my father started if I was going to keep that from happening.

“He couldn’t have planned this,” I said, almost to myself.

“What?”

“Saint. He didn’t know I’d left Jeval until I saw him in Ceros.” I was putting it together slowly. “I wasn’t a part of his plan until West took me on.”

Clove stared at me.

“Am I right?” But I didn’t need an answer. The truth of it was in his silence. “When I showed up at his post, Saint didn’t want anything to do with me. But when he saw me leaving the harbor on the Marigold that night, he wanted me off that ship. And he saw a way to use me.”

I shook my head, half-laughing at the absurdity of it. There was more to the story than I knew. “What did Zola mean when he said that West is like Saint?”

Clove shrugged. “You know what it means.”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.”

“He’s got a lot of demons, Fay.”

“We all do.” I gave him a knowing look.

“I guess that’s true enough.”

I crossed my arms, ignoring the way the silk threatened to pull open at the seams. I was so tired of secrets. So tired of lies. “I’m here, Clove. For you and for Saint. You owe me a hell of a lot more than this.”

His eyes narrowed. “Owe you?”

I lifted both eyebrows, looking down my nose at him. “Saint’s not the only one who left me on that beach.”

His jaw ticked. “Fay, I’m—”

“I don’t want an apology. I want the truth.”

His eyes dropped for a moment to West’s ring hanging around my neck. “I was wondering if the two of you were…” He didn’t finish, hesitating before he went on. “West does what Saint needs done. Whatever it is. And it’s usually pretty dirty work.”

“Like Sowan?” I asked in a low voice.

He nodded. “Like Sowan. He’s been Saint’s guy for a long time.”

“That’s why Saint let him have the Marigold,” I mumbled. He’d earned it.

Clove leaned forward to set his elbows onto his knees. “He’s dangerous, Fay,” he said more gently. “You need to be careful with that one.”

I told myself it wasn’t anything I didn’t already know. The Marigold was a shadow ship, and that came with shadow work. But I had a feeling that even the crew didn’t know about everything West did for my father.

The night West told me he loved me, he’d also told me about Sowan. About a merchant whose operation he’d sunk on Saint’s request. What he hadn’t said was that it was one of many similar stories or that my father’s deeds were the heaviest of the burdens he carried.

Don’t lie to me and I won’t lie to you. Ever.

The only promise we’d made to each other West had already broken.