“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.
THIRTEEN
I watched the drip of water into the basin where the shape of me was rippling. The deep blue of the frock set the red in my hair aflame, my cheeks glowing with rouge.
My skin was too warm beneath the dress. The room Zola had put me in at the tavern had a hearth stacked with a blazing fire and a bed stuffed with soft down on which I hadn’t been able to bring myself to sleep.
I wasn’t sure who he was trying to impress. There was no amount of luxury that could wash him clean of what he was. If I had to guess, I’d say the scar on Willa’s face and the Marigold’s slashed sails were probably the least