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Namesake

Adrienne Young
Chapters (51)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. THIRTY-THREE
  38. THIRTY-FOUR
  39. THIRTY-FIVE
  40. THIRTY-SIX
  41. THIRTY-SEVEN
  42. THIRTY-EIGHT
  43. THIRTY-NINE
  44. FORTY
  45. FORTY-ONE
  46. FORTY-TWO
  47. EPILOGUE
  48. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  49. Also by Adrienne Young
  50. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  51. Newsletter Sign-up

Title Page

Namesake by Adrienne Young

Copyright Notice

The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

Dedication

For Mom,
who taught me strength

PROLOGUE

My first dive was followed by my first drink of rye.

The sea was filled with the sound of gemstones as I swam after my mother’s silhouette, toward the puddle of light rippling on the surface of the water.

My legs burned, kicking against the weight of the dredging belt, but Isolde had insisted I wear it even on my first descent to the reefs. I grimaced, my heart racing in my aching chest, and I surfaced beneath a light-filled sky.

The first thing I saw when my eyes focused was my father peering over the portside of the Lark, leaning onto the rail with his elbows. He was wearing one of his rare smiles. One that made his blue eyes flash like the strike of flint.

My mother dragged me through the water, lifting me up to catch the lowest rung of the ladder, and I climbed, trembling with cold. Saint was waiting at the top, sweeping me into his arms as soon as I came over the side. Then he was carrying me across the deck, seawater dripping from my hands and my hair.

We ducked into the helmsman’s quarters and Saint pulled the quilt from his bed, wrapping me in the smell of spiced mullein. My mother was coming through the door a moment later, and I watched as my father filled one of his emerald-green glasses with rye.

He set it down in the center of his desk and I picked it up, turning the glass so the sunlight fractured and glittered in its facets.

Saint waited, one side of his mustache lifted on a grin as I brought the glass to my lips and took the rye in one swallow. The burn bloomed in my throat, racing down to my stomach, and I hissed, trying to breathe through it.

My mother looked at me then, with something in her eyes I’d never seen before. A reverence. As if something marvelous and at the same time harrowing had just happened. She blinked, pulling me between her and Saint, and I burrowed in, their warmth instantly making me feel like a child again.

But I wasn’t on the Lark anymore.

ONE

The knock of a pulley hitting the deck made me blink, and suddenly the white-washed world around me came rushing back. Footsteps on wood. Shadows on the quarterdeck. The snap of rippling sails up the mainmast.