He hit the table with one hand, his eyes turning to slits as he leaned back into his chair. “Oh, Fable, you can’t be that stupid. This has nothing to do with West. Or that bastard he shadows for.” He dropped the knife and it clattered against the plate, making me flinch.

So, he did know that West worked for Saint. Maybe that’s what started the feud in the first place.

“That’s right. I know what the Marigold is. I’m not a fool.” His hands landed on the arms of the chair.

I stiffened, his relaxed manner making me feel as if there was some greater threat here that I couldn’t see. He was too calm. Too settled.

“This is about you.”

The prick of nerves lifted on my skin. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I know who you are, Fable.”

The words were faint. Only an echo in the ocean of panic that writhed in my gut. I stopped breathing, a feeling like twisting rope behind my ribs. He was right. I had been stupid. Zola knew I was Saint’s daughter because his navigator was one of three people in the Narrows who knew. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

If that was true, Clove hadn’t only betrayed Saint. He’d betrayed my mother, too. And that was something I had never thought Clove capable of.

“You really do look just like her. Isolde.”

The familiarity that hung in his voice as he spoke of my mother made my stomach sour. I’d hardly believed my father when he told me that Isolde worked on the Luna’s crew before Saint took her on. She’d never told me about those days, as if the time between when she left Bastian and joined up on the Lark had never existed.

Even then, he and my father had been enemies. The war between traders was one that never ended, but Zola had finally found a weapon that could turn the tide.

“How did you know?” I asked, watching him carefully.

“Are you going to pretend like you don’t know my navigator?” He matched my icy stare. “Saint has burned a lot of bridges, Fable. Revenge is a powerful motivator.”

I pulled in a slow breath, filling my aching chest with the damp air. A small part of me had wanted him to deny it. Some fractured piece of my mind was hoping that Clove hadn’t been the one to tell him.

“If you know who I am, then you know that Saint will kill you when he finds out about this,” I said, willing the words to be true.

Zola shrugged. “He won’t be my problem for much longer.” He sounded sure. “Which brings me to why you’re here. I need your help with something.” He sat back up, reaching for the bread and tearing a piece from the loaf.