“I don’t think I would have. I would have wanted you to get as far away from me as possible,” he admitted. “In a way, a part of me still wishes that we hadn’t voted you on.”

“How can you say that?” I said, indignant.

“Because you and I have cursed ourselves, Fable. We will always have something to lose. I knew it that day in Tempest Snare when I kissed you. I knew it in Dern when I told you that I loved you.”

“Then why did you do it?”

He was silent for so long that I wasn’t sure he would answer. When he finally did, his voice was hollow. “The first time I ever saw you, you were standing on the dock at the barrier islands. We’d made port at Jeval for the first time, and I’d been watching for you. A girl with dark auburn hair and freckles with a scar on the inside of her left arm, Saint said. It was two days before you showed.”

I remembered that day, too. It was the first time I’d traded with West. The first time I’d ever seen the Marigold at the barrier islands.

“You were bartering with a trader, arguing for a better price on the pyre you were hocking. And when someone called from the deck of his ship and he looked up, you slipped a blood orange from one of his crates. As if the whole reason you’d been standing there was to wait for the moment when he wasn’t looking. You dropped the orange into your bag and when he turned back around, you went right on arguing with him.”

“I don’t remember that,” I said.

“I do.” The shadow of a smile lifted on his lips. “Every time we dropped anchor at Jeval after that day, I had this constricting pain in my chest.” He reached up, tucking a hand into his open jacket as if it were there now. “Like I was holding my breath, afraid you wouldn’t be on the docks. That you’d be gone. And when I woke up in Dern and you weren’t there, it came back. I couldn’t find you.” His voice wavered, splintering the words. He looked so heavy. So tired.

“You did find me. And I don’t want Holland’s offer.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He softened, the look in his eye more familiar. The sound of wind whistled outside the window, and ease finally found the set of his shoulders.

“But what are we going to do about Saint?” I asked, my mind drifting to my father.

“What do you mean?”

“Holland is after him, West. It’s only a matter of time before she figures out Clove isn’t going to deliver. She’ll find another way.”

“We cut our ties to him.” West shrugged. “Saint can take care of himself.”