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I had never felt so much of my father inside of me as in that moment, and instead of scaring me, it flooded me with a sense of steadying power. The tide-pull of strength anchored my feet as I remembered.
I wasn’t just some Jevali dredger or a pawn in Zola’s feud with West. I was Saint’s daughter. And before I left the Luna, every bastard on this crew was going to know it.
"I don’t even know why I’m doing this," I whispered, watching the water flash silver in the rising sunlight. "Saint would never do it for me."
Clove turned slowly, looking down at me. "You can’t really believe that."
"Why wouldn’t I?"
He snorted, shaking his head. "That man would sink his fleet for you, Fable. He’d walk away from everything."
A lump curled painfully in my throat. "No, he wouldn’t."
Clove pulled the cap back on his head, casting his face in shadow. "Isolde isn’t the only name we aren’t allowed to say." [...]
I watched him go, breathing through the sting smarting behind my eyes. The words he’d said about my father were dangerous things. They held the power to crush me. Because the most fragile hope I’d ever held was that somewhere in the flesh and bone of him, Saint had loved me.
There was a part of me that was terrified to find out if it was true. And an even bigger part that knew it would destroy me.
When I turned to look at West, that same starlight glinted in his eyes. I found his hand and held it to my cheek, remembering the first time I’d seen him on the docks. The first time I’d seen him smile. The first time I’d seen his darkness and every time he’d seen mine.
We were salt and sand and sea and storm.
We were made in the Narrows.
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