by Tara Sim
Cayo reached into his pocket and drew out his watch, the one his father had given him what felt like a lifetime ago.
He stood and approached Mother Hilas and the hospital administrator. The latter smiled in greeting.
“Hello, Mr. Lin. Mother Hilas has explained your situation to me. We’re more than happy to accommodate your sister, but as I’m sure she already told you, we will need payment to cover some of the costlier expenses.”
Cayo handed them the pocket watch. “Will this cover them?”
The administrator’s eyes widened slightly as he took it from Cayo, examining the fine craftsmanship. If nothing else, Kamon Mercado had an eye for valuable things.
“This will do,” the administrator agreed.
“You may visit your sister during the day, but we enforce a strict two-hour visitation limit,” Mother Hilas told him. “We haven’t been able to determine if the fever can spread from person to person, so it’s for your protection as well as the patients’.”
Cayo wanted to argue, but one look at her stern face made him think better of it. Sighing, he nodded and returned to Soria, taking up her hand.
“What did you give her?” his sister demanded, her words little more than breath.
He recalled the day his father had given him that pocket watch. Cayo’s heart had lifted, thinking he had finally found some way to make his father proud.
If only he had known then how wrong he’d been.
“Nothing important,” Cayo told her.
The guilt… the teeth-gnashing madness of it… how has it not laid into you like wolves, like the bitter reminder of our ancestors’ failures?
—LETTER BETWEEN FACTIONS OF THE CHIHAN COUP, AFTER THE FALL OF THE REHANESE THRONE
Cayo had wanted to stay the night with Soria to get her settled in, but Mother Hilas—who oversaw the entire hospital staff—had firmly put her foot down. Now he was quiet and withdrawn on their way out, clenching and unclenching his hands, staring at the cobblestone street as if lost.
Amaya suppressed the urge to hold her nose as they passed the thuribles. Her mother had used to light sticks of incense on important days, or when the moon was full, or simply when she needed her prayers to be heard. The thin sticks would produce ribbons of smoke that smelled of jasmine and warm wood. Amaya’s nose would start itching after a while, and she’d always complained.
But now she found that she missed the particular smell. That she would have paid an exorbitant price to relive something she had once found so annoying.
Liesl, Avi, and Deadshot waited for them at the end of the street. And they weren’t alone. A tall, lanky boy around Liesl’s age leaned against the nearest wall, his arms crossed and one foot propped up, a posture so casual it seemed calculated.
When he noticed them, he broke out into a wide grin, revealing a chipped tooth. He had the same soft brown skin as Liesl, his hair dark and curly. His clothes were rough spun and shoddily mended, the toes of his boots so worn they were likely to turn to holes any day now.
“This is your clever crew, is it?” the boy drawled in oddly accented Rehanese, pushing himself to his full height. Amaya had to crane her head back to look at him, as did Cayo, who seemed particularly displeased about it. “Not happy to see a bluecoat, though.”
Remy stiffened. “Who’s this?”
Liesl gave the new boy a warning look. “This is Jasper. He’s a… friend. Sort of.”
Jasper placed a hand to his chest. “Sort of? You wound me.”
“I will wound you if you don’t stop playing cute.”
“I’ll have you know this is hardly playing. You’re merely getting the full Jasper Experience, equal parts dastardly charm and roguish good looks.” He even posed, puffing out his lips a little as if that’s all it took to look sultry.
“I wanna shoot him,” Deadshot mumbled, hand hovering over one of her pistols.
“Please don’t. Bullet wounds aren’t very attractive. A scar, though—”
“Jasper.” Liesl’s voice cracked like a whip.
He sighed and lifted his hands. Or rather, hand—his left arm ended in a stump, the sleeve tucked and pinned. “All right, all right. I see my allure is wasted here. You said you need a place to lie low? I got just the thing.”
“Hold on.” Remy stepped forward. “I thought I was going to try to get you accommodations at the billet?”
Liesl shook her head. “With my background, it’s too risky to stay there. You know that as well as I do.”
“So instead you’re going to get help from someone who I can only assume is a crook?”
“Hey now,” Jasper said with a pout.
“The two of us go back,” Liesl assured him. “Trust me, on the outside he’s all bluster, but on the inside he’s all business.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Remy muttered. “The two of you go back to what, exactly?”
“The revolution.” She smirked at Jasper, who smirked back. “Let’s just say we’ve been through all the hells together.” Hearing the hint of pain in her voice, Deadshot put a hand on Liesl’s shoulder.
Remy didn’t look convinced. “We have a better chance at cracking the counterfeit problem if we all stay together.”
“We’ll still be together. Plus, we now have Jasper’s resources.” Liesl nodded to Remy’s pocket. “Show him.”
Remy hesitated, but at her insistence he took a handkerchief from his pocket and opened it carefully. Inside was a golden sena coin—or what looked like one. Beside it was a black disc, the core that would only be revealed if the coin were washed of its exterior golden plating.
“Whatever coats these discs is alchemical,” Remy said. “And it causes ash fever. After looking through Mercado’s finances, we know he’s been siphoning money to a foreign investor somewhere here in the Rain Empire. Problem is, we don’t know who yet. They’re just listed as the Benefactor.”
Jasper had been staring curiously at the disc, but then his head jerked up. “Did you say Mercado?”
Remy narrowed his eyes as Cayo tensed. “Is the name familiar?”
“I’ve heard it here and there when I do underground jobs. It’s mostly tied to the currency exchange offices. If you’re looking for this Benefactor chump, they’ll likely be here, in Baleine.”
Liesl’s eyes widened. “How do you know this?”
“I got some friends who have contacts in the Financial District.” Jasper ran his hand through his curly hair, cocking his hip at an easy angle. “They kept seeing large sums going to and coming from Moray, and wouldn’t you know it, there were monthly payments being routed to one K. Mercado.”
Cayo frowned. “Routed to? You mean my f—Mercado was receiving money as well?”
“Looks like. But at least we can trace the source of it to Baleine.”
Remy was still evaluating Jasper. “Can we really trust what this man has to say? What if this is… I don’t know, a trap or something?”
“We do have weapons,” Avi pointed out. “And in case you’ve forgotten, we’re crooks as well.”
Remy opened his mouth, glanced at Amaya, and cleared his throat. “Right. Guess I did forget.”
“Which puts you in great company.” Jasper slung an arm around Cayo, who started at the contact. “Though I like to think of myself as more of a connoisseur of devious deeds.”
Remy rubbed his face. “Fine. But I’m coming with you to see where you’re staying.”
“I have a strict no bluecoat policy. Even for one as cute as you.” Jasper winked as Remy grimaced.
“He comes with us,” Amaya said. “He won’t run his mouth. If he does, I’ll teach him a lesson.”
Remy’s surprised “Amaya!” came at the same time as Jasper’s loud laugh.
“I like you.” Jasper pointed to Amaya, his arm still slung around Cayo’s shoulders. “You look mean, and I like that. Gives me the shivers.”
“Can we please get going?” Liesl demanded as she pushed up her glasses. “My partner has an itc
hy trigger finger.” Deadshot caressed her pistol to further the point.
“Come along, then, clever crooks.”
Jasper finally released Cayo and turned to lead the way. Amaya didn’t miss the look that Liesl gave her, the slight quirk of her eyebrow.
For a moment, you sounded like Boon, that look told her.
Jasper led them to a dark street lined with tenement buildings. Amaya was used to seeing touches of the Rain Empire in Moray, but to be surrounded by an entire city of foreign architecture was something else altogether. Whereas in Moray they used wood and limestone and gold, here they used iron and marble and brick.
Jasper counted the buildings, then opened the door of the third one on the left. “This one should have an empty floor.”
“Do you own these?” Remy demanded.
Jasper didn’t answer, just laughed as if it were the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Remy’s frown deepened.
“It’s not for forever,” Amaya reminded him softly. “We need all the help we can get.”
“I could have helped you.”
“You have. You are. But you know we can’t stay at the billet, not when most of us are Landless.” The thought alone of being near so many soldiers was enough to make her shoulders tighten.
Up a flight of rotting stairs and through another door was an apartment, drafty and barely furnished. It consisted of three rooms: a main chamber and two bedrooms, each with two small beds. The center room held a table with a few battered chairs and an ancient-looking stove.
“It’s not much, but it’s certainly better than what you could find on short notice,” Jasper said to Liesl.
“Thanks, Jas. What do we owe?”
“Nothing.” Jasper took a step back and swiped his thumb under his nose, grinning. “I still owe you, remember? Consider this reimbursement.”
“You just don’t want to be in my debt anymore.”
He formed his hand into a gun and pretended to shoot it at her. “Right in one. I shudder to think of the interest I’ve accrued.”
Liesl led Jasper to the door, exchanging a few hushed words as Amaya and the others looked around. Amaya thought longingly of her bedroom at the estate in Moray. She had lived for seven years on a ship, sleeping on a hammock among dozens of other children in damp and moldy surroundings, but somehow only a few months of luxury had softened her.
She stole a glimpse at Cayo, wondering how someone with eighteen years of luxury would adjust to their current situation. But to her surprise, his nose wasn’t wrinkled in distaste, and his hands weren’t twitching as if longing to wash them. Instead, he was idly tracing the wooden grain of the table over and over with that same lost expression.
When Liesl came back, Deadshot crossed her arms. “What was that about him owing you?”
Liesl pulled out a chair at the table and sat. “The two of us used to be part of a coalition here in Baleine. He got into a spot of trouble, and I helped get him out.”
Amaya leaned her hands on the table. The old wood creaked ominously. “A coalition? To do what?”
“What else? To get the Rain Empire out of Chalier. Our nation staved off their forces for as long as we could, resisting total conquest. But in the end…” She gestured to the grimy window that offered a view of the street. “We were plucked up like a grape and swallowed. Now we have to answer to the military and follow the laws of the empire’s governing forces. There were riots in the streets. Executions.”
Amaya thought back to the bodies on the Sinner’s Shelf.
“That was only a decade ago,” Avi noted. “I’m amazed the city is as functional as it is.”
“The citizens of Chalier aren’t easily cowed,” Liesl said. “Baleine is subdued because there’s a naval base here, but there are still pockets of civil unrest throughout the country. Who knows if the fever’s knocked their numbers down, though.”
“Speaking of which, I need to go report my findings,” Remy said. “I’ll come by tomorrow and let you know what the officers say.”
“I’ll walk with you.” Amaya wasn’t quite sure why she blurted it out. Maybe she wanted time away from the others; maybe she just wanted to see more of the city and get her land legs again, to reacquaint herself with a sturdy ground and not one that swayed beneath her feet. Either way, Remy nodded and the two of them headed out.
At first they walked quietly, simply taking in the streets limned in moonlight and torchlight, the people tugging their coats closed and pulling their hats down to ward against the wind. Amaya shivered, not used to the chillier weather. She would need to acquire a coat.
“I haven’t explored much of the city yet,” Remy said. “But Baleine’s said to have some of the best luxury shops in Chalier. There’s a whole district devoted to them. There’s even a district like the Vice Sector in Moray, although smaller and less… intense.”
She blinked. “You went to the Vice Sector?”
“I had to. The intelligence officers trained me to investigate every possible lead.”
“That’s an odd way of saying gamble.”
“I hate gambling. Why risk losing perfectly good money that you could use for snacks instead? No, it was because most of the counterfeit distribution came from the Vice Sector, so I had to take a look.”
Amaya sobered at the reminder. She stuffed her hands into her pockets as she thought back to all those chests of gold at the estate. Fake gold. Fake money.
All given to her by Boon, who had known exactly what it was. He had wanted her to spread it as far and wide as she could.
And she had, damn her. She had fallen right into his plan, so seduced by the idea of revenge that she hadn’t even bothered to consider he had been double-crossing her. That him knowing her father’s name should have been the first red flag.
“Hey.” Remy nudged her side. “The counterfeiting isn’t your fault. You didn’t know.”
“I should have looked into it. There was no good reason for him to have that much gold. I thought he’d just… stolen it.”
“Like I said, you didn’t know. And besides, it’s not just Boon who made counterfeit money; Mercado did as well. And this Benefactor is in on it, too.”
They entered what must have been the shopping district Remy had mentioned. Amaya spotted more cloaked figures on the street, coughing and groaning as they sat or laid against the sides of buildings. One of them shambled up to a woman leaving a store, their gray hands extended to plead for money. The woman gasped and stumbled over herself to get as far from them as possible.
“If we find this Benefactor, do you think the circulation of counterfeit coins will stop?” Amaya asked.
“That’s the plan. Although how to actually achieve that, I have no clue. And it’s not just here—we have to think about Moray, too. The city is already bankrupt, except they don’t know it yet. It’s only a matter of time until the counterfeits are exposed and the city becomes financially dependent on one of the empires.”
“What about Rehan?”
“Moray was annexed from the republic a long time ago. Since then it was colonized by both empires. I don’t think Rehan would want to get involved in a potential war, especially since they’re landlocked between two naval powers and their military presence is mostly directed at border patrol.”
Amaya was shaking her head when something caught her eye. She slowly drifted toward a shop display window that was stocked with three headless mannequins in various poses. They each wore a dress, but it was the one in the middle that had snagged her attention.
It was made of deep blue velvet, the sleeves designed so that they hung seductively off the shoulders and left the full width of the collarbone bare. The rest of the sleeves tapered off into a sheer fabric studded with clear, glittering gems that covered the whole length of the mannequin’s arms. The bust was similarly encrusted with those tiny gems, the design spiraling across the full, puffed skirt like a star.
She pressed her fingertips to the glass, wondering what it would look like on her.
Wondering how many people would bend to her will with just one glance.
“Miss being a countess?” Remy asked at her side.
Amaya was shocked to realize that some part of her did. Not the constant frills and airs, but the power she had felt when she could command a room with nothing but a dress, a smile, and a bit of makeup.
“She was never really me,” Amaya said, dropping her hand back to her side. “But she got things done. And she had a nice wardrobe.”
“Well, if I ever get promoted, maybe I’ll buy it for you.”
She snorted. “Sure.”
She took his hand in hers, thankful for the chance to have him beside her again, despite the situation they were in.
Remy had found his own path forward, but Amaya had nothing so clear cut. Instead she had a belly full of anger and spite. The weight of the knife at her hip grew heavier with anticipation the more she thought of it, the more she allowed herself to steep in that blistering feeling of betrayal.
They had to find the Benefactor, but she had her own personal mission: to find Boon and make him admit to his crimes. To learn the truth about what had happened to her father.
To pay him back for everything he’d done.
The magician needed a way to reach the stars. He asked the clouds for a chariot, but they drifted off without an answer. He asked the water for a sea foam horse, but its waves pushed him away. Finally, the mountain whispered that there was a way, and that is how the magician found the stairs of tourmaline cut into its side, glittering upward toward the sky.
—“NERALIA OF THE CLOUDS,” AN ORAL STORY ORIGINATING FROM THE LEDE ISLANDS
Cayo woke in a strange bed and tried not to panic.
He had done this his first morning on the Marionette, heart hammering in his chest and breaths tangled in his throat. The swaying of the ship had made his stomach lurch, the unfamiliar wooden walls closing in on him like the sides of a coffin.
He had never reacted that way before, not even on the worst mornings after all-nighters in the Vice Sector. He had woken on top of tables, tangled in limbs, and once in a pile of trash, but now all of a sudden a different bed had him unnerved.
