Ravage the Dark: 2 (Scavenge the Stars)

by Tara Sim

  “I will,” she lied.

  As the late afternoon sun bled into the ocean and evening began to blanket the city, Amaya donned her knives and slipped out of the apartment without anyone noticing.

  Cayo’s shift at the fish market had likely just ended. He was probably on his way back right this instant, preparing in nervous anticipation for the high-stakes game that started at midnight.

  Amaya would be there. She had promised.

  But first, she had other business.

  Guilt nipped her heels with every step she took through the chilly streets of Baleine. Her breaths kept catching in her throat as she thought about Remy’s earnest face, the anxious twist to Cayo’s mouth.

  But she couldn’t let Boon get away. She couldn’t let her questions go unanswered any longer.

  It was full dark when she reached Aumerine Street and found the ale house where Boon had been spotted throwing bottles. With a few pointed questions, she learned that after the encounter with the officer, Boon had lumbered off in the direction of a nearby district.

  The district smelled of woodsmoke, the streets more dirt than cobblestone, with chickens walking loose and unbothered. The houses here were ramshackle, the bottoms bearing water damage as if they’d been flooded in the past, likely after a bad storm. Compared to Basque’s manor, they were little more than plaster boxes.

  If the counterfeits continued to circulate, these were the people who would be hit hardest during the economic collapse. They were already so vulnerable; she couldn’t imagine what would happen to them if they lost everything.

  She gave Boon’s description to those she encountered on the street. Most hadn’t seen him, but a couple pointed north, saying they’d seen him come and go from Rupin Alley.

  She stalked up and down Rupin Alley, but had no way of telling which house he might be squatting in. Just when she was about to start knocking on doors, a shout came from up ahead.

  Amaya tensed and crept forward, the gloom helping to conceal her as she peered around the corner.

  A man yelled at another in Soléne, shooing at him to get out of his sight. The other man barked a familiar laugh and staggered away, weaving drunkenly in her direction.

  Amaya’s skin prickled.

  Boon.

  The rage welled up, bright and sparking and voracious.

  Silently, she slipped a knife from its sheath.

  One moment. Just one moment was all it would take to erase him from this world, erase the source of her grief and her guilt.

  It wouldn’t right her mistakes, but it would be a mercy for them both.

  He stumbled down the street, passing where she’d wedged herself between two houses. Amaya followed, careful not to make a sound, her lungs aching from too-shallow breaths. The hilt of her knife bit into her palm as she tightened her grip.

  Just one thrust. One quick flick of her wrist as the blade sang across his throat.

  She lengthened her stride. As he reached for the door to a building little more than a glorified hut, she lunged forward and grabbed the back of his collar, pressing her knife to the side of his neck.

  Boon stopped but didn’t fight against her. Didn’t even seem surprised, as if he’d known the attack would be coming.

  “Thought it might be you,” he mumbled. His words were more slurred than normal, but he didn’t smell like alcohol despite his wavering stride. “Come to finish it, then?”

  She pressed the knife harder and was satisfied by his grunt of pain. “Why shouldn’t I, after everything you’ve done? I’d be doing the world a favor.”

  His rough laugh turned into a cough. “Probably right about that. But I got a proposition for you anyways.”

  She bared her teeth. “I’m tired of your propositions.”

  “You wouldn’t be the only one.” He coughed again, and she frowned. “But just hear me out. I won’t run. Not in a state to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He gestured impatiently in front of him. “We can’t talk here. Just come in, yeah?”

  She weighed her options. Kill him and leave his body in the street for some unlucky person to stumble upon, or listen to what he had to say. But what had doing the latter ever gotten her?

  Sensing her reluctance, Boon turned his head slightly despite the knife and froze.

  “That ring,” he rasped. “Where did you get it?”

  She glanced at the band of jade on her finger and her questions all came flooding back. Her mother and father. Alchemy.

  Heart racing, she finally released him. Boon stretched his neck from side to side and faced her, frowning.

  “Well?” he demanded. “Where did you find it? You didn’t have it before.”

  “That’s none of your business,” she said coldly. “This ring belongs to me.” Brandishing her knife, she pointed at the door with its tip. “You want to talk? Fine. I have some questions for you.”

  Boon stared her down. She stared back, refusing to be cowed. Eventually he scoffed and clicked his tongue several times.

  “Anyone ever told you you gotta knack for giving orders? C’mon, then.”

  Boon shouldered open the door. The hut beyond looked and smelled like something a fisherman would live in, and Amaya wondered if Boon had happened upon it or if he’d driven the previous owner out. Or maybe it was just another casualty of an ash fever victim.

  She stepped inside and wrinkled her nose at the sour odor. Boon muttered to himself and clicked his tongue in strange patterns as he lit a cracked lantern on a nearby table. The flames danced over broken furniture and trash littering the floor. Something crunched underneath her and she lifted a boot to reveal a small pile of fish bones.

  “Would offer you tea ’cept I don’t have any.” Boon rummaged through a cupboard and reemerged holding a mostly empty bottle of liquor. “Got this, though, if you want a nip.”

  “No thanks.” Amaya lifted the ratty curtain over the window that looked out onto the street. “You said you wanted to talk. So let’s talk.”

  “Right down to business, then.” Boon collapsed onto a moth-eaten couch and took a swig of his drink, some of it dribbling into his beard. “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

  Amaya let the curtains drop and scowled at him. “What does it matter to you?”

  “Curious minds and all that. Is that little fop with you?”

  Amaya drew herself up to her full height—it wasn’t much, but it was something—and resisted the urge to smash her boot into his face.

  “His sister is sick,” she said. “We came here to help her and try to put a stop to the counterfeiting.”

  “Ah.” Boon drank deep and wiped a sleeve across his mouth, the tremor in his left arm even more pronounced than before. “Truth be told, I didn’t think it would reach this far.”

  How could he be so calm about all this? “You and Mercado did this. And the Benefactor as well.”

  He tensed. “How do you know about the Benefactor?”

  “I don’t owe you any answers.”

  Boon smiled wryly. “Suppose you don’t. Well, this so-called Benefactor is the reason I’m here.”

  “Do you know who they are?”

  “No, only that they’re in Baleine. Figured it was worth a shot to find out who they are, try to blackmail ’em.”

  “We think we already know who the Benefactor is,” she said coldly. “Robin Deirdre.”

  Boon started. “Deirdre?” He contemplated this, the bottle in his hand forgotten. “Yeah, I guess that’s a possibility.”

  “She owns nearly all the alchemists in the city.” Her throat tightened briefly, painfully. “They’re making the counterfeits while also trying to find a cure to profit from. She wants to weaponize the alchemists to fight the Sun Empire. To reclaim Moray.”

  “Hold on.” Boon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Slow down. Why do you think this?”

  “Again, I don’t owe you answers.” She took a step forward, fingers brushing her knife hilt. “There’s nothing you can
do that will help. You’re part of the problem, and that’s all you’ll remain.”

  She thought he would bite back, turn it around as a joke. Instead, he stared at the bottle in his hand as his head twitched once, twice.

  “Guess that’s true enough,” he muttered.

  An uncomfortable feeling began to take over her. She didn’t like seeing him like this, a reminder of how sad and pitiful he could be.

  “What were you even thinking when you sent me to Moray with all that fake gold?” she asked.

  “That I would poison the rich,” Boon said immediately. He sounded oddly lucid, and it heightened her uneasiness. “That I’d punish the sorts of people who caused me to suffer. But then Mercado had to go and make his own, make it circulate ’round the Vice Sector and…” He made a circle in the air with his bottle, making its contents slosh. “Here we are.”

  “Well, congratulations,” Amaya said. “You ended up becoming just like the man you wanted to take down.”

  She thought that, at least, would get him riled, but he only drained the last of his alcohol and let the empty bottle roll to the floor.

  “Yeah,” he muttered, “suppose I did.”

  Amaya couldn’t decide what she felt more: pity or disgust. She could have easily turned around and left him here, let him fend for himself while she and the others continued on with their plan.

  Instead, she sat carefully on the chair by the couch, half expecting it to collapse underneath her. It made a faint protesting groan but stayed put, so she leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

  “You mentioned something about a proposition.” Liesl would be furious that she was even entertaining the idea of helping Boon, but perhaps he could do something in exchange that could aid their plans. “What were you thinking?”

  Boon pulled himself up into a seated position with a grunt of effort. “Easy. I help you deal with the Benefactor, then you get me out of Baleine. I’ll be out of your hair for good.”

  Amaya waited. When he said nothing else, she replied, “That’s it?”

  “Some unsavory sorts are eager for my head, and I’d rather it stay on my shoulders for the time being.”

  “Can’t imagine why,” she said dryly. “Even if I were to help you escape, you’d just run into the same problem again. The Rain Empire’s navy will be searching for you, too.” Remy had given his superior officers all the information they’d had on Boon. “And I doubt you’ll find much refuge in the Sun Empire, seeing as they might use the fever to their advantage and strike at the Rain Empire or Moray. They’ll close their waterways, if they haven’t already.”

  Boon opened his mouth, but for once, it appeared he was speechless. His dark eyes flashed with anger, his entire face hardening with it, before his expression relaxed and he leaned back with a weak laugh.

  “Gods, girl,” he rasped. “I’d say I was proud if I wasn’t in such a deep shithole.”

  “You put yourself there,” she reminded him.

  “Well. I don’t blame you for turnin’ your back on me. Should’ve told you the whole truth before.”

  “You think?” She stood, realizing that if she didn’t kill him now, he would no doubt try to manipulate her in some fashion.

  But as she reached for her knife, the weak lantern light caught the edge of her mother’s ring.

  She paused, staring at it. She had sought him out for answers, but the questions still sat churning inside of her without voice. Because she was scared. She was terrified of knowing the truth.

  But if she was ever going to know something like peace, she had to ask them.

  Knowing she would regret it, she turned back to Boon, whose eyes hadn’t left her.

  “You asked me about this ring,” she said. “Why?”

  Gone was any trace of the beleaguered rogue on his face. He wore an expression she had only seen a couple of times, something weary and somber and so unlike him that she had to wonder if she were still talking to the same man.

  Boon slowly got to his feet, using the couch for balance as he leaned most of his weight against it.

  “Because I gave your mother that ring,” he answered.

  So he had known her. The confession whisked the breath out of Amaya’s lungs even as she curled her hand into a fist and pressed it protectively against her chest. It was another lie, another clever way to worm through her defenses. “No you didn’t. My father gave it to her when they were married.”

  Boon sighed, raking a hand through his dark hair.

  “Look, I—”

  “No.” She pointed a finger at him, walked a few paces forward with her shoulders squared and her jaw clenched. “My mother was an honest woman. She was a seamstress and happily married. You don’t get to barge into my life, stomp around in the wreckage, and then tell me that you and my mother…”

  She was breathing hard, satisfied by the muted horror in Boon’s eyes. “She was a seamstress. She wasn’t some… some sort of criminal alchemist! Why in the hells would she ever even be in the same room with someone as pathetic as you, let alone work with you? Be with you?” A sickening revelation opened in the pit of her stomach. “Is that why you killed my father? Because you wanted to be with her?”

  Boon slowly sank onto the arm of the couch. He suppressed a cough, grimacing in pain. For a long time he didn’t speak, and Amaya couldn’t look away, could barely do anything other than force another breath in, another breath out.

  “I…” He let out a huff of air and was quiet a moment longer. “I remember standing on my ship and looking out at Moray from the bay. I remember realizing that it was all gonna go away. That everything I’d done would be for nothin’. That Mercado would do anything to burn me out of existence, me and all that dirt I’d dug up on him and his illegal trade.”

  He coughed again, wheezing a little. “I did everything I could. Took out another loan. Sold the Papaya. Hells, I even tried gambling, which only made it worse. But Mercado was relentless. You wouldn’t be safe. You…”

  He fell into a coughing fit, and Amaya backed away, her heart a painful lump in her throat.

  “How do you know that name?” she whispered. She had named her father’s boat the Papaya, her favorite fruit, when she was four. Named it after the doll her mother had sewn for her.

  Boon looked at her, his eyes wet from all the coughing.

  “Amaya,” he said, more gently than she’d ever heard him speak. “Come on.”

  She shook her head, backing away farther. “No.”

  “I didn’t want you to find out. I didn’t… want you to see who I’d become. But our paths crossed anyway—likely some god spitting on us from above. Ended up being more a curse than a blessing, huh?”

  Her back hit the door, and she stood there, shaking, staring at the man she despised more than anyone.

  Boon.

  Arun Chandra.

  Her father.

  Tears fell from the corners of her eyes before she could stop them. She had been tricked, deceived, cheated, and yet none of it compared to this—the cruelest thing that had ever been done to her.

  Did you kill my father? she had asked him.

  In a sense, I suppose I did.

  “Why?” It came out as a sob.

  He rubbed a hand against his mouth, his gaze averted. “To protect you and your mother. I tried to pay off my loans to Mercado with the counterfeits, but he caught on. So I let myself get captured by the Port’s Authority ’fore he could lay a hand on me. Thought they’d just plop me on a debtor ship, but instead they sentenced me to hang. Then Mercado came in and offered me a deal: the counterfeit recipe in exchange for being Landless. He didn’t find out about the blackmail until I was long gone.

  “But when I finally managed to get back to Moray”—he dug his fingers into the back of the couch so hard they paled—“I found out you were gone. Your mother was dead. I assumed she’d gotten you out of the city so Mercado wouldn’t use you to open the Vault. I didn’t know you were on a debtor ship.”

/>   He forced himself to stand again, swaying slightly. The look he gave her was plaintive, regretful, but it did nothing to lessen the ache of betrayal within her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “For this. For all of it.”

  It wasn’t enough.

  It would never be enough.

  Everyone around her lied and cheated and did terrible things, and she was the apex of it all, the eye of the storm that promised more disaster to come. She had learned it from this man who claimed to be her father. Perhaps it was in their blood, some awful, bitter thing that possessed them to ruin other peoples’ lives.

  She didn’t realize she had taken out her knife until Boon’s eyes flashed down to it.

  Her father was dead. That was still true enough. Arun Chandra had been a good, loyal man, who had held her tightly and promised to never let go. He’d been a man her mother had loved, then grieved for. He had laughed at her jokes and taught her about sailing and bought her dumplings and cake whenever they could afford it.

  That man was dead. The man before her was someone else entirely.

  “Amaya,” he began, but she kicked him back, made him topple onto the couch. She grabbed his shirt and held the blade against his throat. He smelled of alcohol and sweat, his body radiating an intense heat.

  “You deceived me,” she whispered. “You deceived me twice.”

  “I did.” His throat bobbed against the sharp edge of the blade.

  “When you were on the water the day I saved you…”

  He closed his eyes briefly, as if in pain. “I was scattering marigolds for your mother.”

  She recalled the sight of marigold petals stuck to his jacket, like orange jewels. Her eyes stung, and she blinked hard.

  “I didn’t know you’d be on that ship,” he said softly. “I didn’t recognize you at first.”

  “But when you did, you saw fit to use me.”

  “Yes.”

  She held back the cry that rose up her throat, burning with all the rage and anguish that made her hand tremble. The knife he had bought for her nicked his skin, drawing a bead of blood to the surface.

  “Give me a reason not to end it here,” she said. Begged.