by Tara Sim
Amaya worried her father’s papers out from under her pallet. She thought back to the way Boon had stared at her in that rundown hut, guilt and disgrace in his dark eyes.
There was so much he hadn’t told her. So much her own mother had never told her.
My greatest treasures in this life lie with my wife and my daughter.
The breath caught in Amaya’s throat.
The page crumpled in her hand as she hurried back to the others. They stopped talking as she made her way to the table.
“My mother knew alchemy,” she said. “And I think she knew something about the counterfeits.”
Liesl frowned. “How do you know she was an alchemist?”
“Boon told me,” Avi said. “He knew Amaya’s mother. But what makes you think she knew about the counterfeits?”
Amaya placed the papers on the table. Liesl read them as Remy’s eyes tightened in recognition. “My father had a Widow Vault, right? I think… I think my mother had one, too.”
Liesl looked up from the paper. “I thought your family didn’t have the money for that?”
“I thought so, too.” Amaya swallowed past her tight throat. “But my parents hid things from me. A lot of things. And I think she hid whatever wealth we had in another Vault, one not even Mercado knew about. If she really was an alchemist who helped my—helped Boon, it’s possible she may have hidden something related to the counterfeits in there.”
“Like a cure?”
“I’m not sure. But it’s the only thing I can think of that she’d want to hide.”
“That’s a pretty big leap,” Deadshot said.
“It is. I don’t even know if it’s true. But we can’t continue to stay in Baleine.” Amaya glanced at Cayo, his face lined with exhaustion and heartache, as if he had aged years in just one night. “The trail’s gone cold here. We need to get back to Moray.”
Liesl nodded. “I agree. We’ve done all we can here.”
“But what if there’s more we can dig up on Deirdre?” Deadshot asked.
“Well,” Avi said, scratching his chin, “I’ll be staying behind, so I can keep looking into it.”
“You’re staying behind?” Liesl narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
Avi sighed. His gaze trained on the floor, he lifted the hem of his shirt. A small patch of gray stood out against the brown of his skin near his hip.
Liesl gaped at him. “Avi…”
“I can’t go back to Moray with you,” he said. “I’d only slow you down.”
Deadshot stood, looking furious. “You fool. You should have told us the moment you noticed it!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to worry anyone.”
“Of course we’d be worried!” Deadshot glared at him. “How long?”
Avi swallowed. “I first noticed the mark a couple of weeks ago.”
Liesl still hadn’t said anything else, her eyes too bright and her mouth pressed into a thin line. Avi came to sit beside her, putting a hand on her arm.
Amaya had to sit down as well, too dizzy to keep standing. Everything was strangling her, drowning her, pushing and pulling like she’d been dropped into a storm-tossed sea.
A hand touched her shoulder.
She looked up at Cayo. His expression was bleak yet determined.
“There’s too many questions and not enough answers,” she whispered.
He nodded slightly. “Then we’ll find some answers. I have to bring Soria home.” His voice broke, and he took a moment to compose himself. “I couldn’t save her, but we can still save others. If that means finding the cure, we’ll find it.”
Remy came up on her other side. “And you won’t be alone. I’m coming with you.”
“But the navy—”
“Gave me a three-month suspension after the stunt I pulled to save your ass, remember?” He gave her a lopsided smile. “You owe me two pastries, by the way.” He then nodded at Avi. “And I can secure you a place in the military hospital until we find a cure.”
“I’d much appreciate that. Thank you.”
Liesl caught Amaya’s eye. “You helped me rescue my sister. Anything you need from me, I’ll be there.”
“And where Liesl goes, I go,” Deadshot said.
“Then I suppose it’s settled,” Remy said. “At dawn, we leave for Moray.”
Amaya took a deep breath. Moray. Home. The place where she had lost so much.
She was terrified to learn what else she could lose.
Though he nearly fell off the mountain, the magician clung to it with all his strength. Inch by inch, step by step, he ascended until he finally reached the stars. They cast him in a cold light, demanded what he wanted of their time. But he was so chilled, so tired, so defeated by the mountain that all he could do was sit and weep, his tears sprouting into white blossoms where they fell.
—“NERALIA OF THE CLOUDS,” AN ORAL STORY ORIGINATING FROM THE LEDE ISLANDS
As the Marionette swayed beneath him, Cayo stared at the wooden ceiling of his cabin and wondered if his mother had lied to him.
When he was young, she would point up to the constellations and trace the familiar shape of a crown, the sign of Luck, the sign he had been born under.
“He who is lucky is a king,” she had told him.
But Cayo was a pauper left to starve in the ruins of his kingdom. Perhaps he deserved to be so unlucky, but Soria hadn’t. There was so much she had wanted to see and do. So much time now robbed from her, and from him.
Nothing could stay; everything was temporary.
That was something else his mother had said, and it rang truer to him now than it ever had before. They were returning to Moray, but there was nothing left for him there. Only memories and rage and regret.
Was this how Amaya felt when she’d returned all those months ago?
As if the thought had summoned her, there was a quiet knock on the door before it opened. He didn’t have to look to know it was her.
“We’re nearly at the docks,” she said. “Remy says to get ready.”
But he didn’t move. He remained spread out on his back, staring at the ceiling, half wishing she would leave and half wishing she would stay. Everyone had given him a wide berth on the week-long voyage, almost as if he, too, were infected with a disease they were terrified of catching. But Liesl had explained they were merely giving him space to grieve, to take as much time as he needed before he welcomed company again. They all understood what it meant to lose something bigger than yourself.
Amaya let out a soft sigh. She closed the door behind her and sat on the thick wooden bed frame.
“Are you going to tell your father about Soria?” she asked.
His fingers twitched. The answer to that question kept changing. On one hand, Kamon deserved to be left in the dark, just as he had left Cayo and Soria for so long. On the other hand, he also deserved to know what had happened to his daughter.
What exactly he had done to her.
Cayo didn’t answer, because he still didn’t know. Nothing mattered the way it had before, when everything had been all desperation and reckless planning. Now he didn’t particularly care what happened to him or his father, so long as they put an end to the fever.
Amaya hesitated, her body tensing slightly. Then, to his surprise, she spread out beside him on the bed. He moved over to give her room, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge it. She joined him in staring at the ceiling, hands resting on her stomach. His ears crowded with the sound of their breaths mingling together.
Eventually she sighed again. “After my father died, we got condolences, but they always seemed empty to me. I felt like only my mother could understand, because she was going through the same loss, you know? We found comfort in each other.” Her fingers curled inward. “And then I was taken, and while I was gone, she died. And I didn’t get the chance to mourn her properly.”
Amaya shifted onto her side, facing him. Slowly, he did the same.
“Words don’t really mean anything, do they?�
� she asked softly. “Nothing can bring her back.”
Cayo forced himself to meet her dark eyes. She knew loss the way he did, was still mired in her own. It made what he’d said to her before so much worse.
“It doesn’t get easier,” she went on. “Not really. It just turns into days where the pain hibernates and days when the pain is so bad you can’t stand it.” She blinked back tears. “I’m sorry if you wanted to believe something different.”
“No,” he said, his voice hushed. “It… helps. To not be lied to.” He thought back to his mother’s last days, the fury he’d felt at the unfairness of her weakening body. “I did want to believe something different, back then. When my mother passed, I kept the pain close to me, convinced myself it would go away eventually. It did, but only when I could distract myself from it.”
“In the Vice Sector,” Amaya guessed.
He nodded against the pillow. The two of them were quiet a long moment, a hint of Amaya’s breath on his chin. Some of her hair had fallen across her cheek, frizzing and curled from the sea wind. Although Cayo’s body felt heavy and burdensome, he lifted a hand to tuck the strand behind her ear, fingertips grazing her skin. She shivered, and his nerves reawakened in response.
He dared to rest his hand against her cheek. Her skin was dry, but she was warm, and it was intoxicating. Cayo had been cold every day since leaving Baleine. The heat of her body was a welcome beacon, a respite from the dark.
She must have felt him trembling, since she moved closer. Cayo pressed his forehead to hers, and the heat made him sigh in relief, made his body relax for the first time in days. His fingers had slipped into her hair, his thumb idly brushing the side of her jaw. She rested a hand on his shoulder, as if needing to anchor herself to him in some way.
His heartbeat was slow and even, but hers was fast, fluttering like a startled bird. His fingers trailed down her neck to feel her pulse, which jumped as if eager to meet his touch. Something dark and hungry opened in the pit of his stomach.
Nothing about this was right. Nothing about it was easy.
Maybe that was why he wanted it.
He carefully pressed his lips to her cheek. She stiffened, and he eased back, wondering if he had crossed a line. But her eyes were glassy, her lips parted, and she didn’t run to the door. Instead, she slowly gripped his chin in her hand and brought his lips down to hers.
They were warm like the rest of her, feeding the hunger inside him, teaching him a new form of desperation. She was hesitant, unsure, so he let her be in control even as his hands ached to touch her. She kissed him again, her hand traveling to the nape of his neck and tangling in his hair. When she opened her mouth, it was like a prayer being answered. Cayo only gradually deepened the kiss with small, teasing swipes of his tongue, the hairs along his arms standing on end at the soft sound she made.
His veins were electric, his blood singing. He wanted to press his body against hers, to caress her skin with his lips, to make her cry out because of what he was doing to her.
Instead, he pulled himself back, panting for breath. Amaya’s hair was mussed, her lips red from his. The hunger in him grew deeper, growling for more, but he had to let it starve.
He didn’t want Amaya to regret any of this.
She avoided his gaze, steadying her breath as she tried to smooth her hair down. Cayo opened his mouth to speak, but there was nothing to say. Perhaps it would be better that way—to let the moment exist silently, being whatever the both of them needed it to be. A moment of comfort. A moment of distraction.
There was a call from above deck. Amaya slid off the bed, threw him one last glance, and left the cabin to help prepare for docking.
Cayo stayed behind and let the cold crawl back into his bones.
It took him three tries to lift the wooden box.
Not because it was heavy, or even all that large, but because the enormity of what it contained was almost too much for him to carry.
He had left it in the room Soria had used on their trip to the Rain Empire, but he couldn’t avoid it any longer. Cayo carefully wrapped the box containing his sister’s ashes in one of his old shirts, then tucked it securely into the pack Remy had given him. He stood there a moment, hollowed out just from the simple act.
But the others were waiting. He gathered himself and joined them above deck, the pack resting snugly against his back.
Moray lay spread out before them. Cayo held on to the railing as he took it in: the buildings rising up from the harbor; the swaying palms; the warm, moist air that smelled of salt and sun. Cliffs rose to their right, manors and estates dotting their summits like pretty cakes on stands. Cayo spotted a glimpse of his own through the thick foliage, wringing his heart with a sick kind of joy.
He had once stood on its balconies staring out at the sea, wondering where he would go, whom he would sail with, what he would discover. Daydreaming about coming home triumphant and sated, at least until the next adventure.
But that wasn’t his home. Not anymore.
A ring of ships studded the outer edge of Crescent Bay. “What are those?”
“Sentries,” Remy answered. “I had a feeling they’d be here, so I exchanged the colors.” He pointed at the pennants flapping above the Marionette’s sails, which sported Moray colors instead of those of the Rain Empire. “They’ll be checking for ash fever.”
“And that’s not all they’re on the lookout for,” Liesl said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder toward the west. “Some Sun Empire ships are lingering nearby. Probably waiting for the city to fall before they fight for scraps.”
Sure enough, they were forced to stop and be boarded by a trio of guards who searched the ship from top to bottom. While he was inspected for ash fever, Remy made up some story about how they were migrants from a former colony. Cayo gritted his teeth as he was poked and prodded, until eventually they were all cleared.
“Once you enter the city, you won’t be allowed to leave until the threat of the fever has passed,” one of the guards warned them. “We can’t risk it spreading any farther.”
“We understand,” Remy said.
Past the checkpoint, they all breathed a little easier. Amaya gazed out at the city, and Cayo tried not to think about what they’d just done. Similarly, she seemed to be avoiding looking in his direction; or perhaps she was caught up in nostalgia.
Then she straightened. “I can’t believe it.”
“What is it?” Liesl came to stand beside her. “Oh.”
It took Cayo a moment to realize what they were looking at. In the harbor, the Brackish sat on the water, neglected and abandoned.
“It’s still here,” Amaya said, stunned. “I thought the Bugs would’ve taken it.”
“Do you think…?” Deadshot began.
“Boon,” Liesl finished for her.
“He could be hiding there,” Remy agreed, narrowing his eyes. “We should at least check.”
Amaya shifted at this, a tightness passing across her face.
Once the Marionette was docked, they made their way over to the Brackish. Its purple sails were gone, but the designs along the hull were still intact.
“The gangplank’s out,” Deadshot observed.
Frowning, Amaya led the way up to the ship’s deck. Cayo followed after her, hoping they would find Boon here, that he could formally introduce him to Jazelle. The pistol’s weight was as heavy against his hip as Soria’s ashes were against his back.
But before they could start searching, the weight of another pistol nudged the back of his skull.
“What in the hells are you doing on our ship?”
Away, away, the gods will play, Leave them an offering they must repay.
—CHILDREN’S RHYME FROM KHARI
Amaya heard the click of a gun and spun around, hand darting for her nearest knife.
Then she froze, taking in the young man holding the pistol to Cayo’s head.
“Cicada?”
Cicada’s eyes widened, and he lowered the
gun. Amaya ran for him, and he laughed as he swept her off her feet, spinning her around in a circle.
“Silverfish! Thought we’d never see you again!” He set her down and turned to the companionway. “S’all right, it’s only Silverfish!”
A few more familiar faces crept onto the deck, Water Bugs she had known from her time on board the Brackish. Matthieu, who’d been called Weevil. Jiana, who’d been Louse.
And Fera. Beetle. The little girl broke out into a wide grin when she spotted Amaya, showing off a couple of missing milk teeth. She crashed into Amaya’s legs, wrapping her stick thin arms around her.
“Amaya! You’re back!”
Amaya held her in a daze, staring at the Bugs. There were six of them, their ages ranging from Fera’s eight to Cicada’s eighteen. They stared at her in awe and disbelief, as if she were a myth come to life.
The last time she had seen them, Countess Yamaa’s estate had been broken into by Boon’s hired men. Nian and Cricket had both been killed in the scuffle. Amaya could still clearly envision Nian’s small, crumpled body lying in his own blood.
Amaya sank to her knees before Fera.
“What are you all doing here?” Amaya demanded, speaking to Fera although the question was directed at Cicada.
“Ran into some complications.” Cicada nodded in greeting to Liesl and Deadshot as they boarded the ship, looking just as stunned as Amaya. “All the other Bugs went home, but these ones… well, they didn’t want to.”
Matthieu shoved his hands into the pockets of his ratty trousers. “My da sold me. I don’t wanna go back just to be sold again like cattle.” There was some murmuring of agreement among the others.
Amaya couldn’t blame them. But as Fera’s lower lip trembled, Amaya knew it hadn’t been an easy decision to make. To completely turn your back on your family when you were so young and helpless…
“And besides, the fever’s been spreading like wildfire,” Cicada continued, gazing solemnly at the city’s skyline. “No one’s allowed to take their ships outside Crescent Bay, so we couldn’t leave now even if we wanted to. Not to mention the curfew and how the city guard’s been crawling through Moray like agitated ants. Hope you don’t mind we commandeered your ship, Silver—er, Amaya.”
