by Tara Sim
Cicada did it again, and once more the ship jerked forward, kept tethered by its anchor. He shared a look with Amaya.
“That’s not possible,” she said.
“You said it’s alchemy,” Cicada said. “Down on the Islands folks think it’s witchcraft, and now I’m beginning to suspect the same thing.”
Amaya ran the cloth through her hands, watching as she left trails of darkness with her fingers that were quickly eaten up by the light.
She thought back to what Avi had said about her mother helping Boon—her father—with alchemy. How her mother had told her not to be afraid of the spiders in their garden, that their silk was a gift.
“They’re sails,” she said at last. “Or at least, they can be used as sails. They’ll store the sun’s energy and keep a ship going when the wind can’t.”
Cicada whistled and shook his head. “Your mother must’ve been one powerful witch.”
Cayo had been silent until now, merely observing. When he finally spoke, he said the one thing she least expected.
“Get Romara.”
The Slum Queen was not thrilled at the summons.
She barged into the galley as Cayo was setting a mug before Amaya, nearly startling him into spilling hot tea across the table.
“What is this?” Romara demanded. Her lackey, Jacques, hovered behind her. “I was enjoying a nice breakfast when some ragamuffin urchin comes in practically demanding I come to this ugly heap of a ship.”
“Nice to see you, too, Romara,” Cayo muttered as he sat beside Amaya. “Have a seat.”
“I’ll pass. What happened?” Romara eyed the bandage around his hand, then Amaya. “You finally decided to stick him?”
Amaya growled, and Romara had the decency to look unnerved.
“I’m calling in one final favor,” Cayo said. “After all, I did help you secure the Vice Sector.”
“Which I repaid by handing over my father in exchange for that lanky boy.” Romara crossed her arms, leveling a glare at him. “You want a favor, there’s going to have to be payment of some sort, Cayo. You know that.”
He and Amaya exchanged a quick glance. She nodded.
“Fine,” Cayo said with a weary sigh. “But once we let you in on this plan, there’ll be no backing out of it.”
Romara quirked an eyebrow, intrigued. “All right.”
They told her about the cloth, and what they wanted her to do with it. At first all she did was let out an incredulous laugh.
“You’re running a con?”
“It’s not a con,” Cayo said.
Amaya showed Romara the small square of cloth she had cut from Cayo’s makeshift bandage. It was glowing with the sunlight she had exposed it to this morning.
Romara held it, lips parted in wonder. Even Jacques couldn’t help but stare, glancing from it to Romara and back.
“Thirty percent,” Romara said suddenly.
“Five,” Cayo countered.
“I don’t think so, puppy. It’ll be thirty or nothing.”
“Then you won’t be leaving this ship.”
She tensed, but one look at Amaya’s hand drifting toward her knife made her huff.
“Twenty-five percent,” Romara said.
“Seven.”
“Fifteen.”
“Ten.”
“Twelve.”
“Ten.”
“Eleven!” Jacques shouted, then shrank back at Romara’s glare. “Sorry. Didn’t know if I should be contributing.”
“Ten,” Cayo said firmly.
Romara scoffed and threw the square of cloth onto the table.
“Fine,” she said. “But only because I feel sorry for you.”
Once they drew up the plans, Romara left the ship with most of the cloth. Amaya stared after her, her fingers twitching as if she longed to run after her and get it back.
It had been her mother’s. It was hers.
But she had kept some for herself, because she knew this alone wouldn’t be enough. There was one final step, one more attempt to fix things.
Amaya headed back into the city, the last of her mother’s cloth folded in her pocket. It took hours to find an alchemist’s shop, the same symbol above the door as she’d seen in Baleine.
It took even longer for her to convince the woman who owned the shop that what she held was real, and how it had been accomplished.
“Rehanese Blueback spiders,” the alchemist repeated, running her fingers along the shimmering cloth, inspecting the thick, glowing thread. “They only live in southern Rehan. If we make this public…”
“You can make them a protected species,” Amaya finished for her. Which meant having access to a product that only Moray could manufacture, and therefore having leverage against the empires. The alchemist’s eyes gleamed with possibility, even a hint of greed.
Amaya twisted the jade ring on her finger. This was for the best, she reminded herself. It was what her mother would have wanted, her parents’ true legacy.
A way to save the city that had brought them together, broken them, rejected them, and ultimately reunited them.
I’ve taken what you showed me and made it my own. Using the silk for thread, soaking the cloth in the solution I made. I think you would have been proud. I wish I could hear you say the words.
—LETTER FROM RIN CHANDRA TO ARUN CHANDRA, UNSENT
Landless.
Cayo had expected something grander, something worse. Sentenced to a debtor ship, or a hanging.
But as he watched his father being marched out of the Port’s Authority, he knew this was how it should have been. How many people had Kamon Mercado made Landless? How many had he forced into exile just to protect his secrets?
Amaya touched his shoulder, but Cayo shook his head, telling her he was all right. He had needed to come here today. To hear the sentence for himself.
They took a long walk down to the harbor. Amaya kept his hand in hers, staying quiet. Allowing him to be with his thoughts.
Romara’s auction for the sails had gone better than they had anticipated. She had made sure the word spread, even going so far as to draw in bidders from the Rain and Sun Empires. Amaya had gone to witness it, had told him all about it in detail afterward, but nothing had prepared him for the sum the sails had gone for.
It wasn’t nearly enough to buy back the counterfeits, but it was a start. Enough to at least delay Moray from falling to either empire.
And when she told him the second part of her plan, Cayo knew it was only the beginning.
“The alchemists got together and agreed to petition the state,” Amaya told him. “They’re going to make the Rehanese Bluebacks a protected species in Moray, use their silk to make more sails and goods.”
“Which will help chip away Moray’s debt,” Cayo realized.
He had almost cried in relief, knowing they had done all they could to fix their fathers’ mistakes.
The sentry ships were no longer patrolling the bay now that the cure had arrived thanks to Deirdre’s efforts. Emergency clinics had been situated throughout the city, giving out free doses to rid citizens of ash fever once and for all. Cayo had worried they might charge for the medicine, but the people were already so on edge, so ready to riot at the smallest grievance, that they had likely thought better of it.
He and Amaya made their way to a small ship being loaded with prisoners. His father stood with a guard at either arm, his wrists and ankles shackled. His hair fell in ragged locks, his jaw dusted with stubble. Cayo had never seen him so disheveled.
Kamon’s eyes flickered to Cayo as he approached, making sure to stop a healthy distance away. Amaya stayed behind.
“Father,” he said. “I can’t say I’m sorry to see you go.”
Kamon breathed out and looked away. Said nothing.
Cayo pretended that it didn’t hurt. “I only came to say goodbye. So…” He stepped back, nodding once. “Goodbye, Father.”
He was turning when Kamon finally spoke.
“I d
idn’t mean for her to die.”
Cayo clenched his hands into fists. “But she did. Because of you.”
His father shrank back from the words.
“I hope our paths never cross,” Cayo said. Because I don’t know what I’ll do if I see your face again.
Kamon met his gaze with something that put a pressure on Cayo’s chest. Cayo refused to think of it as love. This wasn’t what love looked like. He had known enough of it to tell the difference.
He returned to Amaya, leaving Kamon to board the ship that would sail him out of Moray forever. She wrapped an arm around his waist, and he leaned some of his weight against her.
He didn’t bother looking back.
With Kamon Mercado arrested and made Landless, the manor was now up for sale. Cayo went to the Business Sector to discuss what all had to be done, only to learn that he didn’t have access to the deed. It was now the property of Moray, and they would sell it to the highest bidder.
He stood before the manor on a clear morning and watched movers take out what remained of the furniture, the artwork, all the pieces and bits of him that still hurt to look at. There—the chair his mother used to sit in as she read. There—the books from his room, adventures and romance and action. There—Soria’s favorite painting, the one of the mermaid calling to a distant ship.
Cayo almost stepped forward, a hand squeezing his heart. But what would he even do with it? He let the mover carry the painting away, never to be seen again.
His home, dismantled piece by piece, as if it meant absolutely nothing at all.
Cayo closed his eyes, felt the emptiness gaping larger within him as if the movers were taking out his bones and organs instead, piling them next to the furniture.
“I’ve lost everything,” he whispered, and it hurt more than he thought possible.
Amaya’s hand circled his upper arm, and she leaned against him.
So have I, that gesture said.
Cayo took her around the back of the manor, down the bluff, toward the cliffs. Amaya followed, silent and sure. He wondered if she was remembering the day they had swum in the inlet, the first unbinding of their masks.
The sun was beginning to set as they stood there, wind blowing past them toward the sea. The water was a bed of orange and red, warm and glowing.
He lifted the box from his pack, held it one last time between his hands. He rested his forehead against it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You deserved so much more.”
His throat closed, tears escaping past his closed eyes. Amaya’s hand settled on his back.
“I love you, Soria. Always.”
He opened the box, steeled himself before reaching inside. He lifted his palm and opened his fingers, letting the wind carry her away, blowing her into spiral patterns and scattering her like stars.
Amaya reached into the pouch she had brought with her. She took out a handful of marigold petals—a Kharian custom, she had explained, when one is mourning. The bright orange petals tore from her hand, eaten up by the wind.
They let ash and petals fly, blending together. Eager for the water, for the open sky.
I’d like to sail, one day. To have my own ship and discover new islands and make friends with sea monsters. I want to feel like the world belongs to me. That I have a place inside of it.
—DIARY OF CAYO MERCADO, AGE TEN
There was enough money left over from the auction to buy provisions for a long voyage.
Amaya and Cicada made the necessary preparations while Cayo plotted out their path. First to the Lede Islands, where Cicada and the Water Bugs would stay. There they would sell the Brackish, and Amaya would get a ship of her own; something smaller, something two sailors could manage.
She and Cayo would sail up to Viariche and stay with Liesl and her sister for a bit. Maybe up to Baleine to check how things were coming along and to see Remy.
And then, when she was ready, she would set out to free as many debtor ships as possible. To grant as many second chances as she could.
The day they set off, the Brackish’s sails finally unfurled, the children cheered and waved goodbye to Moray. Strange, how this ship had once been their prison and was now their ticket to freedom.
The city fell away behind them. Amaya pressed her thumb to the knife tattoo at her wrist, watching Moray grow smaller, knowing it would be the last time she ever laid eyes on it.
She had known it as Amaya, as Silverfish, as Countess Yamaa. She had seen it at its best and at its worst. It had taken from her, and she had given back. There was nothing left for her there.
When Moray finally fell out of sight, Amaya turned and spotted Cayo at the bow. She took in how the wind played with his hair, how he stood as if waiting for something to rise out of the depths and swallow them.
As she came up beside him, he relaxed. Even let out a little laugh.
“It’s funny,” he said. “I always wanted to be a sailor, to go on adventures. I didn’t realize they’d be so exhausting.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I could have told you that the first day we met.”
Do you regret meeting me? she had asked him in Baleine. He had never answered.
“Mm.” He glanced at her sidelong. “I should have guessed, that first time.”
“What do you mean?”
“You had stuffed snacks into your pockets. Hardly ladylike.”
“One has to adapt to survive.”
“True.” He took a deep breath, and there was something fitting about him here, framed by the sea and the rigging above his head. “We’ll have to adapt a lot, won’t we?”
“We will. Are you prepared for that?”
“Honestly? Probably not.” The way he looked at her this time was different, a warmth that made her blood feel fuzzy in her veins. “But we’ll figure it out. We always seem to.”
We’ll figure it out.
They would, she realized. The unexpected would always come, carefully laid plans gone awry. The wind would change, and the skies would darken with storms.
But that was all right. They didn’t have to weather it alone.
Cayo brushed back a lock of her hair, fingertips skimming across her cheek. A silent question, a quiet pleading.
She drew her hands up his chest and around the back of his neck. When he kissed her, it was soft and slow, as if they had an eternity to savor it. Time enough to forgive, and to learn. To go at whatever pace they set.
His next kiss was more urgent, drawing heat up through her chest. She tangled her fingers in his hair and savored the rhythm of his heartbeat against hers. A reminder that they had survived, that some part of the world was theirs alone.
They leaned their foreheads together and swayed with the ship, letting it carry them on to whatever waited for them next.
“I’m glad I met you,” Cayo said, and she knew it was the truth, worth more than any sum of gold.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I first drafted Ravage in early 2019, I had no idea that a year later a pandemic would be rampaging across the world, and that so much of what I put into this book would come to life. Even as I write this, we’re still in the thick of it. So, though they had nothing to do with this book directly, I want to say thank you to the health-care workers, first responders, grocery store employees, postal workers, retail workers, and delivery people who have sacrificed so much of themselves during this difficult time.
This book has gone through the careful hands of several editors. Hannah Allaman, thank you for your incredible insight and helping me shape the rough draft into something that actually resembled a book. Hannah Milton, thank you for making sure that all the nooks and crannies were filled. Patrice Caldwell, thank you for being the one to launch this series in the first place, and for your support ever since. A big, BIG thank-you to Kat Cho, without whom I would have perished long ago.
Thank you to the teams at Disney and Little, Brown, especially Melissa Lee, Morgan Maple, and Alvina Ling. A book’s cover is
super important, and I’m so glad to have had Sammy Yuen and Jenny Kimura’s vision for making Amaya even more badass, as well as Tom Corbett’s stunning photography.
Thanks to the folks at Glasstown who supported me and these books, especially Jenna Brickley for helping me navigate Ravage through choppy seas.
Traci Chee, Emily Skrutskie, Jessica Cluess: Somewhere along the way we went from being not just author friends but friend friends who throw insults and Cats content at one another, and I think that’s pretty special. Thank you for your love, jokes, and Crack Pie.
To the Cult—Akshaya Raman, Katy Rosé Pool (yes, Rosé), Kat Cho, Mara Fitzgerald, Christine Lynn Herman, Amanda Foody, Amanda Haas, Axie Oh, Alex Castellanos, Meg Kohlmann, Melody Simpson, Janella Angeles, Ashley Burdin, Claribel Ortega, and Maddy Colis—thank you for always being there for me and one another, for Zoom happy hours, and hilarious TMI stories.
Thanks to Margaret Owen for being patient while I scream in her texts and for reading my terrible rough drafts. Thank you to Ellen Gavazza, Meagan Cupka, and Jamie Lynn Saunders for Animal Crossing dates and letting me sell my cherries on your islands.
Thank you to my Patrons, especially those who’ve pledged five dollars and up: Ash Hardister, Susan Hamm, Mae Nouwen, Sen Scherb, Caitlin O’Connell, Amanda Wheeler, Carolyn, Sylph, Ellen, and Common Spence.
Thank you to The Untamed for getting me through some very difficult times.
To the readers, reviewers, BookTubers, bloggers, fan artists, etc.: a million thank-yous. Your support means the world.
And last but not least, thank you to my family for always having my back and making me smile. Like Amaya, my parents taught me the value of love and stories, and that is something I will always carry.
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