Scavenge the Stars

by Tara Sim

  “But—”

  “You’ve hardly been outside.”

  Because ever since they’d discovered she had ash fever, Cayo had been worrying himself to the point of exhaustion. Kamon had had enough sense to buy the Hizons’ silence, but Cayo had been consumed with Soria’s needs, calling for a doctor and putting down the payment for her medicine as soon as possible. For the first time, he thanked the god and her stars for his father’s business.

  “I’m livid I have to miss this party,” Soria had told him. “And that I’ll miss you going off on the countess. You better tell me all about it afterward.” Her breathing had been strained, her face slightly gray, but still she had managed to smile. “Just don’t fall back into old habits, all right?”

  Soria hadn’t been the only one to try to convince him.

  “It’s impossible to tell if the Hizons will keep news of Soria’s illness to themselves,” Kamon had told him this morning. “Now that they’ve called off the engagement…” His father’s jaw had clenched. “Before the rumormongering begins, we can still represent our family at functions such as these. We need to keep up our reputation, now that Soria’s candidacy is forfeit.”

  “Are you sure I’m the best candidate for that?” Cayo had asked with a brazen quirk of his eyebrow.

  Kamon’s answering look had been dark as a storm cloud. “Better a former rogue than a carrier of the fever.”

  Cayo didn’t care what the gentry thought. After everything his sister had done for him—cleaning him up after wild nights in the Vice Sector, lying for him so that their father didn’t know where he was, then eventually convincing Cayo to end his service to the Slum King—the least he could do was take care of her. Now, with her engagement to the Hizon heir severed…

  Rounding a potted palm, Cayo took a moment to lean against it and catch his breath, tugging at his stiff collar. It was too hot in here. As he scanned the greenhouse for a waiter with a pitcher of water, an arm landed heavily across his shoulders.

  “Finally, you emerge from your cave! I haven’t seen you at the casinos in months.”

  Cayo rolled his eyes and shrugged Tomjen’s arm away. “You know why.”

  “Oh, trust me, I know.” Tomjen leaned in, tapping the side of his pointed nose. His brown eyes were bright and glassy with what Cayo assumed were his first drinks of the night, his black, slicked-back hair already somewhat in disarray. “You’re licking your wounds.”

  “What? No.” Still, he was filled with a hot, dreadful shame at the reminder of what he’d lost. But this wasn’t about pride, not anymore.

  Tomjen slapped his back in what he must have thought was encouragement. “I have every confidence you’ll win it all back. Look, your glass is empty. Go get another and we’ll find some fun. I spy a lovely group of flowers.”

  Cayo was confused until he realized Tomjen was steering them toward a small group of women. They were dressed in taffeta and silk, in bright colors and jewel-encrusted fabrics that winked in the light as they moved. They really did look like flowers, or a box of vibrant candies.

  “Ladies,” Tomjen said, showing off his best bow. The young women tittered, one of them using a silk fan on herself. “How may I best be of entertainment to you this evening?”

  “We were just about to play some rounds of Bilge Rat,” one of them said. “Would you care to join us?”

  Cayo’s fingertips buzzed again. Bilge Rat had been one of his favorites, the game fast and intuitive, with a card turnover rate so quick that a game could be over within mere seconds. It was one of the more dangerous ones.

  “The pleasure would be mine,” Tomjen said with another bow, the very model of a wealthy merchant’s son. Cayo, in comparison, felt like a diamond that had reverted back to coal. “Cayo, shall we deal these lovely ladies in?”

  Soria’s warning enveloped him like a shawl. With an effort, he shook his head, forcing that dimpled smile again. “Not this time, I’m afraid.”

  Tomjen frowned but let it go, eagerly gathering the girls to him and loudly proclaiming that he had the fastest shuffling speed of anyone here. As they left, Cayo temporarily abandoned his search for the countess and found the nearest door. He needed the open air to clear his head.

  Outside, he leaned against the thick glass wall and took in a deep breath, studying the canopy of stars overhead. The night was warm and close, the sea dark and quiet compared to the light and bustle within the greenhouse. The moon shone upon the water’s surface like a blanket of pearl.

  It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t alone. A little farther down the wall stood a young woman in an elaborate gown of silver and gold, the formfitting bodice patterned with tiny diamonds in the shape of waves, the full skirt half-covered in a ruched, gauzy fabric. It was the sort of dress Soria would have drooled over.

  Cayo smiled halfheartedly at the young woman, who smiled back. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen, likely an aristocrat’s daughter who had been sent to one of the empires for schooling. Her dark, thick hair was swept up into a simple style with a jade clip to hold it in place. He guessed she was of mixed lineage, her skin somewhat darker than those from Rehan and Moray, her eyes more round than curved. Her shoulders were broad and her arms showed a subtle swell of muscle, and her nose was a bit crooked, as if it had once been broken.

  “Not one for gambling, my lord?” she said in a voice like gin, clear and strong.

  “I’m afraid not. The cards give me calluses.”

  She laughed, and his mouth eased into a true smile. It had been a while since he’d made a girl other than Soria laugh.

  “I’m not one for gambling either,” she said. Her lips were dark with carmine, her eyes dramatically lined with kohl. “I’d rather spend my money on useful things. Like a pocket watch, or a hit man.”

  He laughed weakly, unable to tell if she was joking, but he couldn’t look away from her eyes. They were dark and intense, the way the night feels before a storm breaks. It almost felt as if she could read him, as if she already knew the exact suit he held before he could play it. “How are you enjoying the party so far?”

  “It’s a bit better now that I have a moment to myself.” She reached into a hidden pocket of her gown and drew out what looked to be a canapé of puffed pastry sprinkled with sesame seeds. She popped it in her mouth and shrugged. “It’s rather stuffy in there, isn’t it?”

  Cayo, caught off guard by the appearance of the puffed pastry, took a moment to respond. “I agree. Not to mention gaudy.” He gestured at the array of plants and tables inside, the silver tureens of food, the fountain bubbling with champagne behind them. “The trivial things one does with a fortune. No doubt inherited.”

  “No doubt,” the young woman agreed, pulling out another canapé and offering it to him. “Want one? They’re good. Filled with red-bean paste.”

  To his surprise, Cayo grinned. His sister would have screamed in horror if she saw food even come near a gown as nice as this one. Normally he would have joined her, but he was too distracted by the sheer confidence that rolled off her, like she knew she could get away with anything.

  “I’m all right, but thank you.”

  She shrugged and consumed it in one bite, not bothering to disguise the sound of pleasure as she ate. She licked stray sesame seeds off her fingers, gazing thoughtfully at the bay. Cayo, enraptured, stared at her instead.

  “I suppose that’s one benefit of owning fishing boats,” the young woman said. “Being able to afford good food.”

  The fizzing, warm sensation in his chest went flat. Fishing boats was what the people of Moray said instead of debtor ships. Both were technically correct, but only one was honest.

  Cayo had learned through rumors that the countess owned some herself. It wasn’t a practice that sat well with him, but the unsettling reality was that it lined the pockets well.

  “It’s a common factor among the Moray gentry,” Cayo replied carefully.

  “True enough. Take the Mercado family,
for instance. They made their fortune on the backs of indentured children, and the heir is a drunken playboy who squanders it all at the tables.”

  Cayo’s mouth dried. The clothes against his skin seemed to burn. Clearly, she had no clue she was speaking to the drunken playboy himself.

  Well, then.

  “I happen to know that’s not true,” he said in what he hoped was a calm, light tone. “I believe one of Kamon Mercado’s companies supplies provisions to the debtor ships, but only the ones that employ adults. He would never agree to work with ships that used children.”

  “Are you sure about that? I hear the countess purchased the Brackish from him.”

  The Brackish. He’d never heard of it, nor had his father informed him of a recent sale. It unsettled him to think that his father would conduct business transactions he purposefully kept from Cayo’s knowledge.

  “At least the Mercados keep the debtors fed and know how to respect the Port’s Authority. The entire port was reeling when the countess arrived and had the arrogance to not adhere to its rules.”

  She stared at him in that dark, intense way of hers, idly touching the row of pearls at her throat. “You seem to know quite a bit about the countess already.”

  “Only what I’ve heard since her ship anchored.” Remembering his reason for coming to this party in the first place, Cayo scowled. “Have you seen her at all?” he asked, squinting through the glass wall behind them.

  She shook her head. “I heard she retired early. She was waiting for someone who never showed.”

  Cayo scoffed. “Figures. Well, whoever this woman is, she needs to learn her place. She can’t just roll up to Moray and upend it like a card table. If she isn’t careful, she’s going to end up reaping what she sows.”

  The young woman rolled her pearls between her fingers, her eyebrows raised. God and her stars, he needed to dunk his head in that champagne fountain. Maybe he should have gone with Tomjen and the others.

  He suddenly realized he’d had quite enough of this party. And with the countess already gone, what was the point?

  “I apologize, my lady.” Cayo barely remembered to bow. “I’m rather tired. I should be heading home.” He turned and made for the boats that would return him to shore.

  He felt the young woman’s eyes on his back the entire time.

  Cayo was halfway home when he ordered the carriage to stop. Needing to cool off after his strange encounter at the party, he told the driver to wait for him while he took a walk through Moray’s dimly lit streets, hands in his pockets and eyes on the ground.

  He stopped and craned his head back. A streak of purple cut across the sky like a vein. Sailors knew how to navigate by the stars. Cayo had always wanted to learn, but Kamon had told him that a merchant had no need for that. Their lives were made of numbers and ledgers, not sails and compasses.

  “Caaayooo.”

  He tensed at the voice that sang his name from the darkness. A second later, she emerged from the mouth of the alleyway, one gloved hand on her hip and the other swinging a parasol by its handle.

  “Romara.” He barely managed to hide the dread in that one word.

  She gasped in mock surprise. “You remembered my name! I worried. It’s been so long.” Romara pretended to pout, puffing out lips that had been painted black for the evening. Other than that, everything about her was red, from the elbow-length gloves to her shoes. Even her battered, moth-eaten parasol was a deep burgundy. She wore her dark hair in a messy bun, kept in place by a glittering hairpin.

  “You’re a little off course, dear,” she went on, pointing behind her with her parasol. “You know where the best spots are.”

  He hadn’t even realized his feet were automatically bringing him to the one place he shouldn’t be. Tomjen and the twins had gotten into his head with all their talk of fun. He longed for that familiar cocktail of pleasure and danger sending excitement shivering through him. It would be like easing a sore body into a warm bath—something to take the edge off, to smooth out his nerves, to quiet his anxious mind. He could wager the sapphire hanging from his ear in the hopes of winning more. More money he could spare for Sébastien. More money for Soria’s treatment.

  Just don’t fall back into bad habits, all right? Soria’s voice whispered in his ear.

  “I’m not going to the Vice Sector,” he said. “Not tonight.” Not ever.

  Romara scoffed and stepped closer, and he could see now the smudged kohl winging from the corners of her eyes.

  “What’s the matter, Cayo?” She cocked her head. “Too good for us now, hmm? Good little merchant boys don’t gamble, or some shit like that?”

  “Some shit like that,” he agreed, steadying her as she swayed. Something inside him swayed, too—a feeling similar to seeing Sébastien on the docks, regret and nostalgia tied up into a complicated knot. “Why don’t you go home, Romara?”

  She scoffed again, flinging her arms out on either side of her. “I am home!” She laughed, a high, shrieking sound that made him cringe.

  “I mean to your father’s.”

  Romara dropped her arms, a flash of hurt across her face. “I know what you mean, asshole. Don’t tell me what to do.”

  He raised his hands. “All right.” The last thing he wanted to do was get on Romara’s bad side. As the daughter of the Slum King, all it took was a lazy point of her gloved finger for her father’s men to drag away the poor fools who thought to annoy her. Most were never seen again.

  At least he had spent enough time at the casinos for them to understand each other. Romara didn’t seem to have her own friends; instead, she was prone to flitting among the groups of regulars who wandered into her father’s domain. Cayo had often watched her stalk the casino floors like a wary lioness, surprised that she was so young—only about his age. There had been something vulnerable about her then, a hint of uneasiness under the mask of haughty indifference she was so fond of wearing.

  Perhaps that was why he had invited her to some of the games he played with the twins and Tomjen and Bas. At first his friends had been terrified of her, shooting Cayo dirty, accusing looks for even daring to get Romara’s attention. But when she had told them the best ways to cheat at which tables and which dealers were more easily distracted than others, she had fit right in.

  Ever since then, she sometimes joined them during those restless nights, sharing jaaga leaf to smoke together. They had once lain on their backs on the roof of the tallest casino for hours, high out of their minds and complaining about the city spread out around them.

  Romara’s complaints were always the same: how her father’s grasp on Moray was weakening, and how she would one day push him off his bloody throne to rule this city the way it should be.

  “Just one hour,” she wheedled now, licking at the corner of her lips. Some of her lipstick had faded there. “The Scatterjack dealer they have at the Grand Mariner tonight is one of your favorites. The one with the curly hair.”

  Again temptation pulled at him, but weaker than before. After his outburst at Countess Yamaa’s party, his mind was cloudy, static.

  “Not tonight,” he repeated with that dimpled smile. “But soon.”

  She grabbed his chin in her hand, shaking his head a bit. “It better be soon.”

  Then she tottered back to the alleyway, blowing a sloppy kiss over her shoulder as her heels clacked into the shadows. He thought he heard her laugh drunkenly to herself.

  Cayo exhaled wearily and turned back for the carriage. When he finally arrived at Mercado Manor, he felt as if he’d been beaten with a branch. He thanked the coachman and greeted Narin, who held the door open for him with a short bow. The man’s face was creased with concern, as it had been ever since Soria’s incident.

  Cayo crept up the stairs toward his sister’s room, his footsteps muffled by the green runner. He didn’t want to bump into his father and be interrogated about how the party went. What would he even say? “Oh yes, it was lovely, especially the part where some lady acc
used you of employing children.”

  Easing Soria’s door open, he found that the candles were still lit in the sitting room, the door to Miss Lawan’s connecting room closed. He walked in and peered into the bedroom. Soria was fast asleep in her spacious bed, blankets piled on top of her to help ease the chills that racked her body.

  Cayo made his way to her side, bringing one of the candles from the sitting room. Soria’s breathing was strained even in her sleep, her cheeks more hollow than usual, her eyelids sunken and bruised. His sister from two weeks ago wasn’t here; in her place was a specter of who she’d been.

  Cursing softly, Cayo returned to the sitting room and opened the medicine cabinet.

  It was empty.

  The bottom of his stomach gave out. He forced himself to close it gently, to sneak back out and shut the door behind him without a sound. Then he turned and strode to his father’s office.

  He was going to go through the ledgers and find the receipt for Soria’s medicine, to make sure they had been given the right amount. But he didn’t expect to find his father already sitting behind his desk, idly sipping his morning coffee. Kamon blinked at Cayo when he burst into the room, breathless and bedraggled.

  “I take it the party went well,” Kamon said, lowering his mug and eyeing Cayo’s mussed suit. The window at his back was lit with the pale blue of dawn. He’d been out all night.

  Cayo furiously pointed down the hall. “Soria has no medicine left. She needs another dose.”

  Kamon drew a long, slow breath, then took another sip of coffee. Cayo itched to grab his mug and throw it against the wall.

  “I can call for the doctor,” Cayo said, his own voice strangling him. “I can—”

  “Cayo.” Kamon fixed him with a long, hard look. “There will be no doctor. We can’t afford the medicine.”

  The ground felt insubstantial under his feet. Cayo swayed a bit, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. “What?”

  “We’re broke.”

  Cayo grabbed the back of the nearest velvet-lined chair before sitting—though it seemed more like falling.