Scavenge the Stars

by Tara Sim

  “I thought the Prince of Moray didn’t even do much?” Cicada asked. “That it was just a title?”

  “A title that they bought from the Rain Empire in exchange for neutrality,” Cricket snapped. “The prince has no heirs—he’s the last of his family’s line. So what’ll happen if the prince’s court falls to sickness and death? Moray will be weakened. The Sun Empire might decide to try their hand at us again.”

  The older Bugs argued while the younger ones looked on, vaguely worried. Amaya imagined their small bodies riddled with gray marks.

  Shivering, she set her plate down and headed for the front doors. She had to hurry and fulfill Boon’s plan. The Bugs were already unsafe—she couldn’t risk anyone coming down with ash fever on top of that, or a potential attack by the Sun Empire.

  There was so little she could control. Finding one boy and getting him to speak to her was the least she could do.

  Amaya had never set foot inside the Vice Sector before, but she had heard stories. As she walked the darkening streets of Moray, her lower belly clenching and unclenching, she imagined what she would find: knife fights, copulation in the streets, brazen thieves who didn’t care if they had witnesses.

  None of it prepared her for the real thing. It was almost as if she had stumbled upon a festival rather than a district infamous for debauchery, fooled by the warm multicolored lights and the singing and the raucous laughter that wove through the crowd like strands of sugar. Amaya stopped and stared at the sight of it.

  “Long as your mouth’s hangin’ open, pop somma these in,” called a boy nearby. He stood at a small cart used for roasting nuts. Their smell wafted over her, caramel and sea salt, and it reminded her of her mother.

  Amaya was about to dismiss him before she remembered that she actually had money. A thrill shot through her as she pressed a coin into his hand and received a paper cone of roasted nuts, feeling silly at the flutter of her heart.

  She had never done something as simple as this before.

  The sign above her read DIAMOND STREET, the main thoroughfare of the sector. Amaya roamed through the crowd and merely took in what she saw, popping treats into her mouth and occasionally stopping to observe a musician or juggler or dancer.

  Just the other night she had plunged a knife into a man’s body, and now she was treating herself. The juxtaposition almost made her stumble, but she forced the terror crouched in the back of her mind to be shielded for now, to focus only on what was in front of her.

  There was a lively house farther down the street, with folks drinking and dancing outside. Amaya watched a young woman pull another dressed as a boy over the threshold, meeting in a passionate kiss. A third young woman, her hair henna-dyed, leaned against the doorway and looked Amaya up and down.

  “Only a drina for an hour,” she called, arching her back to better show off her assets.

  “Oh,” Amaya said. “Um. Maybe some other time?”

  The woman blinked at her, then laughed drunkenly before shooing her away. Amaya hurried on with a reddening face.

  Still, she couldn’t help but smile. She felt so much freer in these clothes, in a sector of the city that didn’t care about pretension.

  She forgot about her pain. The residue of her nightmares faded. The truth of her mother fled.

  She existed only for sound and sight, lost in the simple and unique pleasure of being alive.

  Amaya momentarily abandoned her plan and instead lost herself in that feeling, that brief window of sunshine on a cloudy day. She allowed herself to laugh at a puppet show. She joined a shell game, even though she knew the busker would cheat. It didn’t matter—she was immersing herself in her city, in the nooks and crannies hidden by daylight.

  In some ways, this place felt more like home than her actual home had.

  She wished desperately that Roach was with her. Whenever she’d spoken of Moray, he had always been most fascinated by the Vice Sector.

  “How many casinos do you suppose they have?” he’d asked.

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t old enough to gamble, let alone visit the Vice Sector.”

  “Well, when we go, I want to gamble.”

  “With what?”

  He’d shrugged in that easy way of his, unconcerned. “I’d figure something out.”

  She continued through the mazelike streets of the sector, finding the area with the highest concentration of gambling dens. A large casino loomed above her, winking with lantern light and spilling over with laughter and chatter. The sign displayed across the facade had a bare-breasted mermaid luring a sailor toward her.

  This had to be the Grand Mariner. According to Liesl, it was one of the casinos where Cayo Mercado had liked to not only play, but to do his own fair share of dealing.

  How does a merchant’s son end up dealing at card tables? she wondered with a frown.

  She rolled her shoulders back and entered through the wide double doors. The guards gave her a once-over, not even bothering to pat her down for weapons. If they had, they would have felt her knives.

  As charmed as she was by the Vice Sector, she was still aware of its dangers.

  The Grand Mariner was composed of three floors. The ground floor was laid out with card and dice tables, its ceiling crimped with ornate molding and a long cherrywood bar hugging the right wall. Amaya stood there, overwhelmed and unsure where to go first.

  She began attracting the attention of the guards standing watch on either side of the doors, so she hurried to find a card table. Liesl had briefly gone over some of the easier games, making sure that Amaya at least understood the rules.

  “Scatterjack seems to be one of the Mercado boy’s favorites,” Liesl had told her. “He was a dealer for several months, until he stopped going to the Vice Sector altogether.”

  Amaya wove through the crowd of well-dressed patrons until she found a Scatterjack table. She watched a round from the sidelines, then slid into a chair once it was vacated by an irritated player.

  The dealer was a young person with curly brown hair and sparkling blue eyes, and wore a diamond-shaped pin at their collar that signaled to others that they didn’t wish to be called him or her, but rather they. They had a flirtatious smile and weren’t shy about using it. When they dealt the cards, Amaya studied hers and felt a flush start from under her collar.

  She had no clue what she was doing.

  Still, she faked it as best she could. When she inevitably lost, she shrugged like she had predicted it and stayed for another round, and then a third.

  “Your luck is a little off tonight, miss,” the dealer said with a hint of an accent that pointed to the Rain Empire.

  “That seems to be the case,” she agreed. “Do you know any remedies?”

  “My only solution is to continue drinking,” they said with a wink.

  She continued to exchange small talk with them as she played the next round, then another. She ordered a Blood and Sand and sipped at it carefully, wanting to make sure her mind didn’t get too fuzzy.

  “You seem to be enjoying the game despite the fact that you keep losing,” the dealer said with their charming smile.

  “Perhaps I’m enjoying the view more than the game.”

  It was the sort of ridiculous thing Boon would come up with, and she nearly cringed as she said it, but it worked—the dealer laughed at the compliment.

  “Don’t think you can win your money back with just a little flirting,” they said with a playful wag of their finger.

  She smiled and took another sip of her drink. Gods, how could a drink this cloyingly sweet be this strong? “I’ll admit, I came here looking for another dealer, but I think I like you even better.”

  “Is that so? Who is this dealer that I must now be jealous of?”

  “I never got his name, but he was about my age. Black hair, mostly Rehanese features. Small nose, perfect eyebrows.”

  “Aha,” the dealer said, “you must mean Cayo. He hasn’t dealt here in a while, unfortunately.”


  She pretended to be disappointed, her lower lip extending in a pout. “That’s a shame. Any reason why?”

  “I’m actually not sure.” They greeted the other players and dealt out the cards. “But I know he was beginning to slip, toward the end. He was one of the best at Scatterjack, and then all of a sudden he couldn’t concentrate. Ended up losing quite a bit of money.”

  Perhaps that was why Cayo hadn’t returned to the Vice Sector. “Pity. I would have liked to see him again.”

  “I know he used to hang about near the Scarlet Arc, down on Malachite Street.”

  Hope surged within her. After losing her eighth round, she thanked the dealer and left her unfinished drink there, her mouth coated with pomegranate and her head a little too light.

  She got lost trying to find Malachite Street, tangling herself deeper within the bowels of the Vice Sector. She quickly realized that Diamond Street was merely the outer visage, the “safe” part where tourists liked to go. Beyond that visage were streets littered with trash and stinking of vomit, men relieving themselves against the sides of buildings, and grubby children fingering knives that were too large for them. Amaya stared them down, daring them to try. Although they sneered, they left her alone.

  It reminded her of the sea: As beautiful as it first appeared, there was peril layered under that beauty.

  Malachite Street was cleaner than the alleys surrounding it, if not less intimidating. Finding the Scarlet Arc, she headed inside and was immediately assaulted by red. It was everywhere, from the painted ceiling to the vivid wallpaper to the crimson rug spread across the floor. The Arc was much smaller than the Grand Mariner, and Amaya’s trepidation rose, especially when patrons turned to stare at her. Patrons who were scarred and didn’t bother to hide the weapons they carried.

  Swallowing, she hardened her expression and walked toward the bar. Pretend like you belong, Boon would have told her. So long as you can fake it, they’ll believe it.

  She overheard someone ordering a drink called Toxin and ordered one as well when the bartender turned to her. It came in a square tumbler, its color a light green due to some sort of syrup and the muddled leaves at the bottom. Amaya took a tentative sip and nearly gagged at how strong it was.

  “That’s one of my favorites. How do you like it?”

  She turned in surprise. The smooth voice belonged to a tall, trim man dressed in a finely tailored suit, his hair combed back and his bearing regal. She would have thought him a member of the nobility had it not been for his viciously scarred face—the sign of a man who had grown up in these streets, where violence ran like currency.

  “It…” Her voice tried to leave her, but she dragged the words out. “It’s quite good.”

  He smiled, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

  “I haven’t seen you at the Arc before,” he went on. “What brings you by this evening?”

  Amaya hesitated, her scalp prickling with warning. She shouldn’t have come here. She should have just stuck to the Grand Mariner, waited until that dealer with the curly hair was off shift, and…what, tried to seduce them in the alleyway?

  Maybe she had wanted to come here to avoid that. Maybe there was a part of her that felt more comfortable in filth and danger than flirtatious smiles and witty words.

  Is violence your solution to everything? Liesl had asked her. Perhaps it was. Apparently stabbing a man in the chest was easier to her than kissing someone.

  “I got tired of the big casinos,” Amaya said. “I wanted to explore more of what the sector had to offer.”

  This time his smile showed his teeth. “Is that so? Well, then, I’m glad you came to partake at my establishment.” He held out a hand, equally scarred as his face. “Jun Salvador.”

  Amaya took his hand as if to shake, but he lifted the backs of her fingers to his lips. Her scalp prickled again.

  “Forgive me, but you look familiar,” Salvador said, releasing her hand. “Perhaps this isn’t your first time here?”

  The heat of dread filled her chest. Had this man seen her as Countess Yamaa? Had he attended any of her parties or seen her on the streets?

  Before she could flounder with an answer, a girl appeared at his side. She was dressed in a sparkling black gown with a low neckline and a slit in the skirt that exposed a brown, curvy leg when she cocked her hip and planted a fist there.

  “Father, you’re needed,” she said in a flat voice.

  He looked at her with some annoyance. “It can wait.”

  “Tell that to your investors,” the girl said with a grin similar to his: sharp and hungry.

  He sighed and gave Amaya a small bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  As he walked through the tables, the girl huffed and sat heavily on the stool beside Amaya’s.

  “Sorry about that,” she said as she rapped her knuckles on the counter. The bartender hurried to fill her a glass with amber liquid. “He’s like a vulture, isn’t he?”

  Amaya had no idea what to say, so she only watched as the girl—she couldn’t have been much older than Amaya—downed half her drink in one go. She had traditional Rehanese features with a bit of Sun Empire mixed in, her long black hair pulled into a sloppy bun. As she set her glass down with a happy sigh, Amaya noted her glittery eye shadow and dark painted lips.

  “So,” the girl said, turning to rest her elbows back against the counter, “what’s a countess like you doing in a place like this?”

  Amaya stiffened. The girl watched her, as much a vulture as she claimed her father was. Amaya couldn’t help but feel like a helpless rabbit under her knowing stare.

  “I’ve seen you,” the girl said, taking smaller sips of her drink. “All dolled up in those fancy costumes. This look fits you much better.”

  “I…don’t recall seeing you at any of my parties.”

  “Wasn’t there. Not exactly my type of scene. But I like to keep track of what happens in this city. Countess Yamaa,” she murmured, her brown eyes drifting toward the ceiling. “A mysterious visitor to Moray’s shores, wealthier than god herself, and as secretive as an eel refusing to come out of its den.”

  Seeing the distrustful look in Amaya’s eyes, the girl laughed. “Don’t worry. As long as I’m with you, you’re safe. That’s why I sent my father away. He likes to exploit. Me, on the other hand? I like to invest.”

  “I see,” Amaya murmured.

  The girl held out her hand. “Romara.”

  Amaya shook it. “So…your father owns this place?”

  “You really are a stranger to Moray, aren’t you? He’s the Slum King. He owns the entire Vice Sector.”

  The center of Amaya’s aching belly went cold. Of course she had heard of the infamous Slum King, but to know that she had been speaking to him, touching him…A shudder went through her.

  “Yeah, he gets that reaction a lot,” Romara said, polishing off her drink. “But you still haven’t answered my question. What brings you to this piss-stained corner of the city?”

  “I…I’m looking for someone.”

  “Then you’re talking to the right person. I know everyone. I can help you find them in no time.” She leaned in with a smile, stroking Amaya’s jaw with a slim finger before using it to lift her chin. “For a price,” she crooned.

  Amaya flushed, her heart beating harder. With a shaking hand, she reached into her inner pocket and drew out a gold sena coin, pressing it into Romara’s palm.

  “Cayo Mercado,” she whispered in the space between their mouths.

  Romara pulled back as if she’d been bitten. She stared at Amaya, her eyes narrowing.

  “What would a countess like you need with Cayo Mercado?” she drawled.

  “We’re friends. Um, sort of.”

  The girl’s eyebrows rose. “What kind of friends?”

  “What does it matter to you?” Amaya bit the inside of her cheek, cursing at herself. This was the daughter of the Slum King—she couldn’t afford to get on her bad side.

  Romara leaned in again, d
anger written in the curve of her painted mouth.

  “It matters to me,” she said softly, “because he is my fiancé.”

  Amaya’s lips parted, but words wouldn’t come. She looked at this girl, glittering and perilous, and tried to make sense of what she’d said. Tried to understand how someone like her could ever possibly be matched with someone like Cayo.

  I’ll do whatever it takes to help her, Cayo had told her at Laelia’s, when they had discussed his sister’s illness.

  You complete and utter ass, Amaya thought, forcing herself not to bare her teeth.

  How had this come to happen? Why hadn’t Liesl or the others caught wind of this?

  “Why does no one know, then?” Amaya asked. Why didn’t I know?

  Romara flipped her hand dismissively. “Oh, people know—those who like to keep their ears open. Word will spread once Cayo finally tells his daddy. And he will, if he knows what’s best.” She stood and pocketed the coin Amaya had given her. “You won’t find him here, though, I can tell you that much. Oh, and you better not show up here again either, unless you want my father to recognize you as well.”

  Romara blew her a kiss and walked away, leaving Amaya reeling at the counter. Amaya gripped the edge of it, worried she would fall off her stool otherwise.

  Cayo was engaged to the daughter of the Slum King.

  Was this why he wouldn’t respond to her? Why he hadn’t come for dinner?

  But she remembered the look in his eyes when they had swum together in the inlet, the way he regarded her as not a countess, but a person. Not Boon’s pupil or Silverfish or any of that.

  He had seen her as Amaya that day, and she had been grateful for it.

  Her limbs tight and her body burning, she knocked back the rest of the Toxin and gasped for air as her insides clawed themselves to ribbons.

  She had her secrets, but so did Cayo. And she was going to do whatever it took to drag them out into the open.

  BREAGAN: You claim harm and misery at my hand, and yet yours holds the key to all my undoing.

  SOLAS: Shall we pretend, then, that we are equals?