The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(12)

“Yes,” Aya lied. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because you haven’t said a word to me since I came to get you, and now, you won’t look me in the eyes.”

Aya made a point of aligning her green eyes with Dellwyn’s brown ones.

“Aya.” Dellwyn gripped her arm harder. “Did you have a bad customer? Did someone hurt you?”

“Not any worse than normal.” Aya gently tugged her arm out of Dellwyn’s grasp.

“You remembered your tonic, right?”

“Yes.” Aya rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. The bitter taste still lingered. “I have no concerns about being with child.”

Dellwyn began walking again. “Then what is it?”

“I…I had a strange customer. He was a high nobleman. Wanted to talk.”

Dellwyn raised her eyebrows. “Talk? What about?”

Aya glanced from side to side. “I’m not sure if I should tell you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to put you in danger.”

Dellwyn stopped, this time, putting both her hands on Aya’s shoulders. Aya tensed, wincing as her shoulder muscles pulled at the sore places in her neck.

“Aya, if something dangerous is going on, you definitely need to tell me. I don’t want you trying to deal with something bad alone.”

Aya considered Dellwyn carefully, watching her plump cheeks and dark eyebrows close in around her eyes. Dellwyn had been her closest, and only, friend ever since Aya came to the Rudder that first night. Dellwyn had always looked after her, helping her hide mistakes from Madam Huxley, taking rough customers off her hands, and giving Aya extra coins on weeks when she didn’t have any customers. Dellwyn was the only person Aya had ever spoken openly to about her father’s death.

“Not here,” Aya whispered. “I’ll tell you when we get to the hovel.”

The moment they arrived, Dellwyn sat down at the table and motioned for Aya to do the same. Aya sat, gritting her teeth as her aching bum hit the chair.

“Spill,” Dellwyn ordered.

Aya divulged every detail of her encounter with Lord Varick, from his ornate attire to his theory that King Archon had orchestrated the deaths of his queens, to his surprising knowledge of the circumstances of her father’s death. When she finished, Dellwyn took a deep breath. She poured herself and Aya each a glass of water, sliding Aya’s across the table to her. Aya cupped the glass in her hand, but she didn’t drink, staring at the water as its sloshing settled.

“Let me make sure I have this right,” Dellwyn began. “Lord Varick is the late Queen Isadona’s father, and he is convinced that King Archon is trapping his wives—Queen Isadona included—into adultery. Therefore, to avenge his daughter’s death and save the future queens, he has come to you to help him seduce the king so you two can catch the king arranging the queen’s death. And he expects you to help because the king killed your father.”

“Yes.” Aya hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.

“And you turned him down?”

“Yes?” Aya felt heat rising in her cheeks. She took a sip of her water. It felt grainy on her tongue. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

Dellwyn sighed. “I have no idea. I mean, that’s a lot to digest.” Dellwyn paused to take a drink. “On one hand, of course you can’t do it. I’m sorry, but you’re not the best seductress, and even if you were, if you got caught in adultery by the wrong person, you would be executed.”

Aya nodded.

“Then again, King Archon did ruin your life. I mean, you were a merchant’s daughter—the last cogsmith’s daughter. You had a chance at a business, at a respectable marriage, at children, even. And the king took all of that away from you. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to kill him.” Dellwyn clenched her fists. “Plus, if he really is using that bullshit law to get his wives executed, someone needs to stop him.”

“Yes. He needs to be stopped. I just don’t know if I can do it. Like you said, I would be putting my life at risk.”

Dellwyn reached across the table and placed her hand on Aya’s. Aya’s tan skin looked unusually pale under Dellwyn’s dark hand, but she wasn’t sure whether that was entirely the contrast in skin tone or because all of her blood had gone to her face and chest again.

“Honey, look around you. Are you really putting much at risk?” Dellwyn lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Is any of this even worth living for?”

Aya let Dellwyn’s question hang in the air between them. She had never thought of her life in that light. Sure, she was miserable, and sure, she couldn’t imagine living the rest of her life this way. However, she had never thought about a way out; she just lived one day at a time and accepted her fate. She hadn’t realized that Dellwyn was miserable, too. Dellwyn—with the dozen admiring clients and cheery smile and love of sex. If Dellwyn, who was born into this life and thrived in it, didn’t think it was worth living, what did that mean for Aya?



*



Aya felt someone gently nudge her shoulder. She rolled away and swatted, but the nudging persisted. It couldn’t be time to wake up. Charlie hadn’t even croaked yet.

“Rise and shine, sweetie!” Papa sang in her ear.