The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(16)
*
“No!” Aya awoke to her own screams. For the second night in a row, she had dreamed about that day. This time, Aya’s nightmare had carried over into her physical body, and while her sleeping scream had not been loud, it had scraped against her vocal chords as they struggled to increase the volume. She clamped her hand over her mouth, fearful of waking Dellwyn, only to recoil. Her hand was hot and slick; in fact, her whole body was drenched in sweat, her nightdress plastered to her skin. She wiped her hands on her blankets before reaching across the floor and picking up Charlie.
Her room was dark, barely illuminated by white moonlight. Still, she lifted Charlie above her head and peered through his gut. Even though she couldn’t see inside, she knew that at the center of his core, right behind his open jaw, was a golden vortric cog, the one her father had told King Archon he didn’t have.
More than anything, Aya wished that she could ask Papa about the cog. She’d never understood his motive in lying to the king. Did Papa really think that Aya valued Charlie’s mechanical life more than his human one? Was it meant as an act of rebellion, one small way to thwart the king’s desires? What if King Archon had some sinister purpose for the cog, some evil plan like the one he’d hatched to get rid of his wives? Even after ten years of thought and her new knowledge from Lord Varick, Aya still didn’t know.
But she knew one thing. She’d had nightmares about that day for ten years—been reduced to a life of poverty and abuse. And Papa, for simply being incapable of fixing a bird, had had his head chopped off at the prince’s word. She was done.
Aya threw off the covers and jumped up. She reached into the bottom of her dressing trunk and pulled out the blue dress she’d worn to the palace that day. It didn’t fit her anymore, but she’d kept it as a way to cling to the last day her life had felt right. She unwound Charlie so he wouldn’t stir, wrapped him up inside the dress, and tucked him away under her other clothes.
She didn’t bother putting on a proper outfit. She grabbed her green cloak and threw it over her shoulders, slipping on her leather shoes. As Aya passed through the common room, Dellwyn stuck her head out her bedroom door. “Aya? What are you doing up? Where are you going?”
Aya didn’t answer. Dellwyn was smart. Her question was either rhetorical or would be very soon. Aya ran the entire way to the palace. As she approached the stern of the ship, the sky began to glow pink over Starboardshire, signaling the beginning of the new day. She stopped in front of the guard stationed near the propellers, hoping he truly served Lord Varick.
The guard was an older man, his hair and mustache the color of salt. He looked down at Aya with kind eyes as she gasped to catch her breath. “Miss Cogsmith?”
Aya couldn’t speak, so she nodded.
“I serve Lord Varick.” He pointed to the badge over his heart: a black diamond with a purple eye at its center. “Please, follow me.”
The guard escorted Aya through the propellers into the Rudder’s common room then down the hallway to the back exit, the one that led into the palace. Aya had never used it before, because she had never had the need—or desire—to reenter those halls. The exit door opened to two staircases, one leading down, which Madam Huxley had told the girls would guide them to an underground tunnel that went all the way to the Sternville well, and one leading up to the inhabited parts of the palace. The guard took the latter.
Aya followed him up several flights of stairs and past various doors, until finally, they reached the top of the staircase and stepped through the door into a wide hallway. The bright lantern light and glossy, marble floors told Aya that they had entered a part of the palace frequented by nobles. As the guard rushed her through the corridor, Aya saw old paintings and stone statues fly by in the corner of her eye. After a few minutes, the guard stopped Aya in front of a black metal door with a purple eye painted on it.
Aya didn’t wait for the guard’s permission. She pounded her fist on the door in time with the anxious beating of her heart. When she didn’t hear any movement behind the door, she knocked again, harder. This time, she heard a faint rustling over the sound of her own blood pumping. The door swung open to reveal one of the palace’s gray-clad maids.
“Miss Cogsmith.” The maid had a smile in her voice and on her lips. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Aya remained silent, saving her words. The maid led her through a hallway with walls made of dark wood and decorated with oil paintings of the world before the flood: pictures of cobblestone streets with machines that carried people, metal buildings taller than the palace, and spherical ships floating in the sky. At the end of the hallway was a large sitting room with two leather couches facing each other and an intricately carved wooden table between them. A fire burned in a stone fireplace, its smoke escaping through a chimney that extended out from the exterior of the ship’s walls. Below the chimney was a wide balcony, whose faded gray railing matched the top of the palace. Aya wondered how she had never noticed this balcony protruding from the ship.
Lord Varick stood on the balcony, smoking a wooden pipe. Despite the maid’s requests for her to stay put, Aya walked past her and out to the balcony. She stepped right up to Lord Varick’s side, her knees wobbling only slightly when she looked down at the specks she knew to be tents. He exhaled a thin trail of smoke and smirked at her. “Miss Cogsmith.”