The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(17)

“I want my own shop. In exchange for helping you expose the king, I want my own cogsmith workshop in Portside.”

“Excuse me?” Lord Varick raised his eyebrows. His eyes remained hidden behind dark glasses, despite the fact that the sun had not yet risen.

“I will not go back to the Rudder.” Aya squared her shoulders. “I want to resume my life in Portside.”

Varick took a long inhale from his pipe. He looked at Aya thoughtfully before exhaling in short round puffs. “Anything else?”

“Yes. The shop—I want it to be my father’s. I want my father’s shop back. I don’t care who owns it now. You will remove them and give it back to me, along with the tools and machines that were seized when my father was arrested.”

Varick extended his hand. “A fair exchange, Miss Cogsmith.”

Aya grasped Varick’s palm. “Good. Now that that’s settled…” Aya paused, beaming, clouds exiting her mouth in the cool morning air. “Let’s kill the king.”





CHAPTER FOUR


“And here is your room.”

Aya looked past Lord Varick’s gesturing arm and into a bedroom just off the main living area. The room itself was larger than her and Dellwyn’s entire hovel and at least half the size of her father’s shop and their old house. Wood paneling lined the bottom half of the walls, and the upper half was painted a rich purple, like the iris on the estate’s door. Iron beams stretched across the ceiling. Lanterns hung from the corners and from where the beams crossed in the ceiling’s center. The room only contained four pieces of furniture—a bed, a fainting couch, a steamer trunk, and an armoire—but they were large enough that the room did not feel empty.

“Thank you, Lord Varick. This is very generous.”

“Oh, it was no trouble at all. I always keep this room made up.”

Aya stepped into her new bedroom. She turned to ask Lord Varick why he had his staff keep up the room when he was the estate’s only resident, but she stopped herself when she saw the distant look in his eyes. Isadona. Aya pressed her lips together. She knew how painful questions about the past could be.

After a few moments, Lord Varick looked up, his gaze snapping to Aya as if he had forgotten she stood there. “Get some rest, my dear. We’ll sort out the details of our plan in a few hours.”

“Thank you, Lord Varick.”

Lord Varick held up his forefinger. “Tsk. Just Varick, please.”

Aya gave a small smile. “Thank you, Varick.”

Lord Varick strolled away without closing the door, so Aya did it herself. Alone in the room, Aya realized that it was much colder than the living area. She walked over to the bed, noticing that a nightdress and thick robe had been laid out for her. Aya changed out of her old nightdress and cloak and into the new garments, feeling warmer with the lush fabric around her. She crawled into the bed, feeling a bit swallowed up by the thick purple comforter and fluffy pillows the size of her glass jug.

Despite the lushness of the bed and the lingering exhaustion from her nightmare, Aya couldn’t sleep. She lay awake worrying and wondering what today would have in store for her. She worried about Dellwyn, who had no doubt surmised Aya’s whereabouts. She fretted about Madam Huxley, about whether she knew the purpose behind Lord Varick’s visit to Aya and whether she would hold Aya’s job at the Rudder in the event this plan failed. Most of all, she stewed over her memories of the king, wondering how she would ever act the seductress to a man who made her throat fill with bile.

At midday, a knock sounded on Aya’s door. Even though she was still awake, the sound made her jump. She much preferred Charlie’s raspy croaking.

“Yes?”

“Miss Cogsmith? It is Mrs. Lemot, the maid.”

“Come in.” The door creaked open, revealing Mrs. Lemot’s round face. Aya hadn’t noticed her pink cheeks and wispy gray curls before. She looked kind.

“Lord Varick asks that you meet him for lunch in the living area in ten minutes.”

Aya liked Mrs. Lemot’s voice. It was deep and soft, the way she’d always imagined her mother’s voice. “Thank you, Mrs. Lemot.”

“He has prepared a dress for you. May I bring it in?”

Aya nodded and sat up in her bed. Mrs. Lemot entered, cradling a black garment bag in her arms. “We believe it should fit you, but if it does not, I shall find you another.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like me to help you dress, Miss Cogsmith?”

“No.” At Mrs. Lemot’s blush, Aya added, “Thank you, but I can manage myself.”

Mrs. Lemot placed the garment bag on the fainting couch, curtsied, and left the room.

Aya shuffled out of bed and untied the garment bag carefully, as if a venomous snake lurked inside. As her eyes fell on the contents, Aya felt them growing wide. By a dress, Mrs. Lemot meant that Lord Varick had arranged for an entire ensemble. The garment bag held a black velvet dress with a wide neckline to expose her collarbones. There was also a purple under-bust corset, already laced, with brass buckles on the front.

Once Aya had dressed, she looked down the length of her body. As her fingers skimmed over the fabric, Aya wrinkled her nose. The harsh blackness of the dress made even her tanned skin look sickly pale, and the velvet pulled across her petite curves in unflattering lines.