The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(31)

“You know,” Dellwyn said, once they had finished their lesson, “if you did find someone in the palace to practice on, it would do wonders for your education. And confidence.”

Aya blushed. Dellwyn raised an eyebrow. “Is there someone?”

Aya shook her head. “No, no. You’re being silly. I have to focus on the king.”

“Mhmm. Well, if there does happen to be someone, make sure he hasn’t been involved in the deaths of innocent people.”

Aya laughed. “I can assure you that isn’t a concern.”

Dellwyn nodded. “Well then, I think that’s enough for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll try roleplaying, and you can practice what you learned on me as if I were the king.”

Aya wrinkled her nose. “I really don’t want to picture you as that man. You’re the only friend I have.”

Dellwyn laughed. “Don’t worry. My acting skills are even worse than your seduction skills.” Aya swatted Dellwyn’s arm, and she lunged backward, her face contorted in fake pain. “In any case, there’s always your new friend, Varick.”

“Indeed,” Aya muttered, shaking her head.

Dellwyn looked at Aya for a long moment. “Are you sure he’s trustworthy?” she asked, her voice uneven. “From what you’ve said, he seems like a creep.”

“Yes, he’s fine.” Aya waved a hand. “He’s just a little controlling.”

Dellwyn rubbed her wrists. “What nobleman isn’t?” She chuckled.

Aya’s lips formed a sad, sympathetic smile, and she kept her gaze away from Dellwyn’s wrists.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Dellwyn moved her hands up to rub her arms.

Aya stared into straight into Dellwyn’s eyes. “Dellwyn, I have been dreaming my entire life of a chance to obtain justice for my father’s death. And now that I know how I’m going to do it, I can’t wait.” Aya beamed. “I am more than ready to help roast this pig.”





CHAPTER EIGHT


On the night before her return to the palace, Aya barely slept. Her body tossed and turned in rhythm with her racing mind. In just a few short hours, she would be back in the palace, equipped with Dellwyn’s teachings and the lingering scent of the bath oils. She played out dozens of scenarios in her head—crossing King Archon’s path in a hallway, innocently bumping into him on the dance floor at the ball, happening upon a library as he read inside. The possibilities were endless, but each one ended the same way: with his ill-timed profession of lust overheard by the queen’s guards or other nobles and with his head lopped off by the executioner.

When sunlight finally peeked through her poorly constructed curtain, Aya leaped out of bed and hurriedly dressed herself in the red toga, head wrap, and cloak from the bathing house. Before rushing out the door, she grabbed Lord Varick’s outfit, taking an extra moment to feel around the bottom of the trunk to ensure that Charlie still rested safely in her blue dress. As her hand landed on his metal head, Aya gave him a little pat. “Be good, buddy. I’ll see you in a few days. I hope.”

Aya arrived at the black door of Lord Varick’s estate just after sunrise. The purple eye in its center seemed brighter today, and it made her a bit queasy to look at it for too long. She knocked on the door, right in the center of the eye. Before her hand even left the iron, the door swung open. Mrs. Lemot’s cheery round face greeted Aya. They exchanged polite smiles, and Aya walked past the maid into the sitting room. She found Lord Varick perched in the armchair, a fire blazing behind him. There was a large breakfast spread on the table: eggs, bacon, and to Aya’s delight, more fruit.

“Good morning, Miss Aya.” Lord Varick motioned to the platter. “Please, help yourself to some breakfast.”

“Thank you, Varick.” Aya sat down and filled a plate. She selected one hardboiled egg—she’d never had a boiled egg before; to waste water to harden an egg was considered near blasphemy in Portside and Sternville—along with a few strips of bacon and a few oblong red berries with green tops and little seeds embedded in their skins. Aya held up one of the berries and inspected it. Upon closer examination, she saw little white hairs protruding from the surface.

“A strawberry,” Lord Varick supplied.

“Do you eat all of it?”

“All but the green part.”

Aya bit into the fruit. It was even juicier than it was sweet, and little drops of pink juice dribbled down her chin. She wiped them up with her finger, popping it into her mouth to suck up the juice. Delicious.

Lord Varick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “How did your evenings with Dellwyn go?”

“Wonderful,” Aya chirped. “I believe I know everything I need to now.”

“Splendid.” Lord Varick grinned. “Judging from your appearance and the heavenly smell that wafted in alongside you, I daresay I need not ask how it went at the bathing house.”

Aya touched a lock of her soft hair. “It was perfect, Varick. Thank you. I have never felt so alluring, so clean. I must admit, I felt a bit terrible wasting all that water on my body, but it was just lovely to do so.”

Varick tutted and wagged his finger at her. “Now, now, Miss Aya. If that bath helps in any way to attract the king, that water was not wasted. In fact, it may just be the most important use of water in the history of Desertera.”