The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(71)

“No, no.” Aya waved her hand. “I had a big lunch.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, it was obscene. The king had a whole pig prepared for the two of us.”

Dellwyn’s eyes bulged. She glanced at her plate again, plucking a chunk of bread from her small slice. She pointed it at Aya and traced her finger up and down in the air. “At least seducing the murderer comes with lots of perks.”

Aya touched the neckline of her dress. “Oh? This? This isn’t from King Archon.”

A smile spread across Dellwyn’s face, slowly and deliberately, and Aya watched her eyes visibly brighten. “From Lord Varick?”

“No.” Aya felt herself blush.

Dellwyn clapped her hands. “Ah, ha! I knew you had someone on the hook when you came back here for lessons. Forget the king, tell me about him.”

Aya raised her eyebrows, and Dellwyn let out an exasperated breath. “Fine. I want to know about the king too. Just make that part quick.”

Aya chuckled. “No disgusting details?”

Dellwyn crossed her arms. “Stop stalling.”

“Very well.” Aya straightened herself. “After I left here, I went to the mask maker’s shop while the king was selecting his mask. I used a few of your tips and got him interested. At the masquerade, he danced with me and invited me on our date today.”

“Date, huh?” Dellwyn wrinkled her nose. “Did that go well?”

“Yes.” Aya beamed. “Perfectly, in fact. He gave me a tour of the palace, we had lunch on the deck, and he fell right into the trap.”

“So the new queen’s days are numbered then?”

“If he has his way, which, of course, won’t happen. We’ll stop him before then.”

Dellwyn shook her head. “I just can’t believe you actually did this. I can’t decide whether to be proud or scared of you.”

Aya swallowed and looked down at her lap. She didn’t know whether to laugh or look ashamed. She determined to change the topic instead. “Oh! Guess who I finally saw in the palace?”

Dellwyn leaned forward. “Who?”

“Lord Collingwood—and dear Benevolent Queen, is he richer than I thought. He owns merchant shops in Portside and multiple farms in Bowtown.”

Dellwyn’s jaw dropped. “Wow. Well I guess the next time I fancy a glass of goat milk, I know how to get it.”

Aya twirled a curl between her fingers. “Guess who else I saw? Lady Collingwood, herself, and her daughter, Miss Collingwood.”

Dellwyn bit her lip, failing to suppress a grin. “Really? Is she hideous? And a daughter? Damn. I didn’t know he had any children. How old is she?”

“His wife is the anti-you in every possible way.” Aya smiled, proud of her information gathering. “Old, incredibly tall, skinny as a rail, and so sickly pale that you can see her veins through her skin.”

“Ew.” Dellwyn shuddered. “Is it bad that I love that?”

Aya laughed. She wanted to say that it was bad, that Dellwyn shouldn’t delight in the nobles’ physical imperfections but rather pity them for their uselessness and perpetual boredom. But she didn’t. When she first saw Lady Collingwood, she too had delighted in her ugliness, and Dellwyn was still at that stage in her knowledge.

“His daughter is quite pretty, a little cross-eyed though. The weirdest part is how old she is. She’s maybe a year younger than I am. And she invited me to tea.”

Dellwyn wrinkled her nose. “Did she? Strange.” Dellwyn paused. “Well, that’s a bit disgusting, that she’s near my age. But at least she’s not a baby. I don’t know why I care, but I always feel gross when I find out my clients are impregnating their wives after a night with me.”

“You are not the gross one.”

“You know what I mean.”

Aya nodded. She did. The fact that these people committed adultery—out of their own free will and not out of financial necessity—was reprehensible enough, but the fact that they would create a child at the same time was shameful.

“So is that all the gossip?” Dellwyn’s face brightened again. “Any sign of Lord Derringher and his wife?”

“Nope. I did not have the pleasure. I was only there a few days, and my attention has been rather occupied.”

“Oh, yes,” Dellwyn cooed. “By your mysterious lover.”

Aya blushed and let out a laugh. “Dellwyn Rutt, don’t even—”

“Oh, no. Don’t you full name me. You’re not my mother. Tell me all about him.”

Aya sighed, blowing a stray lock away from her cheek. As she tried to think of what to tell Dellwyn about Willem, her brow furrowed. What did she really know about Willem? Sure, she knew the basics of his family history, what he was like in bed, and that he was charming and kind. But she knew nothing of his childhood or how he spent his days. And wasn’t it strange that she almost always saw him alone? On the two occasions Aya encountered Willem in public, Abrim had acted oddly, the nobles had stared, and Lord Varick had been stranger than anyone. Aya’s stomach knotted. Maybe she should ask Zedara about Willem the next time she and Aya crossed paths.

“Well, he’s obviously rich.” Dellwyn gestured to Aya’s dress, interrupting her thoughts. “Unless he stole those clothes from his employer. Now that would show devotion.”