The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(73)

Dellwyn turned back around, and Aya pulled her expression together. “I almost forgot. A man came by asking about you.”

“What?” Aya sat up straighter. “When?”

“Early this morning. He wouldn’t say who he was; though, judging by his clothing, he was a servant from the palace. Or at least from Starboardshire.”

Aya crossed her arms. “Why was he looking for me?”

“Well, not you you.” Dellwyn gestured toward Aya. “Not at first. First, he asked me about Aya Wellman.”

“What did you say?”

Dellwyn shrugged. “I said that you were the orphaned daughter of a wellman and had been taken ward by some lord or other in the palace.”

“Did he believe you?”

“I don’t think so. He seemed shocked when I said that. He said that every other person he had talked to said they’d never heard of an Aya Wellman.”

“Shit.” Aya rubbed her forehead. “What else?”

“He said that a few other people, from both Portside and Sternville, said that the only Aya they knew of was Aya Cogsmith, and they all directed him here.”

Aya ran her fingers through her hair. Why would some manservant be looking for her? Did the king suspect something? Was Lord Varick investigating her, trying to find some sort of weakness or a way out of their deal? Or maybe it was Queen Zedara, attempting to figure out who Lord Varick had really entrusted her life with? Could it be Lord Collingwood, curious about the ward who’d captured his nephew’s attention?

“What did you tell him? About the real me.”

“I couldn’t admit that you didn’t live here, not when so many people had told him that. I told him you’ve been working double shifts at the Rudder and sleeping there the past week.”

Aya bit her cheek. “Do you know if he checked your story with Madam Huxley?”

“No, I couldn’t risk going to tell her.” Dellwyn tilted her head. “But she knows everything right? She’d lie for you?”

“Yes, I believe so. I saw her on my way here, but she didn’t mention it to me either way.”

“I hope I did the right thing.” Dellwyn shuffled her feet. “I didn’t know what else to say.”

Aya reached out her hand. Dellwyn took it, and Aya squeezed. “I’m certain it will be fine. Whoever he was and whatever he wanted, it won’t matter in a few days anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.” Dellwyn glanced at the door. “Look, I need to get to work, but if you want me to stay, just in case—”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Aya withdrew her hand. “You don’t need to miss pay on my account. Go.”

Dellwyn raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“I am. Please, go make Lord Collingwood forget all about his ugly old wife.”

Dellwyn chuckled. “I wish I could say something about her, but I know it would give too much away. I find it hilarious.”

“Me too. I bet he picked you simply because you are the exact opposite of her in every possible way.”

“Probably. Poor lady. It would suck to be married to the man. I mean, he’s fun to bed, especially for his age, but I would not want to be stuck with him.”

Aya didn’t know how to respond. She wished she could feel so flippant about Willem.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Dellwyn grabbed her cloak off the wall. “And please, don’t get the water. We can’t have you seen, and I still owe you from last week.”

“Trust me, I won’t.”

“Good. Have a nice night.”

“Dellwyn? I love you.”

Dellwyn grinned, one foot out the door. “I love you, too.”

As Dellwyn closed the door behind her, Aya took a long, deep breath. Her eyes fell on her father’s urn, still sitting in its place in the center of the table. A shiver slipped down Aya’s spine. One of the nobles wanted to know more about her, and whether they were smart enough to realize it or not, the commoners had led them to her dwelling, her best friend, and her true name. If anyone put the pieces together, the entire plan would be ruined, and she would end up dead for treason—just like her father who wouldn’t give up the vortric cog for Prince Lionel’s bird.

The cog. Charlie!

Aya bolted up and ran to her room. Her mind reeled with the memory of her upturned house the day Prince Lionel called for her father’s execution. What if the man were after the vortric cog? She flipped open the lid of her trunk, which left a small dent in the wall where it slammed against it. Holding her breath to keep from gasping, Aya rifled through her clothing and other belongings. When she finally reached the bottom of the trunk, she found her blue dress. She unfolded it and breathed a long sigh of relief. Charlie was safe.

Her heart rate slowed back to a normal pace. Aya scooped up Charlie in the palms of her hands. She turned him to peer through his side into his center. The vortric cog was still in place, its nine golden teeth dug into other parts of Charlie’s mechanism. Aya stared at the cog for a while, willing it to move, to reveal to her why it was so special, why her father would be willing to die to keep it out of King Archon’s hands.

Aya set Charlie down in her lap and searched the bottom of her trunk for something else she had not had the heart to sell after her father’s death. Her fingers found the old leather, and she pulled out her father’s tool kit. The case did not hold all of her father’s tools, only the most basic ones for cogsmithing, the ones that had been in their family for several generations. Aya removed two screwdrivers and examined their tips for the right size. She selected one and put the other back in its slot. She held up the tool in one hand and Charlie in the other.