Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)(13)

Except he wasn’t here on respectable business.

Rolling his shoulders back in a vain attempt to ease the soreness out of them, he plucked a flute of champagne off a serving tray and wandered through the partygoers, keeping an eye out for his mark. He forced himself to put on his best smile, the one that showed off the dimple in his left cheek and made girls and boys stammer and blush. A few acquaintances returned his smile, but he merely lifted his glass in greeting as he retreated farther to the edges of the crowd.

High-society parties were usually arranged well in advance, giving the wealthier citizens of Moray enough time to choose the perfect outfit, hairstyle, and arm companion to show off. Contrary to tradition, news of this gala had blown through the streets only a week ago, making everyone scramble for new jewelry and shoes at a speed Cayo hadn’t believed possible of the Moray gentry.

Normally, a faux pas of this magnitude would have been greeted with a great deal of harrumphing if not outright societal exile, but it was excused for one simple reason: The party was hosted by Countess Yamaa.

The countess had swept into Moray on her massive purple sails just a couple of weeks ago—the same day Soria had collapsed—and no one could speak of anything else. No one knew who she was, or where she had come from, or why she was here—the mystery had become its own kind of calling card. The only thing the citizens of Moray knew about her was the only thing that mattered: that she had more wealth than god herself had stars.

Would be nice to have some of that, he thought bitterly as he took in the frivolity around him.

Not to be outdone by the last of Moray’s great parties, where Duke Irai had commissioned a yacht solely for the purpose of a water gala, Countess Yamaa had situated them in a massive greenhouse floating on a man-made island off the coast of Moray. The glass panels of the house were welded together using beams of silver-studded iron, and beyond the glow of the lanterns inside, the nighttime sky showered the partygoers with starlight. Massive ferns and flower bushes had been arranged throughout the greenhouse, as well as trees bearing small crystal chandeliers in place of fruit. Parrots and songbirds flitted among the branches, making several ladies duck and cover their heads for fear of droppings.

A year ago, Cayo would have been ready to charm the countess until she fell into his arms, just because he could. Today, Cayo was going to confront her about where she could and couldn’t dock her ship. He pressed the cool surface of his glass to his hot forehead. His family couldn’t afford any chink in the armor of his father’s business. Not when the price of Soria’s medicine was so steep.

“Cayo!”

He turned toward the sound of his name. The Akara twins, Chailai and Bero, were sitting at a round table lit by a lantern in the shape of a ship. The table was already strewn with empty glasses and cards.

“We haven’t seen you in forever!” Chailai cried. The bird ornament in her hair jangled as she moved.

“We had bets going,” said Bero. “On whether you were dead or not.”

Cayo gestured at himself. “Still here.”

“Then you’re likely begging for a Scatterjack rematch,” Bero said, grinning tauntingly over his cards. “Come on, I have a good streak going.”

It was obviously the beginning of one of their typical nights: enough drink to fell an elephant, followed by visiting the casinos in Moray’s Vice Sector. The twins—as well as Sébastien and their friend Tomjen—had done it enough times for it to evolve from indulgence to habit.

But they hadn’t drained their fortunes. The twins and Tomjen were old money; their parents were swimming in wealth and had enough sense to pay off the right people to cover up stories of their children’s excesses. The Mercados were only a single generation in—Cayo’s father had built their fortune from practically nothing—and had not yet picked up the same tricks.

Cayo hesitated. His fingertips buzzed with the urge to feel those cards in his hands, to down the drink he held and join his friends. To not have a single care in the world, so long as he was feeling good. There were so many things he longed to put out of his mind. His father. Soria. Sébastien.

Where was Bas? A tremor of worry ran through Cayo, but he shook it off. Bas had been in trouble at the tables plenty of times before—they all had. He’d see his way out somehow. Cayo had already done what he could.

He gripped the champagne flute almost hard enough to break it. He still remembered nights in the casinos like a fever dream, the heat and thrill of the risk, the hum of alcohol in his bloodstream, the high of reward, the low of losing.

Heart racing, he gave his friends an apologetic smile and shrugged, motioning that someone was seeking his attention. He only just registered their disappointed faces before turning toward the back of the greenhouse. He dumped his champagne into a potted plant along the way. Soria would be proud of him.

But thinking of his sister only brought more guilt, despite the fact that she was the one who had convinced him to come to this party in the first place.

“I’d love to give the countess a piece of my mind,” he’d told her earlier that evening when she asked if he would go. “I want to see the look on her face when I ask for a reimbursement for the dock switch.”

“I see Father’s teaching you well. You should go, then.”

He had looked at her sitting against the pillows of her bed, noting the circles under her eyes and the shallow way her chest moved when she breathed. For a moment, she’d reminded him of their mother in her final days: the way her face had grown gaunt and pale, how she could barely keep her eyes open. The memory of climbing onto his mother’s bed to lie beside her was as fresh as a new wound, even though it had been years since she’d passed. He could still hear his mother’s labored humming as her trembling fingers threaded through his hair, feel how his tears had left a cold, wet patch on her nightgown.