Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)(32)

Amaya turned away so Avi wouldn’t see her face redden at the reminder of her blunder with Cayo Mercado. Out of all the men in this cursed city, of course Cayo was the one who ended up being their mark. She thought back to all the things she had said about the Mercado family—about him—at the greenhouse party, how his father employed children and that his son was nothing but a rogue. It was no wonder he hated the countess, or at least, the idea of her.

Although Boon had told her the barest details about Cayo Mercado before she came to Moray, speaking to him in person was another matter entirely. She hadn’t anticipated the way he parried her thrusts, or that he would have the balls to insult Countess Yamaa. There was something almost thrilling about it.

She could still see his expression after she had fished Fera from the pool. It had been a look of surprise and something else, something softer, as if his wariness had been whittled down to mere curiosity.

Maybe this had worked in her favor after all. Perhaps she had changed his impression of her, if only a little.

Remembering from Boon’s notes that Cayo had a history of gambling, she said, “I think our next party should be game-themed.”

Avi, still dressed as a server, gave her an approving look. “Smart.”

“It would certainly help to lower his guard,” Liesl agreed, consulting her notes as she pushed her glasses farther up on her nose. “Particularly if we do only card games. Apparently, that’s his weakness.”

“I’m more of a roulette girl myself,” said Deadshot.

Cicada came in and put a plate of food before Amaya. She grinned up at him in thanks and began to scarf it down with her fingers, thankful she had put away the countess persona for the night and didn’t have to bother with manners.

Boon had forced her to use forks and knives with every meal. She had grown out of the practice on the Brackish, and as a result her hands had cramped as she clumsily navigated the utensils. Boon had constantly barked at her not to stab her food, not to scrape the tines against the plate, to take petite bites—What are you, an animal? Cut your damn meat!

But it had only been the preface to a greater trial. Once the Brackish had been fully commissioned, they had left the Ledese Islands and sailed to the southern coast of the Rain Empire, to the cosmopolitan city of Viariche. Amaya had ogled it from the ship as they came into port, a city of beautiful white buildings and winding cobblestone streets lined with black iron streetlamps.

There, Liesl had been fully in her element, and her first order of business was to trade Amaya’s trousers for fanciful dresses. In the spacious apartments where they had stayed, paid for by Boon, Amaya had been awakened their second morning by an assertive tailor eager to put his measuring tape in places Amaya didn’t care to think about.

“That was one of the most reputable dressmakers in the city!” Liesl had yelled as the tailor, now sporting a black eye, stormed out of the apartment. “He’s supposed to measure you all over!”

“Find one who’s a woman, then!”

Liesl eventually did, though it barely made the procedure any easier; Amaya squirmed and fidgeted during the entire fitting, staying put only by the power of Liesl’s glare. Deadshot, standing next to her, had merely crossed her arms and grinned at Amaya’s discomfort.

It had taken a combined effort among the three of them to get Amaya into the first dress, a cobalt-blue ball gown with embroidered butterflies peeking through the ruffles of the skirt. Though Amaya had cursed and complained the entire time, when Liesl finally steered her toward the stand-up mirror, the grumbling had died on Amaya’s lips.

She hadn’t worn a dress since she was a little girl. Her mother had had a whole corner of her closet devoted to them, and would smile widely whenever she could wrestle Amaya into one. Her mother would brush her hair and pin it up, and even apply a bit of pink lipstick. Amaya had always fussed through the process, but once it was done, she would delight in how pretty she looked. She would spin around and make her skirts fly out until her mother reprimanded her for showing her legs.

Staring at a stand-up mirror hundreds of miles away from those memories, Amaya had run her hands over the expensive fabric of her first new dress in a decade and blinked back tears.

“Do you like it?” Liesl had asked. Amaya nodded. “Good. We’ll debut it tonight.”

For three months, Amaya had been expected to patronize ritzy establishments and attend extravagant parties. Walking through them was like walking through a fever dream. She hadn’t laid eyes on such finery since living in Moray, and the sight of massive chandeliers, ballrooms of white-and-black marble, and dazzling arrays of colorful foods had constantly driven her speechless.

In some ways, it had been even more difficult than her work on the Brackish. Walking in high heels was not unlike walking across a slippery deck in the rain, and sometimes the bodices and corsets of her dresses were so tight she became short of breath and needed to lie down. When she complained about her bruised ribs to Liesl, the girl had merely shrugged and said, “Such is the price of fashion.”

The worst of it, though, was the people. They asked her endless questions, their personalities were dull, and their compassion was nonexistent. Still, Amaya mirrored the nobles’ motions and practiced their cadences when she spoke. She wrapped herself in a new persona the way sails are furled before a storm, hiding Amaya away and making room for the only person who would be able to deftly infiltrate the Moray gentry.