Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)(34)

When he reached the courtyard surrounding the lighthouse, he saw his gamble had paid off. A lone figure stood at the railing, gazing out at the ocean as he smoked a long, thin cigarillo. As Cayo approached, he made sure to clear his throat so as not to startle him.

Philip Dageur looked over his shoulder and, seeing Cayo, sighed in vexation. He turned around and rested his elbows on the railing behind him, leveling a glare in Cayo’s direction.

“I saw you at Countess Yamaa’s party,” Philip said, his words inflected with a slight accent from his parents’ homeland. It galled Cayo to admit it, but he was unquestionably handsome, his features soft yet refined, his sorrel-colored skin glowing with health. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t see me. Or follow me. Then again, you were always a bit creepy.”

Cayo held back from making an immediate retort. He and Philip had never gotten along, much to Bas’s frustration. Cayo had always assumed that Philip was jealous of his friendship with Bas, and how they were always prone to some level of flirtation, even when Bas had gotten together with Philip.

But he didn’t have the time or energy for that sort of drama right now.

“Tell me,” Cayo demanded. “I need to know.”

“Know what, exactly? I can’t read minds—and even if I could, your skull would be too thick to penetrate.”

“If he’s alive.”

Philip stared at him from under his eyelashes—scheming or seething, Cayo couldn’t tell. And he didn’t care. He was too focused on the labor of his heart, the desperate hope that shortened his breath.

Finally, Philip said, “He’s alive. Barely.”

Cayo nearly staggered back with the force of his relief. He shut his eyes for a moment of thanks, still seeing the flashes of the lighthouse behind his eyelids.

“Do you know where he is?” Cayo asked, once he’d collected himself.

Philip regarded him for a moment as the lighthouse flashed above them with the rhythm of a heartbeat. He took a long drag off his cigarillo, no doubt reveling in the way Cayo clenched and unclenched his hands, at the mercy of his information. And whether to divulge it.

After he sighed out a cloud of smoke, Philip said, “Bas is no concern of yours.”

“Wha—Of course he is! He’s my friend, he—” He came to me when he was in trouble, and I didn’t do enough to help him. “Look, I know he’s hurt. I know what the Slum King did to him.” At the reminder of those beautiful eyes floating in that jar, he shuddered and pulled his jacket closer. “Just…tell me he’s all right. Please.”

“Why do you think I owe you that?” Philip snuffed the rest of his cigarillo against the railing before approaching him. He was shorter than Cayo, but his dark eyes blazed with contempt. The smell of smoke and alcohol had woven itself into the fabric of his jacket, his hair. “Why do you think you have the right to ask anything of me?”

“What is your problem?” Cayo growled. “I have the right because I’m his friend and I’m worried—”

“A friend?” Philip’s eyebrows rose. “Is that all?”

Cayo groaned and raked his hands through his hair, the strands slightly hardened from the product he had run through it before the party. “Are we going to do this now? Seriously?”

“You were always leading him on, and you never acted on it. He came crying to me once, drunk and stupid, saying that you didn’t want to be with him because he didn’t come from wealth or carry any status.”

“What? I never—”

“You didn’t say it, maybe, but that’s what he thought.” Philip crossed his arms. “Eventually, he came to his senses and moved on. But even when he was with me, you were still too close for comfort. Of course, you were far too dense to see any of it.”

“I thought…” Honestly, he hadn’t thought much during those times. He’d always been in a haze, whether from drinking, taking part in Romara’s stock of jaaga, or from the high of winning. The whole point of his existence had been to feel good. And whenever Sébastien had wrapped an arm around his waist, or planted a playful kiss on his cheek, Cayo had greedily accepted it without question.

It was no wonder Philip hated him. He hated himself, too.

“Whatever may or may not have happened between us,” Cayo said, “we were still friends, and I deserve to know where he is. He came to me for help, but it…” His voice broke, and he roughly cleared his throat. “It wasn’t enough.”

Philip let out a huff of laughter. “Nothing is ever enough where you’re concerned.” Still, he mulled it over, the sound of the ocean’s waves like an encouraging whisper. Finally, he turned back to the railing and pulled out another cigarillo. “Bas is leaving Moray for good.”

“Leaving? To go where?”

“He came to me, because he had nowhere else to go.” Philip paused lighting the end of his cigarillo to throw another glare over his shoulder. “I told him he could go to my family’s estate in the Rain Empire. At first he refused, but I made him come around. He’ll be safe there. And he can heal.”

“The Rain…” Cayo’s gaze drifted east, where the cliffs of Moray gave way to the expanse of coastline outlining one of the vast empires that hemmed them in. “Where?”