Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)(36)

“Stop making yourself out to be the cause of this,” Bas snarled. “Your guilt doesn’t allow you to become the victim here.”

Cayo swallowed. “You’re right.”

Bas took a few deep breaths, and Cayo could feel him trembling. Suddenly, he deflated. “It wasn’t anything you did, Cayo. You…You did what you could. But this was bigger than borrowed money.”

Cayo stepped closer to him, gently squeezing his wrist. “What happened?”

Sébastien used his free hand to pull something from his pocket. It was small and round and oddly flat, like a piece of charcoal that had been compressed. He held it out, and Cayo warily took it.

“What is this?” Cayo asked, rubbing a thumb across its surface. It felt almost like graphite.

“What does its shape remind you of?”

Cayo studied the small object. Then he noticed the little ridges etched into its sides, almost like…“A coin?”

“A gold sena, to be exact.” Bas had dropped his voice to a whisper. “Or rather, it was when I lifted it from the Slum King’s tables.”

Cayo frowned. “What does that mean?”

“I was scared when I took the money, so I spent the night with Philip.” Bas swallowed. “We played a game. The one where you put a coin at the bottom of a wineglass and have to drink all of it to get the coin. Except we ended up falling asleep, and I never finished my last glass. When I fished out the coin the next morning…” He gestured to the black sphere.

A cold sweat had broken out on the back of Cayo’s neck. “It’s a counterfeit,” he whispered in realization.

“And I’m sure it’s not the only one.” Bas’s head twitched, as if he’d been about to look around before remembering he no longer could. “The Slum King must have thought I was the one planting the counterfeit money in his dens, or that I was at least part of the scheme. That’s why he wanted to make an example of me.”

Nausea gripped Cayo’s stomach, and he tightened his hold on Bas’s wrist. “You weren’t part of it, were you?”

“Of course I wasn’t!” He ripped out of Cayo’s grasp. “You’re a jackass. A complete…utter…” His breathing stuttered, and he bared his teeth in pain as he pressed a hand to his forehead. “Whoever is in charge of this scam, I hope they give the Slum King what he has coming. I hope they take their sweet time with him.”

Cayo’s eyes stung. He almost apologized again, wanted to apologize a hundred times, but he knew it would only make Bas angrier. Instead, he slowly leaned in and kissed the fever-hot skin of Bas’s cheek.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said softly. “Bas, if you…if you want to stay…”

Bas choked on a pained laugh. “I can’t, Cayo.”

Cayo nodded his understanding even as sorrow dug a trench inside him. “I’ll miss you, Bas.”

Sébastien sighed, leaning into him for just a moment. Then he pulled away, signaling for the servant to help him up the gangplank. Cayo watched them leave, then stood back and watched the ship prepare to set sail.

He even watched the Sovereign depart the harbor, carrying one of his oldest friends away. A friend he had failed in so many ways. A friend he might never see again. Dawn had grown stronger around them, gilding the water and lengthening the shadows, and Cayo couldn’t help but see the painting it would make, a composition pieced together with regret and mistakes.

Finally, he turned and walked away from the docks. Realizing he was holding something in his hand, he unfurled his fist and saw the remains of the counterfeit coin.

Bas said he had lifted it from the Slum King’s own tables. Bas’s theory was that someone was trying to thwart Jun Salvador from the inside, but what if Salvador was fully aware of the counterfeit?

What if he was the source of it?

It wasn’t that big of a leap, knowing the Slum King’s penchant for controlled chaos. And if Cayo exposed him, or at least made enough of a case against him, it would break off his engagement to Romara. He could even get a reward from the Port’s Authority for exposing Salvador’s crimes.

Which meant finally breaking free of the Slum King’s threats.

The carriage driver stifled a yawn and opened the door for him as he approached. “Home, my lord?”

“No.” Cayo clenched his hand around the fake coin. “We’re going to the Port’s Authority.”





SOLAS: What miseries, then, have you endured to become so heartless?

BRAEGAN: You must look to your own heart, for the answer lies within.

—THE MERCHANT’S WORTH, A PLAY FROM THE RAIN EMPIRE



The building was painted a shade of green that reminded Amaya of unripe guavas, and it left the same unappealing taste in her mouth. She crouched in the shadow of a balcony, dagger in hand, and stared intently at the street. Waiting.

She had been waiting now for two hours; the son of a bitch was likely in the Vice Sector, or whatever ale shop was lowly enough to accommodate the likes of him. But he had to return sometime, and when he did, she would be here to greet him.

Amaya hadn’t been to the outskirts of Moray yet, where the smell of the sea was diminished and the wind carried instead the verdant scent of the jungle to the northeast. The breeze was warmer here, too, and sweat began to crawl down her ribs and between her breasts.