Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)(4)

The early signs were dangerously subtle, a fatigue that eventually came with all the chills and aches of a normal fever before gray spots began to bloom on the afflicted person’s skin. The only common factor among the victims was that when the fever finally took hold, it began to congeal the blood in their veins, turning their skin an ashen gray. The sickness had started as a small strain people hardly even noticed, until it proved fatal.

Although a tincture had been made to stave off the worst of the effects—available only to those who could afford it—a cure hadn’t yet been found.

Sighing, Cayo checked the time on his fob watch. It was his duty to make a manifest of everything they hauled from the holds of their sleek galliot cargo ship, but with everything running way off schedule and the examinations chipping away precious time, the crew still had yet to unload.

His head throbbed and his pulse picked up as he speculated how his father would react to the dock switch. Kamon Mercado did not take kindly to insults.

Cayo glared at the foreign galleon that had commandeered the Miscreant’s spot, at the billowing purple sails that had nearly blocked out the sky as it had approached. It was drawing all manner of attention from dockworkers and sailors bustling under a fierce midafternoon sun.

Although he hated to admit it, the ship was impressive. The sides were painted with swirling Kharian designs, but the flag it flew from its bow was that of Moray, a cutlass and rolled-up scroll on a background of green and blue.

A lone figure stood at the bow, staring out at the city that sat in the curve of the harbor like a smile, its multicolored buildings rising victoriously above the crystalline bay. Strange timing, for a foreigner to visit during an epidemic. Perhaps they didn’t understand the meaning of the black flags flying over the harbor.

The dock switch didn’t bother Cayo, but he knew his father would be displeased. Kamon Mercado conducted business through commands, not requests, and expected his only son to follow in his footsteps. So Cayo had complained about the last-minute change with the harbormaster, with nothing to show for it other than a worsening pressure in his temples. At this rate, he was going to be late for dinner tonight.

Then again, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

He began to inspect the few boxes now sitting beside the Miscreant, the dockworkers having pried open their tops: bags of spices, a trove of silver amulets marked with the Kharian gods, multihued jewelry boxes studded with tiny mirrors, medicinal herbs and roots, pearl-handled knives, and even a cache of leather-bound books.

When he was younger, Cayo had dreamed of jumping onto one of his father’s ships and sailing around the world. Of collecting treasures from the rain forests of the Rain Empire, the lush valleys and harsh deserts of the Sun Empire, the plentiful farms along the Lede Islands.

But that wasn’t the life of a wealthy merchant’s son. His life was here, under a sweltering sun, trying not to breathe in the stink of the harbor while the workers around him eyed the golden embroidery on his coat.

“The master not coming down today?” asked one of the dockworkers.

“I’ll be handling shipments for the foreseeable future,” Cayo said.

The worker raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “That so? Mind you don’t dirty those pretty boots, then.”

Cayo pressed his lips together, fighting back the urge to say something he would later regret. Cayo doubted the man would recognize fashion even if it whacked him in the face and insulted his mother. He knew full well he didn’t have the respect or reputation of Kamon Mercado.

“Do you know who that galleon belongs to?” Cayo asked instead. Might as well start trying to earn their allegiance.

The dockworker shrugged. “All I’ve heard is rumors. Folks saying it belongs to a Kharian noble, maybe even a royal spare. Me, I say it’s a spy from the Rain Empire all fitted up like they’re from Khari.”

Cayo tried hard not to roll his eyes. Although Khari had helped Moray fend off the colonialist control the Rain Empire had once held over the city, he found it exceedingly difficult to believe that a spy would make such a grand entrance. Since Moray was situated between the Rain and Sun Empires, it had proclaimed neutrality for decades, trying to stay out of the empires’ multiple wars over the years. But because they had a hold on the best waterways, Moray was still expected to “play nice.”

Cayo checked the doctor’s progress, the crew impatiently waiting their turn for inspection, before turning back to the dockworker. “Do you think…”

But the words died in his throat when he glanced at the end of the dock. Standing there was a familiar figure—one who brought back the smell of smoke, the taste of gin, and the nausea of regret.

Sébastien.

The sun turned his hair bronze and kissed his light brown skin into a golden shade, but as bright as he was, he still symbolized everything that Cayo had given up to be standing where he was now. Although the two of them had flirted plenty in the dens, often sharing a cigarillo out in the alleys, Sébastien had always been more of an enabler than a lover. He was one of the regulars who would join Cayo in the Vice Sector. And that made him bad news, just like the rest. Just like Romara.

Sébastien gestured frantically at him, and Cayo froze, his fingertips buzzing. When he realized the dockworker was staring at him, he cleared his throat. “I’ll be right back.”

Clenching his jaw, he walked down the dock to where Sébastien stood. Before he could speak, Cayo snapped, “What are you doing here?”