Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)(45)

“No, I’m afraid not.” Why in Trickster’s name were you there? she wanted to growl. He was no business of yours! “I’ve never even had contact with the man. I heard he was vile, though. He beat the children on board and worked them to the bone.”

“Do you think he deserved to die, then?”

The tone wasn’t accusing. It was curious, almost dispassionate, as if the act of discussing murder over tea wasn’t a new experience for him. It was a question she had asked herself before—if the punishment truly fit the crime, if Zharo’s conduct could have only been balanced with death.

“Perhaps the gods were only meting out justice,” she said at last.

He frowned but was prevented from asking about it further when the server arrived with their teas. They were each given a teapot and cups painted a delicate shade of green. It reminded Amaya of the color of Zharo’s apartment building, and a sudden wave of nausea overtook her. She began picking at her fingernails, certain they still smelled like blood.

The server poured their teas with an expert hand and gave them a three-tier tray of pastries and fruit, then bowed and took his leave. Cayo waited until the server was on the stairs to address her again.

“Are you well, my lady?”

Amaya stilled her hands in her lap. “Perfectly fine, my lord. Although you seem the worse for wear. Did you have too much fun at my party?”

“One could say that,” he muttered. He lifted his cup and took a sip even though steam was still billowing out of it. “You seem to have had a sleepless night yourself.”

“It’s difficult work, playing hostess.” She lifted her own teacup, willing her hand not to shake. The tea smelled of jasmine, and when she took a small sip, the heat nipped her tongue.

I have to kill him, before he suspects.

The thought came unexpectedly, like a rock smashing through a window. She wasn’t even sure if the thought was actually hers—it almost sounded like Boon’s voice, whispering in her ear. There had been moments when he’d done that during her training, when he had placed a callused hand on her shoulder and murmured directions.

Try to take that lad’s coin purse, he would instruct while they were out walking at night, teaching her the ways of deception. Compliment that woman until she gives you her address. Rip your dress and run up to those guards, pretend you’ve just been mugged, and then knock ’em out.

Amaya set her teacup down a little too hard, making Cayo and a couple of nearby patrons turn their heads. Her whole body flushed, but not with embarrassment—with an almost feverish conviction.

Liesl had prevented her from acting last night in the way her body craved, yanking her revenge out from under her. Her limbs jumped and twitched with it, and without her realizing it her hand drifted to the small knife on the table, caressing the blade with a thumb.

She could do it in a multitude of ways. She could lure him outside, or follow him back to his manor. Or she could simply lunge across this table and cut a line across his throat, watch it yawn open as he choked and stained the tablecloth.

“—bolt from the northern province of Rehan, highly valued for its durability and shine.”

Cayo was in the middle of placing a berry tartlet on his plate when his attention quickly returned to the auctioneer. Amaya forced herself to do the same and saw a painted depiction of fabric on one of the easels.

“This blend of silk is one of the finest you’ll find on the continent,” the auctioneer said. “Valued at a thousand senas per bolt.”

“He could have at least brought one to show,” Cayo muttered to himself. “Some of the tailors in Moray could benefit from using a higher grade of silk.”

A surprised laugh bubbled up in her throat. She couldn’t believe it; Cayo Mercado enjoyed fashion?

“Is this…an interest of yours?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light, trying not to reveal the darker thoughts lurking beneath the surface. “How did you get involved in such a thing?”

You’re supposed to be asking him about his father, she reprimanded herself. Not about his hobbies.

Cayo shrugged. “I’ve always admired clothes, I suppose. When my sister was growing up, I’d help her pick out dresses.” He glanced at what Amaya was wearing today, a lavender dress of typical Kharian design, with a length of fabric draped over her shoulder and embroidered with golden suns. “I was fascinated by tailors and how they worked to create such beautiful pieces with just a needle and thread.”

Amaya’s throat tightened unexpectedly. She thought of her mother sitting bent over coats and skirts, her needle glinting like a miniature sword as she sewed.

She struggled to regain her voice. “I…take it you go shopping often, then?”

“We used to.” Cringing as if he’d said the wrong thing, he took another sip of his tea and turned his gaze to the patrons below.

Amaya felt a flutter of opportunity seize her. She recalled the battered state of his carriage, and the fact that he had once been a frequent gambler. Were the Mercados not as wealthy as they led others to believe? Her heart quickened at the thought.

“Tell me more about your family,” she said. Feeling Avi’s watchful eyes on the back of her head, she slowly let her hand drift away from the knife and instead take up the silver tongs. She carefully selected a chocolate-drizzled pastry and put it on her plate. It was filled with a decadent cream spotted with black vanilla bean. “You mentioned you have a sister?”