Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)(46)

“Yes.” He used a tiny fork to spear a glazed strawberry on his tartlet. “She’s a couple of years younger than I am.”

“How come I haven’t seen her at my parties?”

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He hesitated, then followed through and took a bite of the glistening fruit.

“She’s been ill,” he said after swallowing. “But should hopefully recover soon.” He gave her another forced smile, showing off a dimple.

“Oh.” Amaya leaned back against the chair, disappointed to feel a spike of regret cut through her lingering rage. Wracking her brain for one of those ridiculous phrases Liesl was always making her recite from a book on etiquette, she added, “Please give her my regards.”

“I’m sure she would be thrilled, my lady.” At the sound of a patron coughing down below, his shoulders tightened. It was then that Amaya saw through the polite veneer of Cayo Mercado and glimpsed a boy who, despite his smooth words, was afraid.

Just how ill was his sister?

And then another part of her—the Silverfish part of her, perhaps not so dead after all—wondered how she could use that to her advantage.

“I can’t imagine the worry you and your father must feel,” she went on, digging into the sore spot as far as she dared. “To have someone you love so much be in the clutches of such a serious illness. It is serious, isn’t it?”

“One could say that,” he murmured down to his tartlet. Whatever intentions Cayo had brought with him today, they seemed to be unraveling. Which told her that she was right—it was much more serious than he let on.

She knew about the deadly sickness running through Moray; she and the Landless had been checked by a doctor when they docked at port. It wasn’t that big of a leap to conclude the girl likely had ash fever.

But should she play that hand now, or wait until she could use it as leverage? It was no surprise the family didn’t want the news public. To have someone like Countess Yamaa know, with the possibility of spreading the gossip among her many acquaintances like a dandelion spreading its seeds, would have been a living nightmare.

She was tempted to blurt out that she knew, to figure out if her guess was correct, but the look on Cayo’s face stopped her. There was a muted terror there, in the wariness of his eyes. In the tight way he held his mouth.

It chipped back her rising bloodlust, still roiling and unsated. Her anger turned from him to herself—for showing her own weakness, the way her misery made it easier to detect it in others.

Children are the victims of their parents’ crimes.

No, she decided, she would not kill Cayo Mercado. She would reserve her vengance for his father alone.

Cayo picked up a small silver spoon and began to nervously dance it between his knuckles. Amaya blinked. The young Lord Mercado may not have been good at concealing his emotions, but he was certainly skilled with his hands. She wondered if it was a result of his interest in tailoring.

“I would appreciate it,” he finally said, his voice low, “if you kept my sister’s illness to yourself. My father…We can’t…”

“I understand.” She was only too eager to have information on the Mercados no one else had.

Another brick in the foundation of their ruin.

When you go after the boy, be sure to lay it on thick, Boon had told her. Trust me, most young bucks have mud for brains, and a lotta them hunger for the touch of a pretty girl.

Amaya steeled herself before reaching over the table and touching his hand. She wasn’t used to touching people she did not know; it had taken her almost a year to be comfortable enough to hug Roach. But when Cayo looked up, surprised, she knew she had made the right move.

“I admire how you care for your sister during this difficult time,” she said.

He stared at her hand, somewhat darker than his. Cayo took a deep breath, shedding even more of that veneer of detachment. Good.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to help her,” he said to the tabletop.

Keep going, Boon’s voice whispered in the back of her mind. Her fingers slid across his skin until she was clasping his hand. Cayo hesitated, then returned the soft pressure. His touch was warm and dry.

“I hope things improve for her,” she said, and was distantly surprised to realize she meant it. “And for your family as a whole.” That, she did not mean.

“Thank you, my lady. I’m beginning to learn the only way to move forward is by confronting the mistakes of one’s past.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Otherwise history will just repeat itself, and everything falls apart again.”

This boy was full of curiosities. But before she could prod more into what he meant, the auctioneer banged his gavel against the podium.

“Vault one is sold to Mr. Hirana at twenty-one thousand senas! Please come up, sir, and sign your name on the contract of transfer.”

The crowd erupted into gentle applause as a man stood from a table and made his way up to the dais. It was the same man who had been coughing since she arrived at the teahouse. He was coughing even now, the noise muffled by the napkin pressed to his mouth.

When he pulled it away, it was speckled with blood.

The man wobbled and fell against a table, knocking over cups and plates that smashed on the floor. People yelped as he toppled over and lay unmoving, sprawled against the marble.

Amaya tore her hand away from Cayo’s and leaned over the balcony. The man’s companion rushed forward to put his head on her lap, and that’s when Amaya saw it.