Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)(53)

It didn’t help that the sun kept a beady eye on him as it sank toward the horizon, making him sweat under his collar. It cast the rocks and succulents around him in a gentle shade of pink that reminded him of the morning Sébastien had left Moray.

Was Bas doing all right? When would he reach Soliere? Would he send word back to Philip, at least, that he had arrived safely?

The counterfeit coin and the key to the Slum King’s office jostled together in Cayo’s pocket as he climbed closer to level ground. Mercado Manor loomed above him, gleaming in the late afternoon light. The manor sat on a hill overlooking the bay and had the luxury of no neighbors due to the low cliffs hugging the shoreline. He had come this way not for exercise, but because he didn’t want his father to know where he was going—which meant sneaking past the carriage driver and not using the main path leading to the manor.

He was going to break into Salvador’s office and find the evidence he needed to prove the Slum King was behind the counterfeit. He was going to make him pay for what he’d done to Bas.

And he was going to get money for Soria’s medicine.

The biggest hurdle would be Romara. That is, not getting stabbed by her once she realized who must have taken her copy of the office key last night.

Cayo paused to swallow the nervous laughter creeping up his throat. The protagonists in the adventure novels he read made it look so easy—confronting the villain, saving the day, evading death. They always had some idea of what they were doing. Cayo, staring down the imposing barrel of a harebrained scheme, envied them and their predetermined fates.

Panting lightly, he finally reached the bottom of the incline and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He needed to start taking the carriage less often, build up some endurance. He set off toward the city, knowing that by the time he reached the Vice Sector it would be dark enough to sneak around undetected.

He admired the view of the Southerly Sea beyond the bay as he walked. His mother would often sit at one of the manor’s balconies and watch the water for hours at a time, sometimes with a smile, sometimes with an expression that had been too complicated for Cayo to understand back then. Sometimes he would sit in her lap and watch the sea with her, or carry a book outside for her to read to him over the gentle roar of the waves.

Fresh ocean air is the best remedy for any ailment, his mother would say. He wished that were actually true. That it had been enough to heal her lungs, strengthen her body, force her heart to keep pumping.

Cayo was so wrapped up in his nostalgia that he almost didn’t notice the figure standing on the edge of the nearest cliff. When he did, he slowed to a stop, caught off guard by their presence. They stood beside a pile of discarded clothes, their gaze fixed on the wide curve of the ocean.

Before Cayo could call out and ask if they were all right, the figure lifted their arms and jumped.

“No!” Cayo hurried to the cliff, yanking off his jacket and hopping on one foot and then the other as he pulled off his shoes. “Hold on, please don’t die!”

He only had a fraction of a second to realize the discarded clothes were a finely tailored dress and a shift before he leaped in after. The fall was short, and as soon as he hit the water he arced back up to the surface and looked around frantically, shaking wet hair out of his face.

“Hello?” he called. “Are you all right?”

“What in Trickster’s name are you doing?”

Cayo spun around in the water and came face-to-face with Countess Yamaa.

Her hair was unbound and hung in damp strands. Her dark eyes were wide and wild, staring at him as if he were a ghoul who had crawled out of the hells.

Cayo only noticed then that they hadn’t dived straight into the sea. The cliff face overlooked an inlet that extended like a small arm into a deep, secluded pool of seawater. He blinked in consternation at the rocky walls around them, kicking his legs to keep himself afloat.

“Uh,” he said, forgetting every single word in any comprehensible language. “Ah…”

“Did you follow me here?” the countess demanded, her tone sharp. “If you touch me, I will drown you.”

“Wha—I—No! I’m not—I wasn’t—I thought you were jumping! I was going to save you!”

Yamaa’s eyes were still spooked, but at this her eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. “You were going to what?”

Cayo’s heart was finally settling down, his mind racing to catch up with the situation at hand. “You…You weren’t jumping to…?” He looked around at the secluded inlet again. “Did you come here to swim?”

The countess flushed. Cayo’s own face was a miniature inferno, and he briefly toyed with the idea of letting her drown him after all.

“Answer me, Lord Mercado,” the countess said, a warning woven around the word lord. “Did you follow me here?”

“No! I was on my way into the city when I saw you jump.”

“What were you doing by the cliffs?”

“I…” He thought of the coin and the key he had abandoned up above in his jacket pocket. “I was taking the long way around. Our manor is just up that way.” He lifted a hand from the water to point, bobbing a bit as he lost his balance.

Yamaa stared at him a moment longer, as if assessing whether he was telling the truth. Finally, she sighed and said, “Yes, I come here to swim. Usually alone.”