Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)(66)

It reminded her of the sea: As beautiful as it first appeared, there was peril layered under that beauty.

Malachite Street was cleaner than the alleys surrounding it, if not less intimidating. Finding the Scarlet Arc, she headed inside and was immediately assaulted by red. It was everywhere, from the painted ceiling to the vivid wallpaper to the crimson rug spread across the floor. The Arc was much smaller than the Grand Mariner, and Amaya’s trepidation rose, especially when patrons turned to stare at her. Patrons who were scarred and didn’t bother to hide the weapons they carried.

Swallowing, she hardened her expression and walked toward the bar. Pretend like you belong, Boon would have told her. So long as you can fake it, they’ll believe it.

She overheard someone ordering a drink called Toxin and ordered one as well when the bartender turned to her. It came in a square tumbler, its color a light green due to some sort of syrup and the muddled leaves at the bottom. Amaya took a tentative sip and nearly gagged at how strong it was.

“That’s one of my favorites. How do you like it?”

She turned in surprise. The smooth voice belonged to a tall, trim man dressed in a finely tailored suit, his hair combed back and his bearing regal. She would have thought him a member of the nobility had it not been for his viciously scarred face—the sign of a man who had grown up in these streets, where violence ran like currency.

“It…” Her voice tried to leave her, but she dragged the words out. “It’s quite good.”

He smiled, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

“I haven’t seen you at the Arc before,” he went on. “What brings you by this evening?”

Amaya hesitated, her scalp prickling with warning. She shouldn’t have come here. She should have just stuck to the Grand Mariner, waited until that dealer with the curly hair was off shift, and…what, tried to seduce them in the alleyway?

Maybe she had wanted to come here to avoid that. Maybe there was a part of her that felt more comfortable in filth and danger than flirtatious smiles and witty words.

Is violence your solution to everything? Liesl had asked her. Perhaps it was. Apparently stabbing a man in the chest was easier to her than kissing someone.

“I got tired of the big casinos,” Amaya said. “I wanted to explore more of what the sector had to offer.”

This time his smile showed his teeth. “Is that so? Well, then, I’m glad you came to partake at my establishment.” He held out a hand, equally scarred as his face. “Jun Salvador.”

Amaya took his hand as if to shake, but he lifted the backs of her fingers to his lips. Her scalp prickled again.

“Forgive me, but you look familiar,” Salvador said, releasing her hand. “Perhaps this isn’t your first time here?”

The heat of dread filled her chest. Had this man seen her as Countess Yamaa? Had he attended any of her parties or seen her on the streets?

Before she could flounder with an answer, a girl appeared at his side. She was dressed in a sparkling black gown with a low neckline and a slit in the skirt that exposed a brown, curvy leg when she cocked her hip and planted a fist there.

“Father, you’re needed,” she said in a flat voice.

He looked at her with some annoyance. “It can wait.”

“Tell that to your investors,” the girl said with a grin similar to his: sharp and hungry.

He sighed and gave Amaya a small bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”

As he walked through the tables, the girl huffed and sat heavily on the stool beside Amaya’s.

“Sorry about that,” she said as she rapped her knuckles on the counter. The bartender hurried to fill her a glass with amber liquid. “He’s like a vulture, isn’t he?”

Amaya had no idea what to say, so she only watched as the girl—she couldn’t have been much older than Amaya—downed half her drink in one go. She had traditional Rehanese features with a bit of Sun Empire mixed in, her long black hair pulled into a sloppy bun. As she set her glass down with a happy sigh, Amaya noted her glittery eye shadow and dark painted lips.

“So,” the girl said, turning to rest her elbows back against the counter, “what’s a countess like you doing in a place like this?”

Amaya stiffened. The girl watched her, as much a vulture as she claimed her father was. Amaya couldn’t help but feel like a helpless rabbit under her knowing stare.

“I’ve seen you,” the girl said, taking smaller sips of her drink. “All dolled up in those fancy costumes. This look fits you much better.”

“I…don’t recall seeing you at any of my parties.”

“Wasn’t there. Not exactly my type of scene. But I like to keep track of what happens in this city. Countess Yamaa,” she murmured, her brown eyes drifting toward the ceiling. “A mysterious visitor to Moray’s shores, wealthier than god herself, and as secretive as an eel refusing to come out of its den.”

Seeing the distrustful look in Amaya’s eyes, the girl laughed. “Don’t worry. As long as I’m with you, you’re safe. That’s why I sent my father away. He likes to exploit. Me, on the other hand? I like to invest.”

“I see,” Amaya murmured.

The girl held out her hand. “Romara.”

Amaya shook it. “So…your father owns this place?”