Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)(78)

“The city thanked the gods and promised to build them bigger shrines, but that wasn’t enough for ’em.” Boon had taken a slow pull from his bottle. “The gods wanted access to the library.”

Amaya roused herself. “What did the gods do with the knowledge?”

“Hells if I know. They were probably so disgusted with us by then that they decided we were on our own.” He’d finished his wine, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and set the bottle down carefully beside him. He clicked his tongue a few times. “Don’t blame ’em, really.”

There was something sorrowful about him in that moment, and suddenly Amaya realized that he’d never told her who he had been mourning the day she rescued him at sea, covered in marigold petals.

“So what’s the point?” she’d asked. “All stories come with some sort of lesson. What’s the lesson of this one?”

Boon had sat so still and silent that she almost thought he hadn’t heard her. Then he took a deep breath, looked at her, and grinned wide enough to show wine-stained teeth.

“That knowledge comes with a price.”



Water lapped gently against the side of the porcelain bathtub, spirals of steam lifting the scent of rose from the surface. Amaya leaned back and watched those ghostly tendrils and their lazy movement, not quite seeing, not quite feeling.

Her mind was a labyrinth of nightmares. Zharo’s death-glazed eyes. Melchor’s bloody chest. The last hug Roach had ever given her. Boon’s story of child-eating demons. The feeling of Cayo Mercado’s heart under her hand.

If only she had reached in and squeezed it to pulp. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about him; she wouldn’t keep touching her lips and remembering the shape of his.

Liesl entered the bathing room with a soft knock. As soon as Amaya stumbled into the estate, Liesl had practically screamed at her condition: wet, bedraggled, mud-stained, shivering with cold and shock. The Water Bugs had gathered curiously, looking on in amusement and confusion as Liesl had shepherded Amaya upstairs, grumbling at her recklessness.

“I don’t know how many times it needs to be said,” Liesl had growled as she none too gently helped Amaya out of her soaked and torn clothing, “but you need to remember that you are a countess. And countesses don’t run around in the mud and muck!”

Amaya had stayed silent, not even daring to tell her about Cayo. It still felt too close to her, a secret that could tear the world apart if she so much as whispered it aloud.

Liesl now came to sit on the stool by the tub, removing her fogged-up glasses to wipe them on her skirt. When she replaced them, Amaya noticed the look on her face wasn’t disapproval but rather trepidation.

“There’s been some news,” the girl said. “The Prince of Moray has succumbed to ash fever. He’s dead.”

Amaya frowned. Her first thought was, Who cares? That means nothing to me. But then she remembered the Bugs talking in the kitchen, about how the tension between the empires was escalating again, with Moray sitting helpless between them. A pawn ripe for the taking.

If the ruling figurehead of Moray was gone, with no successors or replacement chosen, what did that mean for them? Was the treaty of neutrality dissolved?

“One of the empires might try to install a regent, or a governor,” Liesl answered Amaya’s unspoken question. “They both want access to Moray’s waterways. They want a claim on the best trade routes. The city will be batted around like a mouse between a cat’s paws.”

Amaya took a deep breath of humid, rose-scented air. “We’ll have to leave before that happens.”

“I agree. Now get out of that water before you get wrinkles.”

Liesl helped her into a robe. As soon as it was tied, the door pushed open to reveal Deadshot, a letter clenched in her fist.

“News,” the girl gasped, shoving the letter at Liesl.

“Is it about the prince? I’ve already told Amaya—”

“No.” Deadshot shook her head, pushing the letter into Liesl’s hands. “Read it.”

Liesl did so; her eyebrows lowered. Then they lifted in shock.

“Is this true?” she demanded. Deadshot nodded fervently.

“What is it?” Amaya clutched the front of her robe. “Are the empires already making a move?”

“No, it’s…” Liesl’s gaze strayed from the letter to Amaya, disbelieving. “It’s Kamon Mercado. He’s been arrested.”

Amaya’s knees weakened, and she sat heavily on the stool. Her head was full of fog. “On—on what charges?”

“The manufacture of counterfeit money.”

Amaya withdrew into herself as Liesl and Deadshot speculated how this had come to pass, remembering Cayo’s words about someone he cared for doing a bad thing. Asking her what he should do about it.

Cayo had turned in his own father.

It was exactly what Boon had wanted: turning the Mercados against one another, using the son to take down the father. Mercado’s name was now ruined, his prospects destroyed. Whatever wealth he still possessed would be taken away, and Amaya and the others would divert it into their own pockets. She would have enough to send the Bugs home.

So then why didn’t she feel victorious?

There was nothing but a hollow gnawing in her gut, in her heart. She realized it was because nothing had changed—all her questions had gone unanswered. She still didn’t know why her mother had sold her. She didn’t know why her father had had to die.