Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)(84)

Tomjen. He had to find Tomjen. Colors surrounded him, noises he couldn’t discern. Someone swept him up into a dance. There was a mouth at his neck, biting. Hands rummaging through his pockets. Laughter in his ear and rumbling in his chest.

He couldn’t feel his body. He couldn’t maintain a single thought.

It was oblivion. It was peace.



He was woken with a swift kick to the sternum.

Choking, Cayo turned over and vomited, all the excess of the night rushing out of him at once.

“Attractive,” drawled a familiar voice above him.

His stomach sore from contracting, Cayo pushed himself away from his sick and coughed, face screwed up in disgust. There was a terrible ringing in his head that sent an ache down his neck and shoulders, and he was fairly certain the taste crouched on the back of his tongue was that of death.

“No, by all means, take your time. I’ve got all day to watch you writhe around like a worm.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled around coughs. He could barely open his eyes without sending a stabbing pain through his skull. Moaning, he felt around for something to grab hold of and encountered a wall. He shifted backward until he could lean against it, wanting nothing so much as to curl up and die.

When he could finally keep his eyes open longer than a second, he blinked as they watered and tried to make sense of his surroundings. He was in a kennel, in the back of an empty dog pen. The sounds of scratching and whining and barking surrounded him, and the strong odor of wet fur and dried urine almost made him vomit again.

Before him stood Romara, hands on her hips and a glare leveled down at him.

“What in the hells,” he groaned, rubbing his face.

“I should be asking you that. What happened to you last night, puppy?”

“I…Shit. I don’t know.” It was all fragmented, like light off a crystal. He could only remember certain images, certain words. “I was drinking.”

“That’s apparent,” Romara said with an indelicate snort. “Probably more than just drinking, too.”

“No, I—” It emerged through the fog then. He’d been drugged. “Someone slipped me something.” No wonder he felt so terrible, like his limbs would pop off if he moved wrong.

Romara cursed and crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn’t wearing a dress today, but rather tight red hose and a black, high-collared Rehanese tunic.

“You know better than to get yourself in a situation like that,” she said. “What were you thinking?”

“That’s the thing,” he murmured, squinting at the nearest window to gauge the time of day. The light was gray yet bright, either late morning or early afternoon. “I didn’t want to think.”

Rolling her eyes, Romara stepped forward and helped him up. Their movement prompted the curiosity of the nearest dogs, who barked playfully. The sound sent peals of pain through Cayo’s head, and Romara snapped at them with a command to be quiet.

He shuffled after her out of the kennel, across a damp alleyway, and into the back of the Scarlet Arc. The dogs must have belonged to Salvador, then. But any fear of running into the man was absent, likely because the thought of a swift death at the man’s hands was oddly comforting.

Romara led him up a flight of stairs near the kitchen, to the place where she and her father lived. It was surprisingly modest, with touches of Rehanese art on the walls. Cayo felt like an intruder, like his presence here was a strangely intimate experience.

“Go wash,” Romara ordered, pointing to the bathing room. “There’s some clothes in there for you.”

“Wait. What happened to my friends?”

She shrugged, looking irritable. “Does it matter? You must have gotten separated from them somehow. I found you last night stumbling around near the Gauntlet, babbling to yourself. You didn’t even recognize me.”

Cayo winced with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, too, now that you smell like dog.” She pointed again. “Wash.”

The tub was half-filled with lukewarm water. Romara had prepared it for him, had likely been ready to drag him here if she needed to. Cayo felt an unexpected surge of gratitude toward her, even if she was one of the many people determined to ruin his life.

He scrubbed away the dirt and grime from the night, hoping to wash his shame along with it. Dried and dressed in clean clothes that were slightly too big for him—hells, did they belong to the Slum King?—he sheepishly shuffled into the main sitting room.

Romara was drinking a cup of black coffee and staring out the window at the street below. She saw him, gestured to the pot of coffee in a silent invitation to help himself, and continued her observation. Cayo was thankful to taste something strong and bitter to wash away the horrible staleness in his mouth.

As soon as he sat on the chair across from her chaise, she turned to him. “Well,” she said flatly, “congratulations. You’ve ruined everything.”

Cayo blinked. “What?”

“Don’t play ignorant. We heard about the warrant for your father’s arrest. I did some digging this morning and found out that you had a hand to play in it.” She leaned forward, slamming her empty cup on the low table between them. “Now my father wants nothing to do with you or your messed-up family. In fact, in all his raving and ranting he may have mentioned something about sending his goons after you, to teach you a lesson like he taught Sébastien.”