Chapter 3
When Amaya stirred, her entire body ached as if she had a fever. Her cheek pressed against a hard, rough surface and her skirt tangled around her legs. She rolled over, groaning, and opened her eyes to darkness.
Well, no, it wasn’t completely dark. Flickering shadows on the wall suggested lanterns, but they were dim at best, imaginary at worst.
Where was she?
As she struggled to sit up, Amaya couldn’t tell if the room was moving or if she was just dizzy.
Or both. She pinched her nose and tried to convince her throbbing headache to go away, to no avail.
When her vision adjusted enough that she could see her own hands, she lifted her gaze to survey the gloomy space.
Amaya noticed the bars first. She was in a cell, sitting on a splintered wooden floor. Other cells lined the walls, but they were empty, save for the one directly across from hers, where a man sat with his back against the wall.
Amaya’s eyes slid past him; she didn’t feel like talking.
The next point of interest was the flight of stairs that led to a rectangle on the ceiling, outlined in a pale yellow light. The door.
The permeating chill, stale air, and vaguely damp surroundings all contributed to the depressing atmosphere.
As she regained her senses, she decided the room was definitely moving—she must be in the belly of a ship. An airship, judging by the steady rumble of a nearby engine. And she wasn’t a guest.
Amaya attempted to sift through the fuzzy, fragmented pieces of her memory. She and Camden had been on their way to the Midnight Symphony. But then . . .
Camden.
The memories flooded back all at once. The insane chauffeur, the invisible man . . . and Camden getting shot.
Camden dying in her arms.
Amaya began to tremble uncontrollably, her lungs shrinking in her chest. She swept away stray tears with a shaking hand and tried, unsuccessfully, to stand. Her legs wobbled and she crumpled back to the floor, forearms scraping against the wood.
That was when she noticed the deep red dried blood splattered the front of her dress.
Camden’s blood.
Amaya’s stomach churned, the bile rising in her throat the only thing that prevented her from screaming. It took everything in her not to tear off the dress right then and there.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She pressed her hand to her chest, her heart beating against her ribcage so erratically it seemed as though it was about to give out.
Camden was dead.
Camden was dead, and she was on an airship that belonged to Alastor Graven.
Small puncture wounds marred her arm from where Corsair’s clawed relic had grabbed her, and . . .
Noticing the absence of a chain beneath her palm, Amaya searched her chest and the neckline of her dress.
Her mother’s locket was gone.
“No!” Amaya cried, her first true vocalization since waking up.
She felt around her bodice and sifted through her skirt’s many layers.
Though she had problems far greater than a missing necklace, there was a photo inside, and losing one of her most cherished possessions pushed her over the already precarious edge.
Amaya burst into tears, curling into a ball and hugging her knees to her chest.
Go back to sleep, she pleaded with herself. Go back to sleep. It’s not
real . . .
“Um, excuse me, miss? Are you all right?”
Amaya lifted her head, scrubbing away tears and squinting to see the voice’s owner through her misty vision.
He leaned on the bars now, thin and gangly.
He was almost skinny enough to slip through, but not quite.
The man—the teenager, Amaya realized—looked like he hadn’t bathed in a week.
His face was smudged with dirt and his clothes were filthy.
Unkempt brown hair stuck out every which way, as if he’d been electrocuted, and a smattering of freckles adorned his tan skin.
“No,” Amaya said. She was having a mental breakdown just to pass the time. Another sob clawed its way out. “What a stupid question.”
“Oh. You’re . . . you’re right. Sorry.”
Dejected, the boy shuffled back to the far wall of his cell. Amaya shed another handful of tears before she realized how cruel she sounded.
“I’m sorry. That was mean,” she said. Every word hurt as she forced them past her lips. Amaya met the teenager’s kind eyes to find him looking a little sad, but not angry.
“S’okay. I’m used to it,” he said with a shrug. He clambered up to the bars again and hung on them like a monkey. “Who are you, anyway? Some kind of princess?”
Amaya sniffed and shook her head. “No.”
“You look like one,” the boy said without missing a beat. “I mean, I’ve never seen a real-life princess, but I saw a drawing in a book once—you look just like that. I’m not sure what book, though. Can’t read.” He shrugged again, apparently unbothered by this.
Amaya didn’t know how to react to anything he’d just said, so she didn’t.
“Um, what’s your name?”
“Phineus Moss, at your service,” he said, straightening his posture and his tattered jacket. “I’m part of William Lexington’s flagship crew.”
William Lexington. Amaya recognized the name as another one of the seven Sky Lords, but her knowledge ended there.
“How’d you end up here?” she asked, dragging herself over to the bars closest to his cell. She still couldn’t stand and continued to wipe away tears, but having company might keep her mind from wandering to darker places.
Phineus looked down at his feet sheepishly, shuffling them.
“Well, see, I’m a pickpocket,” he said. “My crew stopped in Aerasead recently, where Lord Graven’s fleet typically rendezvous, and I got a little carried away. Swiped some relics off the wrong people.”
When Amaya didn’t seem impressed by his admission to being a professional thief, Phineus changed the subject.
“Ridge called you Amaya when he brought you down here. That’s such a pretty name. The necklace was real pretty too. I’m sorry Corsair took it. That guy is so creepy.”
Both Phineus and Amaya shivered at the mention of the greasy pirate.
She rubbed her hand over the tiny, scabbed-over holes in her arm and tried not to envision Corsair shooting Camden.
But it was no use; she would never forget.
The image of Camden falling, going still in her embrace—dying—would live in her mind forever.
Amaya’s bottom lip quivered, and she dashed away another bout of tears. “Who is he? Do you know?”
“Vesper Corsair. He’s Lord Graven’s right-hand man, I think.”
Well, that explained a lot. “And . . . who’s Ridge?”
That question was answered for her when the rectangle in the ceiling opened, allowing Amaya a brief glimpse of a vivid blue sky before two figures darkened the hatch, one slender and one stocky.
She held her hand up to block the light and blinked, but couldn’t properly identify either of them until the hatch closed and they were no longer backlit by the sun.
A pirate she didn’t recognize plodded down the stairs, followed by one whose face was permanently branded into her memory.
“Well, well, look who’s awake. Sleep well?”
The stocky pirate spoke in a raspy voice that grated on Amaya’s ears.
He wore a black coat and a matching hat with a dirty white feather, every inch of him the stereotypical pirate she’d seen in books.
Even from a distance, cigar smoke and alcohol wafted off of him.
The stench strengthened as he approached.
Corsair lingered behind, that trademark evil smirk distorting his lips.
Rather than have them talk down to her, Amaya finally managed to pull herself to her feet and clung to the bars for balance, summoning whatever dignity she still had and hardening her hopeless expression into a mask of strength.
These men didn’t deserve to see her cry, and she wouldn’t let them—though it required immense effort.
“Who are you?” she asked, sounding far more confident than she felt. “What do you want?”
“Miss Sinclair,” Corsair purred, slithering forward until his face was only inches from her own. His eyes were utterly soulless up close. “I trust you’re satisfied with the accommodations.”
“I wasn’t talking to you. You murdered my friend.”
“Mm, yes. Camden, was it? His sacrifice will not be forgotten.”
It took all of one second for Amaya’s blood to heat to a rolling boil.
“Don’t you dare say his name!” Her eyes landed on the metallic sheen of a knife in his belt, and she reached for it. Corsair danced back just as her fingers brushed the handle, a low chuckle rising from the back of his throat.
“The feisty ones are my favorite,” the other pirate said, rubbing his large hands together. His grin, combined with the way his eyes continually traced her body, made Amaya’s skin crawl.
“Miss Sinclair, allow me to introduce you to the captain of the Bitterwind, Danny Ridge.” Corsair held an arm out toward his companion. “You’ll be his honored guest on our journey to Aereasead.”
“What’s in Aereasead?”
“Lord Graven, of course. He’s expecting you.”
Amaya curled her hands into fists. “What does he want? Money?”
Ridge threw his head back and cackled. “What does he want?” he roared through his laughter. “I think you know the answer to that, missy.”
“Actually, I don’t think she does,” Corsair said, examining Amaya thoughtfully. He took another step back before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a familiar gold chain.
The two diving birds on the chain became visible first, positioned as if flying together. The rose-shaped connector beneath them revealed itself next, and finally the pendant with its shimmering jewels and exposed clockwork. There was no mistaking it.
“What we want,” Corsair said, “is for you to tell us how this works.” He extended it to her.
“How it works?” Amaya didn’t understand the question. “It’s a locket. It opens.”
“There’s much more to it than that.”
“No, there’s not. And it belonged to my mother, so I’d like it back, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Marjorie Sinclair’s photo was inside, along with a precious moonstone. Amaya pressed herself to the bars and tried to snatch the locket, but Corsair yanked it back. Asshole. He toyed with her like he was dangling a string in front of a cat.
“Ah-ah,” Ridge said, wagging his finger in her face while Corsair dropped the necklace back into his pocket. “That pretty bauble is of utmost importance to His Lordship.”
“Why?” That didn’t make sense. “He wants the stone or something? All this for a moonstone?”
The blue stone inside was stunning, to be sure, but it was just a jewel. And sky pirates didn’t collect jewels. They collected relics.
Her family heirloom was not a relic.
Corsair snickered. “Yes, the moonstone.” He motioned for Ridge. “Let us know when you’ve remembered how it works.”
“It doesn’t do anything!”
“If you scream loud enough, we might be able to hear you from upstairs,” Corsair drawled, turning his back. “We’ll reach Aereasead in five days. It’ll be less messy if you comply before then.”
“Hey!”
“Enjoy your stay, Miss Sinclair. This idiot can keep you company,” Ridge said with a chortle. He gestured to Phineus, who stuck his tongue out at the captain.
“You’re going to regret that when the Maelstrom gets here,” Phineus said.
Ridge rolled his eyes, but Corsair snapped to attention. This time, he trained his wicked stare on his colleague.
“You’re holding one of Lexington’s men?”
“Please. He’s lying. You think William would suffer an incompetent fool like that?” Ridge scoffed. Shaking his head, he stomped back up the stairs. Corsair followed close behind.
“Wait!” Amaya called. “You’re making a mistake. My father can pay for my return. You’ll be rich! You won’t even need the necklace!”
“Your daddy will pay if you don’t behave yourself on my ship!” Ridge said, spinning back. He lowered his voice to a patronizing croon. “So be a good girl and mind your manners.”
Both pirates left, momentarily blinding Amaya when they opened the hatch, before plunging her back into darkness. She stared after them, dumbfounded.
There was nothing she could think to do. Even if she escaped her cell, jumping overboard wasn’t exactly an option. And she hadn’t the faintest idea what they were talking about.
Had Camden really died for this? A couple of delusional pirates thinking her mother’s necklace was something more than it was?
Heart shattering all over again, Amaya sank to her knees and rested against the bars. The cold metal bit her skin.
Phineus plopped down, too, and crossed his legs.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s against the codex to hold a member of another Sky Lord’s crew captive. When the Maelstrom gets here, my captain will save us both.”
“You really think your ship is coming for you?” Amaya asked.
Phineus nodded, but she couldn’t share his confidence. William Lexington was another Sky Lord, just like Graven. He might not be any better.
Amaya pondered whether a different ship might come for her. Maybe her father would send Victor. At the moment, she’d actually be thrilled to see him.
But no one knew where she’d gone. There were no witnesses, no trails. And she knew what they would think. When Camden was discovered missing as well, everyone would assume they’d run away together.
She wished they had.