Chapter 17
Just after midnight, Will abandoned his bed for the training room. He channeled all his frustration into slashing the dummies to pieces, replaying the moment he’d nearly died at the hands of Graven’s automaton.
Were it not for Amaya’s impetuous bravado, he was certain he would not have survived . . . and he loathed himself for it.
Duaric’s words bounced around the echo chamber of his mind.
What makes you think you can protect Amaya?
You’re going to get yourselves—and your girl—killed.
His girl.
Will didn’t let himself think too much about how that phrasing made him feel, because it wasn’t true. But for the time being, she was his to protect, and it would be disingenuous to not pursue every facet of his promise. Right?
As much as he hated revisiting his past beyond the last five years, Will forced himself to reflect on what he’d learned from Graven in the decade he spent aboard the Baroness.
How to close his heart to violence, cruelty, bloodshed, and fear.
How to let it invigorate instead of paralyze him.
How to make a split-second judgement on whether someone got to see another sunrise—and carry out the sentence.
Could he teach Amaya the same things? Did he want to?
It seemed counterintuitive. She was a sheltered Sorrento socialite, not a pirate.
But in his mind’s eye, he saw her snatching the Skystone from him, a Sky Lord, despite explicit orders not to.
He saw her swing an axe at an automaton five times her size.
He saw the fire in her eyes as she sized him up, trying to decide how far to push him.
She had the ingredients that made up a pirate inside her, for better or worse. Someone just needed to bring them to the surface.
Will didn’t have to corrupt her. She didn’t need to become like him, desensitized to the point of indifference. But he could give her the skills she needed to survive.
When he was so tired he could barely stand, Will fell into bed without changing his clothes, only to blink awake again when dawn broke through the clouds two hours later. He groaned, rolling over and dragging his hands down his face before slowly, painfully, sitting up.
His blankets were tangled, his floor littered with documents and trinkets that had spilled from his desk and wardrobe during the recent battle. The wounds in his shoulder and side still ached, even with Gareth’s treatment and Ozzie’s Silverspoon concoctions.
He used his injuries as an excuse to not tidy up, because he had another priority this morning.
After washing up and dressing, Will sought Edmund in his workroom, armed with two steaming mugs of coffee. Not to share; he intended to drink both. When he entered, the relic artificer was bent over his desk, scribbling notes on a scrap of paper.
Edmund’s workshop was small, like most rooms on the ship, but every inch of it was strategically utilized to maximize the space’s potential.
Drawers lined the walls from floor to ceiling, with a ladder hooked to a track on the ceiling.
Every drawer was labeled—watches, glasses, jewelry, stationary, weapons—all objects Edmund could imbue with Aether and transform into relics.
It was fanatically organized, each drawer padlocked to prevent the workroom from ever looking like Will’s cabin following a skirmish.
A long apparatus staged with a dozen carafes of different shapes and sizes sat in the center of the largest desk.
They were all covered, attached to small hoses, and filled with pure Aether that Edmund manually siphoned from the atmosphere once a week or so.
It swirled behind the glass like azure fairy dust, each a slightly different shade ranging from silvery blue to rich ultramarine.
Each carafe contained a different variation of Aether, which lent themselves to different types of powers.
Pumping out specific formulas of each shade allowed Edmund to imbue ordinary objects with extraordinary abilities.
It took years to develop the intuition required to create new recipes, but the routine Class Ones like Silverspoon were easily replicated, and Edmund had an entire drawer of spoons for that exact purpose.
“Captain,” Edmund said, standing. “Good morning. I was just about to head into town for—”
“I need a favor,” Will said. “Will you make something for Amaya?” He set down one cup of coffee and took a long sip from the other.
“Amaya?” Edmund asked in surprise. “You want her to have a relic?”
“Not really,” Will admitted. He was still torn about this course of action, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like the best way to protect Amaya was to give her their tools and teach her their ways. “But I want her more prepared the next time we’re attacked.”
Will described his idea for Amaya’s relic, and they spent the next hour digging through the drawers for an object Edmund felt would be a good conduit. Will rejected several, unable to imagine Amaya wanting a hat or a tacky flower pinned in her hair.
It needed to suit her—needed to be something elegant and strong.
“How about this?” Edmund plucked a burnished silver piece out of one of the jewelry drawers. Will’s gaze flicked up from the assortment of curios before him, frowning at first.
“What is it?”
Edmund demonstrated how the piece was worn, and a soft smile curved Will’s lips.
“Perfect. How soon can you have it ready?”
Once Edmund had a good start on Amaya’s relic, Will took it upon himself to find her so they could go meet with the relic scholar, Trinity James.
He didn’t have to look further than her bedroom. But when Amaya opened her door, the words Will planned to say dried up in his mouth.
Serena must have taken Amaya shopping this morning as she’d asked, because now, the Sorrento girl looked less like she’d borrowed from her older sister’s closet and more like . . . well, more like she belonged here.
Her outfit wasn’t dissimilar to what Serena had given her a few days ago, but it fit her much better—a little too well, actually—and she’d finally traded out those flimsy flats for a proper pair of boots that laced up to her knees.
Her rich navy corset was trimmed with gold stitching and hardware, searing her hourglass outline into his memory.
The asymmetrical blue skirt, with its flouncy shape and laced hem, was the only element that harkened back to the Sorrento socialite he knew her to be.
She didn’t look like a pirate, but she no longer looked like she hailed from Sorrento, either. Amaya occupied a narrow and lucrative space between the two. A space all her own.
Will cleared his throat, averting his eyes before she noticed he was staring.
“We’re going to visit the professor downtown. You’ll need to come with.”
It was more of an order than a request, but Amaya perked up all the same, interest lighting her face.
“Really?” She sounded so thrilled to be included in such an important outing—even when it should have been obvious she was coming—that Will almost smiled.
Amaya stepped beyond the threshold and pulled the door shut behind her, invading Will’s space. He took a measured step back and nodded.
“We’re leaving now. Are you ready?”
“Yes. No. One second.” Amaya turned on her heels and darted back into her room, where she shrugged on a tailored navy coat that perfectly matched the rest of her ensemble.
Will absentmindedly wondered how much money Serena had weaseled out of Sebastian while Amaya flipped her hair out of the collar, sending deep brown curls tumbling down her back and hitting him with a rush of lavender.
“Ready.”
Will ceded leadership to Edmund as they drew near to the Vaelstead Institute of Relics. The school was right at the city center, and though small, it was impressive. Marble pillars, vibrant mosaics, and domed buildings exuded elegance and prestige.
The Institute was one of the first things Vaelstead had worked to rebuild after the Relic War, and even though the Aether Storm sucking the atmosphere dry made crafting anything above a Class One impossible, the industry’s weakness did nothing to diminish the pride of the scholars who studied here.
Will had never belonged at the Institute, but Edmund fit right in. The artificer greeted several people—whom Will assumed were former colleagues and acquaintances—as they navigated through the university.
Amaya followed behind Edmund, leaving Will to bring up the small party’s rear. He kept having to nudge her forward when she stopped, distracted by a marble carving or a fountain or other work of art.
“I’m going,” she complained on the third instance, shooting him an irritated look.
“Then keep up.”
The main academic building was exquisite, with a stained glass dome painted in swirling blues and dotted with speckled stars. Students darted around in shades of blue—underclassmen clad in a light, dusty periwinkle while upcoming graduates wore rich, admiral blue.
Everything was blue, the school’s reverence for Aether displayed at nearly every opportunity.
The company arrived at the doorway to Trinity James’s office near the back of the building, where Edmund rapped on the wooden frame.
“Professor?”
Trinity James had to be somewhere in her eighties, with streaked gray hair pulled into a severe bun and sharp eyes.
She appeared distinguished in a wine-colored pantsuit accented with subtle gold embroidery and an antique pocket watch.
Unlike the students, she wore no blue, save for the cerulean badge pinned to her chest identifying her as a scholar.
The wrinkles in her face lifted as she glanced up and beamed.
“Well, if it isn’t my star pupil. What a nice surprise.” She stood to greet them, and Edmund flushed with pride as he stepped inside to shake her hand.
“I’m delighted you think so, because we need a moment of your time. Or . . .” Edmund looked back at Will and Amaya. “An hour, maybe?”
Trinity tilted her head in a silent question, and Edmund lowered his voice.
“We’ve found something,” he whispered. “Trust me, you’ll want to see it.”
When Trinity tilted her head further, Edmund mouthed the word, “Skystone.”
At that, the old woman’s eyes lit up with undisguised intrigue. “Edmund. Are you quite serious?”
“Quite.”
“Goodness. Well, come with me,” she said, patting Edmund’s shoulder and shuffling past him.
Trinity led them down a long hallway of closed doors lit by golden sconces before stopping at the last door and twisting a key in a lock, pushing it open to reveal an expansive laboratory.
It was similar to Edmund’s workroom, but five times the size.
Endless drawers of organized trinkets adorned the walls, and the tables were lined with ornate jars of Aether that made Edmund’s collection look like a children’s playset.
Shelves upon shelves of relics filled the rest of the space, all tagged and cataloged.
Amaya lingered at the doorway, once again stalled by her continued amazement. Will put a gentle hand on her back to coax her inside while he closed the door. Once they had privacy, Trinity got straight down to business.
“The Skystone, you say? How unprecedented. I imagine it’s with you.” Trinity levied her gaze on Will and arched a frazzled, gray brow.
Without a word, Will reached into his pocket and withdrew the locket, clicking it open.
Trinity lifted her glasses from the chain around her neck and perched them atop her nose, peering at the Skystone.
“Maker above. May I?”
Will nodded, handing over the locket and shoving his hands back in his pockets to keep from turning fidgety.
Edmund explained how they found the stone, introduced Amaya and her origins, went over the documents they’d found, and recounted tests he’d run while Trinity examined the necklace under a bronze microscope.
Will constantly wanted to interject to add or correct a minor detail, but held his tongue.
A side glance at Amaya told him that she was resisting the urge to speak up, too—or snatch the necklace away.
She had her arms folded over her chest, fingers curled into her sleeve as she shifted her weight back and forth.
Her gaze roved around the workspace. It was a lot to take in, and nobody was taking the time to ease her into it.
Finally, Edmund brought Amaya forward. “There’s one more thing,” he said. “She can activate it. Amaya, if you would.”
Trinity startled as Amaya touched her finger to the stone. A luminescent glow bathed the room in azure light, mystical and alive. Trinity stared at the stone through her glasses, then without, then studied Amaya’s face.
“She’s the only one who can do that. We can’t figure out why,” Edmund said.
“There’s nothing that sets you apart? Perhaps biologically?”
Trinity directed her question at Amaya, but Edmund answered instead.
“There’s some evidence to suggest that she might be related to Ronan Pearce. It seems like it should be important, but I don’t know why it would make a difference.”
“I see,” Trinity mused, still examining the glow. She looked at Amaya once more, studying her with newfound intensity. “You have extraordinarily beautiful eyes, my dear. A truly remarkable blue.”
“Thank you?” Amaya tensed and withdrew her hand, stepping away from the Skystone.
Trinity was undeterred by her discomfort. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever stopped to consider why?”
Will froze. He had known there was something unsettling about her eyes.
“No—they’re the same color as my mother’s,” Amaya said.
Trinity smiled softly. Knowingly. “A family trait, then.”
Will’s patience was wearing thin. “Get to the point,” he said. “Why can she activate it? Why can’t any of us?”
“Because, Captain, Aether activates Aether in unpredictable ways. This stone is the purest concentration of Aether I’ve ever seen, and I believe Miss Amaya’s genetic material—her very essence, I daresay—is laced with it.”