Chapter 21
“Have you ever held a gun before, m’lady?” Lockwood asked.
Amaya and Mouse stood with him in the large, circular training room before a line of targets ringed in white and red.
She shook her head sheepishly, eyeing the pistol in Lockwood’s gloved hand.
“No.”
“That’s fine. This one’s not loaded. Here’s what you’ll do . . .” Lockwood handed the gold-engraved pistol to Amaya and positioned her hands to hold it correctly. The gun was heavier than she expected, weighing down her heart as well as her hand.
This wasn’t the pistol that had taken Camden’s life, but it wasn’t unlike the one Corsair wielded.
She gripped the handle tight, imagining what it would be like to bury a bullet in his skull. Disturbed by the sudden anger holding the weapon triggered, she shook away the notion.
“Is this one mine?” Amaya asked.
“No. I’ll issue a gun when—if—the captain becomes convinced you’re not a danger to yourself, or others.”
Amaya tried to envision herself in Sorrento in a few days’ time, with a gun.
She couldn’t, and the idea of actually using it was nigh unthinkable.
Sorrento’s gun control laws existed for good reason.
But their mission was dangerous, and there was something powerful about knowing she’d be able to defend herself if things went sideways.
“The captain mentioned he had something to help. Is it a relic?”
The possibility of having and using her very own relic as an everyday accessory was almost as unthinkable as the gun.
The Sinclair family’s wealth meant relics were within reach, for the most part, especially considering how well the city of Sorrento was fortified against the pirates who would see the market squandered. But the relics Amaya had seen and used felt frivolous now that she knew the true potential.
“You’re getting a relic? No fair!” Mouse said. He crossed his arms and pouted. “I still don’t have Portal back.”
Lockwood ignored him. “You need to learn the basics first either way. Keep the muzzle downrange, and your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.
Now, here.” Lockwood stepped next to Amaya and held up his own pistol, aiming at a target.
“Hold it at eye level, and balance the front and rear sight so you have equal amounts of space on either side. When you pull the trigger, don’t hesitate. ”
Amaya had no idea what he was talking about. “Sorry, what?”
“I can show her!” Mouse said. He came up behind Amaya and helped her aim the gun, leaning over her shoulder. “This little thing here, that’s the front sight. These are the rear. So you tilt the pistol until they seem even and look down the middle, then shoot. Easy.”
Amaya smirked. “After this, we’re going to teach you how to read.”
She didn’t expect the boy’s face to light up so much.
“Really?”
Not about to go back on an offer that made him so happy, Amaya nodded. “Really.”
“What he lacks in decorum, he makes up for in accuracy,” Lockwood said, sounding exasperated. “He’s more or less correct. This is how you load it.”
Lockwood demonstrated with his gun and let Amaya load her own. Finally, she had a chance to take a shot.
She sucked in a deep breath as she held out the pistol. Knowing she’d be unable to disconnect herself from that night, she allowed herself to feel what she needed to. Sadness. Guilt. Anger.
Red flashed before her eyes as she pulled the trigger and the bullet exploded from the gun, hurtling toward the target.
Her first shot missed by a mile. So did her second, and her third. Each missed shot dove into a heavy backstop of reinforced steel with a muffled clang.
But a dozen shots later, she finally hit the target.
At first, Amaya couldn’t believe her eyes. She blinked, expecting the dark hole on the edge of the steel target to fill in. It didn’t.
“Hey, that was awesome!” Mouse said, lifting his hand for a high-five. Amaya beamed, returning the high-five while Serena and Malcolm cheered from the back, having snuck in during Amaya’s many failures.
“Way to go, princess!” Serena cheered. “Malc, why don’t you go give ‘em some real target practice?”
“I should think not!” Malcolm said, indignant.
Serena shrugged and flicked the automaton’s shoulder, sending a metallic ting through the air. “Next time, then.”
“Do you see the disrespect I endure?” Malcolm asked. He released what Amaya thought was a sigh, but came out as a squeaky, grating groan.
Amaya giggled, spinning around triumphantly and taking another shot.
She missed again.
They took a break for lunch, which was especially delicious; Ozzie had taken the opportunity to do some shopping in Vaelstead and source fresh local ingredients, resulting in incredible sandwiches and chips made from freshly sliced potatoes.
Then they were right back at it, and Lockwood kept Amaya shooting until she consistently hit the target.
Mouse, Serena, and Malcolm had other duties to attend to, so it was just Amaya and the weapons master in the afternoon. He was polite and patient, giving Amaya gentle pointers that slowly improved her accuracy.
Amaya was sure she’d give her father a heart attack if he could see her standing on a Sky Lord’s ship holding a gun. Camden wouldn’t even recognize her, and Victor wouldn’t waste a second tearing it out of her grasp. But . . . it was exhilarating.
She liked the way the pistol fit in her hand.
She liked the way strength surged through her when she squeezed the trigger, and the shot of dopamine that hit her when the bullet pierced the target.
It made her want to take on the world—made her feel like she could avenge Camden the very same way he’d died.
Still, she couldn’t stop picturing the faces of her family and friends, and shook her head. “If my father knew I was doing this . . .” she murmured, loosing another bullet.
Lockwood chuckled. “Young ladies don’t usually carry firearms in Sorrento.”
“Nope.” Amaya squinted to find where her last shot had hit. The dent looked a little closer to the center. Maybe. “He’d be livid.”
“I can imagine.” Lockwood chuckled. “Is this your first time away from Sorrento?”
“I mean, we’ve been out of town before. First significant time, though.” She hesitated. “And first time on my own.”
“All of this must be quite overwhelming.”
Amaya shrugged and took another shot, almost afraid to admit how much she liked being in the sky. The air up here was fresher than Sorrento’s muggy streets. She felt lighter, and she kept thinking about the conversation she’d had with Will last night.
Being herself was a good thing up here.
“It’s different,” she admitted. “I miss my father, and my dog, and my pianos. I have one on every floor in the south tower.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“It is lovely.”
And lonely.
Another shot. A hit, but not a good one.
She looked to the former investigator. “Do you have family somewhere?” She snuck a glance at his left hand and noticed a silver band on his ring finger. “A wife?”
“Yes. I did,” he said, glancing down at the band. “A wife and daughter. They’ve both gone on to meet the Maker.”
“Oh.” Amaya’s heart sank. “I’m so sorry. What were their names?”
“My wife’s name was Kierra. My daughter was Hallie. She was nine.”
“What happened to them?” The question fell from Amaya’s lips before she could stop herself.
Lockwood shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at his boots. “They were killed by Dorian Duaric.”
“What?” Amaya lowered her gun. “Serena and Sebastian’s—”
“Luckily, his children have stronger consciences than he did. As does his successor.”
“But why would he . . .”
“I was a Royal Investigator,” Lockwood said, his lips pulling tight in a grim smile. “Duaric was my target after a particularly nasty raid. He caught wind of it and targeted our home outside the city. He thought I was there . . . I wasn’t.”
Amaya sensed the finality in his tone. He was being polite, but he didn’t want to talk about it. She could respect that. She understood that.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again in lieu of another question. “I can’t imagine how much you miss them.”
“That’s very kind of you, but it’s all right. They’ve been avenged.”
Amaya nearly gave up on hitting the bullseye as hours passed and weariness crept into her muscles. But every time she wanted to quit, she envisioned Camden at her back, encouraging her to try one more time.
Just when they were about to call it a night, she did it.
Amaya blinked, unsure if she was hallucinating. But the hole was right there, simmering in the center of the target where it had been smooth a second before.
“Yes! Did you see that?” Amaya threw her hands up in the air and cheered, only for Lockwood to gently grip her wrists and pull them back down.
“The safety, miss.”
“Oh, right.”
Amaya clicked the safety on her pistol and continued her celebration, prancing up to the target for a closer look at her handiwork. She was exhausted; her arms were sore from holding up the gun, and her eyes felt permanently crossed from aiming, but she’d finally done it.
“Well done,” a voice said from behind.
Amaya spun around to see the captain leaning against the back wall. There was something so annoyingly charming about his messy hair, the slight incline of his head, and the lazy tuck of his shirt that she barely registered Edmund standing beside him.
“How long have you been here?” She hadn’t heard them come in or sensed anyone behind them.
“Long enough,” Will said, his mouth twitching.
Was it weird to think of him as Will? Probably.
Will stepped forward, Edmund fidgeting with something silver at his side.
“Getting the hang of it?” Will asked.
“Yeah, I think so.” Amaya examined the pistol, running her thumb along the gold engravings. “It’s fun.”
“Fun” wasn’t the right word, but she couldn’t bring herself to gush about how it made her feel strong. Capable. Fearless.
She’d also never admit how the gleam of approval in Will’s eyes magnified the feeling about ten times.
“Try with this,” Edmund said. He dropped the silver piece into her palm. Amaya passed her pistol to Lockwood and inspected the object, turning it over with fascination.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “What is—”
“It’s like an earring. To help steady your aim.”
“You made this?”
“I imbued it with Aether. Give it a try.”
Amaya studied the relic. It wasn’t an earring, but an ear cuff shaped like a bird—an eagle, to be precise, with one wing outstretched to outline the shell of her ear.
The eagle’s head curved over the top, positioned to lean in as if whispering a secret.
A single, sparkling sapphire lay embedded in its eye.
Pushing back her hair, Amaya affixed the cuff to her right ear, adjusting until it was comfortable and secure. She didn’t know what she expected to feel—a burst of power, perhaps, or a prickling sensation. But the relic was cold and smooth, the same as any other piece of jewelry.
“You’ll have to name it. All good relics have a name,” Lexington said.
“It doesn’t have one already?”
“No, it’s just a Class One,” Edmund said, as if that explained it. “You can choose the name.”
Amaya took off the cuff and studied the eagle. The glittering sapphire drew her attention.
“Bluebird?” she suggested.
She knew the name was stupid the second she said it. It was an eagle, not a bluebird.
Lockwood peered over her shoulder. “Perhaps something like Eagle Eye would be more fitting, if it improves aim.”
Amaya grinned at the suggestion. It was much better than hers, and fit perfectly.
“Eagle Eye. Perfect.” She hooked it back over her ear. “How do I use it?”
“Take aim and you’ll see,” Edmund said.
Lockwood returned the gun to Amaya and she turned to the range, holding it out and gathering a deep, steadying breath.
But when she started to aim, something . . . shifted. Time slowed and her vision blurred around the edges, directing her focus to the target. It was a little disorienting, but she held the position until her eyes adjusted.
Then she pulled the trigger.
The bullet moved slowly at first, like she’d fired it through water. But when Amaya lowered the gun, time returned to its proper rhythm, and the bullet sank into the bullseye.