Chapter 22
It took six days to reach Sorrento, and Amaya spent most of them in a haze, focusing on one thing at a time.
Practice shooting with Lockwood.
Refine the plan to investigate Starcrest Peak.
Teach Mouse how to read.
And don’t, under any circumstances, overthink the way William Lexington looked at her the other day, or the way his voice softened when he spoke to her, or the tingling sensation that enveloped her body when he stopped by her training sessions and helped guide her aim.
Tomorrow morning, they’d take the windskiffs down to Talbot and leave the Maelstrom hidden in the clouds.
From there, she would board the train to Sorrento with Will, Lockwood, Sebastian, and Edmund.
Lockwood and Will would get off in the city center to seek out one of Lockwood’s old associates and, in theory, try to beat Graven at his own game while the rest of them went to Starcrest Peak.
They just had to investigate the house and get back to Talbot unseen and unscathed.
Amaya wasn’t so naive as to think it would be easy, but the plan seemed solid enough to her. Viable. At least they knew exactly where to look.
She lay in bed now, staring at her mother’s photo as the setting sun gave way to starlight and moonbeams.
Had her mother known about the Aether? Had she known Amaya had it, too? There were so many things she wished she could ask.
A knock on her door brought her back to the present. Amaya sat up, smoothing out her dress and hair in case it was the captain.
Not that she cared about that—about him.
“Come in.”
Much to her disappointment, it wasn’t Will who opened the door. It was Edmund. He carried a square of light blue chiffon that Amaya recognized with singular clarity.
“What’s that?” she asked, even though she knew exactly what it was—her missing Midnight Symphony dress. The one that had been shredded beyond repair and stained with Camden’s blood.
Edmund tilted his head. “Your dress, of course. We need to blend in tomorrow.”
“But it was ruined.”
“I fixed it. But you should really reconsider pastels—they wash you out.”
Edmund jerked his head to the side, gesturing for Amaya to stand. She did, and he laid the dress out on the bed; it looked brand new. The chiffon and tulle netting was in perfect condition, like it had never been dirty or torn, and the gold beads sparkled like real stars.
“You used a relic,” Amaya realized, her voice cracking. That was the only way this level of restoration was possible.
“Obviously. I’m not a seamstress.”
The dress was hard for Amaya to look at, let alone examine. Let alone wear.
“I, um . . . do I have to wear it?”
Edmund shot her a confused glance. “Did you bring another dress with you from Sorrento?”
“No, I—”
“Then, yes, you have to wear it.” His cold tone brought goosebumps to her arms and neck. “What we’re doing is dangerous. You can’t walk around looking like you came from a sky city, or we’ll draw attention and get killed.”
Amaya grimaced, squeezing her eyes shut. She heard Edmund sigh.
“I’m sorry, I’m on edge. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“We’re all on edge, it’s fine . . .”
“No, it’s . . .” He sighed again, and Amaya opened her eyes. “You don’t realize what a loss it would be if you were hurt.”
At first, it sounded sweet. But then Amaya realized he wasn’t talking about her at all. “You mean because of the Aether?”
He nodded, not catching on to her displeasure.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, actually, if you would consider returning to the Institute after this is all over.
” He looked at her, eyes gleaming with an unfamiliar hunger.
“I believe your genetic composition might be the key to opening up doors we thought were closed forever. We could extract it, figure out how to replicate and preserve it. You would make history—change the world, even.”
Amaya wrinkled her nose, her stomach squirming. “You want to study me?”
“With your gift? The whole world is going to want to study you.”
“That’s too bad for the world.” After this was over, she was going home. “Look, it’s getting late—”
“Amaya, listen to me. You have a scientific responsibility to—”
“No. No, I don’t. And you don’t have any right to tell me what to do with my ‘gift’—my body. Please leave.”
Amaya marched to the door and opened it. Edmund scanned her up and down and let out yet another heavy, dismayed sigh.
“Okay, I’m sorry. We can talk about this when we get back,” he said, stepping across the threshold.
Amaya shut the door in his face without an answer and twisted the lock, spinning around and pressing her back to the panel. She fumed silently, blood rushing to her face.
Perhaps she was overreacting. She was on edge, like she’d said, but . . . a scientific responsibility? What did that even mean? It was too overwhelming to think about right now.
And then there was the dress. Her beautiful, cursed dress.
Amaya inched toward the bed and brushed her fingers against the soft chiffon. It really did look good as new, and she couldn’t decide if she was glad or not.
Seeing Camden’s blood still on her dress two weeks after his death would shatter her. But not seeing it was like scrubbing him from existence.
“Cam,” she whimpered, sniffling. She’d hardly uttered his name since the day the Maelstrom arrived and freed her from the Bitterwind. It pierced her like a dagger to the heart. “I miss you . . . I’m sorry.”
A tear rolled down her cheek and onto the dress, darkening the material.
Another knock sounded at her door, and this time, Amaya was much less poised to answer gracefully. When she didn’t answer at all, the knock came again, louder. She wiped away another few stray tears with the back of her hand and stomped over, ready to give the artificer a piece of her mind.
“Edmund, I told you—”
The door swung open, and it wasn’t Edmund. Instead, the captain stood before her with both hands shoved into the pockets of his mended, red brocade coat.
“Sorry,” Amaya said hurriedly. “I was just . . .”
“Is everything all right? What happened with Edmund?” Fine lines gathered between his brows.
“Everything’s fine.” Amaya fought for her composure, not wanting him to know how close she was to crumbling. “He just dropped off my dress. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She half-expected him to press the issue, but instead, he shifted his weight almost nervously.
What on earth did a Sky Lord have to be nervous about?
“I, uh, wanted to check in,” he said. “Make sure you’re feeling okay about the plan.”
Amaya bit the inside of her cheek. “Well, no, I’m still not crazy about potentially leading Graven to my home.” It made her sick if she thought about it for more than five minutes, even though she’d agreed.
“This will work. He won’t have a chance to get near you.”
Amaya shuffled her feet. Hopefully Lockwood’s associate was as good as he claimed.
Hopefully she didn’t fail to get them into Starcrest Peak, and hopefully the secret library was real and contained the clues they needed.
But if one little thing went wrong, they’d all end up dead or in the Coil—Sorrento’s highest-security prison built underground in a never-ending, spiraling pit.
Technically, Amaya wouldn’t end up there, due to her status . . . but if they failed, she’d wind up in a prison all the same.
“I wish there was a risk-free way to do this,” she mused.
Will shook his head, a wistful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Believe me, I haven’t slept in a week trying to think of one.”
Amaya scrunched her nose. “Your sleep schedule is fucked.”
And there it was, just as she’d hoped—his real smile. It brightened his entire face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. Warmth bloomed in Amaya’s chest as Will huffed out a laugh and ran his fingers through his hair, the gold catching starlight.
“So Sebastian keeps telling me,” he said. “You swear now?”
“Like a sailor.” Amaya couldn’t stop her own smile from spreading. “I just wanted to see what you’d do.”
“Hm. Satisfied?”
“Very.”
Will let his gaze slip past her shoulder and Amaya took the hint, opening the door wider to let him in. She closed the door and leaned against it, suddenly aware that she was alone with the Sky Lord in her bedroom. The thought tied her stomach into knots.
She’d just been alone with Edmund, but that didn’t count. She had only been in this sort of situation once before, with . . .
Will glanced at the dress on her bed.
Cam.
An unknown emotion clawed its way up her throat. But before she could give voice to it, Will slipped a hand into his pocket and withdrew an antique bronze compass. He held it out to her.
“Anyway, while you’re in Sorrento, I want you to keep this on you.”
Amaya accepted the device, deliberately ignoring the spark that jumped through her when her fingertips brushed his, and flipped it over. It was beautiful. A little rusted in spots, but inlaid with copper filigree and precious stones that made it shine all the same.
“What is it?” she asked, certain it was more than a compass.
“It’s called Wayfinder. It’ll help me find you if . . . if something happens.” Will pulled another identical compass from his opposite pocket. “They’re a pair. Class Two tandem relics.”
He opened his to reveal a compass face with a gleaming onyx needle. But the needle didn’t point north, it pointed to Amaya. Or rather, Amaya’s compass. Will moved his in an arc to demonstrate. “They always point to each other.”
Amaya clicked open her own compass and moved in a circle around the captain, mesmerized as the needle revolved with her.
She stopped in front of him, now standing so close that their hands, each holding one half of Wayfinder, were almost touching.
It was like the relics themselves were magnets, wanting to be together.
“Is this your idea of a leash, Captain?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Worried I’ll run off?”
“You’re not going to run off.”
“No, I’m not.”
Which meant he was giving it to her for a different reason.
Don’t overthink it, she told herself. He needs you. That’s the only reason he cares so much.
But his gaze didn’t need to travel from her eyes down to her lips, somehow stealing her breath without even touching her.
For just a second, Amaya allowed herself to entertain the idea that Will wanted to keep her around for reasons that extended beyond the Skystone.
She wanted to believe she wasn’t just a means to an end for him, because sometime after their conversation at Breezeway Park, he’d become more than just her protector.
He was someone she wanted to know—someone she wanted to know her.
Will cleared his throat, decisively returning his focus to the compasses.
“They signal each other, too. If you get into any trouble, press on it to alert me.”
Will pressed on the glass covering the compass face, sending a shimmer of gold across it. The same luster flashed across Amaya’s, and it buzzed in her palm.
“Oh.” She jumped at the surprise sensation sending tremors through her hands. “Well, I suppose if you need my help bringing down another automaton, you can just alert me, too.”
He rolled his eyes. “That won’t be necessary ever again.”
“Then you should probably get some sleep.”
“I probably should.” He stepped back, a chasm opening between them as he combed his fingers through his hair again, before depositing Wayfinder back in his coat. Amaya watched him, suddenly aware of an intense desire to run her own hands through his golden hair.
It almost seemed worth the inevitable complication. No one back home had to know if she asked him to stay, if she pushed his jacket off his shoulders, if she tasted the sunshine glow that clung to his skin even in the shadows.
But indulging in this type of raw, carnal desire had only ever resulted in heartache. So she took a step back of her own.
“Thank you for this,” she said, holding up her compass. “Um, goodnight, Captain.”
Will nodded and went to the door, opening it before turning back.
“You can call me Will, you know.”
Out of all the things he could have said, Amaya hadn’t expected that.
“I can?” She’d been thinking it for days, but had been trying to do a better job of respecting his wishes.
He hesitated, but didn’t take it back. “Yes. But I do have a reputation to maintain, so privately would be best.”
“Privately?” The desire to ask him to stay resurged. She shoved it back down. “We’ll be seeing each other privately, then?”
He made a noise that sounded halfway between a huff and a laugh and turned away, but not before she caught a glimpse of the smile reaching toward his eyes.
“Go to bed, Sinclair. Be ready to disembark at dawn.”
“I didn’t hear a no.”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Did you want to?”
“. . . No.”