Chapter 23
The following day, Amaya, Will, Lockwood, Edmund, and Sebastian rode the windskiffs to Talbot, then took the three-hour train from Talbot to Sorrento. Will wasn’t comfortable bringing the Maelstrom any closer to the city, and Amaya couldn’t say she blamed him. Her stomach churned the entire way.
She leaned against the window of the train, fingering the Skystone locket around her neck.
Will had returned it this morning, knowing it might be needed for their half of the mission.
She wore her repaired dress, too, though it made her want to jump out of her skin.
She squirmed in her seat, fixing the puffed sleeves for the millionth time.
“Everything okay?” Will asked from beside her.
Amaya glanced up and blinked, still unused to seeing the Sky Lord in his Sorrento disguise.
He wore a light gray waistcoat and a sharp navy jacket, with a garnet necktie and a scarf draped carelessly over his broad shoulders.
His usually windswept gold hair was combed to one side, and a pair of black leather gloves prevented anyone from accidentally glimpsing the signs of Aetheric Decay he bore on his right arm.
He wore it surprisingly well, though he, too, looked to be suffocating.
“Fine,” she lied, smoothing out her skirt.
“You remembered Wayfinder?”
“Little late to be asking that, don’t you think?” The compass was heavy in her dress pocket.
“And your . . . ?”
Amaya met the captain’s eyes for a split second before nodding, gathering up her skirt so he could catch a glimpse of the brown leather holster strapped to her bare thigh, pistol tucked inside. She watched his pupils dilate, her lips pulling into a smirk.
Will cleared his throat and averted his eyes. “Right. Good.”
Amaya leaned over, nudging him. “You look like a prince, you know.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“If you want it to be.” Amaya paused, then tilted her head. “Actually, yes. Yes, it is.”
He grumbled, the sound resonating low in his chest.
“What?” Amaya asked with a laugh. “Don’t want to be a prince?”
“No, I don’t. And it’s just . . .” He shifted in his seat. “It’s unsettling to step into the skin of who I could have been.”
Oh.
Amaya studied his profile, wondering if, in an alternate timeline, they’d ever have crossed paths. If William Lexington, the richest relic-dealer in Percival, would have been on her father’s radar instead of Victor Westbrook.
Will was right—it was unsettling to imagine.
The train slowed to a stop an hour later at the Sorrento city center. Will and Lockwood stood, and Amaya let her hair fall across her face as passengers came and went.
Will and Sebastian had a brief, hushed exchange during which they told one another not to be stupid, and the first mate slid into Will’s seat beside Amaya as they left. He watched Will and Lockwood go, worry creasing his brow.
“Nervous?” Amaya asked.
“We’re in the lion’s den,” Sebastian replied, voice low. “Of course I’m nervous.”
Amaya, Sebastian, and Edmund disembarked another hour later, when they reached the small station on the far side of Lake Anna. From there, Sebastian quickly hailed a cab before anyone started paying them attention, and recited the address to a house a short distance from Starcrest Peak.
Amaya sat in the back seat of the cab, squeezed between Edmund and Sebastian. She didn’t make eye contact with the driver and didn’t speak a word, attempting to appear as inconsequential as possible. A hood pulled low over her head did the trick whenever the driver nearly met her eye.
She didn’t like riding in the back seats of cars anymore. Not when she didn’t know the driver. The claustrophobic déjà vu made her want to leap out of the car. If not for Sebastian and Edmund blocking the exits, she might have.
Tall cliffs bordered Lake Anna on the north side, stretching higher than even Sorrento’s most impressive towers. The cab’s antiquated steam engine rattled, barely surviving the incline before pulling to a stop outside the gates of another wealthy family’s home.
Amaya knew the family that lived here—the Wolfhard’s were family friends who often came to Starcrest for holidays.
Camden had also driven Grace up here quite often to tutor their young son, Henry, at Amaya’s personal recommendation.
Having the cab drop them off in the middle of nowhere would have been suspicious, but Amaya didn’t particularly want to linger in the event the Wolfhard’s were home.
“Thank you, sir,” Sebastian said, climbing out of the cab and dropping a generous handful of talents into the driver’s hand—an overpayment. Likely on purpose. “Careful on the way down.”
Amaya hovered behind Edmund until the car was out of sight before shoving off her hood and motioning for them to follow her.
“This way.”
Starcrest Peak perched on the edge of the cliffs, beyond the bramble of trees and shrubs that separated the two houses.
Amaya led them through the mire, wary of ripping the delicate fabric of her dress again.
They would have to walk most of the way back down to catch another cab and didn’t need to look like they’d just hiked through the forest.
She scanned their surroundings constantly, half-expecting Corsair or Graven himself to appear out of thin air.
Did they already know they were here? Had someone recognized them on the train?
Did they have time to spare, or were they racing against the clock?
Every branch that snapped underfoot caused Amaya’s head to snap up and scan the trees.
“Remind me to never go hiking again,” Edmund grumbled, nearly tripping over a rock.
“We’re almost there,” Amaya said. She pushed aside a low-hanging branch. “It’s right . . . here.”
The trees parted to reveal Starcrest Peak in all its majesty.
“Well damn, princess. That’s quite a castle,” Sebastian said with a chuckle.
“It’s not a castle,” Amaya said. “It’s not even that big.”
And to her, it wasn’t. Starcrest Peak could probably fit inside one wing of Goldridge. But what it lacked in size, it made up for with a structure that seemed to defy gravity.
The house looked ripped from the pages of another world, built into the face of the cliff hanging over the lake.
Delicate spires and arched windows stretched toward the sky, with identical sets pointed downward into the lake’s misty void.
It was like a reflection in water, with the bottom half of the house an upside-down reflection of the top.
A large wrap-around terrace split the two halves, reaching away from the cliff with no visible supports. On the other side, a gnarled oak tree wove its branches through the spires with long, pale-yellow catkins hanging from its limbs like strung beads.
It was an impressive feat of engineering, but more than that, it was a work of art.
She’d never thought about it before, but now it seemed obvious. Of course Ronan Pearce had designed it.
“And this is your . . . vacation house?” Edmund asked.
Amaya’s smile widened, and she nodded.
“Yes. We come here for holidays, and when my father wants some distance from the city in the summer. Camden—my friend—and I used to cliff dive from there.” She pointed to a stretch of stone next to the house.
They hadn’t done it in years; when Grace found out, she tattled on them to everyone she knew.
Mrs. Hargreeves threw a fit, and that was the end of that. But it was fun while it lasted.
“Did you have a death wish?” asked Edmund.
“What? No. It was just fun.”
Seeing the house was bittersweet; it felt like an extension of her home, a host of happy childhood memories hidden within the walls. And more recent heartbreaking ones. But it felt like a part of her that wasn’t quite hers anymore.
She was about to break into her own house.
Rose, their housekeeper, and a couple of maids stayed on staff in the off-season to maintain the house, but otherwise, it should be empty. If they were lucky, no one would be there at all.
Amaya maintained the lead, crouching and sneaking past the manicured shrubs beneath the window panes. They curved around the house to the terrace, swinging over the white carved railing and looking to the balcony two stories higher.
Amaya and Edmund hugged the wall while Sebastian shot Whiplash up with a metallic zing, the retractable sword effectively becoming a grappling hook. Sebastian hooked it on the railing and tugged.
“All right, Ed. You first.”
“Me?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll catch you if you fall.”
Edmund rolled his eyes, but grabbed onto the hilt. The blade retracted, propelling him up until the balcony was within reach. Clumsy, but more or less silent, Edmund swung a leg over the railing and immediately went prone on the balcony, sending the sword back down.
Amaya was next.
“Just push here,” Sebastian said, running his thumb over a tiny lever on the hilt. “And don’t let go.”
“Yeah, I got that part.”
Amaya inhaled, taking Whiplash’s hilt with both hands. This was hardly the scariest thing she’d done in the past two weeks, but she was putting a lot of trust in her below-average grip strength, and Sebastian’s ability to catch her.
Another deep breath. Three, two . . .
Whiplash retracted, lifting Amaya off her feet and leaving her dangling. She tried to pull herself up, but her sweaty palms were slipping.
“Shit. Shit—Edmund!”
Edmund scrambled to the balcony and leaned over, grabbing her arms and painstakingly hauling her up and over.
“Ugh, why are you so heavy?”
Amaya scowled, kicking her feet to try and find purchase. “I’m not heavy. You’re just weak.”
“Says the—”
“Both of you, shut up!” Sebastian hissed from below.
Edmund and Amaya groaned in unison as they tumbled to the cold stone floor. Sebastian joined them a moment later. His muscles barely flexed, as if he didn’t even have to try, and Amaya kind of hated him for it.
“You should have gone first,” Edmund complained, sitting up and running his hands through tussled black hair. “So stupid.” He looked to Amaya, his eyes falling to her skirt. “Come on. I just fixed that dress for you.”
Amaya glanced down to see a tear in her skirt and sighed in defeat. So much for not damaging it again.
“You come on.” Sebastian yanked Edmund up by his collar and offered a hand to Amaya. “We have work to do.”