Chapter 32
Amaya hadn’t realized how exhausted she was until given the chance to sleep in her own bed. It was almost midday when she stirred, groaning in response to her aching muscles as she rolled over.
Yesterday’s memories came back one at a time, slowly crushing her under their weight.
Her body protested every movement, a side effect of swimming all the way across the lake yesterday. Had it only been yesterday?
Her head pounded like she was hungover. It was all she could manage to reach to the side of her bed and pull the cord to call a maid. A young woman, Georgie, entered a few minutes later with a tray of tea and pastries, as well as this morning’s newspaper.
Daisy scampered in after her and leapt onto the bed, cuddling into Amaya’s side as Georgie set the tray down on her bedside table.
Amaya ran her fingers through Daisy’s silky fur and tilted her head, reaching for the newspaper. “What’s this?”
“Lord Sinclair wanted you to see it,” Georgie said. “Look at the headline.”
Amaya flipped the paper over and blinked the sleep from her eyes to read the bold text across the top.
She gasped and read it again, and again, and again, unable to believe it. Had Will’s plan actually worked?
It was too good to be true.
“Where’s my father?” she asked Georgie, picking up Daisy and standing. She wanted every detail of Graven’s capture and impending death sentence.
“He’s in a conference downtown, miss. He asked that you not leave the house today.”
And so her own sentence began.
After receiving a clean bill of health from the family physician, who found only the scar on her arm, Amaya respected her father’s wishes to rest. Her body was crying out for it, anyway. The only meaningful thing she did was play her piano, which healed some small part of her heartache.
But when evening fell, she donned her second costume since her return: red.
Amaya stood before her vanity, adjusting a fitted crimson dress with a flared skirt that highlighted every curve. The neckline plunged a good couple of inches lower than she typically wore—and she wasn’t known for her modesty on the best of days.
Tonight, she’d be Victor’s dream girl. Beautiful, pleasant, entirely sane, and completely enamored with him. She’d beg on her knees for his forgiveness if that was what it took.
She had tonight, but she didn’t know how much longer. If she failed and Will didn’t make it to the Coil, she might watch her friends face a public execution right alongside Alastor Graven.
More than anything, Amaya wanted to talk to Will. If Graven was executed, did they still need to find the Skyvault? Did she still need to find her way back to the Maelstrom?
Will would say yes. He wanted to find Pearce and disperse the storm, with or without the threat of Graven.
If Amaya was honest with herself, as much as she’d loved her time in Vaelstead, she didn’t care enough about the sky cities for that to be her sole reason for returning.
But that wasn’t the only reason she had.
She wanted to return to the Maelstrom and their mission because she cared about Will enough.
Cared about Mouse enough. Serena. Even Sebastian, Edmund, and Lockwood.
And despite barely being home for twenty-four hours, every minute reinforced the fact that she did not want to be here. She’d wanted to come home, but home didn’t feel like home anymore, especially without Cam.
She was in the middle of practicing a profuse apology on Daisy, with the intention to use it on Victor later, when there was a knock on her door.
“Come in.”
Her father entered, beaming when he saw her.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart. So much like your mother.”
“Thank you.” Amaya smiled over at him. “Is Victor here?”
“Not yet. I just wanted a word before you go.”
“Oh. What is it?”
“I don’t want to overwhelm you further,” he said cautiously, “but you have a right to know. Victor has requested permission to ask for your hand.”
The floor seemed to fall out under Amaya’s feet, an onset of vertigo making her head spin. She whirled around.
“What? When? Today?”
Surely not today. Victor had his peculiarities, but being shot in the foot couldn’t possibly be a turn-on.
“Before you were taken. Just days before, in fact. And . . . I gave him my blessing.”
Amaya frowned. “Dad, I shot him. Victor and I have some trust to rebuild before we take that step.”
“That’s the second thing I wanted to tell you.” Her father shifted his weight, as if anticipating she wouldn’t like his next statement.
He was right.
“In light of recent events . . . I’d like to confirm an engagement as soon as possible.”
The words were a gut punch. Amaya spun away and closed her eyes. This was too much, too soon. Far too soon.
“Recent events?” she repeated. “What about recent events? Is this about people thinking I ran off with Cam?”
“Marginally, yes. The incident at Starcrest, as well. But those are not the only reasons,” her father said emphatically. “I want you safe. I want you settled.”
“Where is safer for me than here?”
Amaya had always known a proposal was coming, but not now. She brought both hands to her face, pinching her nose between her index fingers to fight off a burgeoning headache.
“Amaya.” Her father’s voice was soft and soothing as he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Will you look at me, please?”
“How soon?” she demanded.
“If he mentions it tonight, I didn’t want you to be blindsided.”
“Tonight?” Amaya did look at him then, spinning around. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
Her father sighed. “He may not even bring it up. But if he does, please consider the offer. He’s a good and honorable man, and he cares for you. He can take care of you. I’m old, Amaya. I won’t be around forever.”
She knew that “consider the offer” was a polite way of saying “take the deal.”
She didn’t have to—she could say no. But saying no wouldn’t make Victor very agreeable to her request to spare Edmund and Sebastian.
So it couldn’t happen tonight.
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Amaya said, turning back to her vanity. She leaned over, swiping a scarlet stain over her lips.
Judging by the thin press of his lips and the hard line between his brows, her father’s patience was spread thin.
“I won’t have you haunting these halls alone. And keep in mind that Victor is privy to a number of allegations that risk doing irreparable damage to your reputation. He’s been gracious to overlook them. It would be . . . unwise to ice him out now.”
Amaya tensed. “So when you say you want me safe, you mean safe from him as much as safe with him.”
Of course Victor would hold her mistakes over her. Of course both of them would.
Victor knew he wasn’t getting a virgin bride, and that was bad enough. It was worse that the public perception of Amaya was soiled by the rumors surrounding her disappearance—though those would soon be set straight.
But her actions at Starcrest, should Victor choose to reveal them, were more than scandalous. They were criminal. He could accuse her of sympathizing with pirates, not to mention possessing a firearm. And as powerful as her father was, there were witnesses.
Getting engaged to Victor wasn’t a commitment she could flippantly make and go back on later. He’d be humiliated. And when arrogant men like Victor were humiliated, they tended to retaliate.
If he proposed tonight, Amaya would have to accept, for Sebastian and Edmund’s sake.
And if she wanted to continue showing her face in Sorrento, she’d have to go through with it.
“I just want what’s best for you, sweetheart,” her father said as he tried to squeeze the tightness out of her shoulders.
Amaya believed him. He wasn’t perfect, but she trusted he loved her with his whole heart and wanted to see her happy.
They just didn’t agree on what happiness looked like.
She put the finishing touches on her makeup, mentally constructing the wall she’d need to survive tonight.
Her plan still stood: become Victor’s dream girl. But now there was more at stake than her pride.
“If he asks, I’ll consider it.”
Victor selected a restaurant called Le Grenier for the evening.
It was the perfect homage to high society, dripping with luxury from the moment guests stepped through the doors.
A violin quartet filled the air with a sweet, clear melody, and the ceiling was painted to resemble the night sky.
It called to Amaya’s memory what the stars looked like from the Maelstrom, but paled in comparison.
Most tantalizing of all were the aromas wafting through the dining room—seared delicacies, melted butter, and fresh herbs.
Amaya might have enjoyed the sights and smells more if her empty stomach wasn’t already churning. She had no appetite, all of her focus going toward making sure Victor didn’t catch any slips in her composure.
But composure did not translate to attentiveness, and she barely heard Victor when he spoke.
“Hm?” she asked, bringing a glass of merlot to her lips. She had hardly touched her braised lamb dish, but she’d nearly finished her second glass of wine.
“I said, you look absolutely breathtaking,” Victor repeated, tracing her figure with his eyes.
He’d said that twice already, seemingly unable to come up with another compliment.
“And that dress is . . .” His gaze fell to her chest and the tight, flattering red silk.
He’d always looked at her like that, as if she was part of the menu.
When Amaya didn’t answer right away, he continued.
“I’m relieved you were so eager to reconnect after . . . everything. And glad you’re home.”
His hand slid across the white tablecloth to the cane resting on the edge, and Amaya had the sense he was anything but relieved. But she needed to get him eating out of the palm of her hand tonight.