Chapter 34
Amaya awoke with an engagement ring on her finger, a hole in her heart, and William Lexington’s face in her head.
Victor said he’d free Sebastian and Edmund without delay last night. He’d flat out refused to bring her to the Coil so she could see for herself, but she trusted him to keep his word. Her friends were free, and she had turned the lock on her own cage to make it happen.
It would be a grand wedding, attended by anyone affluent enough to secure an invitation. The king himself would likely make an appearance. Amaya had dreamed of her wedding as a little girl, but now, the dream was a nightmare.
She was being dramatic. She’d known for a long time she was going to marry Victor Westbrook. Camden had never been a real option. And neither had Will.
What a ridiculous notion.
Amaya looked down at her left hand to find Victor’s ring sparkling, mocking her.
To his credit, he couldn’t have chosen a more beautiful piece. The ring was gold, with a large round diamond in the middle accented by a halo of smaller ones. It made a statement—it was designed to be noticed.
At least she wouldn’t have to wear an ugly ring for the rest of her life.
Three days inched by, each one slower and more painful than the last. Amaya spent them at the piano, pouring out increasingly somber melodies.
She didn’t step outside, even on Goldridge property—not because her father had forbidden it, but because she didn’t want to see the sky.
She didn’t want to be reminded of what it was like to soar at eye-level with the clouds, the world ready and waiting to be explored.
She didn’t want to think about floating cities backlit by starlight or the airships they hosted.
And she definitely didn’t want to think about the people she’d left behind, many of whom might be dead.
She didn’t want to be here, and she’d promised Will she would find her way back to the Maelstrom.
But now that she was back home, engaged, and anticipating both Camden’s memorial service tomorrow and Graven’s execution the very next day, leaving didn’t feel quite so simple.
Enhanced security around Goldridge made the thought of running away that much more daunting.
She considered trying to write to the port in Whistleton, but she was paranoid her letters would be intercepted. Even her father couldn’t save her if she was caught corresponding with a Sky Lord.
The more days that passed, the more Amaya felt herself acquiescing to her gilded cage.
Accepting things.
Because no one wanted anything real.
When night fell, Amaya developed a ritual of sorting through her secret possessions, laying them out on her bed and picking them up one by one, memorizing their details and weights.
Wayfinder’s needle had been pointing in the same direction for three days now, unmoving.
She couldn’t say why, but she had to know when it moved. When Will moved.
She intended to keep the relics. But she had another plan for Corsair’s gun.
Her fourth day home marked Camden’s memorial service.
Amaya and her father dressed in their finest black clothes and traveled downtown to the Maker’s Cathedral. She didn’t ask, but she was certain her father had paid for the service; something this grand was beyond the Hargreeves’ means.
For how dismissive her father had been of Camden in life, at least he tried to do right by him in death.
Camden’s body had been recovered at the bottom of Lake Anna, confirming his death to all those who doubted her story. Amaya hadn’t expected to see his body, knowing it would be waterlogged and decomposed beyond all reasonable recognition.
But somehow, the empty coffin was even worse.
Her imagination summoned the grisliest images, and when they became too vivid, she bolted for the powder room and braced herself against the cold granite counter, her body heaving as her stomach tried to eject the breakfast she hadn’t eaten.
Come on, Amaya, she told herself, hunched over the sink and fighting for breath. Her fingers curled around the gold-beaded clutch she’d brought—a gift from Cam for her birthday a few years ago. Pull it together.
By the time she’d collected herself enough to return to the nave, the gift procession had already started. Amaya fell into the back of the line, cradling her offering to her chest and blinking furiously to block the tears. It required all her focus to stave off another rush of nausea.
Veridian custom encouraged mourners to bring tokens that represented the deceased and their life to the service. Camden would be buried with the gifts to remind him of his life, his friends, and his family, while his soul traveled to meet the Maker.
Amaya wasn’t sure if she believed that, and Camden’s soul had departed long before today, but she’d brought her gift all the same: Corsair’s gun.
It was hidden, of course, in the gold clutch. When she approached the altar, the High Mandrel overseeing the procession didn’t ask to look inside or check the weight as she laid it in the coffin among the other trinkets.
Perhaps it was morbid to put the murder weapon in Camden’s coffin. But the gun that killed him was the same one Amaya had avenged him with—or had tried to, anyway. It was an apology, a promise, and a debt repaid all rolled into one.
It was the best she could do.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. What did one say to an empty coffin? It wasn’t empty now, filled with gifts and photos and letters and other mementos.
Amaya spotted Grace’s first puzzle book, which had been a gift from her brother, numerous model airships, and an abundance of photos, including one of Amaya and Camden playing at Starcrest as children. Her father’s offering, undoubtedly.
She almost snatched it for herself.
“Wherever you are, I . . . you should have been there,” she whispered to Camden’s departed spirit.
He should have been with her on the Maelstrom, exploring Vaelstead, and working to dissolve the Aether Storm. They should be on an airship right now, together, flying far, far away from here.
She took a deep, shaky breath as tears gathered on her lashes and finally spilled over her cheeks. “You would have loved it. I miss you so much.”
Amaya was one of the last guests to leave the nave and join a reception in the back of the cathedral, where massive charcuterie spreads and fresh flowers gave the impression of a wedding rather than a funeral.
She meandered through the crowd while dabbing at her eyes, scanning the crowd for her father. He caught her eye from across the room and Amaya started to go meet him, but she was intercepted by none other than Grace Hargreeves.
“Grace,” Amaya said dumbly. “Hi.”
“Amaya.” Grace bobbed in a polite curtsy, a courteous smile touching her lips.
Camden’s little sister looked put together as always, in a neat black dress with a white lace collar that contrasted beautifully with the deep brown of her skin.
Her dark brown hair spiraled in tight curls down to her shoulders, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses sat on her nose.
While Amaya both looked and felt half-dead, no one would guess Grace was in mourning if not for the faint red rim around her eyes.
“I saved you a cookie,” Grace said, presenting a snickerdoodle on a scalloped napkin. “I know you like these.”
“That’s really sweet. Thanks.” Amaya accepted it, not realizing that doing so placed her engagement ring right under Grace’s nose. She gasped, grabbing Amaya’s hand.
“What’s this? I didn’t know you were engaged!”
“Oh.” Amaya withdrew her hand shamefully. They hadn’t made the formal announcement yet; it didn’t seem appropriate with everything going on. “It’s recent. Just a few days ago.”
“Victor Westbrook?” Grace guessed. Amaya pressed her lips together and nodded.
A bittersweet smile spread across Grace’s face as she squeezed Amaya’s hand.
“That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you. Cam would be, too.”
Amaya scoffed, glancing aside. “I’m not sure about that. The two of them never got along.”
Grace blinked, the picture of innocence. “Well, of course not. Why would they?”
Amaya didn’t want Grace to elaborate. She couldn’t take it. But the teenager continued anyway, chipping away at Amaya’s already mottled heart.
“He loved you so much, you know. And even though he couldn’t be with you, I know he’d just be so happy that you’re happy.”
The ever-present ache in Amaya’s chest caught fire, making breathing feel like inhaling smoke. She shook her head, shoving down the sudden tidal wave of emotions.
They didn’t talk about that. No one talked about that, not even her and Cam.
Not after that night.
To add insult to injury, Amaya wasn’t happy with her engagement. That made Grace’s words sting, as if her sadness tarnished Camden’s memory.
She dashed away a stray tear.
“Eat the cookie. Cookies help,” Grace said. “Can we sit?”
They found seats at the edge of the room. Grace was too direct for small talk, and Amaya was too heartbroken to attempt it, so they didn’t speak to one another for several moments while Amaya ate her cookie. It tasted like sand.
Finally, Grace broke the uncomfortable silence with an even more uncomfortable question.
“If you don’t mind my asking . . . what happened when you were away?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.” Not here. Not now.
“Oh, of course. I understand.” Grace looked disappointed for a second, but not for long. She straightened back up, a twinkle in her eye. “Just one thing, though. Does the name Phineus Moss mean anything to you?”
That earned Amaya’s full attention. She’d never expected to hear that name again, let alone from Grace Hargreeves. She practically had to pick her jaw up off the floor and cast a quick glance around the room to make sure no one had overheard.
“What did you just say?”
“Phineus Moss. Do you know him?”
Amaya’s heart pounded, the twist of nausea returning, and she resisted the urge to look suspicious by scanning for eavesdroppers again.
How on earth did Grace know about Mouse?
“Grace . . . I’m going to need you to explain.”
Grace beamed, victorious. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
“Not here.”
“Of course not. Can I come over this evening?”
Amaya hesitated. This conversation was no longer optional, but the timing couldn’t be worse.
“Shouldn’t you be with your family?”
Grace glanced across the room to where her parents stood with her older sister, Olive, all three of them tearfully accepting condolences. “They won’t notice I’m gone.”
That evening, Grace appeared at Goldridge carrying an overnight bag, her black dress traded for a yellow one. The entire situation was a little odd, but Grace had always been odd, and as the grieving sister of Amaya’s late best friend, no one was going to give her trouble.
Amaya invited Grace to her bedroom on the top floor of the south tower, where the two of them settled on Amaya’s bed with Daisy.
Without prompting, Grace launched into her tale.
She’d been at the Wolfhard house tutoring little Henry when the cabbie dropped off Amaya, Sebastian, and Edmund on their way to Starcrest Peak. Grace noticed Amaya from afar, through the kitchen window. She’d kept watch, and noticed a boy trailing behind them about fifteen minutes later.
“I ended the session early and followed him,” Grace explained, completely without shame.
“He hid in this little alcove beneath the cliffs. It was harrowing.” She shuddered.
“Anyway. I had him cornered; I said I was your friend and needed to know what happened to my older brother. It took a little finessing, but then he cracked like an egg. I know about the Skystone.”
“He lost his brother, too,” Amaya murmured, thinking that might explain why Mouse had opened up so easily. She was still trying to process the fact that he’d been following them. Had Will told him to?
“Right, he mentioned that. We had several hours to get to know each other. He’s much nicer than I imagined someone from Erebar being. Or a pirate, for that matter.”
“He’s . . . a good kid.”
“Yes. He adores you, by the way.”
“I know, he . . .” Amaya paused, a delayed reaction hitting her. “Grace, if you know everything, why didn’t you report him?”
Grace was the personification of “rules exist for a reason.” She never acted out, never rebelled. Her silence didn’t make any sense.
Grace rose to her feet and clasped her hands behind her back, turning to face the window overlooking the gardens.
“You and Camden disappeared the same night,” she said slowly. “We all thought you’d finally done it—run away together. But now you’re back, and my brother is dead, and it was all to maybe find Ronan Pearce hiding in the Aether Storm?”
“I know,” Amaya said. “It sounds insane.”
“It does. But, Amaya, Camden would have loved this. You know that, right? He loved airships and the sky cities. He always thought Veridian was on the wrong side of the war.”
Amaya did know that. She hadn’t been able to chase Cam from her thoughts when she boarded the Maelstrom, saw the engine room for the first time, or explored Vaelstead. It broke her heart that she’d lived his dream without him.
“So . . . I want to help.” Grace turned around, returning to the bedside. “He can’t have died for nothing. We find Ronan Pearce, we help restore the sky cities through the relic industry, and that gets to be Cam’s legacy. I want that. I want that for him.”
Amaya had never thought about it that way before, but Grace was right.
It didn’t matter if Graven died tomorrow.
It didn’t matter if she was engaged.
Finding the Skyvault went beyond all of that.
Finding it would make Cam’s death mean something. Something he would have been proud of.
But the Skyvault was locked without Amaya.
The determination and urgency Goldridge had eaten away came back like a storm surge, flooding Amaya’s chest until she thought she might burst.
“Grace,” she said, sliding to the edge of the bed and taking both of the younger girl’s hands. “I’ve got to get back to the Maelstrom.”
Grace’s lips pulled up in a smile. “How can I help?”