Thirteen

THIRTEEN

I watched the drip of water into the basin where the shape of me was rippling. The deep blue of the frock set the red in my hair aflame, my cheeks glowing with rouge.

My skin was too warm beneath the dress. The room Zola had put me in at the tavern had a hearth stacked with a blazing fire and a bed stuffed with soft down on which I hadn’t been able to bring myself to sleep.

I wasn’t sure who he was trying to impress. There was no amount of luxury that could wash him clean of what he was. If I had to guess, I’d say the scar on Willa’s face and the Marigold’s slashed sails were probably the least of his sins.

The silk hugged my body tightly, the skirts swishing as I made my way down the steps into the tavern. Clove and Zola sat at a table in the farthest corner drinking rye. They were both dressed in fine tailored coats fit with shining brass buttons, unruly hair trimmed and combed back away from their windblown faces. A flicker of recognition flashed before my eyes. Clove had always been rough around his edges, but he looked younger in the expensive green wool, his blond hair shining.

He sat up straighter when he saw me, setting down the rye glass he was sipping from, and I was instantly embarrassed, catching my reflection in the window. My hair was pulled up in loose curls, pinned to make a halo around the crown of my head, and the light shimmered over the frock.

I looked utterly ridiculous.

“Well, well…” Zola’s eyes dragged over me from head to toe. “What do you think?” He stood from the chair, showing off his coat with a flourish of his hand.

I gave him a withering look. “I think I’m ready to get this over with so I can get the hell out of here.”

Clove drained his glass before he stood and opened the door of the tavern. The cold wind rushed in, making me shiver. I’d decided to leave the cloak Clove purchased for me in the room because when I’d set it on my shoulders, I felt like I was suffocating beneath its weight. Still, the cold was a welcome relief from the heat simmering under my skin.

Clove had given me his word that in a few hours, he would tell me the truth. Tomorrow, I’d be on my way back to the the Narrows. I’d be able to find the Marigold before West did even more damage than what was already done.

The heels of my shoes clicked as I walked in Zola’s wake. Despite his attempt at arrogance, I could see he was nervous. He was missing the usual rock to his gait, his mouth pressing into a hard line as he moved down the street. He watched the ground, thinking. Measuring. Calculating.

He led us through the city, and the farther we walked, the more beautiful it became. Dusk painted Bastian in soft pinks and purples, and the white stone buildings caught their hues, making everything look like it was from a dream.

The cobblestones bled from rough, paved rectangles to polished granite squares as we made another turn, and Zola stopped, looking at the shining marble face of a grand building in the distance.

A series of enormous arches stood over wide, gleaming steps, where three sets of double doors were flung open to the night. Lantern light spilled out onto the street from inside, the race of shadows slipping into the dark.

The ornate plaque above the center doors read AZIMUTH HOUSE.

The first word was one I knew. It was a term used in celestial navigation to describe the bearing of the sun or moon or stars from one’s position. But house didn’t begin to describe what this was. Stone carvings covered every inch of the edifice in flowers and vines, and above them all, an expanse of night sky was adorned with a pearl-faced moon.

Zola was quiet, his gaze dropping from the arches to his boots.

My brow knit when I realized he was summoning up his courage and a wicked smile stretched up my cheek. I liked this version of Zola. He was unsure. He was afraid.

“Ready?” He glanced back at me but didn’t wait for an answer. He took off up the steps without us.

I looked to Clove. He was missing the hesitation that saddled Zola. And that could only mean one thing. Everything was going according to his plan.

He lifted a hand, gesturing for me to go first, and I picked up the heavy skirts, taking the stairs up to the doors. A gust of air whipped around me, pulling a few strands of hair from where they were pinned, and for a moment I felt like I was up on the mast of the Lark, leaning into the heavy wind. But the Lark had never felt more far away than it did now.

We slipped through the open doors and the warmth of the hall enveloped me as my eyes drifted up to the ceiling. Panes of painted murals set with gemstones looked down on us, too many to count. They were framed by stained glass windows in a kaleidoscope of colors that soaked the light of the hall with saturated hues. The people gathered below reflected their brilliant shades, dressed in colorful, shining fabrics. Coats in the richest reds and golds and expertly draped frocks moved like bleeding ink across the mosaicked floor. I looked down to the toes of my shoes. Beneath my feet, chips of amethyst and rose quartz and celestine fit together in the shape of a flower.

“What is this place?” I whispered to Clove.

He spoke low beside me, his eyes scanning the room. “Holland’s home.”

“She lives here?”

My fingers curled into my silk skirts. Large candelabras were lit throughout the hall, where trays of sparkling glasses floated through the crowd on the fingers of servers dressed in white. The gala’s guests filled the room, encircling glass cases that were framed in brushed bronze. Inside the one nearest to us, a glimmer caught my eye.

I could feel the gemstone before I could see it. The deep reverberation of it woke in the center of my chest, my lips parting as I walked toward the case and leaned over the glass. It was a piece of red beryl almost as big as my hand.

“What the…” The words dissolved.

I’d never seen anything like it. The color was a pale red, its face cut into intricate facets so my reflection was broken into pieces on the stone. There was no telling what it was worth.

The hall was an exhibit of some kind, designed to showcase the expansive collection of gems. It looked like a museum.

“Find her,” Zola muttered, looking to Clove.

Clove met my eyes for a moment before he obeyed, shouldering through the people gathered between the next two cases.

Zola fell quiet, studying the room.

“You look nervous.” I folded my hands together behind my back, letting my head tip to one side.

He gave me a weak smile. “Do I?”

“Actually, you look terrified,” I said sweetly.

His jaw tightened as a silver tray appeared beside me. It was set with delicate etched glasses filled with a pale, bubbling liquid.

“Take one,” Zola said, plucking one up by the rim.

I untangled my fingers to reach up and take one of the drinks, giving it a sniff.

“It’s cava.” He grinned. “Saltbloods don’t drink rye.”

I took a sip, grimacing at the way it fizzed on my tongue. “When are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?”

“We’re waiting for the woman of the hour.” Zola rocked back onto his heels. “Should be any minute now.” I watched him gulp down the glass and reach for another.

The light cast his skin in a warm brown that made his face almost handsome, and I couldn’t help but think he didn’t look like a monster. Maybe that was why Isolde stepped onto the Luna that day. I wondered how long it took her to find out she was wrong.

“I want to ask you a question,” I said, cupping my hands around the narrow glass.

“Then ask it.”

I watched him carefully. “What were you to my mother?”

A twinkle lit in his eyes as he surveyed me. “Ah. That depends on who you ask.” His voice lowered conspiratorially. “A helmsman. A savior.” He paused. “A villain. Which version of the story do you want to hear?”

I took another long drink and the cava burned in my throat. “Why did she leave the Luna?”

“If she hadn’t gotten herself killed, you could ask her yourself,” he answered. “Though there’s no telling which tale she would have given you. I never should have trusted her.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Isolde didn’t just take her fate into her own hands when she left Bastian. She took mine too. Letting her onto my crew is the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

My brow creased. Saint had said the same thing about her, but for different reasons.

“But tonight, I’m going to fix that. Thanks to you.”

There was some faint echo in the back of my mind, trying to string the words together. None of it made any sense. “How could my mother have anything to do with this?”

“Isolde is the reason Holland has had a bounty on my head all these years. She’s the reason I lost any chance I had at trading in the Unnamed Sea and the reason I haven’t been back since.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that when I helped Holland’s daughter escape Bastian, I fell out of her good graces.”

The silk of my dress pulled tight across my chest as I drew in a breath, my head swimming. “You’re lying,” I snapped.

Zola shrugged. “I don’t need you to believe me.”

I pressed a hand to my ribs, feeling as if my lungs didn’t have room behind my bones. What he was saying couldn’t be true. If Isolde was Holland’s daughter …

A group of women floated past us arm in arm, talking in hushed whispers as they made their way to the back of the room. Zola drained his glass, setting it down on the case between us and I wiped my brow with the back of my hand, feeling dizzy. Everything suddenly looked as if we were underwater. I needed air.

When I tried to step past him, he caught my arm, squeezing. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The man beside us looked over his shoulder for just a moment, his eyes landing on Zola’s grip on the sleeve of my dress. “Get your hand off me,” I growled through clenched teeth, daring him to make a scene.

I wrenched my arm free and gave the man a timid smile before I stepped into the aisle of cases, Zola’s hot stare pinned to my back. Zola was a liar. I knew that. But there was some uneasiness that had lifted within me when he’d said the words. I searched through the candlelit memories I had of my mother. Of her stories. She’d never told me anything of her parents. Nothing of her home.

But why would my mother leave this?

I looked around the room, biting down on my lip. In every direction, people laughed and talked, at ease in their fancy clothes. But no one seemed to notice how much I didn’t fit in that dress or in that room. The hall was filled with the songs of the gems, resounding so loud that it made me feel off balance. No one seemed to notice that either.

I drifted past the cases, my eyes flitting over their glass tops, and stopped short when the melody of the stone in the next case caught my ear. It was one I’d only ever heard once.

Larimar. I stilled, listening. Like the ringing call of birds or the whistle of wind in a cavern. It was one of the rarest gems in existence. And that was the point. This gala wasn’t just a party. It was a display of wealth and power.

The slide of a hand moved over my hip, hooking my waist, and my fingers immediately went for the knife inside my skirts. The cava splashed from my glass as I whirled and I pressed the tip of the knife into the crisp white shirt before me, pulled over a broad chest.

But a scent I knew poured into my lungs as I inhaled and looked up into green eyes, the glass shaking furiously in my hand.

West.