Page 74 of The Demons in the Deep: Extended Edition
Flay and Jazadri had taken Baz, Corklan, and the physik Graves on the Hunt. Apparently Graves was an excellent tracker, besides being a physik and a bookkeeper. But when they’d returned, Flay had informed everyone that Graves would no longer be part of the crew. He’d tried to cover their prey’s tracks—an attempted sabotage. Kestra suspected he’d made a deal with either Feral or the Magnate, to save his own skin in exchange for delaying Flay’s team during the Hunt.
Feral seemed to want his younger brother to win the wager, though not at the expense of theAscendant’s ranking in the Games. But the Magnate—Kestra couldn’t figure out what he wanted. Simply to punish his son for the lateness? Or was this punishment for more than that? Was he punishing Flay for refusing to cooperate with the slave trade, for silently condemning his family by choosing a different kind of commerce for his ship?
Surely the Magnate recognized that without Flay’s voyages, he would lose access to the materials and treasures his younger son always brought back. The Magnate could give theWind’s Favorto another captain, and they could try to follow Flay’s route—but she knew Flay hadn’t told his father the true location of all the rarities he retrieved, or the tricks he had for sourcing them. No one else could curate the same collection of valuable items.
A servant bent toward Kestra, holding out a tray of cups, each containing a different drink. “Refreshments, ladies?”
“Yes,” Mai exclaimed, from the seat on Kestra’s other side. She seized two of the largest drinks.
Kestra took a small one, side-eyeing her cousin’s choices.
“Don’t judge me,” Mai growled into the first cup, swallowing the amber liquid.
Kestra reached over and squeezed Mai’s knee. “Rake will be fine.”
He would win, of course. Kestra wouldn’t let herself consider any other outcome. Jazadri had trained him well—she had observed one of their sessions recently, and Rake had astonished her with the fluid, savage grace of his movements. Now that he’d grown more used to legs, he could transfer the predatorial traits of his nature from sea to land, and it made him a terrifying sight. She’d sat with her heart in her throat while he fought Jazadri. He came close to slicing the big sailor’s throat or gut so many times Kestra had nearly screamed.
A roar from the crowd startled her out of the memory.
The first two champions were bowing to each other in the arena. The blare of a horn, and they began grappling, twisting, punching.
Kestra didn’t want to watch, so instead she scanned the crowd. The seething torrent of so many moving bodies, waving arms, and open mouths sent a shock of sickness through her gut, and for a long, horrible moment, all she could see was the horde of ravenous merlows below the Kiken sea-wall—lashing tails and wicked talons—toothy maws always gaping, waiting for some unwary person to topple in.
But that reality of so many years was over now. She’d freed her island from the grip of that terror.
Not real, not real.
She centered her mind by inhaling the swirl of smells—sharp alcohol, warm sugar-crusted buns from a vendor’s tray, salty sea air skimming across the top of the open stadium. It helped, and so did a sip from her cup. But she needed more.
Kestra released Mai’s knee and took the cup in her right hand so she could weave her left-hand fingers with Flay’s. He responded at once, squeezing gently, leaning over to kiss her cheek. The sheer sweetness of it—she thought she might crack open and bleed a river of love for him.
She tucked her mouth against his ear and whispered, “I love you.”
A smile danced over Flay’s mouth, and he caught her lips with his before whispering back, “He’ll be all right, Blossom.”
“I know.”
“What if he’s badly hurt?” Mai’s voice held an agonized tension that made Kestra’s heart leap. She looked at her cousin—huge dark eyes pooled with fear, chin-length black hair rumpled from anxious fingers. Mai licked wine from her mouth and bit her lip, hard.
“There are physiks ready to tend the wounds of the champions,” Flay reassured her. “And the Goldfish heals faster than humans, remember? Jaza, Baz, and Corklan are ready to take him to a saltwater bath immediately afterward.”
Mai sat back in her chair and drank more.
Her fingers still twined with Flay’s, Kestra leaned over to her cousin. “Did something happen with you and Rake?”
“Something? What something? What in the tides are you talking about?” Mai laughed breathlessly. “I’m trying to watch the tournament, Kestra.”
“Oh, no. You’re not avoiding this. Rake isn’t fighting yet, and you couldn’t care less about those two.” Kestra jerked her head dismissively toward the stony-looking person in the ring and their extremely hairy opponent. “You haven’t been spending much time with Rake lately, but you’re acting like—like he’s more to you than just a friend.”
“Can’t I care if friends get killed?”
“Of course.” Kestra lowered her voice still more. “But during the Race you were like this too. I didn’t push it then, but Mai—you can talk about it, if you—if you love him.”
Mai looked at her then, her eyes like two dark, desperate stars. “You already know I do. I have loved him since I met him.”
“I thought so, yes,” Kestra breathed. “And does he—”
Mai’s eyes glistened wetly, and her lips quivered on a smile. “Yes. He does.”
