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“And… how did you get the jewels?” Lidia asked, her voice gentle.
“I...I inherited my jewels from my father,” I choked out.
“Ah. An orphan. You’re at an unusual age to be a Dreg, no? Couldn’t find work?” Lidia’s voice was polite. “And what did he do?”
Though Santiago’s coat was wrapped tautly around me, I tugged it tighter.
San Volcán, what the hell did I look like?
I could feel the Comerciante Nocturno’s eyes on me, and I steeled myself before answering. The wyverns swam in my mind, a strange addition to what I knew about the royal family. “He excavated artifacts from the Familia Real and sold them on the Mercado Nocturno.”
Surely this answer would suffice. Comerciantes Nocturnos all had their pawns, lowly Trabajadores that were unconcerned with the persistence of their own mortality.
Lidia nodded, her face giving nothing away. Señor Gálvez, however, nodded with approval.
“I see,” Lidia said. “If your father worked with the black market, why come to us?”
It was a loaded question, but I answered it. “Porque mi papá no quisiera que entraba en su negocio. He’s gone, and I’m desperate.”
Lidia’s gaze softened, and she gave a small nod. “We understand desperate. We help those in need.”
The Comerciante Nocturno’s face softened also, becoming almost kind. “Yes, absolutely. We see your situation, and we want to help.”
Help. I almost laughed. They kept using that word insistently, as if they thought the more they said it, the truer it became.
My life had been an uneven patchwork of pain and suffering; almost every turn I made in life seemed to cause more misery. But as I looked at the jewels I’d inherited, I knew this was my chance to make a real escape.
This was my opportunity to start a new life—a life where I wasn’t chasing men showing faint flickers of kindness, only to be burned by their lies. I was tired of being thrown away like trash, tired of running, and now I had a chance to be free.
I squared my shoulders and looked the Comerciante Nocturno in the eye. “Yes,” I said firmly. “I need help.”
Lidia’s expression shifted subtly, but Señor Gálvez smiled. “I think,”—he leaned back in his seat,—“We can help each other out.” He gestured to the steaming cup in front of me. “Have some more coffee, won’t you?”
I smiled, despite the churning in my stomach, and took another sip. The temperature had cooled, and it didn’t scald my tongue.
This time, I realized how good it tasted. For a second, I paused, looking at the cup in disbelief. I was so hungry, and the lingering flavors of my last sloppy meal haunted me.
The man laughed. “It’s good, no? I have the beans imported.”
I latched onto the last word. “Oh?” I tried to keep my tone conversational, not acknowledging just how interested I was in any connections he would have to other places.
He smiled. “Oh yes, I have men in every major country in the region. Cheeses strange enough to make you hallucinate. Wine old enough to be your great grandfather. Silk soft enough to mimic water.” He rattled on, clearly impressed with himself.
My heart skipped a beat, and my thoughts raced. Maybe, just maybe, they would know a way out of this hellhole.
Of course, asking outright would mean revealing my cards too quickly. I bit my lip and shifted in my seat.
It was then that the Night Merchant stopped talking. “Still enjoying that coffee?” he asked.
I blinked and immediately took another sip. Then another.
He smiled. “Now, as I was saying, I think we could help each other out.”
My unease became sharp, bordering on painful.
He studied me once again, but it was Lidia who said, “It isn’t every day that someone like you comes to our doorstep.”
My tongue was too swollen for my mouth. “I’m—”
