The Wish Granter (Ravenspire Book 2)

by C. J. Redwine

  “What about you?” Cleo asked as she began helping Ajax walk toward the palace.

  “You need to return to the palace too, Ari.” The king’s voice was pained, and coughs racked his body. Probably a broken rib.

  “Not until I’ve helped Sebastian with the bo—” The princess choked on the word body and cleared her throat. “With him. Go to the palace and be convincing when you tell the story. Give Sebastian and me forty minutes and then send guards out to patrol the grounds as if you believe the man could come back.”

  As Cleo, Ajax, and the king made their way out of the garden, the princess rejoined Sebastian, who was crouched beside the body. The air was thick with the metallic sweetness of blood.

  “We can’t drag him off the palace grounds without leaving a trail,” Sebastian said. “Plus, he’ll be heavy and cumbersome. We need a—”

  The princess jerked away from the man, stumbled to the grass, and fell to her knees retching.

  Sebastian stood and moved toward her, his hands hovering in the air above her bent head.

  What was he supposed to do? Pat her on the back? Hold her hair away from her face?

  Pretend he couldn’t see her?

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she huddled on the ground, her shoulders suddenly shaking with sobs.

  Panic laced through Sebastian, hot and bright. This was worse than the vomiting. A pat on the back wouldn’t fix this. Nor would pretending he couldn’t hear her. He should go to the palace and get Cleo.

  He didn’t have time for that. The palace guards would be patrolling soon, and he had no idea how much time was left before Teague realized there was a problem.

  He was all the comfort the princess had.

  With that daunting thought in mind, he leaned down, took her shoulders, and gently moved her away from the mess on the grass.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped again, her body trembling as if she were caught in a gale.

  His mother had cried sometimes. When his father turned on her instead of on his sons. When she had a rare moment of realizing that the life she’d dreamed of was never going to be within her reach. But when his mother cried, she didn’t want soft words of comfort. She wanted pipe weed and a stiff mug of ale.

  The princess would want words and—stars help him—a steadying touch to help her see that everything was going to be all right.

  Slowly he lowered himself to the ground beside her, his heart aching in an unfamiliar way when she carefully leaned away to give him space while she cried.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered again, her voice catching on sobs. “I thought I could keep myself together long enough to get this done, but . . . he’s dead. And I did it. And the worst part?”

  She tipped her head up to look at him, her tears glittering in the starlight. “I’d do it again. Without hesitation. Even knowing that I would hit him hard enough to kill him. I’d do it again if it meant stopping him from hurting my brother.”

  “I know,” he said, and wished he had other words. Better words. Words that would wipe the horror from her face and give her peace instead.

  Her breath shuddered, and she wiped at her cheeks with her palms. “And I’m about to get up and haul his body somewhere else in order to protect myself. To protect my brother. What kind of person does that make me?”

  “The kind of person who doesn’t flinch from doing what needs to be done to protect those you love, even when it costs you a piece of yourself,” he said quietly. “And the kind of person who knows how to stay in control of your emotions long enough to make decisions and give orders.”

  “I’m not sure that sounds like a very good person.”

  He met her gaze. “I’m sure.”

  She swayed toward him, her arm brushing his, and then straightened again. They sat in silence for a moment, and every second that ticked by felt like an eternity.

  “Your Highness, I’m sorry about this, but we need to move. If you’d rather not help with—”

  “Ari.” Her voice was husky with the residue of tears.

  “I can’t call you that.” He stood and offered her his hand.

  Her fingers were cold and trembling. He wrapped the warmth of his hand around hers and pulled her gently to her feet. The moment she was standing, he let her go, but his skin didn’t crawl at the memory of her touch, and his blood didn’t boil with the awful need to flee or get ready for a fight.

  “Please,” she said as they turned toward the body. “I can’t be friends with someone who only calls me ‘Your Highness.’ And I really need a friend right now.”

  It was impossible. Her reputation would be harmed. He would lose his job and any hope of saving up enough money to relocate his mother and himself before his father returned from Balavata. He couldn’t bear to tell the princess any of that. Instead, he said, “I’d be comfortable with calling you Princess Arianna.”

  “That’s not much of an improvement, but I’ll take it.” She smiled wearily at him, though it slipped from her face the moment she looked at Daan’s body. “Thank you for letting me fall apart and then helping me put myself back together.” She squared her shoulders. “Carrying him is out of the question. What should we haul him in?”

  He was grateful to retreat from the dangerous ground of courting a friendship with the princess and focus on the details of making it look like Teague’s man had left the palace after delivering his message.

  “We need a wagon and some blankets. Something that doesn’t look like it came from the palace,” he said.

  “I know just the thing. Follow me.”

  Moments later, they had tossed fresh dirt over the bloody ground, wrapped the collector in two coarse gray blankets the princess had taken from the grooms’ quarters, and were driving a nondescript horse and a wagon that was covered in dirt from hauling rocks and soil out of the south meadow. The princess had also wrapped herself in another blanket, throwing part of it over her head like a hood to keep from being recognized by anyone who might still be out on the streets.

  As the palace disappeared in the distance, and Kosim Thalas spread before them with its pastel clay buildings stacked close together and its network of canals gleaming beneath the moonlight, Sebastian focused on the task in front of him—find a convincing place to dump Daan’s body and keep the princess from landing on the list of those Alistair Teague wanted dead.

  FIFTEEN

  SHE HADN’T MEANT to kill him.

  Ari gripped the edges of the wagon bench as the vehicle creaked and swayed and tried to stop remembering the heft of the cudgel. The sickening crunch as it slammed into the man’s head and the smell that thickened in the air as he died.

  She tried to stop, but the sounds were a splinter in her thoughts that she couldn’t help touching.

  As Sebastian guided the wagon through the quieter side streets of Kosim Thalas, the body in the back jostled against the side of the wagon with every bump in the cobblestoned road, and the memory of the cudgel’s impact on the man’s skull played over and over in Ari’s mind.

  She was going to be sick again if she didn’t stop.

  Hastily scrambling for something else to think about, she said, “You seem to know a lot more about Alistair Teague’s business structure than I do.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “Nothing except that he sends thugs to the market on Thursdays,” she said, and he raised a brow at her. “All right, yes. I can see how it would be easy to know more than I do, but still. You recognized his employee by sight and knew his name.”

  “Where I come from, everyone knows who works for Teague.”

  “Where do you come from?” she asked and wished for some water or mint to swish around in her mouth because, stars knew, revisiting her dinner the hard way had left a terrible taste on her tongue.

  He was silent for a moment as mist shrouded the beach to the south and gulls swooped across the sky, their bodies lithe bits of shadow that fleetingly blocked the stars. She was getting used to the rhythm of Se
bastian’s conversation. If he thought she was expecting something from him as the princess, he would answer promptly. If she was asking something personal, he would take his time—sometimes answering, sometimes not.

  Finally, in a voice as emotionless as the road beneath them, he said, “I grew up in east Kosim Thalas.”

  She was also learning to listen for the things he didn’t say, because usually that was where the real Sebastian hid. And she was learning that when he sounded like nothing mattered to him, whatever he was saying meant a great deal.

  “Was that difficult?” she asked and then wanted to smack herself on the forehead. What a stupid question. Everyone knew that east Kosim Thalas was the holding ground for the destitute or the despicable. That it would be difficult to grow up there was obvious.

  He was quiet, and she couldn’t bear to force him to think about the answer.

  “Of course it was difficult. That was careless of me to ask. Let’s talk about Teague. What does he do in east Kosim Thalas?”

  They turned onto a narrow road that hugged a gentle swell of land as it headed east.

  “Teague runs a criminal empire throughout Súndraille that is headquartered in Kosim Thalas. Crime doesn’t happen in this city without his permission, though he has enough underlings in place that it’s rare to actually see the man himself,” Sebastian said. “He’s been in business for decades. Maybe for a century. He has his hand in a lot of things, but for the past six months he’s mostly been manufacturing a drug called apodrasi and selling it here and in Balavata. There were rumors once that he might be selling in Llorenyae as well, but I doubt it. He won’t have anything to do with that place.”

  “Llorenyae.” Ari sat straighter. “I wonder why he doesn’t live there anymore. Something must have happened if he won’t even do business with them. Maybe it’s something Thad can use against him.”

  The street curved, wrapping around the hill. The homes and shops that were clustered together inside the city limits spread out here, and there wasn’t any torchlight to be seen.

  Sebastian’s voice was quiet. “The king isn’t the first person to try desperate measures to get out of paying Teague. Somehow, Teague always wins.”

  “Not this time,” Ari said grimly. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, and I’m going to find a way to stop him from coming after my brother.”

  “If you poke a snake with a stick, it will bite you, Your—Princess Arianna.”

  “Then I’ll have to be very careful.” Especially since Cleo would pay the price if Ari got caught.

  Sebastian made a humming noise in his throat, and twitched the reins against the horse’s back to make him move faster as the wagon crested the hill. A rock-strewn pasture met the left side of the road, and a large block of a building was on the right about two hundred paces ahead. There were torches lit beside the building’s door and all along its perimeter, and Ari caught movement along its roof.

  “Where are we?” she whispered.

  “One of Teague’s warehouses. Stolen goods, drugs, and sometimes people he’s taken as slaves to be sold in Balavata are kept here.” Sebastian’s voice was barely audible. “Few know where it is. It could make sense for Daan to have gone here after visiting the palace. If his body is found nearby, it will deflect suspicion from you and your brother because you’d have no idea how to find this place.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask how he knew where to find it when a shadow detached itself from the wall of the building and became the figure of a man, sword out, walking briskly toward the road as if to intercept them.

  Ari’s palms grew slick. The last thing they needed was an armed man finding Teague’s dead collector in the wagon bed. “What do we do?” she breathed.

  “Act normal,” Sebastian whispered. “We’re just two ordinary people driving home after a day of selling goods in the markets.”

  Ari scooted closer to Sebastian. His body was coiled with tension, his jaw locked tight. He looked like a fighter about to launch himself into a fray.

  Which, to be fair, was probably his version of acting normal, but to an onlooker was going to be a glaring clue that something wasn’t right. They had to do more than act normal. They had to hide their faces so that when Daan’s body was found, no one could give an accurate description of the couple who’d passed by in a wagon.

  She had to fix this before they reached the man with the sword.

  She could pretend to be sick and draw all the man’s attention to herself. It wouldn’t take much to put on a convincing show. But then she and Sebastian would be far more memorable than they wanted to be.

  She could pretend they were arguing, which would explain the tension that radiated off Sebastian, but that would give the man a chance to memorize what their voices sounded like. Plus, she doubted Sebastian’s ability to argue. He’d probably sit there like a rock while she caused a (far too memorable) scene.

  That left option number three. Her stomach pitched at the thought of it, but this time instead of feeling nauseous, she felt like the time she’d (accidentally on purpose) drunk fizzy wine at the winter ball while hiding in the servants’ hall watching the guests dance. Which was a foolish way to feel because this was an act.

  “Follow my lead,” she whispered as she leaned into Sebastian’s space.

  He jerked the reins, and the horse shied.

  “We have to act normal, but you look like you’re about to start a fight, and I probably look like the princess wrapped in a stable blanket.” She breathed the words as her thigh pressed against his, and her head tipped toward his shoulder. “We need to hide our faces and make him believe there’s nothing to see here.”

  “What are you doing?” There was a note of panic in his voice.

  Not exactly how Ari had thought her first kiss would go, but she couldn’t think of another way to handle the situation.

  “Kissing you,” she said. “Please play along. We’re going to be discovered in a minute.”

  The wagon was eighty paces from the man. Ari angled her entire body toward Sebastian and tipped her head back. His eyes glinted dark and mysterious in the starlight.

  All right, fine, they weren’t mysterious. They were full of panic and dismay, but mysterious sounded much better for a first kiss.

  She couldn’t force him to do this. Not even when it seemed like the only option. She waited and hoped he’d see that hiding their faces and appearing to be just another couple returning home after a long day of work was the best way to deflect any suspicion.

  He wasn’t going to do it. His body was rigid, his breathing rapid. She’d asked for too much. The man with the sword was going to see that something was wrong and was going to stop them and find the dead man, and then Sebastian would get into a fight, and Ari was going to probably have to hit the man with a rock, and then they were going to have two dead bodies to bury and—

  He covered her lips with his, and every racing thought in her head dissolved into bubbly, skin-tingling surprise.

  The wagon creaked, the body thumped, and at some point they passed the man with the sword and left him and the building he guarded behind, but Ari wasn’t aware of any of it.

  Her world was the gentle roughness of Sebastian’s lips and the warmth of his body chasing shivers across her skin.

  Her heart pounded, and she tilted her head to get a better angle.

  This was much more fun than the practice kissing she’d tried on her bedpost when she was twelve. Sebastian made a tiny noise in the back of his throat, and Ari grabbed the front of his tunic as a delicious tingling swirled through her belly.

  Sebastian pulled back, his breathing unsteady. “Your Highness—”

  “Ari,” she said, still leaning toward his lips.

  He winced at the same moment that Ari realized with absolute mortification that her mouth still tasted vaguely of vomit.

  She scooted away from him. “Oh, stars.”

  “Princess Arianna—”

  “I am so—”<
br />
  “That was—”

  “Awful. I know.”

  He stiffened and fell silent.

  She buried her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry. There are no words for how sorry I am.”

  “It worked. That’s all that matters.” He was using his formal, reserved, I’m-dealing-with-nobility voice.

  “I forgot,” she said quietly, still hiding her face.

  “Forgot what?”

  “That I’d recently been sick and hadn’t had any mint. I don’t think I can ever look you in the eye again.”

  Which was definitely going to put a crimp in their developing friendship.

  Well . . . more of a crimp than kissing him with vomit breath had already accomplished.

  He was silent for an agonizingly long time. Ari contemplated jumping out of the wagon. Changing her name and moving to Ravenspire. Hiding in her room for the next five years.

  Finally, he spoke. “I wasn’t going to say it was awful.” He sounded friendly and amused. “I was going to say it was smart. I would never have thought of it. And it’s okay that you hadn’t had mint. We weren’t kissing for real. It was an act. No need to be embarrassed.”

  She was pretty sure she was going to be embarrassed for the rest of her life.

  The wagon swayed to a stop.

  “Princess Arianna, you don’t have to cover your face anymore.”

  Slowly she peeled her fingers away from her eyes and risked a glance at his face.

  His eyes crinkled.

  If he could smile about this, then so could she. She made herself give him a wobbly grin, which disappeared the instant she looked around and realized they were at the edge of a ditch that had been dug across the back of an empty field. The road was at least three hundred paces behind them.

  “What is this?” Ari looked over her shoulder, half expecting the man with the sword to have followed them up the road, but no one was there.

  “This is where Alistair Teague dumps the bodies of those who die in his warehouse. Leaving Daan here will make it seem like only someone with intimate knowledge of Teague’s business could have killed him. He’ll look hard at his suppliers, his employees, and his competitors in Balavata. Hopefully, he won’t be looking at you or the king.”