Teague crouched beside him and said, “I already know she was in the market asking questions about me. Her own guards, who are now my loyal employees, told me that. And I know that she specifically intended to come to your shop. So either she thought you knew something useful about me, or she wanted to buy something from you that you shouldn’t have sold her. Which is it?”
Edwin shook his head, his hands rubbing at his throat.
It didn’t matter what the shopkeeper had told the princess. He didn’t know much about Teague’s business, and even if he did, what was the princess going to do about it? One wrong move, and he’d kill her friend Cleo.
Slightly more worrisome was the idea that Edwin could have sold her something to use against Teague, but even then, Teague was centuries old. It would take an enormous amount of poison to incapacitate him, much less kill him. And to even try it, the princess would have to get close enough for Teague to see her coming.
And then, of course, Cleo would die.
No, he was safe from whatever Edwin had told the princess, and it was time to make sure no one else in Kosim Thalas considered defying his absolute rule of the city streets.
Turning to face the others in the room, Teague said, “One of you will be my messenger. Which of you wants the job?”
The people glanced uncertainly at one another, and then the man closest to the door tentatively raised his hand.
Teague clapped his hands once. “Excellent. That leaves”—he turned in a slow circle and made a show of counting the rest—“one man, three women, and two adorable little children. And of course Edwin, on whose head all your deaths will be blamed.”
It took a second for his words to sink in, but when they did, two of the women grabbed their children and rushed for the back door. Teague snapped his fingers. “Glas.”
“Unlock the door!”
“Let us out!”
“Please, we had nothing to do with this.”
Teague looked at Edwin. “Betraying me has consequences.”
“No. Please. Please!” Edwin’s voice rose to a scream as Teague bent down, snapped his fingers, and brought a flame to life in midair. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the flame onto Edwin’s apron. It caught fire instantly, and in seconds the flames had spread along his body until he resembled a human torch.
Teague wrinkled his nose as he turned away. Few things smelled worse than burning humans, though he supposed sending the spice shop up in flames might help mitigate that.
A few more snaps and flicks of his wrist, and his fae fire coated the floor, the shelves, and the people he’d marked for death.
His messenger was pressed against the front door while flames licked the doorframe, watching the horror unfold with wide, glassy eyes.
“Nobody defies me and lives,” Teague said coldly. “Spread the word.”
Another snap of his fingers, a whispered “saor,” and the front door flew open. The messenger stumbled out, retching, while the screams of those condemned to burn alive followed him into the street.
Teague straightened his jacket, retrieved his pipe, and left the burning ruins of the spice shop behind him.
EIGHTEEN
IT HAD BEEN five days since Sebastian had seen the princess. She hadn’t come to the arena for her lessons. She hadn’t been in the kitchen the three times Sebastian had finally scraped up the courage to eat meals with the rest of the staff in the hope that the princess would be there—an experience he had no desire to repeat. Who could stand eating while being surrounded by so many people? He’d been trapped into constantly scanning the room for threats while those who sat closest to him expected him to find things to talk about. It had been a nightmare, even if the pie was excellent.
By day four, he’d taken to walking the grounds. He told himself it was because he needed to make sure none of Teague’s employees were sniffing around the palace. If he happened to see the princess while he was checking the stables, the garden, and the stone barn that was quickly being built in the south field, that would be a happy coincidence.
But that morning, five days after he and the princess had left Daan’s body in the ditch and returned to the palace in near silence, he finally admitted the terrifying truth.
He missed her.
It was ridiculous. Dangerous. Completely foolish. He was a servant. He couldn’t risk losing his job and his chance to save his coin until he could buy a life of solitude and freedom. He hadn’t signed on to get mixed up with a princess who refused to treat him as anything less than her equal.
But as ridiculous and foolish as it was, he couldn’t escape the fact that he wanted to hear her confidently proclaiming that the two of them were friends. He wanted to watch the way her emotions played across her face and marvel at the fact that she was careful not to make him feel threatened. He wanted to be amused at the way her eyes lit with mischief when she laughed.
He wanted to make sure she was safe.
When the time for her lesson on the fifth day came and went with no sign of the princess, he abandoned all pretense and headed straight for the palace.
Maybe she was done wanting to learn self-defense—unlikely considering the threat of Teague’s discovering her role in the collector’s death, but possible. Maybe she’d decided she had more important things to deal with than spending time with the weapons master.
Or maybe the mortification in her voice after they’d kissed had kept her from resuming their normal relationship. If he’d been a betting man, that’s the option he’d choose.
It was strange to find a chink in the princess’s confidence, but it had been a traumatic night for her. And he could’ve handled it better. He could’ve told her that until she’d pulled back and spoken to him after the kiss, he hadn’t thought about her bout of sickness. All he’d been able to focus on was the way everything inside him crashed and tumbled as it always did when anyone touched him. The way some primal part of him had braced for the first bright slash of pain that had always come hand in hand with touch while he was a child trapped beneath his father’s rule.
He made himself walk through the side entrance to the kitchen without hesitating, and admitted that even if he could’ve found the words to share that with the princess, he would have remained silent.
“Sebastian!” Cleo looked up from the rack of game hens she was basting, her eyes glowing with relief. “Just the person I was hoping to see.”
He eyed her warily. “Why?”
She brushed olive oil over the last game hen, sprinkled it with freshly chopped herbs, and slid the entire rack into the brick oven. Then she came toward him, wiping her hands on her apron. She was a full head shorter than the princess, who stood nearly eye to eye with him, and he had to tip his head down to meet Cleo’s gaze as she stood in front of him.
She glanced around the kitchen, noted her mother’s preoccupation with inventorying a fresh shipment of vegetables and the quiet movements of two maids who sat in a corner shelling almonds, and then motioned for him to follow her into the pantry—a room twice the size of Sebastian’s quarters—shutting the door behind them.
“You have to get Ari out of the palace.” She turned to scan the pantry’s contents.
Sebastian’s pulse kicked up a notch. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“It’s her obsession with Teague.” Cleo took a few steps forward and pointed toward a woven basket high on a shelf above her head. “Can you get that for me?”
He removed the basket and handed it to her. “I haven’t seen her in five days.”
Cleo set the basket on a table that rested in the middle of the room and began pulling food from the shelves. “Most haven’t. She’s either in the library, reading up on contract law or on the history of Llorenyae, or she’s writing to her contacts in other kingdoms to ask them if they know anything about the Wish Granter, or she’s arguing with Ajax about the way he wants to handle Teague.”
“I don’t envy Thad’s guard.”
“The point is, Ari’s exhausted
. She barely sleeps. She barely eats. She won’t quit looking for a way to stop Teague, and it’s wearing her down. Plus, there have been a few odd visitors to the palace. Always to the servants’ entrance, always asking about something benign, but always finding a way to work in a question about the king’s condition and whether there have been any strange happenings here.”
“Teague’s employees.”
“Has to be. They haven’t mentioned Ari.”
He breathed in the relief. Teague knew Daan was dead, but he didn’t yet know that the palace had been his place of demise. “You’re a good friend, Cleo. I’m glad she has you.”
“She has us both.” She scooped up two oranges, some dates, and a hunk of cheese wrapped in cloth.
“Oh, I’m not . . . we’re just . . .” He took a step back and bumped against the shelf behind him. “I work for her.”
Cleo broke a loaf of bread in half and slipped it into the basket. “You’re her friend. She told me. And besides, I’m not an idiot. I saw your concern for her that night in the garden. You didn’t have to step in and help her take care of things, but you didn’t hesitate. And then you kissed her, so—”
“She told you about that?” He stared at Cleo in horror.
Cleo laughed. “Best friends, remember? Anyway, you did what you had to to protect her because she’s your friend.”
“She can’t be my friend. She’s the princess.”
Cleo shut the basket and pushed it into Sebastian’s hands. “She’s Ari. There really isn’t another label that fits. And she needs us. Someone has to make sure she breathes fresh air and doesn’t lose her mind chasing after the faint hope that she can fix this for Thad. I’ll go get her.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?” He lifted the now full basket.
“Take her on a picnic,” Cleo said as she disappeared out of the pantry and headed into the palace proper.
He’d come here only to check on the princess. To see with his own eyes that she was all right. And maybe to show her that nothing between them had changed, and she could feel comfortable resuming her lessons if she wanted to.
He’d just let her know that he still had lesson time available. He’d give her the basket and tell her Cleo had made lunch for her and that she should eat it. And then he’d leave, and it would be up to her to show up at the arena or stay away.
With this plan firmly in place, he walked out of the pantry just as Cleo and Ari stepped into the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks, taking in the princess’s appearance with a swift glance. Her shoulders were bowed as if she carried an enormous weight. There were faint smudges of exhaustion beneath her eyes, and her hair was carelessly thrown into a haphazard bun on top of her head. She blinked wearily at him and mustered a tiny smile.
His heart twisted as he locked eyes with Cleo. She raised a brow and glared pointedly at the basket in his hands.
And, stars help him, he opened his mouth and said, “There’s something I need you to see.”
The princess frowned. “What is it?”
Cleo gave an exasperated huff. “Go with him and find out. Now. Before Mama puts you to work in the kitchen. You know you’re too tired to bake. Stars know, we don’t need you confusing paprika for cinnamon again. I still get heartburn just thinking about those cookies.”
Before the princess could argue further, Cleo gave her a little push in Sebastian’s direction. He looped the basket’s handle over one arm and used the other to open the door for her. She blinked in the brilliant sunshine and shivered a little as the sea breeze gusted over them.
“What do I need to see?” she asked.
He panicked, scrambling for an answer that would keep her outside long enough for the break to do her any good. The barn that was nearly complete in the south field? The arena and the weapons he’d thought they might try after she mastered the throwing star?
She wouldn’t come with him for either of those things. He needed something different. Something that held enough meaning to keep her attention on him rather than on the problems her brother faced with Teague.
He opened his mouth to tell her stars knew what and was shocked to hear himself say, “I need you to see something that means a great deal to me.”
Mortification was a hot flush of shame that rolled over his skin and left him wanting to take every single word back, but then she gave him a weary smile—a real one—and said, “As long as it isn’t a shield specifically designed to protect you from my throwing star or a patch of mint to protect you from my kisses, I’d love to.”
His lips twitched. “No shield. No mint. I don’t need protection from you.”
“I’m not sure that’s entirely true, but lead on.”
They walked south, past the arena, over the long expanse of pasture that was sometimes used for the palace horses, and into the south field where the stone barn was nearly finished. Color returned to her cheeks as they hiked, and her shoulders straightened.
“You wanted me to see the barn?” she asked.
“No.”
She looked around as they walked beyond the barn and down to where the field dipped into a sparse forest of aspen and cypress trees interspersed with enormous white boulders that were scattered about like the remnants of a giant’s broken toy.
“The trees?” she asked.
“Not quite.”
He led her through the trees, the band of tension that always squeezed his chest easing as the breeze fluttered through the leaves above him and the sound of the Chrysós came closer. When they reached the point where the land broke off into a jagged cliff, he set the basket on a slab of white stone and faced the glittering gold of the sea.
She was quiet as she stood beside him. Her hair tumbled out of its bun to stream in the wind, and she closed her eyes as seabirds swooped overhead, and the trees rustled softly behind them.
“It’s perfect,” she said quietly.
“I’m going to live in a place like this one day.”
“It suits you.”
“Does it?” He turned from watching the waves thunder against the shore to study her instead.
She opened her eyes, and there was a spark of confidence and compassion there that had been buried by exhaustion earlier. “It’s solitary and unknowable on some level, no matter how long you stand here. There’s a restless, pent-up power in the sea, and you know if it ever decided to stop respecting its boundaries, it could destroy you. But it does respect its boundaries. It stays where it should, so its power feels safe. When you stand here, surrounded by mystery and beauty and power, you feel safe.”
“And you think I need to feel safe?” he asked, though he didn’t want to. Her words had stripped him bare in places that he’d fought for years to hide. He didn’t know which was worse—that she saw him so clearly, or that he wanted her to.
“We all do.” Her voice was gentle. “But when I said this suits you, I meant that its restrained power and mystery remind me of you.”
He didn’t know what to do with her words, so he sat, letting the cold from the rock seep into his clothing. She sat beside him, and he opened the picnic basket.
“Cleo packed this. She was pretty determined to get you out of the palace for a while.”
The princess laughed, though she sounded tired. “She usually just follows along with my ideas, but when she gets fixed on one of her own, there’s no stopping her.”
She took an orange and peeled it. The bite of citrus in the air made his stomach rumble. He reached for the other orange as she said, “I heard you ate with the other staff recently.”
“Word travels fast.”
She grinned. “Faster than you’d think. I’m told that you’re particularly fond of potatoes and pie—I told you the pie was good—but that your conversational skills are somewhat lacking.”
He gave her a pained look. “People kept talking to me.”
“They tend to do that.”
“And they expected me to talk back.”
She laughed and bu
mped his shoulder with hers before pulling away to give him space. “If it makes you feel better, they’ve decided you’re mysterious instead of rude.”
“Maybe we should talk about what you’ve been doing instead of coming to lessons or sleeping or eating.”
Her smile disappeared, and her shoulders slumped. She watched the waves toss themselves relentlessly against the shore for a long moment, and then in a quiet voice, she said, “Thad made a wish.”
Sebastian’s stomach sank. He’d suspected it, of course. But there were other ways the king could’ve become mixed up with Teague. Knowing now that the stakes were the king’s soul, and that the princess wasn’t the kind of person who would stop trying to save her brother, filled him with dread.
“It was before the royal family died. We were running for our lives. Mother had just been killed in front of us because she took a blow that was meant for Thad. Teague found him when Thad was thinking about jumping off a cliff and into the sea so that I would be safe from the queen’s hunters. Thad tried to just wish for my safety, but Teague would accept nothing less than a wish for Thad to be king.”
“He owes Teague his soul, doesn’t he?” Sebastian asked.
She nodded, tears glimmering in her eyes. “That’s why the barn is being built. Ajax has contacts with hunters on Llorenyae, and he’s killed rogue fae with them before. He’s ordering some beasts to protect the palace grounds, and he’s working on a plan to assassinate Teague, but he wasn’t discreet enough, and that’s why Daan was sent to visit Thad. Ajax seems to think he can kill Teague as easily as he’s killed other fae.”
“Teague isn’t just any fae. He’s the Wish Granter, and he has to be at least a century old.”
“I know.” She wiped at her tears and sat up straighter. “I’m working on a better plan. I just need time to get all the information on Teague. To see the picture clearly. He might be powerful, but he isn’t immortal. He can die, and somebody out there has to know how to kill him.”
He couldn’t bear to see her be crushed beneath the weight she was carrying, even if he did think that there was no way her brother was going to get out of losing his soul when the contract came due.
The Wish Granter (Ravenspire Book 2) Page 13