The Wish Granter (Ravenspire Book 2)

by C. J. Redwine

  It was worse—so much worse—to listen and panic and fight to control his emotions when he had the princess depending on him. He didn’t want to show her this side of himself. The fear and poverty. The bitter, shifting moods of his mother.

  Stepping across the threshold into his former home was like stripping away the bandage that hid his deepest wound.

  “It’s okay,” the princess whispered. “We can ask someone else if you don’t want to go inside. I saw quite a few people on the street.”

  “You saw people who are waiting to hear from the street bosses whether they should leave us alone or rob us and sell us to Balavata.”

  It hurt to breathe, and the scars on his back prickled and ached. Before he could second-guess himself, he turned the doorknob and went inside. The princess followed him.

  His mother was alone, sitting in a chair at her flimsy kitchen table, picking at a plum with her dirty fingernails. “Who’s there?” his mother asked.

  He moved into her line of sight, and she sat up straighter.

  “Come to rob me again?”

  He sighed. “I never rob you.”

  She spat a bit of plum onto the floor.

  He held up the sack. “I brought food for the week.”

  “Did you bring coin too?”

  “No.”

  His mother looked at him, her eyes bright with desperate need. “I’m out, Sebastian.”

  Before she could say another word, he stepped aside to let her see he hadn’t come alone.

  “Who’s that? A girl? Thinks she can snatch you up and take over my house?”

  He gritted his teeth. “She doesn’t want your house.”

  “Too good for me, is she?”

  Sebastian didn’t look at the princess as he crossed the room to unload the food into the cupboard, his face burning with humiliation.

  He heard the soft swish of the princess’s dress as she followed him into the kitchen, and then she was crouching beside his mother and looking up into the older woman’s face.

  “Your son is a good person. A great person, actually. I’m sure you’re proud of him.”

  Sebastian’s chest ached at the look of surprise on his mother’s face. “Proud of what? For leaving me here just like his father? Just like his brother?”

  “Children grow up and leave, but he takes care of you. He brought you food.”

  “I don’t need food.” She looked at Sebastian, and his gut twisted. “I need coin. I haven’t had any for days. Your father is supposed to send what I need. Teague is supposed to send what I need.”

  The princess latched on to the mention of Teague. “How does Teague send it to you?”

  His mother glared at the princess. “He sends Daan, of course. Can’t trust an expensive product like apodrasi to just anyone. But everyone says the collector is dead, and Teague is busy trying to figure out who killed him, who’s coming after his business, and now I’m out.”

  Sebastian glanced out the window and saw a crowd gathering below. His chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. He needed to hurry this along. The sun would set in little more than an hour, and he needed to have the princess long gone from this part of the city before then. It was much harder for the street bosses to control people when no one could see what they were doing.

  “Mother, do you know where Teague lives?”

  She straightened. “Wouldn’t tell you if I did, now would I? I know how to be loyal. Learned that from your father. It’s a lesson that didn’t ever seem to take with you.”

  The princess patted his mother’s hand gently. “Maybe I could go to Teague’s home and get what you need. Would that help?”

  His mother turned her hand over and grasped Ari, palm to palm. “You do that. You go there and bring me a vial of apodrasi.”

  “I will,” the princess said solemnly. “Tell me where to go, and I’ll do it.”

  His mother’s lip curled. “I can’t tell you where to go, stupid girl. Only the collectors know where he lives. Give me coin. I’ll buy it myself.”

  Sebastian stepped forward and disentangled the princess’s hand from his mother’s. “I’ll send more food next week, Mother. Don’t forget to eat.”

  He hurried the princess from the room as his mother hurled invectives at their backs. The crowd parted sluggishly for them, but Sebastian moved with purpose, flexing his shoulders and glaring at everyone who would meet his gaze.

  He didn’t realize he was shaking until they walked out of east Kosim Thalas without injury.

  The princess said, “Now we know that Teague is distracted by the loss of his collector and that only collectors know where he lives,” and then stayed quiet while they wound their way through the merchant district and toward the hill that led to the palace.

  Sebastian was in agony. Was she disgusted by the truth of his upbringing? Did she pity him? Would she look at him and see him through the bitter lens of his mother’s eyes?

  They reached the bottom of the hill, the only two people left climbing toward the palace this close to sunset. The princess stopped and turned to him.

  He ordered himself to meet her eyes without flinching. To shove his fears and shame into a box and show her nothing while he waited for her judgment.

  She tilted her head back and studied him for a moment. He couldn’t find any hint of pity on her face, but he braced to hear it in her voice.

  Finally, she said, “There’s a ball at the palace tomorrow night.”

  He frowned. “I . . . What?”

  What did that have to do with east Kosim Thalas and the miserable hovel he’d called a home?

  “Dancing. Fancy dresses. And really excellent snacks.”

  “Oh.”

  She leaned closer and locked eyes with him. “I’d like you to go with me.”

  He opened his mouth, but found he had absolutely nothing to say.

  “Sebastian Vaughn, my loyal, strong, faithful friend, I would be honored to go to the ball with you.”

  She waited, but he still couldn’t find a single response.

  He couldn’t go to a ball. Out of the question. That was for nobility. What would he wear? What would he do? Her reputation would be in tatters. He would make a fool of himself and probably lose his job.

  It was preposterous.

  And yet, her words wrapped around the tightness in his chest and loosened the knot until he could breathe again.

  She’d be honored to go with him. She’d seen where he’d come from. She’d heard his mother’s hate. And still she’d be honored to be seen by everyone.

  With him.

  His lips twitched upward, and warmth spread through him as he said, “I can’t dance.”

  “Dancing is for people who don’t truly appreciate the buffet.”

  “I have nothing to wear.”

  “I’ll find something for you.”

  “The nobility will gossip about you until the day you die,” he said. One last attempt to talk sense into her even though he knew it was a lost cause.

  “They needed a new hobby anyway.” She smiled at him. “What do you say? Will you go with me?”

  Stars help him. “Yes.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  SEBASTIAN HAD LOST his mind.

  There was no other explanation why a boy from east Kosim Thalas would be standing just inside the servants’ entrance to the kitchen, wearing a fancy silk-blend dress coat, pants, shirt, and pocket handkerchief.

  A pocket handkerchief.

  Until this morning, when Princess Arianna had brought him a stack of borrowed clothes, he hadn’t even known such a thing existed.

  His stomach felt as though he’d swallowed rocks. He kept pulling at the buttoned collar of his shirt and fidgeting with the strap he’d used to secure his cudgel beneath his long-tailed coat. Staring out the large window above the sinks, he watched carriage after carriage roll to a stop in front of the palace, disgorging another group of well-dressed nobility before making room for the next vehicle, and a band of anxiety wrapped
around his chest and tightened until it hurt.

  He couldn’t do this. Not even for the princess. He couldn’t go into a crowded ballroom. He couldn’t bear to brush up against so many people. His pulse thundered, his blood raced through his veins like fire, and he retreated until his back was against the door.

  He’d tell the princess he was sorry. She’d understand.

  He’d tell her he appreciated the gesture, but that he was better off in his servant’s quarters. She’d understand that too.

  He groaned and dropped his face into his hands.

  “Sebastian?”

  He looked up, and the fear racking his body boiled into something far more dangerous.

  She was beautiful.

  He’d known that, of course. Stars knew, they’d spent enough hours together every day for the past month that he was familiar with the way the sun glistened against her golden skin and the way it lightened strands of her thick brown hair. He had her smiles memorized, and he could read her every emotion in her dark eyes.

  But this.

  This stole his breath and doubled his pulse. This made him want to dance with her even though it meant touching her—maybe because it meant touching her.

  Her dress, a deep green edged with silver, lingered over every curve of her body. He stared at her plunging neckline, tore his gaze away, and then found himself looking at way the fabric curved over her hips before finally widening out into a skirt fit for dancing.

  “Are you all right?” she asked as she moved toward him, her hips swaying with every step.

  He was never going to be all right again. He was staring at the princess—like he wanted something he had no right to want.

  “Sebastian?” She stood in front of him, smelling like cinnamon and oranges, and he forced himself not to look at anything but her face.

  Worry filled her eyes, and she leaned closer to him. He tensed but it wasn’t because he thought she might touch him.

  It was because for the first time, he desperately wanted her to.

  He was in so much trouble.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she said softly. “It will be all right. You can—”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  Pink blossomed in her cheeks, and her chest—which he was not supposed to be looking at—rose and fell a little faster. “Are you sure? Because if you need—”

  “I’m sure.”

  She smiled—shy and pleased. He’d thought he had her smiles memorized, but this was something new. His lips twitched upward in response, and her smile grew.

  He should say something. Compliment her. Ask her to accompany him to the ballroom. Anything but stand here staring at her like he was seeing her for the first time.

  “You look . . . that dress is very . . . it’s nice,” he said, and groaned inwardly. She was going to think he was an imbecile.

  She looked down at her dress, and he fought to keep his eyes from following hers. “Well, I was going for something a little better than nice, but—”

  “You succeeded.” He breathed the words, and the faint pink in her cheeks bloomed brighter.

  He really, really needed to not be alone with her in this kitchen for another second, or he might do something he could never take back.

  “I believe you said something about excellent snacks,” he said, relieved that his voice didn’t reveal the way his heart raced and his stomach spun in lazy circles.

  She stepped back and swept an arm toward the door that led to the main palace. “I’m a girl of my word. Come with me.”

  The ballroom—an ornate space with arched windows, marble pillars, and gilt practically dripping from every available surface—was nearly two-thirds full. Servants carrying trays of sparkling wine or cheese or pastries lined the outskirts, and musicians sat on a stage at the north end of the room playing a swift, lilting melody. A fiery sunset spread across the sky and lit the western windows with gold and orange.

  Guests were scattered throughout the room. The older ones, dressed in the kind of sweeping sheaths that the princess usually wore, were seated in clusters, wine and cheese in their hands. The younger ones were wearing brilliant jewel-toned dresses or long-tailed jackets and were already dancing. Sebastian swept his gaze over the room, noting the two open doorways in the western wall that led out to the garden where torches had been lit, though a servant stood at each door to warn guests not to step past the veranda that hugged the outside wall.

  Nobody wanted to give the beasts cause to attack.

  “You won’t want to go back to the arena tonight,” the princess said, turning toward him with dismay on her face. “Not with those beasts stalking you in the dark, even if they do know your scent. I didn’t think of that. I’ll find a place for you to stay in the palace.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll manage. I can always sleep in the kitchen.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You aren’t sleeping in the kitchen. I think all the guest rooms are taken, but if I can’t find anything else, you can always have the couch in my sitting room.”

  Stars no, he wasn’t going to sleep in the princess’s rooms. Not when simply standing next to her was making everything inside him tumble like he was caught in a hurricane.

  “I see we’ve invited the riffraff to the ball.” Makario, the nobleman who liked to taunt Sebastian in the arena, sneered at him as he approached. “Really, Your Highness, have a care for your reputation.”

  The princess snorted. “If you haven’t figured out by now that I don’t care what you think of me, let this be the lesson that sticks.”

  Anger lit Makario’s eyes. “If you won’t have a care for your own reputation, then consider the reputation of Súndraille. Imagine what would happen if the nobility from other kingdoms saw a sewer rat from east Kosim Thalas attending a royal ball as a guest.”

  “If you are disrespectful toward Sebastian one more time, I will permanently ban you from the palace,” the princess said, wrapping her arm through Sebastian’s and pulling him against her hip. “Sebastian is my invited guest. He will be treated as such.”

  Makario’s lips thinned. “I mean no disrespect, but he is beneath your new status, Your Highness.”

  Sebastian flexed his shoulders and rolled to the balls of his feet.

  The princess’s voice was cold. “The only ones beneath my status are those who treat others like chattel.”

  Makario lowered his voice and took a step closer, crowding the princess against Sebastian. “Do you think we don’t know why you brought your little toy with you?” He flicked a glance at Sebastian. “You think that now that you’re the acknowledged princess, you can make up your own rules. Do as you please with no consequences. That’s not how life works, Your Highness. You’re a bastard princess, a half blood. You need to think very carefully about your next move.” Makario’s voice rose, and those closest to them turned to stare.

  Sebastian’s pulse roared, and his breath quickened.

  The princess gripped Sebastian’s arm tightly and lifted her other hand to stab her finger at Makario’s face. “My next move is going to be to remove you from the palace.”

  Blind rage flashed in Makario’s eyes. “You fat, ungrateful—”

  Sebastian tore free of the princess’s grip and plowed his fist into Makario’s face.

  Screams rose from the crowd as Makario stumbled back; and for one second, Sebastian thought they were screaming because a servant had just broken a nobleman’s nose.

  “Sebastian!” The princess’s voice was bright with panic. She grabbed his hand and spun him to face the western wall. A bone-chilling cry echoed across the ballroom as the monsters from Llorenyae stood upright in the open doorways that led to the garden, their amber eyes feral and vicious, their snouts dripping saliva as they snarled at the crowd.

  Behind the tallest beast, Teague stood illuminated by the garden’s torchlight, an ivory pipe in his mouth. He smiled, cold and cruel, and said, “Ithe.”

  With bloodcurdling screams, the beasts launche
d themselves into the ballroom.

  TWENTY-THREE

  “GET TO THE cellar!” Ari yelled to those around her. When they stared at her in confusion, she grabbed the closest servant. “Lead the way to the cellar and get as many inside as you can. Shut the door and lock it behind you, and don’t open it again unless you’re sure it’s a person knocking and not those monsters.”

  The maid dropped her tray of pastries and ran for the east exit.

  “Follow her.” Ari pushed those closest to her in the right direction, while terrible screams of pain rose from the western side of the room. “Go!”

  Sebastian shoved past a knot of panicked nobility to reach her side. “What was the command to stop those creatures?”

  “I can’t remember.” Her hands shook as she snatched at the tunics of a pair of older women who were huddled on the floor sobbing and pulled them to their feet. “Get out of here. See where the crowd is going? Follow them. You’ll be safe in the cellar.”

  She hoped she was telling the truth. Surely those monsters couldn’t break down a stone door that weighed as much as two horses.

  A man cried out—a terrible, wet sound of agony that ended abruptly—and the crowd fleeing from the western side of the ballroom slammed into Ari and tore Sebastian from her side. She went down hard, and someone kicked her in the back, sending her sprawling.

  “Daka!” She tried to get to her hands and knees. Her (gorgeous, but ill-suited for crawling) dress made it hard to gain any leverage. Especially when she was having to cover her head with her arms to keep from being crushed.

  Another kick hit her in the chest, and the air rushed out of her. She panicked, clawing for breath, trying to curl up in a ball to protect herself, but there was no protection. She was simply an obstacle lying between the crowd and safety.

  She was going to die. Trampled, suffocated, and then torn limb from limb by those terrifying beasts. Tears pricked her eyes as she struggled to draw in a full breath.

  And then Sebastian was there, shoving people away from her with one hand while he reached for her with the other.

  She took his hand and struggled to her feet, her breath whistling in her lungs. Another wave of panicked people struck them, and Sebastian braced his feet, wrapped his arms around her, and hauled her against his chest.