The Wish Granter (Ravenspire Book 2)

by C. J. Redwine

  “What else can we do?” the king asked.

  Sebastian glanced once more at the road. Still empty.

  He wasn’t reassured.

  It was time to end this meeting and dive back into his life as Teague’s collector before the wrong person saw him meeting with Cleo and the king.

  “You can hire someone—someone you absolutely trust—to go to Llorenyae and get the true story of Teague’s exile.”

  “That’s all?” the king asked, his disappointment evident.

  “That’s important,” Sebastian said. “If Ari—I mean, if Princess Arianna knows how someone gained control of Teague before, she can figure out how to do it again. In the meantime, she can search for his origins in the Book of the Fae and use the poison if necessary.”

  His scars tingled, and he swept the street again. A wagon drove past the cemetery, but from this height, Sebastian couldn’t tell who was in it.

  “It’s time to leave. You go down first. I’ll watch you leave and make sure no one follows you or tries to harm you,” he said.

  “Sebastian.” The king leaned forward and gripped his arm like it was a lifeline. “Thank you for being there for Ari.”

  Sebastian met the king’s eyes and nodded. Holding the sack that contained what he hoped would be the key to ruining Teague, he watched them climb down the hill, get into their carriage, and drive away.

  No one followed.

  It was time to push this part of himself into the corner of his mind and become Teague’s top collector again. He stood. Throwing his shoulders back and hardening his expression, he strode down the steps of the pauper’s cemetery and back into the streets of Kosim Thalas.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  IT HAD BEEN four days since Ari had gone to the market with Teague and witnessed the remains of Edwin and his shop. Since then, Sebastian had brought her the little jar of bloodflower poison and the Book of the Fae, both courtesy of Cleo—a fact that still made Ari’s stomach hurt with anxiety—and had told her that Thad had promised to send a spy to Llorenyae to unearth the story of Teague’s exile so many years ago.

  It was progress, but Ari was no closer to an answer.

  Teague had been gone every day to the trade summit Thad was hosting at the palace. Sebastian had been gone all day as well, working from dawn to dusk on a list of tasks for Teague. Ari suspected Teague was simply finding a way to keep Sebastian and Ari apart in his absence. Even Maarit had been gone. Teague had sent a carriage for her each morning so that the palace physician could care for her since she’d been feeling poorly.

  Ari figured the physician would diagnose her with old age and grumpiness.

  In Maarit’s absence, a pair of villa guards had been sent indoors to keep an eye on Ari. She’d spent the days baking—chocolate cake, plum torte, butter twists, apple puffs, and fig crepes—while she left the Book of the Fae lying open beneath a cookbook so she could read without raising the guards’ suspicions.

  The pages were filled with small, precise handwriting. Reading about the first fairy war—the one that had divided them into Summer and Winter courts—was fascinating, as was the list of royal births and fae gifts bestowed upon favored humans, but she’d yet to find a passage about the birth of a short, pale Wish Granter with a taste for violent power.

  In between baking and sneaking a peek at the Book of the Fae, she’d been busy listing her options and trying to come up with a workable plan for stopping Teague.

  She had a copy of one of his wish granter contracts ready to study at her first opportunity. With Maarit gone during the day, Ari had sneaked into the old woman’s bedroom, lifted the stolen contract from its hiding place inside the vase, and folded it back into her chemise. She had the Book of the Fae, which she hid inside a soup pot when she wasn’t baking. She had the jar of bloodflower poison that she’d hidden on the spice shelf—one place she was absolutely sure Maarit didn’t even know existed. She had her brother’s spy looking for the truth about Teague’s exile. And she’d memorized the nursery primer poem about the wolf-headed woman who’d left the secret to her monstrous power behind at birth.

  Now she needed to see if bloodflower poison actually worked on Teague, or if she was stuck reading the rest of the Book of the Fae while she waited for results from Thad’s spy.

  Popping a bite of fig crepe in her mouth, she glanced at the guards, who were sampling the plum torte while a branch from the wall behind them chuffed, alternating between sniffing the torte and the guards. With the guards distracted by the creepy branch, Ari retrieved the jar of bloodflower. She poked holes in the left side of the chocolate cake and poured a small dose of the poison over it. Then, whipping butter and sugar together until she had a bowl of fluffy frosting, she decorated the cake with delicate roses, vines, and thorns, making sure to put the biggest rose over the area that had absorbed the dram of poison.

  She didn’t want to eat that piece by mistake.

  Pulling out the ingredients for cherry tarts, she checked that the guards were still eating the torte and that the house was still curious about them instead of her, and then she surreptitiously turned the page to read the next section in the Book of the Fae, but it was hard to concentrate. Something about the poem in the nursery primer—the one about the woman with the wolf’s head, bird’s talons, and goat’s hooves—was niggling at her thoughts. She closed her eyes and ran through the rhyme, hoping something would jump out at her. When that failed, she examined her memory of the statue.

  Teague kept it in his locked study. It matched a poem in the book Gretel had said she should read if she wanted to unlock the secret of the fae. It had to be connected, but she couldn’t figure out how.

  She was deeply engrossed in her thoughts when the wall behind the counter shuddered, and a pair of branches whipped into the air, their nostrils flared as they hovered over the book.

  Her mouth went dry as she slowly slid the cookbook back into place and reached for another mixing bowl.

  Maybe they hadn’t seen anything—she didn’t even know if they could see.

  But if they had, and they had a way of telling Teague, she was going to be in trouble.

  One of the branches curled around the mixing bowl, tugging it out of her hands until it hung suspended in midair. The other wrapped around her wrist and pulled her toward the wall. She leaned against the counter, the wall breathing in front of her while the branches dumped the bowl and slithered over the books instead.

  She had to assume the house had seen the Book of the Fae. There was only one solution.

  Pushing a plate of cherry tarts toward the branches as a momentary distraction, she whipped a dish linen around the Book of the Fae and shoved it into the burlap sack of eggshells and discarded food she’d been planning to bury in the garden for compost.

  “Off to bury the rotting food. Who wants to help?” she asked. Her voice was too loud, too bright, but the guards didn’t seem to notice. They escorted her out of the villa, across the back lawn, and into the garden. Without looking at them, she swiftly dumped the contents of the burlap sack into the compost ditch and then turned to hurry back inside.

  If the house told Teague about the book, he wouldn’t find it in the kitchen. Of course, he might still find it in the garden, but this was as close to safety as she was going to get.

  She’d just have to feed him a slice of poisoned cake before he ever started looking.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THE SUN HUNG low in the sky by the time Maarit returned to drag herself wearily up the stairs and into bed, waving off all attempts at conversation and offers of fresh-baked pastries.

  Ari tossed lamb shanks with olive oil and garlic cloves and put them into a skillet while she waited for Teague to return.

  Giving him poisoned cake might be a terrible idea. If he realized what she’d done, he would surely take her soul.

  But she’d only used a little. At the ball, when he’d confronted Thad about sending an assassin, he’d said it would take an enormous amount of poison
to kill him. He might be right. But she wanted to see if it would affect him, and how fast it would wear off, because any weakness on Teague’s part was an advantage to her. If he complained of not feeling well after eating the cake, she would blame it on bad eggs or rancid butter.

  When Teague finally entered the villa, the lamb shanks were cold, and the guards were yawning. Sebastian still hadn’t returned, and Ari’s fingers trembled as the guards left her alone with Teague. He stared at the baked goods that were spread across the counter.

  “You’ve been a busy girl.”

  “I thought I’d try some new recipes.” She nodded toward the cookbook and tried to keep her hands from shaking when his gaze slid over the kitchen. Did she imagine him lingering over the burlap sack she’d used to discard the Book of the Fae with the food scraps?

  “I’ve been busy as well.” His eyes gleamed. “Eight new contracts signed today. All with nobility from Akram, Ravenspire, and Morcant.”

  A chill spread over her skin at the thought of Teague gaining a foothold in those kingdoms—and all because she’d wanted to save her brother and had been so confident she could quickly uncover the secret to Teague’s undoing.

  Time to go on the attack.

  “That sounds like something we should celebrate,” she said, pulling the chocolate cake toward her and grabbing a knife. “Cake?”

  “I don’t eat cake. Besides, our bargain is paying off, and that calls for a proper celebration.” Teague’s eyes were feral as he smiled. “Come with me.”

  Who didn’t eat cake? A pox upon this miserable man with his creepy smile and non-cake-eating ways. Now how was she supposed to poison him?

  Heart pounding, Ari followed him as he entered the long hall that led to the back of the villa. Being alone with Teague was not how she’d hoped the night would go.

  For a moment, she thought he was taking her to his study, but he stopped at the library instead. Teague lit the lanterns on the table and moved toward the shelf that held the wine. Removing two delicate fluted drinking glasses and a pale blue decanter, Teague turned to her.

  “Here.” He handed her the glasses and pulled the stopper from the decanter. The liquid that splashed into the glasses was a rosy gold whose scent reminded Ari of sun-drenched meadows and wild spiced honey. Teague replaced the decanter and took one of the glasses. Raising it, he said, “To a successful venture.”

  Ari obediently clinked her glass to his and then pretended to take a sip.

  She wasn’t a fool. If it smelled like it was steeped in fae magic, it probably was, and there was no way she could risk becoming intoxicated in front of Teague.

  Teague drained his glass in one long swallow and poured himself another. Ari sank onto the far corner of the sofa and surreptitiously poured half of her glass into the space between the cushion and the side. Her hand shook as she raised her glass and pretended to take a tiny sip.

  Teague leaned back against the couch, brushed at a speck of imaginary lint on his trousers, and said, “I don’t like humans.”

  Ari made a noncommittal noise.

  “They’re weak.” His elegant voice began to slur, and Ari shivered. “Always grasping for what they don’t have. Always desperate for someone to give them what they haven’t earned. They’ll promise anything, but their promises are false.”

  He drained the rest of his glass and set it on the floor. Pulling out his pipe, he began packing the bowl with tobacco. “I value loyalty.”

  “Is that why you’ve kept Maarit employed long past her usefulness?” she asked.

  “Should I throw her on the street? She’s served me well for years.” He looked at her as if truly interested in her reply.

  “Of course not,” she said. “But maybe get her some help with the chores. And, for stars’ sake, stop allowing her to use the kitchen.”

  He smiled. She really wished he would stop doing that. Being on the receiving end of his smiles felt like being a mouse trapped beneath the paw of a bobcat.

  “You don’t care for Maarit.” He snapped a flame to life in midair and lit his pipe.

  “She’s rude and generally unlikable, but I don’t wish her ill.” Ari took a tiny sip of her drink because Teague was frowning at her glass. The wine hit her tongue, a rush of spices and honey that tapered into an intoxicating flavor Ari couldn’t identify. Dewy meadows. Frost-kissed trees. Flowers that grew in secret places far from the prying eyes of humans. Her head spun as she swallowed.

  Teague took a long puff of his pipe. “Humans protect themselves. They sacrifice others for their own needs. But you volunteered to protect Maarit when you thought an intruder was trying to break into the villa.”

  Maybe it was the fae wine going to her head—all right, definitely it was the fae wine going to her head—but Ari was tired of hearing how awful humans were from a monster who ripped the souls out of people’s bodies.

  “You’re wrong,” she said. He paused, his pipe halfway to his mouth, and slowly turned the full weight of his gaze on her.

  Oops.

  She started talking. Fast. “About humans, I mean. You’re wrong about us. We protect each other. We sacrifice for those we love. That’s what got Thad and me into our bargains with you in the first place. We step up and do the right thing because it needs to be done. Yes, we have moments of terrible weakness, but we balance that with moments of incredible courage and strength. If all you ever do is look for a person’s moments of weakness, you’ll miss out on the best they have to offer.”

  “I knew someone like you once.” He puffed his pipe, his eyes still holding hers. “She was an idealist. She believed, as you do, that people were basically good. That she was basically good. And that she would always keep her promises.”

  Something dark and dangerous flared to life in his eyes, and Ari shrank against the back of the couch.

  “She convinced me to believe it too.” He rubbed the carved stem of his pipe, and for the first time since she’d arrived at the villa, he was sitting close enough to her that she could study the design.

  Long wisps of thread were carved into the ivory stem, and a spinning wheel was carved into the bowl.

  Just like the spinning wheel on the other side of the library. The one with straw being turned into a bobbin full of golden thread.

  Thread that sliced through the necks of those Teague thought needed a lesson.

  He followed her gaze and held the pipe out to her. “Take it.” His tone was the deadly calm of frozen tundra, ice hiding the dangers that lurked below.

  She didn’t dare refuse him. The pipe was warm from stem to bowl. The ivory was smooth as satin at the top end of the stem, but the carvings formed a rough texture beneath her fingertips.

  “Samara,” Teague said in his quiet, cold voice.

  “Who?”

  “That was her name. The human girl who became my friend and used my wishes far beyond her ability to pay until the day she betrayed me.” There was a hint of grief in his voice. His words were still slurred. “She was ordinary. Just a miller’s daughter in my city. But she had the ability to make everyone around her want to be her friend. Even me. You remind me of her.”

  What was she supposed to say to that? Thank you for noticing a resemblance between me and the girl who betrayed you? Besides, she was still trying to adjust to the idea of Teague having a friend.

  Teague had lapsed into silence, and showed no desire to take the pipe back, so Ari finally said, “I’m sorry she hurt you.”

  He smiled, slow and awful, and Ari’s pulse sped up.

  “Her father was a fool. He was less than ordinary. An untalented, unremarkable little nothing of a man who wanted to be so much more.” Disdain coated his words, but there were jagged teeth of rage just beneath it. “He bragged about Samara—her beauty, her grace. He wanted her to fetch a high bride price, but, as I told you, she was ordinary. The daughter of a miller who could barely keep his mill running. No one wanted to pay to marry her.”

  “It’s barbaric that anyone
would try to gain money by selling his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

  Teague laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “This was well over one hundred years ago, my dear. Things have changed.”

  She found herself running her thumb over the spinning wheel carving. “Just how old are you?”

  “What an impertinent question. Now, as I was saying, Samara’s father, realizing that touting his daughter’s beauty and grace wasn’t getting him anywhere, decided to make up stories. Wild, fantastic stories that would surely catch the attention of someone who could afford the kind of bride price he hoped to receive. He said Samara could make herbs grow overnight. He said she could turn a barren cow into a breeder. And then one day, full of ale and foolishness, he said that she could spin straw into gold.”

  Ari’s skin went cold, and she stopped rubbing the spinning wheel carving.

  “The king heard the rumor and visited the miller, demanding to know if it was true. The man couldn’t admit to lying, not to the king, so he said that it was true, but that Samara didn’t always choose to do as she was told. The king announced that Samara would spend the night in a room full of straw, and that if she didn’t choose to turn it into gold by morning, she would die.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Samara cried out for me, because in those times, everyone knew how to summon a Wish Granter—”

  “There’s more than one Wish Granter?” Ari asked even though she knew the answer from the poem in the nursery primer. She extended the pipe to him, but he ignored her outstretched hand.

  “Of course. The seventh child of a seventh child of pure-blood fae descent is always a Wish Granter. There were four of us working at that time. I primarily contracted with the fairy queen of the Summer Court to grant wishes to her subjects in exchange for goods and favors. A very prestigious position, and one that Samara put in danger.”

  “How?”

  He rose to refill his glass again. “I helped her the first night simply because we were friends. The wish magic only works if there’s an exchange. I took a ring she’d once found in the riverbed, and then I spun a room full of straw into gold.” He took a sip and glared at Ari. “Instead of being satisfied, the king demanded that she do it again, this time with a much larger room. I helped in exchange for the locket she wore—a gift from her grandmother, but what could I do? She had to pay for the wish, and she had nothing else of value.”