The Wish Granter (Ravenspire #2)(41)

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.