The Wish Granter (Ravenspire #2)(87)
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.”