The Wish Granter (Ravenspire #2)(89)

And he’d done it all with the silent blessing of young Thaddeus, who was frankly looking the worse for wear these days. Not that it mattered. Teague had Súndraille well in hand. His reputation for vicious public retribution and unrivaled power that even the king wouldn’t challenge had spread far and wide. And now he had influential nobility in three other kingdoms who owed him debts that required them to allow him to do in their cities what he was already doing in Kosim Thalas.

Tomorrow, he’d approach a few from Loch Talam and Balavata—those he’d identified today as weak enough and greedy enough to make a wish for their heart’s deepest desire without looking too hard at the consequences. And on the final day of the summit, he’d—

A brisk knock at the villa’s door interrupted his thoughts.

He tamped out his pipe and moved quickly toward the door.

Very few people knew where he lived. Even fewer would dare disturb him without his permission. Either this was a matter of dire importance, or someone was about to die.

He threw open the villa’s front door and stared at the man who stood on his porch, his large hand firmly wrapped around the arm of a petite girl with black curly hair.

Raising a brow, he met the man’s hard, calculating brown eyes—so like his son Sebastian’s except that they never softened. Never hinted at anything beyond the wide streak of viciousness that was the hallmark of Jacob Vaughn’s life.

“Jacob, I’ve been expecting your arrival for some time now.” He stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind him.

“I wanted to come as soon as you sent word that Daan had been killed. But there was a situation with one of our brokers that had to be dealt with personally before I left Balavata. Some things you just can’t trust to an underling.” His voice was just as hard and calculating as his eyes.

“Indeed. And it seems you’ve brought me a present.” Teague turned from Jacob to smile slowly at the terrified expression on the girl’s face. “Cleo, isn’t it?”

“Stopped at home on my way here, and the runners saw me. They knew I was heading here, so they gave me the girl to deliver to you. Said you’d asked everyone to keep an eye on her activities. Apparently, she was seen in the market on a day she doesn’t usually go, and she only went to the bookshop. One of our men applied some pressure to Rahel and learned that the princess had ordered a copy of the Book of the Fae weeks ago. This girl was picking it up for her today.”

“And did you deliver it to her?” Teague asked Cleo, his voice deadly calm even while anger boiled within.

“No,” she said with conviction, but her voice shook.

Teague wrapped his hand around her throat, feeling the rapid-bird flutter of her pulse against his skin. All births were recorded in the Leabhar na Fae. Its spelled pages automatically added births, deaths, marriages, and binding magical contracts to its pages as they happened. Only the Summer Queen and the Winter King were supposed to have copies—a safeguard to keep their subjects both loyal and safe—but there’d been talk of a third book. One that had been illegally made to magically update the births and deaths of the fae just like the original pair and had then been smuggled off Llorenyae.

The chances of the princess finding a way to use the book against him were slim, but that did nothing to stem his fury.

Leaning close, he bit off his words and spat them at Cleo. “Did you deliver it to her?”

She swallowed hard and shook her head, but it didn’t matter. She’d seen the book. She knew it was a tool to be used against him. She had to be disposed of.

And so did the princess.

His hands shook with rage as he threw Cleo to the ground. “Make her suffer,” he said to Jacob as he turned on his heel to go fetch the traitorous princess from her bed.

He’d warned her to do as she was told.

He’d break the princess, finish using her brother, take the throne, and then kill them both with such spectacular cruelty their demise would be the legend he built his kingship upon.





FORTY


ARI WOKE WITH a start, her ears straining to capture the whisper of sound that had torn her from her slumber. She was lying on her side facing her window. Clear, cold starlight drifted in past the sheer drapes and bathed the floor in silver.

She shivered and pulled the covers up around her shoulders. She was still jumpy from her conversation with Teague earlier. From the knowledge that he’d carved his pipe from the bone of the friend who’d betrayed him.

The one who’d learned how to get out of her contract.

The whisper came again, and Ari froze, her heart thundering painfully in her chest.

That wasn’t a whisper.

That was her wall breathing.

She rolled to face the doorway, certain she would find a twig reaching for her. Instead, Teague stood beside her bed, his golden eyes glaring, his lips peeled back in a terrible parody of a smile.

“What are you—”

He snatched her hair and yanked her out of bed.

“You’re hurting me!”

He leaned close. “I’m trying to.”

Her throat closed at the wild light of rage in his eyes. What had happened to put him in such a dangerous mood? Was he still drunk on fae wine? Had Thad decided he could no longer stand back and allow Teague to behave as he pleased without the interference of the city guard?