The Wish Granter (Ravenspire #2)(93)

And why add a soul to Sebastian’s collection list and call it a test of his loyalties?

He stared at Teague, keeping his father in his peripheral vision, and when the answer hit him, it came with a tiny spark of hope.

“This isn’t a test of my loyalties,” he said, bracing for a blow as his father cursed and stepped toward him. Teague lifted a hand in the air, and Jacob stopped.

“Isn’t it?” Teague asked.

Sebastian pocketed the parchment, working hard to keep both the panic and the hope off his face. “No. It’s a test to see if I’ll break my contract with you.”

He knew he was right even before Teague’s eyes narrowed into furious slits.

Sebastian took a step back, keeping both his father and Teague in his line of sight. “According to our contract, bound by your magic and my blood, if I don’t collect a debt you give to me, you can hurt the princess. The reverse then means that as long as I collect every debt, you can’t harm her.”

Teague’s smile could cut a man to pieces, but Sebastian had grown up on a steady diet of cruelty and abuse. He was held together by scars and a stubborn refusal to quit, and he was impossible to break.

“I’m going to speak to the princess for a moment, and then I’ll go collect every last debt.” He met Teague’s eyes. “I won’t fail.”

He moved to Ari’s side and half turned so he could see any sudden moves the others made. Crouched beside her, his heart clenched at the misery on her face. “Princess Arianna?”

She turned her head slowly. “Sebastian?” Her lips trembled.

He brushed his fingertips across her cheek, catching a tear as it fell. Leaning down so his mouth was beside her ear, he whispered, “Don’t lose heart. He can’t hurt you as long as I keep my contract.”

And, stars, he hoped that same principle extended to Teague ordering Sebastian’s father to hurt the princess in his place.

“He killed Cleo.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry.” He held her gaze for a long moment, letting her see his own grief. Letting her share the part of himself that made him feel naked and vulnerable to attack. Surprising himself with how easy it was to give her that piece of him. Teague cleared his throat, and Sebastian whispered, “I have to go to work now, but I’ll be back, and we’ll make a plan. You aren’t alone, Princess . . . Ari.”

She tried to smile again, but her heart wasn’t in it. He brushed her cheek lightly once more and then turned, the raw, vulnerable part of him once more hidden behind the shield he’d built as his one defense against his father and the streets outside their front door.

“You’ll need one or two bits of instruction before you can take the soul,” Teague said, his eyes bright chips of malice. “You have until nightfall. If you fail to return with every debt by then, Jacob has my permission to do whatever he pleases to our dear princess.”

His father pinned Sebastian with the look that used to turn his stomach to water and have him clenching his fists against the pain before the first blow struck.

Sebastian followed Teague out of the cage, his shoulders back and his head held high, while his scars burned as he left the girl he cared about more than anyone in the world with the monster who’d raised him.





FORTY-TWO


EVERYTHING HURT. ARI’S eyes burned from the tears she’d shed into the night and again this morning. Her muscles ached. And every heartbeat sent a shaft of grief through her veins.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d lain on the mattress after Sebastian left—an hour? Three?—but her tears had dried now. She was a hollowed-out vessel, and the howling grief that had torn her to pieces in the night had become a weary kind of acceptance. She had no more tears. No more desperate pleas for Cleo to come back to life.

All that was left was a small flicker of anger whispering within her.

It was impossible that a few short months ago, she’d had her mother to smile at her with love and pride in her eyes and to scold her for chapping her hands when she was born to be a princess. She’d had Cleo by her side to break Mama Eleni’s rules, to steal pastries and gossip about the nobility, and to fill a part of her that she hadn’t know was incomplete until Cleo was gone.

She’d had Thad, unburdened by the weight of ruling a kingdom he couldn’t protect. She’d had her anonymity and her ignorance of the true state of affairs on the streets of Kosim Thalas.

Now, her mother was dead. Her brother couldn’t look at himself in the mirror. Her people were dying—Cleo had died.

And she could lay the blame for all but her mother at Teague’s doorstep.

The flicker of anger that burned within her became a steady flame, consuming her despair and replacing it with furious purpose.

Teague, with his insatiable need for power at any cost, had laid waste to her life. Her family.

Her kingdom.

And now he was going to do the same to the rest of the kingdoms.

And she’d been the one to suggest it.

She wanted to be sick, but she had nothing in her stomach.

She wanted to cry, but she had no tears left. Besides, tears wouldn’t change this. Wouldn’t stop this.

She had no weapons, no Book of the Fae, no freedom, and no plan.

Despair dampened the edges of her anger, and she shoved it back.