“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.
It was strange to find a chink in the princess’s confidence, but it had been a traumatic night for her. And he could’ve handled it better. He could’ve told her that until she’d pulled back and spoken to him after the kiss, he hadn’t thought about her bout of sickness. All he’d been able to focus on was the way everything inside him crashed and tumbled as it always did when anyone touched him. The way some primal part of him had braced for the first bright slash of pain that had always come hand in hand with touch while he was a child trapped beneath his father’s rule.
He made himself walk through the side entrance to the kitchen without hesitating, and admitted that even if he could’ve found the words to share that with the princess, he would have remained silent.
“Sebastian!” Cleo looked up from the rack of game hens she was basting, her eyes glowing with relief. “Just the person I was hoping to see.”
He eyed her warily. “Why?”
She brushed olive oil over the last game hen, sprinkled it with freshly chopped herbs, and slid the entire rack into the brick oven. Then she came toward him, wiping her hands on her apron. She was a full head shorter than the princess, who stood nearly eye to eye with him, and he had to tip his head down to meet Cleo’s gaze as she stood in front of him.
She glanced around the kitchen, noted her mother’s preoccupation with inventorying a fresh shipment of vegetables and the quiet movements of two maids who sat in a corner shelling almonds, and then motioned for him to follow her into the pantry—a room twice the size of Sebastian’s quarters—shutting the door behind them.
“You have to get Ari out of the palace.” She turned to scan the pantry’s contents.
Sebastian’s pulse kicked up a notch. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“It’s her obsession with Teague.” Cleo took a few steps forward and pointed toward a woven basket high on a shelf above her head. “Can you get that for me?”
He removed the basket and handed it to her. “I haven’t seen her in five days.”
Cleo set the basket on a table that rested in the middle of the room and began pulling food from the shelves. “Most haven’t. She’s either in the library, reading up on contract law or on the history of Llorenyae, or she’s writing to her contacts in other kingdoms to ask them if they know anything about the Wish Granter, or she’s arguing with Ajax about the way he wants to handle Teague.”
“I don’t envy Thad’s guard.”
“The point is, Ari’s exhausted. She barely sleeps. She barely eats. She won’t quit looking for a way to stop Teague, and it’s wearing her down. Plus, there have been a few odd visitors to the palace. Always to the servants’ entrance, always asking about something benign, but always finding a way to work in a question about the king’s condition and whether there have been any strange happenings here.”
“Teague’s employees.”
“Has to be. They haven’t mentioned Ari.”
He breathed in the relief. Teague knew Daan was dead, but he didn’t yet know that the palace had been his place of demise. “You’re a good friend, Cleo. I’m glad she has you.”
“She has us both.” She scooped up two oranges, some dates, and a hunk of cheese wrapped in cloth.
“Oh, I’m not . . . we’re just . . .” He took a step back and bumped against the shelf behind him. “I work for her.”