She had to assume the house had seen the Book of the Fae. There was only one solution.
Pushing a plate of cherry tarts toward the branches as a momentary distraction, she whipped a dish linen around the Book of the Fae and shoved it into the burlap sack of eggshells and discarded food she’d been planning to bury in the garden for compost.
“Off to bury the rotting food. Who wants to help?” she asked. Her voice was too loud, too bright, but the guards didn’t seem to notice. They escorted her out of the villa, across the back lawn, and into the garden. Without looking at them, she swiftly dumped the contents of the burlap sack into the compost ditch and then turned to hurry back inside.
If the house told Teague about the book, he wouldn’t find it in the kitchen. Of course, he might still find it in the garden, but this was as close to safety as she was going to get.
She’d just have to feed him a slice of poisoned cake before he ever started looking.
THIRTY-EIGHT
THE SUN HUNG low in the sky by the time Maarit returned to drag herself wearily up the stairs and into bed, waving off all attempts at conversation and offers of fresh-baked pastries.
Ari tossed lamb shanks with olive oil and garlic cloves and put them into a skillet while she waited for Teague to return.
Giving him poisoned cake might be a terrible idea. If he realized what she’d done, he would surely take her soul.
But she’d only used a little. At the ball, when he’d confronted Thad about sending an assassin, he’d said it would take an enormous amount of poison to kill him. He might be right. But she wanted to see if it would affect him, and how fast it would wear off, because any weakness on Teague’s part was an advantage to her. If he complained of not feeling well after eating the cake, she would blame it on bad eggs or rancid butter.
When Teague finally entered the villa, the lamb shanks were cold, and the guards were yawning. Sebastian still hadn’t returned, and Ari’s fingers trembled as the guards left her alone with Teague. He stared at the baked goods that were spread across the counter.
“You’ve been a busy girl.”
“I thought I’d try some new recipes.” She nodded toward the cookbook and tried to keep her hands from shaking when his gaze slid over the kitchen. Did she imagine him lingering over the burlap sack she’d used to discard the Book of the Fae with the food scraps?
“I’ve been busy as well.” His eyes gleamed. “Eight new contracts signed today. All with nobility from Akram, Ravenspire, and Morcant.”
A chill spread over her skin at the thought of Teague gaining a foothold in those kingdoms—and all because she’d wanted to save her brother and had been so confident she could quickly uncover the secret to Teague’s undoing.
Time to go on the attack.
“That sounds like something we should celebrate,” she said, pulling the chocolate cake toward her and grabbing a knife. “Cake?”
“I don’t eat cake. Besides, our bargain is paying off, and that calls for a proper celebration.” Teague’s eyes were feral as he smiled. “Come with me.”
Who didn’t eat cake? A pox upon this miserable man with his creepy smile and non-cake-eating ways. Now how was she supposed to poison him?
Heart pounding, Ari followed him as he entered the long hall that led to the back of the villa. Being alone with Teague was not how she’d hoped the night would go.
For a moment, she thought he was taking her to his study, but he stopped at the library instead. Teague lit the lanterns on the table and moved toward the shelf that held the wine. Removing two delicate fluted drinking glasses and a pale blue decanter, Teague turned to her.
“Here.” He handed her the glasses and pulled the stopper from the decanter. The liquid that splashed into the glasses was a rosy gold whose scent reminded Ari of sun-drenched meadows and wild spiced honey. Teague replaced the decanter and took one of the glasses. Raising it, he said, “To a successful venture.”
Ari obediently clinked her glass to his and then pretended to take a sip.
She wasn’t a fool. If it smelled like it was steeped in fae magic, it probably was, and there was no way she could risk becoming intoxicated in front of Teague.
Teague drained his glass in one long swallow and poured himself another. Ari sank onto the far corner of the sofa and surreptitiously poured half of her glass into the space between the cushion and the side. Her hand shook as she raised her glass and pretended to take a tiny sip.
Teague leaned back against the couch, brushed at a speck of imaginary lint on his trousers, and said, “I don’t like humans.”
Ari made a noncommittal noise.
“They’re weak.” His elegant voice began to slur, and Ari shivered. “Always grasping for what they don’t have. Always desperate for someone to give them what they haven’t earned. They’ll promise anything, but their promises are false.”
He drained the rest of his glass and set it on the floor. Pulling out his pipe, he began packing the bowl with tobacco. “I value loyalty.”
“Is that why you’ve kept Maarit employed long past her usefulness?” she asked.
“Should I throw her on the street? She’s served me well for years.” He looked at her as if truly interested in her reply.
“Of course not,” she said. “But maybe get her some help with the chores. And, for stars’ sake, stop allowing her to use the kitchen.”
He smiled. She really wished he would stop doing that. Being on the receiving end of his smiles felt like being a mouse trapped beneath the paw of a bobcat.
“You don’t care for Maarit.” He snapped a flame to life in midair and lit his pipe.
“She’s rude and generally unlikable, but I don’t wish her ill.” Ari took a tiny sip of her drink because Teague was frowning at her glass. The wine hit her tongue, a rush of spices and honey that tapered into an intoxicating flavor Ari couldn’t identify. Dewy meadows. Frost-kissed trees. Flowers that grew in secret places far from the prying eyes of humans. Her head spun as she swallowed.
Teague took a long puff of his pipe. “Humans protect themselves. They sacrifice others for their own needs. But you volunteered to protect Maarit when you thought an intruder was trying to break into the villa.”
Maybe it was the fae wine going to her head—all right, definitely it was the fae wine going to her head—but Ari was tired of hearing how awful humans were from a monster who ripped the souls out of people’s bodies.
“You’re wrong,” she said. He paused, his pipe halfway to his mouth, and slowly turned the full weight of his gaze on her.