Page 12 of Wicked Endeavors

It didn’t quite go with her outfit, but it made her feel more confident as she and Ruiz wound their way toward the boats bobbing in the wharf.

The crowd waiting to embark was thin; they had made it just in time. Though she had only seen one in her lifetime, the regatta had always been one of Caya’s favorite events. She and the older children had snuck out to watch the boats race, marveling at the magic the witches used to make things more interesting: crafters summoning a strong breeze, morphers making aspects of their ships more aerodynamic, reapers making their opponents’ sails disappear. The last regatta had been four Coronets ago, and she had been reluctantly impressed by the pageantry of it all.

Of course, she knew now that these events were a spectacle and a threat. If we can do this for fun, imagine what we’ll do if you cross us.

The closer they got to the gangway, the more Caya’s excitement began to fade, until she was hesitating on the rocking wooden planks. She hadn’t been on a ship since that ill-fated voyage to Esquivel. The brine-scented air brought her back to that day, her hand in her mother’s and her mind brimming with wonder about the island she would soon see. Esquivel, a vibrant island of green mountains, blue seas, and golden sunshine, was where she would have been born if her parents hadn’t immigrated for more lucrative jobs in Coventry’s Seaward Palace. It had been so long that she couldn’t remember her parents’ faces, just the timbre of Javier’s laughter and the warmth of Paloma’s smile. Even then, she wasn’t sure if she was mixing them up with her memories of Oberon and Evaline.

“Marisol.”

She blinked to see Ruiz standing in front of her. His annoyed tone made it clear it wasn’t the first time he’d called her fake name.

“Are you ready to board?” he asked in a more measured manner. The only lingering sign of his disappointment in her was the tightness around his eyes, but that was still enough to make Caya self-conscious.

“Yes,” she said, stepping past him. “I’d hate to keep everyone waiting.”

It wasn’t until they had left the shore far behind that Caya realized they would not be participating in the regatta.

The ship they’d boarded was for visitors, Ruiz explained as they followed the crowds toward the viewing deck; it was dispatched to give both tourists and unmarked witches a better vantage point for the race than the welks on land. Ruiz seemed to know a great number of the Domingans milling around, greeting them with handshakes and smiles, introducing her as his ward and moving on before they could ask too many questions about her. Her stomach swooped every time, her hands longing to grab her mirror and make sure her disguise was holding, but these were just strangers she was unlikely to get close to.

Standing at the railing, their shoulders touching, were the real threats: Bas and Tomás.

Caya kept track of them from the corner of her eye, but approaching them was too much of a risk. Ruiz was getting her used to being around them—around Bas—without losing her composure, but Ruiz himself would be the only one actually speaking to the pair. Eventually, they would all be in the same room to finalize the details, but by then she would be Marisol and only Marisol.

For now, it was harder than it should have been to be here. She had a plan. She had a patron. And yet the sight of Bas…

“You’re staring,” said Ruiz. “Well, glowering would be the more accurate word.”

“The sun is in my eyes.”

“If only you acted as convincing as you sound.”

Caya turned her glare on him, but he was smiling down at her with undisguised amusement. “I’ll get us drinks,” she grumbled.

With everyone gathered to one side waiting for the regatta to begin, the refreshment tables on the other side were free. A band played light music on a stage erected at the stern of the ship, and Caya hummed along as she waited for the server to have time for her. To her right, one set of stairs led belowdecks, framed by two other staircases on either side that went up to the forecastle. She could see people up there, perhaps swarming the captain to ask questions about the Coronet or the witches. Or maybe the view was better. She’d have to investigate later.

Caya froze just as the server finished his conversation with the couple ahead of her. Bas was standing by the stairs, deep in conversation with a blond girl around her age. The prince was nowhere to be seen, even when Caya darted a look around the deck. By the time she found the new pair again, they were heading into the bowels of the ship, their heads still bent together.

It was none of her business if Bas was seeing someone, but it might be her business if he was conspiring with someone. Right?

That was all the excuse she needed to abandon the refreshments and follow him. On her way, she caught Ruiz’s eye and gestured toward the stairs. He was surrounded by a flock of admirers, too far away to stop her; she’d have to answer for her actions when they were alone, though. She’d expect that, if she were him.

Belowdecks, it was quieter. Rows of half-opened doors led to mysterious rooms. The smell of food floated from one near the end of the hall, no doubt the kitchen, and servers wound in and out of it, ignoring her presence entirely. Bas and the girl were nowhere to be seen, and Caya didn’t want to risk asking a server. Just being down here made her far too memorable.

“Ah,” said a voice deeper than the one she remembered, “my lady.”

Bas had emerged from the room directly to the right of the stairs. Seeing him from across the Rojanea town square had been one thing. This close, she was struck by how much he’d grown. The angular lines of his face, the light stubble on his jaw, the width of his shoulders, the muscle of his arms. A strange heat pulsed through her body as they took each other in.

Neither of them was a little kid anymore.

That shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.

She forced herself to focus on something other than his handsomeness. To see her, Bas must have looked around—more proof that his meeting was conspirative in nature. The unknown girl snuck out behind him, fleeing back up the stairs before Caya could say a word.

Bas bent respectfully at the waist. When he straightened, he tilted his head like a curious bird. One that stood between her and escape. “Shouldn’t you be on deck?”

The first words he had said to her in a decade, and they were said with such mild deference. As if he wasn’t a criminal.

Caya tipped her chin up. “Shouldn’t you? You’re the prince’s companion, are you not?”