Page 23 of Wicked Endeavors

AS TEO LED A PALE-SKINNED BOY WITH SHORT BROWN hair onto the dance floor, Marisol rounded the edges of the pavilion in search of information. She’d been wrong, before. Negotiations were still happening in the shadowy corners and by the dwindling refreshments. Many unmarked witches were deep in conversation with one or two House witches, as if they’d narrowed their options while she’d been dancing. Did it happen that easily? Did some witches go into the Coronet knowing exactly which House they wanted to join? Did they feel as if they had all the power in these conversations, or were they selling themselves to their House of choice for the power they wanted to keep?

By the time she descended the stairs that led from the pavilion, she had eaten half a buñuelo and acquired a new question. Bas was nowhere to be found, even though Teo was on his second dance partner. Marisol didn’t like not having eyes on him—especially when she couldn’t be sure he didn’t have eyes on her.

“Lady Vinyet.”

Behind her, a girl her age followed her with a half-empty goblet of wine. Her curly hair was straw blond, and her long-lashed eyes were sky blue. Her tanned skin was smooth, her nose and eyebrows short, and, though she was at least six inches shorter than Marisol, she carried herself like a much taller woman. She wore a red-patterned dandelion gown with red puff sleeves and off-white lace enhancing the neckline. There was something familiar about her, but Marisol was too tired to place her.

The girl tipped her head toward the pavilion. “All the witches were told to get on the Domingans’ good side tonight, and you seem the most approachable.”

“Do I?” Marisol gave the girl another look until she found the black skull symbol etched onto the inside of her wrist. The coven mark of House Muerte. “Well, here you are, so I suppose it must be true.”

“I’m Noelia,” the reaper said, unruffled. “Lady Noelia Galvan.”

Marisol offered her most winsome smile in response. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Noelia. You clearly know who I am already.”

“True. But what I don’t know is whether you want to dance.”

Marisol held out her hand and allowed the witch to lead her back up to the dance floor. She expected an interrogation, but instead they both seemed to be sizing up each other. Noelia studied her as they moved through the waltz, and Marisol did her best to let nothing show besides polite amusement. It wasn’t until the dance had ended and Noelia had bowed to her that the witch said, “It would be quieter by the fountain. There are benches over there, too.”

“The prince and I are together,” Marisol said carefully.

Noelia laughed. “There are still people over there, my lady. It will just be quieter.”

Frowning now, Marisol followed her. They ended up by a large stone fountain on the north end of the lawn, water quietly babbling over the sides of its curving spout. Matching benches surrounded it, set on the grass that lined a cobblestone path that wound past the fountain. Noelia hadn’t been lying; there were people sitting, walking down the path beyond, or disappearing farther into the gardens. Marisol spotted Bas on one of the benches, but he didn’t seem to notice her.

“I’m not trying to destroy your reputation,” Noelia said, pulling Marisol’s attention back to her. “You just seemed incredibly uncomfortable in there.”

“This is the first time the prince and I have been so public about our relationship,” Marisol drawled. “It’ll take some getting used to, being stared at for something other than my incredible fashion sense.”

“You and Prince Tomás are a striking pair. Everyone’s been talking about it since you arrived.”

“How long were you watching me, exactly?”

“Long enough to see a potential friend.” Noelia gestured toward the crowd. “This is my second year attending, and the conversations never get any less boring, the people never get less hungry, and the food never gets less flashy.”

Marisol froze. In her mind, the garden vanished, and suddenly she was back on the ship at the regatta, watching Bas and this girl disappear down the stairs. Her hair was the same shade, and, though Marisol had caught her face only in profile, she recognized her. Noelia and Bas had given no sign that they even noticed each other tonight, and yet she had brought Marisol right to him at the regatta.

Noelia and Bas knew each other, but, even now, they didn’t want her to know they did.

Marisol considered the girl with new eyes. Whether Noelia was spying on her for the witches or for Bas, it would be nice to have her own connection to the Houses. She would need to get into House Muerte eventually, and this way she wouldn’t need to rely on Teo.

We would gain their trust, she’d told Gaspar, and I would be close enough to silence them permanently when they’re no longer useful.

That didn’t apply to just Bas and Teo.

Marisol smiled slowly, affecting a hint of shyness, as though she needed a friend badly. “You know, I spend all my day with boys. Another girl—another friend, really—would be a refreshing change of pace. If, of course, you’re interested in spending more time together.”

Noelia lit up, and it looked genuine even though it couldn’t possibly have been. “Of course I am. I’m a wonderful friend.”

“I wish I could say the same, but you’ve made your poor choices.” Marisol tipped her head toward the flowered path, which also happened to be near where Bas was sitting. “This garden is very impressive. Do welks tend the flowers here?”

“Believe it or not, morphers did this.” Noelia still didn’t acknowledge Bas. Instead, she knelt down, plucked a violently purple dahlia from the grass beneath a bench, and twisted it in her hands. “The Trident puts as much effort into public works as it does into education. Morphers create an abundance of flowers and crops. Reapers quell storms and kill enemies. Crafters build homes and weapons.” She flicked the dahlia into the shadows. “It’s all a power play, but at least it makes people happy.”

Happy was one word for it. All Marisol saw was a reminder to those on the outside that attempting to take on one House would lead to taking on all of them. The Trident could rule with fear and with abundance, but they were not segregated, even in something like economic development.

But Marisol was the wolf in their sheep pen because she had known that it was not enough to destroy one House without dismantling the entire system. Their power was nothing in comparison to what they didn’t know was coming.

“Anyway,” Noelia said, linking their arms, “I think we’ve gotten enough air. Come back to the pavilion, and I’ll tell you all the gossip about everyone.”