Page 31 of Wicked Endeavors

“How dare you—”

“They were hoarding wealth and raising taxes even though they hadn’t paid their servants in months—”

“You were eight! What did you know or care about taxes?”

“The welks on the Royal Council were set up to take the blame for everything. If they voted against the witches, Oberon—another witch—broke the tie. They were powerless to actually change anything, but the king and queen could point to them and call it equality.”

“You’re just trying to justify—”

He loomed over her now, his face inches from hers as his words drowned her out. “They torture people to test them for magical aptitude. Did you know that? Now, the family can be compensated if their child turns out to be a witch, but under the Seawards they’d just be kidnapped.”

Marisol shoved him. It was childish and impulsive, but she couldn’t do this, couldn’t listen to him slander her family and claim her memories of happier times were made up. Her vision blurred with tears, and she hated him for making her cry again.

Her hands flew to her damp cheeks, but her appearance hadn’t changed back. At least he hadn’t taken that.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Bas said. And then, at her incredulous look: “I’m not. I know that the Seawards were good to you. That doesn’t mean they were good to everyone.” He ran a hand through his short Afro. “I wanted them tried and jailed for their crimes. I didn’t want them dead. I didn’t want Yoselin dead. But I’m not sorry they’re gone. I’m only sorry I had to leave the job half-done until now. I was young, and I was scared, and I thought the witches would kill me, too. I always intended for us to run for Domingo together, but I couldn’t find you.”

That night, that terrible night of blood and fire, Bas had led her from Seaward Palace and down to Soltura Harbor. “Don’t let anyone see you,” he’d whispered before running off into the night. With plenty of time to process what had happened between her hitching breaths, Marisol included Bas in her definition of anyone. When he returned, she had been long gone. For the next year, the streets became her home.

“You came back for me?” she whispered. Fat tears still slid silently down her cheeks, dampening her collar.

“Of course I did.”

She turned her back to him. His words had moved her, but not in the way he probably thought. Hatred pumped through her chest, making her heart beat faster. Her hands twitched with the desire to reach for her daggers and cut his lying tongue out of his head. To kill the Seawards was one thing, but to insult their memory on top of it—she wanted to forget the plan, forget Gaspar, and bury Bas right here in the Hinterlands.

Instead, she took a deep breath. Straightened. Turned to face him with a watery smile. “All these years, I thought you’d abandoned me.”

“L—Marisol, I would never have done that.” Bas sounded incredulous. “You were my best friend.”

She sniffled.

“I need to think…” Her voice sounded cautious yet hopeful. “But maybe we can talk about this later?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Bas glanced at the sky, still half-hidden by the treetops. “But first, let’s find those plants.”

THE PATH BRANCHED TO THE LEFT, LINED BY A SHORT row of orange and almond trees in a riot of cream and pale pink. Fruits didn’t yet hang heavy from the branches, and the blossoms that preceded them looked luxurious in the sunlight. A constructed podenco lay in the shade of an almond tree, licking at its front paw. It looked up at Marisol with eyes like voids as she approached, making her freeze in place.

It didn’t look away until she flashed her fake coven mark.

Marisol glanced down at it as Bas touched the trunk of the first tree. “It’s probably sensing the magic of the potion, right?”

“I have no idea how Lord Ruiz’s strange potions work. I’ve never taken one.” Bas plucked one of the orange blossoms free, its yellow stamen lightly brushing his fingers. “When he first spoke to the Castellans about all of this, I got the impression that he’d tested it extensively, but not on what or whom.”

Marisol took the blossom from him. It felt like a normal flower, fragrant and soft. She tossed it over her shoulder and moved to the next tree, giving the podenco a wide berth. “You make him sound like a mad scientist.”

“Do I?” Bas paused at the sound of footsteps, then relaxed as they faded. “Well, if this works, I’ll revise my opinion.”

Marisol had made it to the final tree without a sense of magic to draw her to the right one. Perhaps there were more hidden in patches all over the Hinterlands, but this section was useless. She slowly peeled off her crafter disguise, returning to the face of Marisol Vinyet, and leaned her back against an almond tree trunk with a sigh. “We’re going to be out here all day. Maybe we should just wait for the reception.”

Bas opened his mouth to say something that would surely piss her off when a scream ricocheted through the forest.

“Was that—?” Marisol asked.

“Teo,” Bas breathed before he started running.

Marisol tore through the forest behind him, the cracks and snaps of their careless steps alerting any animals—constructed or otherwise—to their presence. The noise grew into a grating discord of high-pitched boar squeals, riotous dog barking, and dissonant curses from the witches whose hunts had just been ruined. By the time Marisol crashed into a clearing, Bas already knelt on the ground with Teo in his arms.

The prince’s side was wet with blood.