Page 45 of Wicked Endeavors

Until she ran out of space, that is—but Marisol was hoping that things would change by then. Without their magic, the witches couldn’t keep welks out of homes and neighborhoods. They could reclaim the city, and Marisol could buy blocks of homes for everyone as Lord Ruiz’s ward.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll be leaving soon.”

“It’s all right, my lady. Let me know if you need anything.”

Ofelia turned and glided back up the stairs. Marisol was gratified by the weight that Ofelia had gained and the confidence that she displayed in turning her back on a noble. It was the reminder that she’d desperately needed. This plan wasn’t just about her wrath over the things she’d lost. It was about taking down the witches. She was a one-woman Criterion, evening the field so that welks could thrive in their own country. Coventry may have been broken long before the Domingan witches arrived, but that didn’t mean it had to stay that way.

She poured herself a glass of water and drank it at the counter, letting her newfound resolve settle beneath her skin and dispel her lingering anxiety. Something glittered in the corner of her eye, catching the light of the moon, and she pushed a cookie jar out of the way to grab it.

Her lips parted in surprise. Her dolphin pendant winked up at her, a torn piece of paper wrapped around its tail. She unfolded it carefully, recognizing the handwriting immediately as Rodrigo’s.

Doesn’t Caya like these? If you don’t see her in six months, sell it for money.

See you soon.

Marisol was glad that she had no more tears left in her body, because she was tempted to cry again now. Rodrigo—angry, hardheaded Rodrigo—had paid enough attention to her to know she liked dolphins. He was, in fact, still thinking about her now, even as he followed the Criterion down a dangerous path. He was thinking about all the Kindred orphans if he had stopped by long enough to give this to Ofelia in case she needed cash.

It had been almost a year since she and Rodrigo had spoken, but at their core, they were still the same people. Wanting better. Wanting more.

Marisol slipped the pendant and the note into her pocket with only a twinge of guilt. Already, she felt calmer having it close. Perhaps she would write Gaspar about sending an anonymous donation to the house for Ofelia and the other children, so they wouldn’t notice that the pendant was gone.

Either way, she would reveal herself to them soon. Once she had gotten rid of magic, she would explain everything.

“My lady,” said a maid, appearing in Marisol’s bedroom doorway so abruptly it made her jump. “My apologies. I knocked, but you didn’t seem to hear it.”

This morning, she had yet to get out of bed, but her mind was on a series of books she had pulled out of Wildridge Hall’s library. Books about the Seawards, books about the Trident, books about the Castellans. She was trying to approach them all without preexisting notions, as if she were a stranger who wanted to know more about the Alban Peninsula.

Her current read, Magic in the Time of the Seawards, offered a new perspective:

Some were born with a unique sensitivity to the world around them, said to be spirits-touched. They could commune with the living and the dead, and it was said that their tinctures contained the powers of the gods. Though they were largely unrelated, these sensitives became known as “the folk” or “folk healers”—the first witches. Those who hadn’t settled in isolated villages worked for the Seawards, though rarely by choice.

The truth was everywhere, had she cared to look. Now it was becoming another distraction.

“That’s all right,” she finally said, setting her book to the side to meet the maid’s worried gaze. “What is it?”

“You have a visitor, my lady. Prince Tomás Castellan is here to see you.”

“I see.” Marisol’s heart stopped as the maid backed into the hallway. “Thank you.”

She took her time getting dressed, strapping her daggers beneath her gown and brushing her hair into a high bun. Bas could have told Teo anything about last night, and she wouldn’t be able to defend herself. At this point, she didn’t worry that he would reveal her secret, but she had openly threatened to kill him. What if the prince had brought guards to protect his companion?

But when she made it downstairs, there was only Teo, waiting for her with his hands behind his back and his eyes apologetic.

Marisol paused, gripping the banister. “Did we have plans today?”

“No, I—I wanted to speak with you privately.” Teo cleared his throat. The wine red of his jerkin brought out the gold in his tan, and she was breathlessly reminded of how he’d looked on the boat, gilded and yearning. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night. I was too forward.”

Marisol descended the rest of the stairs. Her eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve tried to conduct myself well, considering all you’ve done for me so far. I don’t want you to ever feel like our friendship is dependent on you indulging my… attention.”

“Teo—”

“Please, let me finish. You deserve better than half-hearted impulses. If I am to court you, I want to do it properly. With no lies between us. I just need to know if that’s something you want as well.” He held up a hand, stopping her from interrupting. “I don’t need an answer now. I just want you to think about it. If you decide that’s of no interest to you, I won’t burden you with my feelings again. But if you decide to let me try”—his eyes darkened—“then I promise you won’t regret a single moment.”

Marisol’s breathing hitched as the implications sank in. “All right.”

Teo beamed at her, a happy, boyish smile at odds with the wicked promise that lingered in his intense gaze. From the moment she’d met him, she’d considered him a bundle of contradictions, but never did she feel it more than right now, when his expression made her feel both adored and exposed.