Page 47 of Wicked Endeavors

Marisol lifted her eyebrows. “What was that about?”

“Nothing.” Bas flicked the pamphlet over his shoulder. “Have you seen Teo?”

“Are you a rebel sympathizer?”

“Aren’t you?”

Marisol’s eyes narrowed. Yes, the Criterion’s goals were similar to her own, but he knew that wasn’t what she meant. The fact that he was trying to divert her made her even more suspicious. “It just seems like you’re having quite a few clandestine conversations without involving the rest of us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bas’s suspicious glare made Marisol want to smile. She had gotten under his skin.

“I just want to know how many secrets you’re keeping,” she said. “And from whom.”

The crowd roared around them, agreeing with whatever the masked man had said. Bas was searching her face, clearly trying to read the signs of the trap she was prepared to spring, but she made sure to give nothing away. She hadn’t been the subject of this much of his intense concentration since midsummer night, and it was a heady feeling.

That night, he had torn her into pieces and left her to put her world back together. Today, she felt strong, as if every crack in her had been reinforced with steel.

“I saw you with Noelia,” she continued, “at the regatta last year. But the two of you have spent this entire season pretending not to know each other. Now you’re having furtive conversations with rebels—the same rebels that she’s admitted to sympathizing with? Are you going to tell me it’s a coincidence?”

“NO PEACE UNDER WITCH RULE!”

“Are you going to tell me more pretty lies?” Marisol reduced the distance between them to almost nothing. Ever since she’d seen him again for the first time in years, they’d been pulled together like bees to a flower. She wanted to be the first one to sting. “Or should I ask Teo?”

“Leave him out of this,” Bas growled. “Or I’ll ask him a few questions about you.”

Whatever Bas was hiding, it was big enough to risk the plan over. Marisol filed that away for later, trying to tamp down the delight she felt at seeing him emotional for once. They were surrounded by people and yet it felt as if they were the only ones in the plaza, so close that she could count his eyelashes. She felt alive in a way she only did when she was with him—destroying him, the way he had once destroyed her.

“Tell me the truth,” she murmured. “For once in our lives, be honest with me. Trust me. Let me help you.”

Bas’s eyebrows drew together. He looked conflicted, and Marisol bit the inside of her cheek so the pain would keep her focused. She hadn’t meant to say that much. She hadn’t known how much it still bothered her that she’d never really known him at all. It should have been another manipulation, but instead, as always, Bas had made her lose control, dredging up feelings that had been buried in a sea of rage.

“I—”

“The Castellan prince has joined us.” The masked man sounded as if he’d found a slug in his drink, so deep was his disgust. “Should we let him know what we think of Domingo forcing their problems upon us?”

“Don’t touch him!”

Marisol’s cry went unheeded as everyone surged to the right, where Teo was presumably standing. She elbowed her way through the crowd, catching sight of his curls just before he was knocked to the ground. Her dagger was in her hand a second later, but she didn’t draw blood. Not yet.

“I said don’t touch him,” she shouted, throwing herself between the prince and the rebels. Teo had rolled back onto his feet, so she passed him a dagger. Welks circled them, their faces cold, their anger stoked by the masked rebel. Marisol didn’t want to fight her own people, certainly not in defense of a prince she should hate as much as they did. But she wouldn’t allow Teo to be hurt again. “Just let us leave.”

“What are you doing here?” said a man with a scar that ran from the side of his neck to the collar of his shirt. “Is this what passes for sport in Domingo?”

“We just wanted to understand,” Teo replied. “We wanted to hear your concerns, and—”

“And what? Help? You caused all of this!”

“THE GUARD IS COMING!”

Everything happened in a rush. The masked rebel disappeared from the stage, his speaking trumpet abandoned. The crowd scattered, everyone running in a different direction. Pamphlets were thrown, and enough dust was kicked up to make Marisol cough. By the time her vision cleared and she had lowered her second dagger, the plaza was empty except for the makeshift stage and the trampled leaflets that read JOIN THE CRITERION.

Bas stood a few feet away, lowering his hands from his mouth. “The guard probably is coming,” he said with a shrug. “So we should probably leave, too.”

“You’re brilliant.” Teo laughed, a nervous hiccup of a sound, and hurried forward to throw his arms around Bas. “You scared me to death, but that was very clever.”

“I scared you to death? Stop running off.”