Page 54 of Wicked Endeavors

“I should get back,” Bas whispered. “Good night, Leya.”

Marisol offered him a faint smile. “Good night.”

THE NEXT WEEK BROUGHT ANOTHER WAVE OF RAINSTORMS that forced everyone to stay inside. Noelia had decided to spend her rare free afternoon at Wildridge Hall, in an obvious attempt to comfort Marisol through her ongoing depression. She hadn’t said anything to indicate that she could tell, mostly because she genuinely appreciated the effort. She couldn’t talk about Rodrigo without revealing too much, and Noelia talked more than enough for the both of them.

It was nice not to be alone.

It was more than she deserved.

One of the servants played the harp near the fireplace, bathing them in light music, and Noelia was curled up in Marisol’s favorite armchair, a book across her lap. Marisol was too tired to read, so she’d settled on the rote motions of stitching to clear her head.

“If the weather keeps on like this, they might cancel today’s tours,” Noelia said, staring through the curtains at the gray sky and the raindrops hitting the windowpane. Her legs were thrown over the arm of the chair, the picture of relaxation. “Maybe I’ll visit my parents instead.”

Marisol paused her needlepointing. “Your parents?”

It wasn’t as though she’d thought Noelia had sprung fully grown in the heart of House Muerte, but this was the first time the other girl had mentioned her family. Marisol had quietly begun to think that perhaps Noelia was an orphan like her, and she would open up about her family’s deaths when she was ready.

“They live in the rim of the city, which, now that I’m thinking about it, is a terrible name.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t see them very often. It’s hard to find safe topics to talk about after they sold me.”

Marisol set the needlepoint down before she hurt herself. A half-finished tent-stitched rowboat gazed up at her, the silver needle and brown thread sticking up from the center. She leaned forward. “Sold you?”

“Are you a parrot?”

“This is just a lot of information and yet so little!”

Noelia laughed, her high ponytail shaking with the motion. “My parents are welks. When I showed signs of magic, they sold me to House Muerte for money. I can’t blame them for it, but it means that I was a reaper ward long before my first Coronet. I never had a choice in my coven mark, even if it was what I would have chosen myself.”

Several things about Noelia suddenly fell into place, like her sympathy for the Criterion and how bored she was by other witches. If she’d grown up among them, forced to be a ward because her welk parents couldn’t afford to eat otherwise, it made sense that she would be overly familiar with both sides of society.

“Do you… want company?” Marisol heard herself ask. “Those visits can’t be easy for you.”

“They’ve gotten easier.” Noelia’s voice had grown soft. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

“I understand a little of what that’s like. Having guardians who have previously acted against your best interest, I mean. And loving them anyway.”

At this, Noelia sat up, dislodging her book. It clattered to the ground, but she didn’t notice. Her blue eyes were already wide. “Yeah?”

“It’s… hard to deal with the fact that the people meant to love and protect you are capable of terrible things. Whether that harm is done directly to you or not, it complicates the relationship. The love.”

She stared at her lap, unable to meet Noelia’s gaze as a world of legal guardians ran through her mind. Her parents, who had worked hard in the hopes of a better life only to die and leave her alone to live it. The Seawards, who had kept her ignorant to how badly they were mismanaging her home. Gaspar Ruiz, who had taken her in because she was his best chance at overthrowing the witches.

Each of them had chipped away at her ability to trust. To love. To rest.

“I don’t actually have any advice,” she finished. “I guess I just wanted you to know that even if you go alone, you’re not alone.”

Noelia’s smile was warm. “I know now. Thank you, Marisol.”

A comfortable silence fell between them. Marisol picked up her needlepoint, but she didn’t return to the stitches. Her mind had drifted back to Rodrigo, and how little she knew about him even though they had grown up together. She didn’t know if his parents had died or abandoned him. She didn’t know if he had been born in Rojanea or in Coventry at all. She didn’t even know his last name.

Mourning him the last few days had felt like grieving the Seawards: a longing for a person and relationship that had never actually existed. She had replayed their conversation in her mind a hundred times, wishing that she had handled it differently. Wishing that she had just told him the truth. Wishing that she had just run.

A tear fell onto her needlepoint. She brushed it away.

She hadn’t even contacted Bas and Teo, though they’d sent several messages by courier. Her last conversation with Bas replayed in her mind at the most inappropriate times, mocking her for caring about a boy’s feelings when she had cost another his life. It wasn’t a fair thought, but it stayed her hand every time she considered writing them to come over, even just to scheme. She was afraid she would be doing it because she wanted to see them, to know where they all stood, and not because it would advance the plan in any way.

They knew as much as they needed to know, anyway. All there was left to do now was wait.

“Do you want to go out?” Noelia asked. “The rain is starting to let up.”