Page 65 of Wicked Endeavors

Teo’s father had been the one who wanted him dead all this time.

If you push people past a certain point of ire, that loss of control is not a single act.

Ruiz wanted her dead or arrested, his crimes shifted from his shoulders onto hers. A girl who had lied about her very identity couldn’t be trusted to be honest about anything else. She was his perfect alibi.

It’s a movement. An unshackling.

Noelia and Bas had the Criterion to shelter them, but Marisol and Teo had nothing without them. For her and Teo to survive, Noelia and Bas needed to escape—and that meant no one could know that Noelia had helped her.

A revolution is nothing if not anger left to kindle.

Marisol folded the paper and handed it to Noelia. “You need to go, then. I’ll stay here.”

“What?” Her friend stopped in the middle of refastening her bag, her eyebrows raised. “They’ll kill you. Or arrest you. Or both.”

“They won’t kill me. Not yet. I survived, and Ruiz will want to know how I survived. He’ll make sure that I stand trial, become an enemy to the world, and that I suffer long enough to know the consequences of moving against him.” It was what she would do, if she were in his shoes. Death was too kind a fate for her enemies. She wanted them to hurt the way she’d been hurt. Ruiz would want her to hurt, too. “You need to get these supplies and information to Bas and Teo. You need to keep your role in this a secret until we can see each other again. If Ruiz doesn’t think that he’s won, he’ll become even more dangerous. We need him smug and complacent and ready to make a mistake we can exploit.”

“But…”

“Listen to me,” Marisol whispered urgently. “There’s a house in my name in—I think the neighborhood is called Gardenia? Some of the kids who aged out of Kindred Orphanage have been staying there. Take care of them. Make sure that he doesn’t hurt them or try to use them against me. Tell Ofelia that Caya sent you.”

“Who’s Ofelia?”

Marisol almost laughed at the absurdity. Instead, she glanced at the door, anticipating the guards that would soon burst through it.

“You need to leave, Noelia. Now.”

Noelia reached out and then hesitated, her hand hovering in the air between them. “What if—”

Marisol took her hand. Her smile was faint, but it was real. She studied Noelia, her pale skin and golden hair, her worried eyes and her expertly applied makeup. She hadn’t had a friend so true since Yoselin, and she wanted to memorize this moment. Even believing her a fraud, even without knowing her motives, Noelia had been the best friend that Marisol had ever had.

“Go,” she said, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “Live. Let me save you this time.”

Noelia threw her arms around Marisol, catching her off guard. It was such a familiar gesture that her eyes began to sting, but she had emptied herself of tears. All she had left was her anger and her purpose. She wouldn’t die while her enemies still lived. She would make Gaspar Ruiz regret the moment he brought her from Kindred Orphanage and told her to take control of her own destiny.

With another long look, Noelia left the room.

Marisol settled into Gaspar’s chair, hating that it was still warm, hating that it smelled like him. She had thought that this house could become her home, that this life could become her life. She had been so naive then, but now her eyes were open. She couldn’t sit around and wait for someone to hand her everything she had ever wanted. She had to take it and forge her own way in the world.

She thought she had found peace in Coventry, but there could be no peace now.

Gaspar Ruiz had started a war.

She looked forward to ending it.

When the guards burst into the study a half hour later, Marisol wore her new face, her hands folded atop the desk and her chin lifted imperiously.

“Marisol Vinyet,” said the guard in front, his sword drawn. “You are under arrest for theft, fraud, and conspiracy to commit treason.”

“Am I?” She yawned daintily. “What took you so long?”

NIGHT HAD FALLEN ON SANTESA BY THE TIME MARISOL Vinyet finished her story.

Outside her bedroom at the top of the tower, the only structure on the otherwise uninhabited island, darkness reigned. There was no moon to obscure the splash of stars that coated the navy sky, but thin clouds drifted lazily past the barred window. Dawn was minutes away, the sun a glowing line at the horizon, but all was still. Marisol hadn’t looked up from the hands that she had folded in her white cotton gown. He hadn’t moved from his place by the desk in front of a small notebook that wasn’t nearly as full as it should be.

He’d been dangerously invested.

Even after she stopped speaking, Marisol Vinyet’s words echoed through the small room, hovering like miasma between them. He had known that the story she would tell could never match the ones the world told about her, but she had exceeded his expectations. He understood, now, how one girl could become a legend in just a few months. She was a magnetic force, a persistent threat, an unrelenting survivor. Of course she was here because she wanted to be.