The Wish Granter by C. J. Redwine
Not that any of them ever showed their faces before midmorning on a non-Assembly meeting day, but still.
“It looks like Ari has already eaten,” Thad said as he and Ajax took seats five paces down from Ari’s (seriously uncomfortable) seat on the floor. “None of the others would get up this early on purpose. She left most of her juice untouched. I hope she’s feeling well. It’s not like her to leave her food behind.”
“That much is obvious.” Ajax sounded amused.
Ari glared at Ajax’s shins and defiantly stuffed two bites of sausage into her mouth instead of one. So what if she was curvier than was fashionable? She was also smart, confident, pretty, funny, loyal, and a lot of other excellent things that she couldn’t remember while she was busy wishing she could throw her fork at his unprotected legs.
“You will speak of my sister respectfully, or you will be out of a job.” Thad’s voice was sharp, and a rush of warmth flooded Ari’s chest. “The princess is worth more than the rest of the nobility put together.”
“My apologies, Your Highness. I never meant to question the princess’s worth or her appearance,” Ajax said. “I like a girl who can fill out a dress.”
“One more word about my sister, and you won’t be able to find work anywhere in Kosim Thalas. I don’t care if I need your specialized skills. I will not tolerate disrespect toward Ari. Understood?”
Ari mentally cheered for Thad and popped a grape into her mouth, only to nearly choke as she heard Ajax’s next words.
“Understood. And since we’re meeting this morning to discuss my skills, I wanted you to know that I’ve considered your request, and I will take on the entrapment and destruction of the Wish Granter, but for twice the price you named. He’s a very powerful fae.”
“Done.”
Ari sat frozen, her fork halfway up to her mouth. Entrapment and destruction?
Thad was sending the head of his security to assassinate Teague. What if Ajax failed? Was avoiding the price Thad had agreed to pay really worth going to war with Teague?
It was definitely time for a heart-to-heart with her brother.
“When will you do it?” Thad asked.
“Within the month. It takes time to prepare and come up with a plan.”
“You told me you’d killed fae before.” Thad’s foot tapped the floor impatiently.
“I have. In Balavata. Helped some bounty hunters from Llorenyae stalk and kill a pair of rogue fae who angered the Winter King. But we’re talking about the Wish Granter. I’m going to need an iron cage, poison-tipped iron arrows, and time to figure out his routine so I know when to strike. Might also be helpful to have a few trained monsters from Llorenyae to help.”
Ari started shaking her head even as Thad said, “Do it.”
Do it? Bring fae monsters into Súndraille in the hope that this guard knew how to control them? What if they got loose and turned against innocent people? What if they refused to attack Teague? Súndraille wasn’t equipped for the kind of beasts that roamed Llorenyae. This could be a disaster. Ari’s stomach sank, and she slowly lowered her fork to her plate.
Thad must be truly desperate to even consider such an option.
“I’ll need a barn made out of stone and stalls made from iron cages,” Ajax said.
Thad was silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “And if they overpower you? If they get free?”
“They come trained with specific commands. We’ll be able to control them. The bounty hunters I worked with are very professional.”
“Fine. I’ll task every servant I can spare with building a barn to your specifications, and I’ll hire more if necessary so that we can finish it quickly. I’d prefer if you waited to attack Teague until after the ball we’re hosting in the princess’s honor three weeks from now. If something goes wrong . . . she deserves to be launched properly without the taint of her brother’s death hanging over her head.”
Ari’s heart thudded against her chest, and she clutched her plate with shaking hands.
If he was so certain that failure meant his death, then why risk it in the first place? He had nine years and eleven months left. Surely an assassination attempt should be the final, desperate gamble they played just before time ran out.
“I’ll wait until after the ball unless Teague appears to be escalating against you. We have to keep you safe, Your Highness. Once the Wish Granter is destroyed and your soul is no longer in danger, you can—”
Ari’s blood ran cold, and her plate hit the floor with a thud, spilling her muffin onto the rug.
“What was that?” Ajax demanded, bending down to peer beneath the tablecloth.
Ari ignored him as she crawled out from under the table beside Thad’s chair. Remaining on her knees, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Thad through eyes already swimming with tears.
“You bargained away your soul? How could you?” Her voice shook, and a tear spilled over, chasing a trail of heat down her cheek.
He closed his eyes as if in pain, and then said quietly, “Give us the room.”
“Your Highnesses.” Ajax stood, bowed stiffly, and left.
“What happened?” Ari wiped tears from her face and tried to go back to glaring at Thad, but icy fear had blossomed like a pit within her, and she couldn’t tear her mind away from the image of Teague coming for Thad. Tearing her brother from her and leaving another sharp ache of pain burrowing into her heart for a lifetime.
Her brother’s eyes met hers, and desperate regret filled his face. “Mother had just been killed. The queen was hunting us. I left you asleep in the date grove and considered throwing myself into the sea—”
“Oh, Thad.”
“—but that wouldn’t have solved anything. She would’ve hunted you down next. Teague found me there.”
“What was he doing wandering around a date grove so far from Kosim Thalas?”
Thad shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe his magic senses when someone is truly desperate.”
“Desperate enough to wish to be king in exchange for his soul?” She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice, but he looked wounded anyway.
“I didn’t want to do that, Ari. I just wanted to protect you the way I wasn’t able to protect Mother.” He pressed his fingers to his forehead as if it pained him. “I wished for you to be safe from the queen’s hunters.”
Ari trembled. “That’s not worth your soul plus ten years of looking the other way while Teague does whatever he pleases to the people of Kosim Thalas.”
“I didn’t know about the clause that said I couldn’t interfere with Teague’s activities, but, yes, saving you would’ve been worth my soul.”
Now she glared again, though her tears were falling harder. “We could’ve figured out another way, Thad. You and I. Made a plan. We’re good at that.”
“No, you’re good at that.” He smiled, though his eyes were sad. “I’m good at realizing when your mad schemes are about to cause disaster.”
“Well, look who’s causing a disaster now.” Her voice was sharp.
“I know.” His shoulders slumped. “He wouldn’t grant my wish.”
“But you said you owed your soul and—”
“He wouldn’t grant my wish to spare you from the hunters. He would only grant a wish to make me king.” He stared at his hands, his fingers laced together so tightly his golden skin was turning pale at the knuckles.
“Because he wanted no interference from the throne as he took over the city with his nasty henchmen.”
Thad frowned and met her gaze. “What do you know about that?”
Ari found something very interesting to study on the carpet. “One hears rumors. All right, so the only way to save us from the hunters was to wish to be king. Obviously it was dark outside so you couldn’t read the contract very well and see the bit about letting him get away with whatever he wants, but I think it would help us to read it now. Maybe there’s a loophole. I have the Book of the Fae on order. There might be something
“He kept it.”
“He kept— Honestly, Thad. Why would you let him do that?” Ari snapped.
“You’ve met him!” His voice rose. “No one lets him do anything! I made the wish so I could keep you safe. I thought once I was king I could exile Father, the queen, and his son and then spend the time I had left preparing you to be Súndraille’s queen. I didn’t know the royal family would die, or that I would have to stand by and watch as Teague hurts the people I’ve sworn to protect.”
“Thad—”
“I can’t even look at myself in the mirror.” His voice shook. “I wear a crown gained by trickery, and I can’t make it right. All I can do is keep you safe and train you to be the kind of ruler I can’t be.”
She wrapped her arms around him and swallowed her tears as he leaned against her.
Maybe Thad couldn’t make this right, but she could. She had to.
TEN
STEP ONE IN Ari’s plan to take on Teague was to learn how to use a weapon without accidentally putting out her eye.
She stood in the arena, looking over the small collection of iron daggers, arrowheads, and throwing stars the weapons master had fashioned while also discreetly looking over him as well. He really was young for the job. He had maybe a year on her, though something in his eyes looked much older. And he was tall. Even with Ari’s height, she had to look up to meet his gaze. There was a stillness, an awareness to him that told her he missed very little—something she was grateful for after yesterday.
Everything about him—from his close-cut black hair to his ruthlessly neat uniform to the muscles that filled out his (very intriguing) shoulders—said that he was a person of incredible discipline.
Ari could appreciate that, even if it did make her want to check her own clothing for the stain that her midmorning snack had probably left behind.
“Have you ever used a weapon?” he asked. His voice was as quiet and controlled as his body. Very different from the dangerous snarl he’d used against Teague’s men the day before.
“Besides my brain and my fist? No.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. She decided to take that as a smile.
“Do you want to practice something for close combat or distance?” he asked, his eyes grazing over the bruises Teague’s men had left on her upper arms.
“Both,” she said. “And you never told me your name. If we’re going to be friends, I need to know what to call you.”
“Friends?” He stared at her as though she’d suddenly sprouted another head.
“Well, of course. We’re going to be spending hours together each day until I master some weapons. And while I’m very smart and capable, I will admit that coordination is sometimes a problem for me, which means it might take more than a few sessions to feel like I can carry a weapon without cutting off my own arm by accident. And if I’m going to be spending hours every day with you, then we’re going to be friends, because the alternative is too exhausting to contemplate.”
Especially when she already had enough on her plate. She had a brother to worry about, a best friend with a black eye, and a fae monster who needed killing. She wasn’t going to add “awkward daily sessions with the weapons master” to the list.
“Do you always talk this much?” he asked, a trace of amusement in his voice.
“Do you always talk this little?”
His eyes crinkled again.
Yes. Definitely a smile.
“I’m Sebastian,” he said.
She gave him a wide, generous smile. “It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Sebastian. Now, where do we begin?”
They turned to the long table full of weapons that had been placed for the nobility to use. The iron weapons were set off by themselves, but Ari couldn’t resist running her hand over the shiny surface of a thin, curved blade with a delicately woven handle in silver and gold. Her fingers slid against the edge, and a quick bite of pain hit as the blade nicked her skin.
“Ouch.” She pulled her hand away, and blood welled on her fingertip. “The blade is sharp.”
He gave her a look that clearly said, “Were you expecting a sword to be dull?”
“This proves my point, you know.” She looked around for a cloth to dab against her finger, and he fished a clean rag from his pocket and handed it to her, careful not to let their fingers touch. She’d seen his discomfort when he’d briefly taken her hand at their first meeting. Was he unwilling to touch anyone, or was his reluctance specific to her?
She bent her neck and did a surreptitious sniff test.
She smelled like peaches and pastry dough. If he had issues with that, there was nothing she could do for him.
“What point?” he asked.
“I will need a lot of training before I’ll be ready to carry a weapon. Which would you suggest I learn to use?”
He ran his eyes over her body as though cataloging her center of balance.
“For long range, I made an iron throwing star. It’s thin and as light as I could get it.” Sebastian said. “For close combat, you can keep a dagger strapped to your hip or your ankle, but you’re going to have to learn to be the weapon in case you’re disarmed at short range.”
“Oh stars, we’re in trouble.”
“You already said you use your brain and your fists.”
“I also said that coordination is often a problem for me.”
“If you train hard enough, your muscles will remember what to do. It will be second nature.” He sounded resolute. “Besides, I saw you yesterday. You’re fierce and determined. Once I show you how to put some power behind your punches, you’re going to be formidable.”
“You’re serious about this?” She glanced down at herself and then back up at him. “You’re going to teach me how to win a fistfight against a grown man?”
He met her gaze, his eyes glowing with purpose. “I’m going to teach you how to stop him before it ever gets to that. But first, let’s start with the throwing star.”
He picked up the iron star and handed it to her. It was heavier than she’d expected, but the weight felt evenly balanced.
“You can carry this with you in one of those wrist bags girls like to wear.”
Ari twisted the star so that the light from the row of windows surrounding the upper deck of the arena gleamed dully against its surface. “If you’d told me last week that I’d be willing to smuggle a weapon in my handbag instead of snacks, I’d have called you crazy.”
He blinked. “You smuggle snacks in your handbag?”
“Sometimes the situation calls for it.”
His eyes crinkled again, and Ari grinned as she hefted the star. “So you want me to throw this?”
“I’ll teach you how.”
“I might put out your eye.”
“I’ll take the risk.”
She closed her fingers over the star and turned to look him in the face. “Thank you. Not just for this, but for yesterday too.”
“You’re welcome.” He gestured toward the center of the arena. “Now let’s go see if you really can put out my eye.”
Forty minutes later, Ari had yet to hit the target. She stood in the center of the arena facing both a bale of hay and Sebastian, who’d given up trying to demonstrate proper throwing technique in favor of standing to the side so he could evaluate her stance or her grip or whatever it was she was doing wrong.
“Again,” he said.
She held one of the star’s five points between her index finger and her thumb, brought her arm up over her head, lunged forward with her left leg, and threw.
The star plowed into the sawdust ten paces from her feet.
Ari glared at the (stupid, probably defective) thing and muttered something very un-princess-like.
“Are you flicking your wrist?” Sebastian asked.
Was she? “Probably.”
He raised a brow. “I don’t think you are.”
She blew a stray piece of ha
She scooped the star off the ground and resumed her stance. This time when she released the star, she flicked her wrist.
The star drove into the ground at her feet, narrowly missing her little toe. Sebastian started toward her.
“Daka!” she swore like a stableboy, then glanced over her shoulder at the open doorway, but they were alone. If any of the nobility had overheard her use of servants’ slang and told Thad, he’d add it the long list of things Ari was no longer supposed to do now that she was a proper princess.
“Are you hurt?” Sebastian knelt and collected the star, running his gaze over her foot.
She sighed. “The only thing I’ve managed to hurt is the floor.”
“And the post behind you.” His voice was still carefully controlled, but Ari could swear she heard a trace of humor in it.
“Basically the only thing in this entire room that is safe from me is the target.”
“You’re close to hitting it.” He delivered this piece of nonsense with absolute sincerity as he rose to his feet, the star in his hands. “With a few adjustments to your technique, you’ll hit the bull’s-eye.”
“I have been adjusting my technique.”
“You’re flicking your wrist too late. You want to cock it back and release it just as you straighten your arm. Watch me.”
He lifted his arm, wrist cocked, and then brought it down. Flicking his wrist just as his arm straightened at shoulder height, he sent the star flying directly into the center of the target.
Or at least she assumed the star went into the center of the target. Frankly, she was too busy admiring the way his shoulders bunched beneath his tunic to pay much attention to anything else.
“See?” He turned to her.
“No, I wasn’t . . . yes! Yes, I see the star”—she glanced quickly at the target—“right in the center. Well done.”