2 #2
In contrast with his hawkish elder brother, Tomás’s curved jaw was clean-shaven, making him look even younger than nineteen, and his narrow eyes were coffee-bean brown beneath thick eyebrows.
He had a sharp freckled nose and a soft mouth that was curved into an easy smile.
His hair was the same midnight shade as his doublet, his hose was sage green, and he wore no crown nor other decoration that would identify him as a Castellan. But Caya knew him.
Just not as well as she knew the boy next to him.
Sebastjan Arroyo had grown, and perhaps it was silly of her to be surprised by that, but her memories had preserved him in amber as an eight-year-old boy.
This was no child watching the swarm for threats or sudden movements.
Bas was tall and broad, his arms corded with muscle, his baby fat shed in favor of sharp cheekbones and a square jaw.
She saw flashes of the boy she had known in his almond-shaped brown eyes, his small ears and thick lips, but he had cropped his tight coils military short, and he was wearing a navy-blue doublet and black hose made of finer material than she had ever seen him in before.
He looked as if he had not only survived the last ten years but prospered during them.
A sting of pain brought Caya back to the present. She’d clenched her fists so tightly that her nails had drawn blood. Crimson droplets swelled in the crescent-shaped cuts. The sight made rage claw at her throat. Why should she still be the only one bleeding?
She took a step forward, impulsive and inexplicable. She had no plan. She had no thoughts. She had swallowed poison, and the only antidote was to take Bas Arroyo down with her.
But instead of her hands closing around a brown throat, the next thing she felt was someone else’s hand on her shoulder, holding her in place.
Instinctively, she went as limp as a doll.
If she’d drawn the attention of the city guard, she wouldn’t make it easy for them to bring her in.
They always expected their detainees to tense up.
In their surprise, she could hit the ground, she could roll to her feet, she could escape into the mob before they thought to use magic—
“Don’t do something you’ll regret,” Gaspar Ruiz said from beside her, his eyes on the prince and his companion. “At least, not until you can get away with it.”
Caya bit back a curse. The shock of his appearance made her tense; for the second time, he’d gotten close without her even seeing him, and she hated it. She tore free of his grasp, her teeth bared like a feral animal. “You don’t know anything about me or my regrets.”
“No, I don’t.” He wore green today, as dark as a midnight forest. It matched her mood. “But I spent all these years searching for you because I know of your history with the Seawards. We’ve both learned too much of suffering. Of loss. With a little patience, we can both get what we want.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Revenge,” Ruiz continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Or you can call it justice, if you like.”
There is no justice, Caya thought but didn’t say. If there were, the Seawards would still be alive. My family would still be alive.
She buried the thought too deeply for it to hurt her.
Caya had no more words for this strange man, with his elegant clothes and inexplicable obsession with her.
The crowd in front of the grocer had dispersed.
Bas and the prince had disappeared. Rodrigo wandered around in search of her, a puzzled expression on his face.
It was time for her to go home, before it was time for her to walk the same path as Ofelia, searching for jobs that didn’t exist and begging for charity from strangers who acted as if she didn’t exist, either.
Just like that, she realized that she had lied. There was something she wanted—needed—from this moneyed stranger, and she was willing to gamble that he wanted her badly enough to grant it.
“You keep asking for my help, but you’ve given me no reason to trust you,” Caya said, keeping her voice firm and indifferent. “I don’t need a mystery, and I don’t need a stalker. I need a patron.”
Ruiz gave her an amused look. “Is that so?”
“You saw where you found me. I’m almost eighteen. Where is the justice in me being homeless in a month? If you’ve really been looking for me, if you really want my help, then you’ll use all of that money of yours to get me a home.”
“And here I thought adopting you outright would cause you to mistake my intentions.”
“More than just following me around?”
He considered her for a silent moment, and she tried to make sure he saw only what she needed him to see: her steady gaze, her set jaw.
Her heart rioted in her chest, a fearful reminder of what had happened the last time she’d trusted someone, but she had to be smart about this.
She knew these streets if she ended up needing to escape from under Gaspar Ruiz’s thumb.
But she didn’t want to live on them, subject to the mercy of anyone who stumbled over her, unless she absolutely had to.
“All right, Miss Donant,” Ruiz said. “You have a deal. I’ll help you, and you’ll help me.”
Relief warred with suspicion. This had been too easy.
Caya had scared the other children with stories of devils who wore human faces, mortal skin that they tore away to reveal rows of hungry, serrated teeth as soon as they found a person foolish enough to trust their promises.
First, they shredded flesh and sinew, and then they supped on souls—the younger and more imprudent, the better.
Ruiz’s face was impassive, and she couldn’t tell if she had come out on top or if she had played right into his infernal hands.
“You haven’t been clear on what exactly I’m helping you with,” she said, her eyes narrowed.
His answering smile made her stomach drop. “You’ll see.”