6
T WO WEEKS PASSED, DURING WHICH C AYA SPENT EVERY day at Ruiz’s manor house learning to become Marisol Vinyet.
After breakfast in her own house, a carriage took her across town, where she’d be quizzed on the Vinyet family tree, on Domingan high society, on culture and politics and etiquette.
While she struggled through rote memorization, Ruiz would try to scare her into dropping her disguise.
The first few days were an embarrassment: a sudden noise was enough to startle her into losing her grip on the magic, and she couldn’t go five minutes without staining her clothes with the blood of overexertion.
Now she could remain in character even with her mind distracted and her heart racing—but if she fainted or fell asleep, she reverted. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough for today.
As a practice run, she would be watching a Coronet regatta—a series of boat races—as a guest instead of an interloper. She would be on a lord’s arm instead of stealing glances from the shore. And, according to Ruiz, the event was an easy place to disappear into a crowd if she made a mistake.
“Every year, the Trident draws lots to decide which House is hosting when. There’s one event every two weeks from the second week of summer onward, and they do different kinds of events every year,” Ruiz explained as the carriage carried them toward Soltura Harbor.
“This year, the opening ball was followed by a charity art exhibition hosted by House Muerte and a joust hosted by House Vida. Today’s regatta, hosted by House Cambio, will be the final chance to socialize before new witches receive their coven marks at the closing ceremony. ”
“Why even get a coven mark?” Caya asked, pretending to check her makeup in her small mirror. She was really making sure her magic hadn’t faltered outside the safety of the manor, but she didn’t want Ruiz to turn the carriage around. “Unmarked witches can use their magic for everything, right?”
Ruiz chuckled, a deep, pleased sound. “I’m glad to see you taking your studies so seriously.
Yes, a young witch’s magic is broad, but it’s also both dangerous and weak.
Often, by accident, they achieve one effect while trying to do another.
Once they choose a House, their general magic may be limited, but their chosen magic becomes much more powerful and strengthens the entire House. ”
Caya slid the mirror back into her bag. The House system still confused her because it hadn’t existed before the coup against the Seawards.
Before, all witches in Coventry had been born with one of the three types of magic, and they didn’t separate themselves from other witches.
Ruiz had theorized that the singular magic was an illusion, a lie believed because very few had tested their limits.
But the witches who fled Domingo wanted power.
And if what Ruiz said was true—that chosen House magic was stronger than general magic—then the diluted abilities of an unmarked witch would never have been enough for them.
And so the Magisters—the top leaders of the rebellion against the Seawards—had founded the Trident, and the High Houses that formed it promised strength and safety in exchange for control.
Witches had allowed themselves to be chained to the Trident, because that protected them from the numbers of the welks.
The Criterion, then, was a cautionary tale of what could happen if witches were weaker, divided—a splinter cell that could grow into a movement if Coventry’s nonmagical population wasn’t kept powerless.
Caya couldn’t wait to see how things would change when everyone was a welk. When magic was gone, and power was redefined.
But first she had to master her part.
The carriage eased to a stop near the docks.
Ruiz leaned forward before their footman could set aside the reins and open the door.
“Prince Tomás and Sebastjan Arroyo are already aboard the ship. Remember, you are my ward, visiting for the Coronet. Whatever you see, whatever you hear, maintain your cover and say as little as possible.”
“Yes, yes,” said Caya. “Would you have a little faith?”
The door opened. She lifted her hand delicately for the footman to take as he helped her out of the carriage.
Her smile was soft and ladylike. Her new dress fit perfectly over her new body: a vermilion gown with detachable sleeves, a square neckline, a slit down the front beneath the bodice that revealed the patterned gold petticoats beneath.
Her hair was in a single braid down her back, decorated by pearled netting.
She had put her silver dolphin pendant on a chain and hung it around her neck.
It didn’t quite go with her outfit, but it made her feel more confident as she and Ruiz wound their way toward the boats bobbing in the wharf.
The crowd waiting to embark was thin; they had made it just in time.
Though she had only seen one in her lifetime, the regatta had always been one of Caya’s favorite events.
She and the older children had snuck out to watch the boats race, marveling at the magic the witches used to make things more interesting: crafters summoning a strong breeze, morphers making aspects of their ships more aerodynamic, reapers making their opponents’ sails disappear.
The last regatta had been four Coronets ago, and she had been reluctantly impressed by the pageantry of it all.
Of course, she knew now that these events were a spectacle and a threat. If we can do this for fun, imagine what we’ll do if you cross us.
The closer they got to the gangway, the more Caya’s excitement began to fade, until she was hesitating on the rocking wooden planks.
She hadn’t been on a ship since that ill-fated voyage to Esquivel.
The brine-scented air brought her back to that day, her hand in her mother’s and her mind brimming with wonder about the island she would soon see.
Esquivel, a vibrant island of green mountains, blue seas, and golden sunshine, was where she would have been born if her parents hadn’t immigrated for more lucrative jobs in Coventry’s Seaward Palace.
It had been so long that she couldn’t remember her parents’ faces, just the timbre of Javier’s laughter and the warmth of Paloma’s smile.
Even then, she wasn’t sure if she was mixing them up with her memories of Oberon and Evaline.
“Marisol.”
She blinked to see Ruiz standing in front of her. His annoyed tone made it clear it wasn’t the first time he’d called her fake name.
“Are you ready to board?” he asked in a more measured manner. The only lingering sign of his disappointment in her was the tightness around his eyes, but that was still enough to make Caya self-conscious.
“Yes,” she said, stepping past him. “I’d hate to keep everyone waiting.”
It wasn’t until they had left the shore far behind that Caya realized they would not be participating in the regatta.
The ship they’d boarded was for visitors, Ruiz explained as they followed the crowds toward the viewing deck; it was dispatched to give both tourists and unmarked witches a better vantage point for the race than the welks on land.
Ruiz seemed to know a great number of the Domingans milling around, greeting them with handshakes and smiles, introducing her as his ward and moving on before they could ask too many questions about her.
Her stomach swooped every time, her hands longing to grab her mirror and make sure her disguise was holding, but these were just strangers she was unlikely to get close to.
Standing at the railing, their shoulders touching, were the real threats: Bas and Tomás.
Caya kept track of them from the corner of her eye, but approaching them was too much of a risk.
Ruiz was getting her used to being around them—around Bas —without losing her composure, but Ruiz himself would be the only one actually speaking to the pair.
Eventually, they would all be in the same room to finalize the details, but by then she would be Marisol and only Marisol.
For now, it was harder than it should have been to be here. She had a plan. She had a patron. And yet the sight of Bas…
“You’re staring,” said Ruiz. “Well, glowering would be the more accurate word.”
“The sun is in my eyes.”
“If only you acted as convincing as you sound.”
Caya turned her glare on him, but he was smiling down at her with undisguised amusement. “I’ll get us drinks,” she grumbled.
With everyone gathered to one side waiting for the regatta to begin, the refreshment tables on the other side were free.
A band played light music on a stage erected at the stern of the ship, and Caya hummed along as she waited for the server to have time for her.
To her right, one set of stairs led belowdecks, framed by two other staircases on either side that went up to the forecastle.
She could see people up there, perhaps swarming the captain to ask questions about the Coronet or the witches.
Or maybe the view was better. She’d have to investigate later.
Caya froze just as the server finished his conversation with the couple ahead of her.
Bas was standing by the stairs, deep in conversation with a blond girl around her age.
The prince was nowhere to be seen, even when Caya darted a look around the deck.
By the time she found the new pair again, they were heading into the bowels of the ship, their heads still bent together.
It was none of her business if Bas was seeing someone, but it might be her business if he was conspiring with someone. Right?
That was all the excuse she needed to abandon the refreshments and follow him.
On her way, she caught Ruiz’s eye and gestured toward the stairs.
He was surrounded by a flock of admirers, too far away to stop her; she’d have to answer for her actions when they were alone, though. She’d expect that, if she were him.
Belowdecks, it was quieter. Rows of half-opened doors led to mysterious rooms. The smell of food floated from one near the end of the hall, no doubt the kitchen, and servers wound in and out of it, ignoring her presence entirely.
Bas and the girl were nowhere to be seen, and Caya didn’t want to risk asking a server.
Just being down here made her far too memorable.
“Ah,” said a voice deeper than the one she remembered, “my lady.”
Bas had emerged from the room directly to the right of the stairs.
Seeing him from across the Rojanea town square had been one thing.
This close, she was struck by how much he’d grown .
The angular lines of his face, the light stubble on his jaw, the width of his shoulders, the muscle of his arms. A strange heat pulsed through her body as they took each other in.
Neither of them was a little kid anymore.
That shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.
She forced herself to focus on something other than his handsomeness. To see her, Bas must have looked around—more proof that his meeting was conspirative in nature. The unknown girl snuck out behind him, fleeing back up the stairs before Caya could say a word.
Bas bent respectfully at the waist. When he straightened, he tilted his head like a curious bird. One that stood between her and escape. “Shouldn’t you be on deck?”
The first words he had said to her in a decade, and they were said with such mild deference. As if he wasn’t a criminal.
Caya tipped her chin up. “Shouldn’t you ? You’re the prince’s companion, are you not?”
“I am.”
“And yet here you are,” she drawled, “not accompanying him.”
“I saw you board the ship,” Bas said. As if he realized the combination of those words and his stance might come across as threatening, he stepped to the side with his hands behind his back like a soldier at ease.
The stairs beckoned her to freedom, but she was rooted to the spot.
“The pendant you’re wearing… where did you get it? ”
Caya’s hand flew to the dolphin still nestled in the dip of her collarbone. “Why?”
“I collect them. It’s…” A smile flashed across his face. It lit his expression, until he wasn’t simply handsome but distractingly so. “It’s a hobby of mine.”
“Is it.” Her tone was too venomous to be polite. “That’s a strange hobby for a boy from a landlocked city.”
He stared at a point just over her shoulder. “I was born in Esquivel and raised in Coventry. Right here in Rojanea, actually.”
A server cut around them, three covered trays in her arms. Silence stretched so far it would have been uncomfortable if Caya hadn’t been seething.
Bas had offered no further explanation, but something about the fact that he still claimed Coventry despite burning it to the ground made her want to strike him.
She’d thought she had this under control.
That this plan would give her anger the direction it needed to be more useful than toxic.
But the longer she stayed down here with him, the more she could feel her concentration eroding. She couldn’t let her magic go with it.
“I don’t remember,” she said dryly. “Sorry.”
Caya expected him to stop her exit. Part of her wanted him to, so she would have an excuse to hurt him without breaking character. But he shifted farther out of her way, and she made it three steps before a shadow appeared at the top of the stairs.
Prince Tomás smiled politely at her, and then that smile deepened into something warm and intimate as he looked behind her. At Bas. Caya glanced over her shoulder to see Bas’s answering smile, and it felt as if she were the one interrupting something.
Here was the boy she remembered, shy and harmless.
Here was an ice statue of a man melting beneath the prince’s sunlight.
“There you are,” Prince Tomás said, weaving past Caya to reach Bas. He placed a hand on Bas’s shoulder and squeezed with easy familiarity. “I was starting to think you’d decided to swim back to shore.”
Bas’s hand covered the prince’s, as if he’d done it a thousand times. “Without you?”
“I wouldn’t even be offended. I know you hate these things.”
“I’ve sat through worse.”
Bas realized that she was still standing there, and his expression snapped closed like a clamshell. His arm fell to his side, causing the prince to turn and lift his eyebrows as if to say, Can we help you with something? It didn’t feel hostile, but Caya could read the dismissal in it anyway.
She escaped back to the deck, her heart beating at a confused gallop. Ruiz had told the truth about their relationship. Bas and the prince were important to each other in a way that went even deeper than she’d thought, which meant that if she wanted to hurt one, then she need only hurt the other.
A new plan formed in her mind, one far more dangerous and far more satisfying.
If, of course, she could get Ruiz to agree to her terms.