Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(105)
Benedict? “You’re working for the king?”
“We’re mercenaries.” The man towered over him by half, even with Trystan’s considerable height. “We work for whoever pays the most.” A hand came up to stroke his long gray beard. “Care to counter?”
“Certainly,” Trystan replied flatly, the mist dancing at the man’s feet before paralyzing him in place. “I can kill you slowly or quickly.” Unsheathing his sword, Trystan held the tip of the blade to the man’s chest. He sneered. “Your choice.”
The magic flooded over him, sweeping the ship and freezing all the pirates in place, lighting their fresh wounds, their old ones, and their kill spots. But again, there was that rainbow glow over their hearts.
There was something poetic in it, and Trystan would analyze it more…if he gave a shit.
But for now, he really wanted to wipe the floor with these nincompoops for getting in the way of his plans. “You all have two options. Shall I present them? Or dispatch you now?”
No answer, just frozen bodies and perplexed faces.
“Get back!” Clare screamed in the distance, and when Trystan heard it, his magic faltered, flickering its hold enough for several pirates to break free. They immediately sprinted for him, and Trystan knew he’d never be able to fight them all at once.
He raised his blade, knowing that he’d rather die fighting than be slain already defeated. A battle cry rang from his lips as he ran for the first one, but another blade whipped through the air, landing right through the man’s skull.
The pirate dropped, as did Trystan’s jaw.
The dagger sailed back in the direction from which it had come, and every head turned to see where it landed.
Evie stood there, frowning, tilting the handle back and forth. “My aim was a little off.”
Warmth diffused through every one of Trystan’s limbs, a phantom ache filling his chest. “You weren’t aiming for his skull?” he asked softly.
Her eyes flickered below his belt, his body tightening in response as she grinned. “Farther south.”
All the pirates winced and took three steps backward.
Captain Jones interceded before any more limbs—or other appendages—could be severed. “Those who remain, surrender your weapons and line up!” Tatianna’s jovial father was gone, a hard-nosed commander in his place, and the few remaining pirates tossed their swords onto the pile.
The sweet smell of vanilla masked the scent of death. “Will he kill all of them?” Sage asked at his side.
The prisoners fell into line as the captain read them their rights. Trystan shook his head. “No. Captain Jones is no pirate—he’ll follow the laws of a seaman. Offer them a place on the crew or a stay in the brig until the next port.”
Sage laughed lightly, and the sound caused a twinge in his chest. “You’ll probably say this is sad…but I think this is the best birthday ever.”
Trystan didn’t find it sad.
He found it fucking awful.
“Why didn’t you say anything to anyone?” he asked, harsher than he meant to.
Her cheeks turned pink as she averted her gaze. “It’s just another day.”
Trystan folded his arms, raising a skeptical brow. “You filled one of our office cannons with confetti when it was Tatianna’s birthday, and we’re still finding scraps of pink months later. You’re saying I suffered all that when you don’t think much of birthdays? An impressive feat of villainy, even I must admit.”
A stray curl lay out of place across her forehead, and Trystan’s hand itched to push it back. The wind did the work for him, and he found himself irrationally resenting weather.
Like a headcase.
Tatianna appeared at Evie’s side, throwing an arm about her shoulders. “I loved that confetti. It was very well done of you.” Tatianna’s pink-painted lips stretched wide, and she winked, then started healing the wounded members of her father’s crew.
“You don’t like celebrating your birthday?” Trystan asked after a beat of silence, noticing how Sage’s eyes took on a faraway look that wasn’t dreamy but disheartened. He should move on; he shouldn’t care. This was a perfect opportunity to put more distance between them, to show Sage there was absolutely no future in which they were anything but work colleagues.
But then she let out a low hum. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone’s ever really tried.” She laughed. “On my last birthday, Lyssa drew me a card that had the two of us on a sailboat, but I begged for no cake or singing. My mother struggled for most of my childhood, and I didn’t want to give my parents anything else to worry over. So, every year when my birthday passed, I found that if I didn’t mention it, nobody would remember, and after my mother left and Gideon…temporarily died…there was hardly anyone left to not mention it to.” She shrugged. “I suppose I pretended for too long and now I’m not sure what I actually want.”
He stared at her hard, hating himself for asking, “Don’t consider anyone else’s opinion. If you could be celebrated on your birthday—would you want it?”
“Yes.” Her wide-eyed gaze indicated that even she was shocked by her answer. “That is to say…I’d like to be celebrated. Even if it’s only once a year.”