Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(111)
The problem was not even that she was winning.
It is that I’m bloody enjoying it.
All night, he was plagued by images of those two little girls with Sage, of a family with Sage. Every time he tried to shove the thoughts away, they kept popping up like a deadlands-possessed jack-in-the-box.
Kingsley dragged his chained foot over to perch on the ship’s edge, holding up a single sign.
Father?
“No!” he boomed before slowly looking up to find a dozen set of eyes locked on him, all clearly having witnessed the outburst.
Kingsley put the sign down and pointed his toes toward the edge of the dock, and Trystan followed, his irritation flashing to embarrassment when he saw what Kingsley was pointing at: his father, Arthur, waiting on the docks. Trystan’s ears grew hot.
Kingsley held up another sign.
L.O.L.
“What in the deadlands is L.O.L.?” He picked up the sign and shook it accusatorily.
The morning fog at Benevolence Village was always too thick for any unseasoned sailor to take port in. The docks would be nearly empty. Trystan lifted the hood of his cloak over his head.
The plank was lowered from the deck to the dock, and Trystan was mortified to find Sage watching him at a distance, her dress a vibrant green, gold thread woven like vines throughout. One of Tatianna’s, surely.
But the dress was nothing compared to the mischievous grin on her lips. Red. He shook his head at her, drawing a threatening finger across his throat.
She smiled wider, and his heart fluttered.
Hearts should not do such things.
Raising a brow, he walked toward her in long strides, the intensity in his gaze making her breath hitch, her eyes widen, her throat bob—and Trystan understood that this was what it felt like to be wanted. He reached out, fingers stroking her neck on either side as he moved to the hood of her cloak, adjusting it over her shoulders as she gazed up at him.
“Ready?” she asked softly, perhaps noticing how his hand clenched the fabric before letting go.
“To face my mother? Never. But I suppose, since we came all this way,” he said dryly. He was turning on his heel when Sage’s soft hand found his, stopping him as he twisted his torso back. “Yes?”
Sage smiled at him with more warmth than he would ever know what to do with and whispered, “I’m with you. No matter what, I’m on your side. Okay?”
Something burned in the corner of his eye and didn’t stop, even as he nodded stiffly and watched his sister run down the boat’s ramp to the docks.
“Father!” Clare cried, running right into Arthur’s arms. His features were a harder, more masculine version of Clare’s, but her nose sloped at the same curve and her jaw was cut in similarly sharp lines. She had always been their father’s daughter. In every sense.
Malcolm had been their mother’s son, and Trystan had been…
No one’s.
He sneered inwardly at the melancholy. It was as uncomfortable as joy, but this made his stomach hurt instead of the usual overwhelming nausea.
Trystan followed Evie, taking her hand in his, his ungloved skin touching hers as she stepped up onto the ramp and carefully made her way down. “Don’t fall in,” Trystan warned. “There are crocodiles that would love you for a sweet.”
Sage turned. “Are you calling me dessert?”
Damn it. “No, Sage. I was trying to scare you.”
“By comparing me to cake?”
“About the crocodiles!” He waved a hand. “Just go. I am coming.” He came up behind her, placing a hand at the small of her back, then pulled up the hood of her cloak, shielding her face. A mistake. She wasn’t ready for the sudden obstruction of her vision and nearly stumbled headfirst into the dock before Trystan had his arms up and around her, pulling her close as he leaped, landing safely off the ship and right in front of Arthur.
“You couldn’t have waited two more steps before nearly knocking me into the water?” She jammed her elbow into his stomach, not exceptionally hard but enough for him to loosen his grip.
“I’m the only reason you didn’t fall in the water, actually.”
Sage sighed, the wrinkle in her nose distracting him momentarily as he inanely began counting her freckles. The chirping of birds signaled the start of the workday, and Trystan adjusted his hood, too, nodding for Tatianna and Clare to do the same.
“Arthur!” Captain Jones jumped from the ship and wrapped his arms around the core healer, the two friends laughing as they clapped each other on the back. Arthur had spent the entirety of Trystan’s early years traveling the continent with the captain, looking for people’s souls to heal, blessing everyone with his ever-pure magic—everyone but his children.
Trystan didn’t think there was much merit to wanting the approval of others; repelling them was easier, simpler. Making people feel unwanted was assurance that they would leave him when he chose.
But wanting the approval of his father…that was a desperate aspiration that lived in the marrow of Trystan’s bones, so intertwined with his existence there would be no exorcising it.
“You told him we were coming,” Trystan accused Jones, feeling like he was dangling on puppet strings when all the while, he’d thought he was the master.
Jones clapped his hands together in warning. “Now, Trystan, I have done you a favor. You said you needed to stop at your mother’s for something, and Arthur is the only person you can trust to get you to her without the king’s men being called upon.”