Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(116)

And just as she felt deep in her soul that her heart was breaking, something incredible happened. The animal stopped and calmed, and the mist parted, revealing an unharmed Lyssa, and…she glowed.

A silvery white.

Like a star.

Becky watched, a hand raised to block the brightness from burning her eyes. Her mouth had dried out, and the drops of water that began to fall from the sky did nothing to help it. “Lyssa,” Becky whispered, reaching for her carefully.

The guvre leaned down, bumping Lyssa’s head with his own and lowering a wing, motioning for her to get on.

“NO!” Becky called, going to grab her. “No, Lyssa, you can’t go with him! Don’t.” Without another thought, Becky clambered over the wing, following Lyssa up the guvre’s back. “We must get down, now!” she yelled.

Lyssa shook her head, still glowing, gripping a spike on the guvre’s back. “He needs someone.” The guvre sighed in contentment, and the guards slowly began to lower their weapons.

The guvre’s large, iridescent-scaled head leaned over and looked Becky right in the eye. “Don’t,” Becky begged, recognizing that look. It was a look she’d seen in herself when she ran away from home.

The daring gumption of someone about to take flight.

“Hold on!” Becky screamed as they shot into the air, Lyssa holding tight to the spikes, squealing rather than screaming.

The screaming came from Becky.

The guvre swooped away from the manor and into the cloudy sky, toward gods knew where.

All Becky knew was that wherever the guvre was going…Becky and Lyssa were going, too.





Chapter 71


Evie


It took every ounce of professionalism and willpower she had not to sprint through each room of the house until she found Trystan’s childhood bedroom. There was no guarantee his mother had kept it the same anyhow, especially with the shrewd way she was watching them from her armchair when they entered the room. Like she’d already known Trystan would be a disappointment, like she had been anticipating it.

It made Evie hate her.

“How fortunate.” Amara’s words curled and twisted like a toxic smoke over the room, and Evie had to resist choking. “The Villain and The Wicked Woman, come to visit me. Tell me.” She gestured for the lot of them to take seats. Trays of sandwiches and fruits were laid out in a delicious-looking display. “To what do I owe such an honor?”

“I should think you’d find no honor in visits from me, Mother,” Trystan muttered, inspecting a sandwich, turning it upside down.

“What are you doing?” Amara snapped.

“Wondering what kind of poison you used,” Trystan said casually, leaning back in a careless pose. Morphing into a different person. A truly hateful one.

“I don’t make it a habit of poisoning guests, believe it or not.”

“Just your children, then,” Tatianna quipped, placing herself between Trystan and Amara. “Hello, Amara. Still have that stick up your butt?”

“Tatianna. Charming as always.” Amara rolled her eyes disdainfully. “A wonder you let such a catch go, Clarissa.”

“Amara,” Arthur rasped. “You promised.”

Evie wondered what darknesses festered within a person, that they’d need to promise to be civil to their own children.

“It’s fine, Father,” Clare said, morphing into someone new just as Trystan had. Their mother’s presence was turning both of them into versions of themselves that didn’t suit, that were wrong.

The dark pall cast over the Maverine siblings didn’t extend to the room itself. Instead, the sitting room was warm, lit by candles. Comfortable-looking furniture and book-lined shelves filled the space, and there were worn spots in the wood floor from all the footsteps in and out. It was a home that was lived in, perhaps even loved in at one point, but it was empty now.

The memories just lived as ghosts in the walls, built into the foundation of a now-haunted home.

Evie coughed into her arm to disguise her nervousness, drawing Amara’s attention. She eyed Evie with interest. “Wicked Woman? That’s a lark, isn’t it. You look like a deer caught in a carriage lamp.”

Evie prepared to argue, but a lethal voice cut in. “Do not speak to her like that.”

Amara’s eyes fixated on Trystan again. She was poised like a queen as she placed a piece of paper on the table. “And Trystan fighting for vigilante justice instead of villainy. How refreshing. I am so proud.”

Amara slammed a finger into the news pamphlet on the table, and Evie gasped when she saw the plain bold letters etched at the top.

EXTRA: THE VILLAIN OR THE ANTIHERO?

THE NOTORIOUS VILLAIN OF RENNEDAWN SAVES INNOCENT VILLAGERS FROM EVIL PHOENIX ALONGSIDE HIS APPRENTICE, THE WICKED WOMAN.

The short article was followed by one harrowing statement.

The Villain—not so villainous after all?

“Who wrote this utter garbage?” Trystan gripped the paper in his fist, tearing it under his fingers as he scanned the words. “I save one fucking village, and my whole reputation is tarnished. They are calling me a…a hero.” Oh dear, was he turning green?

He fumed, glaring at the piece of paper.

Evie hesitated, but her tongue got the better of her. “An antihero, sir. A hero who doesn’t act like a hero is a far cry from sainthood. Calm down.”