Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(128)

Gideon took off after her, calling to the Malevolent Guards behind them. “Protect your captain! Take back the manor!”

A chorus of shouts followed as the most lethal warriors in Rennedawn charged for the wooden doors, which were already suspiciously swinging open.

“Keeley, don’t! They’re waiting for us!” Gideon tried to stop her, but the captain didn’t listen, continuing to sprint headlong into what was clearly a trap. “Or go on ahead, run right into it. Interesting strategy. They’ll never suspect it!” He was being sardonic, but Keeley was no longer in earshot to appreciate it.

The entryway was filled with Valiant Guards.

Keeley was already fighting them, dispatching multiple with swiftness that was impressive, considering her massively long hair slapping into her eyes at every turn. He nearly offered to hold it for her but then remembered how well he valued his tongue.

Silver armor blurred in his peripherals, slamming him to the ground. When Gideon caught his breath, he thrashed, moving side to side until he saw one of the severed heads from the ceiling in clear view.

Workers from the office. Several of them. All strung up with a red word painted on their foreheads.

Traitors

“Gods help us all.” Gideon was going to be ill. “Honor, valor, honesty, dignity.” He listed the four codes of knighthood like they were a curse. Finally working his knife free of his boot, he buried it in a Valiant Guard’s neck, speaking right into his ear. “You’re all a bunch of fucking hypocrites.”

Gideon shoved the man off and leaped back into the fray. This was different from the last battle at the manor. The Valiant Guard had made it inside this time.

They’d known the villain wasn’t here, and they’d known the female guvre was gone, so the only other thing they would be after was…

“My mother!” Gideon yelled to Keeley.

The captain threw a knight over her shoulder, slamming him into the stone floor. “Go! We’ve got this. There’s fewer of them than there are of us!”

Another swish of a blade, another slice of flesh, and Gideon was bounding up the stairs, the muscles in his legs straining with every step. His heart pounded the hardest it ever had, burning his throat, taking hold of each fear and playing it through, using them as warnings if he failed.

He pushed faster, until he reached the floor with Nura’s bedchamber. “Nura!” Gideon bellowed, throwing open the door to her chamber and calling her name again. “Nura? Mother? Are you here?”

The door creaked open slowly, revealing a dim, empty room, the bed messy, the window open, drops of rain blowing in to dampen the seat cushion on the ledge. It was an ordinary room. No signs of struggle, of an attack.

And then Gideon got knocked over the head.

As he fell to the ground, he heard, “I’m sorry, Gideon. I’m so sorry.”

He turned, vision blurring, but he could still make out his mother standing over him, a blunt object in hand, tears streaming down her face, glowing silver and white.

“For hitting me with an encyclopedia?” The words were slurred, and he knew he was passing out.

Inconvenient, that.

No explanation came from the fuzzy blur standing where his mother had been. Just a quiet sob and a repeated phrase, like a chant. “I did it all for her. It’s going to be okay.”

It’s going to be okay.

It’s going to be okay.

Gideon fell into the darkness, unable to fight it any longer, repeating a phrase of his own as his vision turned black.

“No. It’s not.”





Chapter 79


The Villain


One summer in Trystan’s home village, there had been a rose shortage. Malcolm had lamented for weeks, as had Edwin, who often used them in his pastries.

Their father had finally managed to grab a full bouquet of them, and by the time he’d brought them home, Malcolm had taken one look, frowning, and said, They’re not as pretty as I thought they’d be.

Trystan had been irritated, having heard Malcolm drone on and on for weeks about how he couldn’t possibly go one more day without smelling a bloody rose. The irritation became too much. Trystan made off with the roses, turned them into a tea, and downed every drop. Amara had banished Trystan to the barn room for a week as punishment.

Still, he’d enjoyed them.

And he’d favored roses ever since.

Sage had no way of knowing this, so whatever product she used on her curls had nothing to do with that story, he was certain. But Destiny knew the story, and that fragrance seemed determined to take him out at the knees.

Another brush of her hair against his arm had him debating how many dark corners he could sweep her into. The wanting was worse than before, because now he knew exactly what he’d been missing.

And he wanted it again.

Kingsley had regained hold of himself and indicated a shortcut just down the hall. They followed reluctantly, keeping a fiercely close eye on the rogue frog. Arthur scanned protectively over the group, smiling at Trystan.

He didn’t smile back.

“Did you come to the castle when you and Kingsley were friends?” Evie asked, sliding a fingertip over each painting on the wall. It was a feat of sorcery, how that fingertip felt like it was brushing against his skin.

One dark corner. He only needed one.

“Trystan?”