Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(19)
Becky shrugged. “Probably. They’ve done it before.”
Evie frowned. “I don’t recall any previously broken windows.”
Becky shook her head, loose, silky brown locks falling from her normally very tight bun. “I meant that the windows have been reconstructed. They used to depict happy things before the boss took over the manor. When he had them replaced, the artist used the glass that was already there. Just rearranged the bits. The boss hates waste.”
The severed heads in the entry doubling as decor pieces were making more and more sense every day.
Becky headed for the door. “Are you coming?”
Evie fiddled with the end of one of her curls. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
Becky didn’t speak again as her footsteps faded away, leaving Evie alone in the silence. She normally detested silence, but as of late, she couldn’t help but relish in it. Her life was louder than ever, as were her thoughts, and it was in these very few moments of peace that she allowed herself to wallow. Properly.
Feeling sorry for oneself took up a ridiculous amount of time, and she hadn’t had nearly enough to do it lately. The past two weeks had been spent juggling out-of-control feelings, plans to steal back the pregnant female guvre after the king’s men stole the animal away during the battle, and, of course, searching for the fourth item in the prophecy to save Rennedawn’s magic. It mattered not if they had every object in their arsenal (which they didn’t). Without the knowledge of that fourth piece, Rennedawn would continue to descend into darkness. Dying magic and all.
Think of me when you’re with the trees.
The memory of the Kissing Tree Caves monster’s last words made her stomach twist so hard, she felt acid rise in her throat. Shutting her eyes, Evie let a few tears fall down her cheeks. She’d tried to return to the caves twice since they found her mother, since the fading magic struck the home of one of the gods left behind. She’d gotten her mother back, and within moments, something pure and good perished. It had been Evie’s fault, for not understanding that her happiness would never come without a price.
The thought overwhelmed her as she stood, swiping at the tears burning down the sides of her face. She looked at her reflection in her favorite stained glass window—the one in the corner of the kitchen with the sun shining down on an old, weathered-looking book—and wiped away the tears, forcing her mouth into a pleasant smile, a practiced one. Evie was an expert at hiding her pain.
A terrible skill.
She hid that the distance between her and Trystan had rattled her. She hid that she laid awake at night worrying about who in the office had helped her father escape. She hid the dark discontent stirring beneath her skin, worrying if Lyssa was growing up right. And most of all, she hid that it was incredibly likely that Trystan Maverine was her true love.
She rubbed at the knuckles she knew he’d pressed his lips to —the only reason she had awakened from the sleeping-death fruit’s slumber. The antidote she’d never taken even now was clanging around in her pocket. Useless.
“Ugh.” Evie pulled it out and leaned it toward the basin in the corner, intending to dump it, but couldn’t bring herself to uncork the bottle. “I’ve gotten used to you, I suppose,” she said, rolling the vial in her palm. “Not so easy to destroy what’s familiar.”
Unless, of course, someone enters while one is talking to oneself, making every internal organ jump three inches.
“Ah!” Evie let out an embarrassingly high-pitched squeal, the motion forcing her arm to slam into the basin, releasing the vial of antidote and shattering it on the ground.
“My apologies, miss!” A blond man had appeared at the doorway, dressed in a nice shirt and slacks—nothing extraordinary about them, but sensible, understated.
Evie clutched her chest before shaking her head at the newcomer and making her way for the cupboard with the dustpan and broom. “It’s quite all right. It’s a hazard, talking to oneself. Sometimes you get so caught up in conversation, you forget there are far less predictable people to converse with.”
The man’s eyes shifted back and forth, looking for something or someone. “I just arrived. I’m here to repair the stained glass window.” He held up a toolbox, and Evie relaxed a little at the explanation.
Her heart continued its erratic pace anyway, perhaps from the excitement of her surprise only seconds ago.
But that didn’t explain the goose bumps rising on her arms. “Oh, of course.” Evie scanned the man’s face. Her heart accelerated. “The broken window is upstairs.”
The man nodded, walking around her and dropping the toolbox on the kitchen counter with a thud that made her jump. Meeting Evie’s confused gaze, he gave her a sheepish grin. “Thought I’d fuel up before I get to work.” He pulled an empty ceramic chalice from the countertop and ladled a large serving of cauldron brew into it, motioning it up toward her like a toast. “Care to join me?”
No, random man I’ve never met before. I have stewing in my office to do, followed by lewd daydreams of my boss.
Licking her lips, she grabbed her own mug and made for the door. “That’s kind, but I shouldn’t—I have work. But when you’re through, the window repair is up one flight in the main office. Can’t miss it.” She forced a laugh, but it sounded as strangled as it felt.