Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(33)

Very well. Let it terrify them as much as it used to him.

“You may remain loyal to your father; that is a choice. But know that with that choice, you do not die—”

Sage interrupted, sounding confused. “Um, he doesn’t?”

“No. If he stays loyal, we keep him alive and we be sure to visit. Every day.” Trystan’s eyes hardened, and Sage’s lit up when she realized.

“Oh, you mean we torture him every day if he doesn’t confess!” She looked pleased to have deciphered it, her curls bouncing as she nodded. Her green summer dress was a hard contrast to the dark room and even darker conversation.

“Precisely, Sage,” he affirmed, forcing his eyes away from her exposed collarbones with a hard clearing of his throat. “Imagine, Mr. Warsen. Living your life each day in the darkness. No doors to go through, no windows to see the sun.”

Sage gasped, jumping and gripping Trystan’s arm so hard his magic flared and smacked Calvin in the face. “Oh, now I remember!” she cried, smiling so wide he nearly returned it with one of his own.

Instead, he stared at her like her head had fallen off—likely the only thing he and Calvin Warsen would ever have in common.

Calvin stared at her, too, half disgusted, half wary. “Is she on something? What’s wrong with her?”

“Watch it,” Trystan warned, pressing against his broken ankle before turning to Sage. Calvin’s scream drowned out his hushed whisper. “What’s wrong with you?”

“He was messing with the window! In the kitchen! When I came in, he was doing something to the window.”

The kitchen window? It was the only one Trystan had never touched or rearranged into a villainous depiction. The window with the sun shining down on a—

“That’s it. Well done, Sage.” He couldn’t hide how absurdly pleased with her he was. Not when she was beaming like the light reflecting after rainfall.

“I couldn’t remember at first because of the concussion,” she said too casually, knocking on her head like it was a door. “Guess it was locked up in there somewhere.” She laughed, but Trystan didn’t find anything about her head being injured amusing.

He sniffed and grabbed the knee splitter—a gleaming metal clamp with a top covered in spikes facing rows of parallel spikes on the bottom—and shoved it over Calvin’s legs so his knees were wedged between.

Then he flicked the switch. The two spiked ends began to close in slowly, and Sage—gods help him—looked at the machine with more curiosity than disgust. “Oh, is that going to… Oh, ew.”

He spun her around and nudged her toward the door as Calvin began to thrash in panic. “Yes, ew. Now, let’s go. The sound of kneecaps cracking is a bit grotesque even for my taste. We’ll see you again soon, Calvin. Have a pleasant break.”

“Do what you will, but I will die with what I know before I ever tell you! The satisfaction when you realize the truth will be enough to sustain me—and I suspect it will sustain my accomplice, too.” Calvin grinned, and the machine made its final descent just as Trystan bolted the door shut.

Sage stood there staring at it, her red lips parted as she pressed her ear against the wood. “Either he’s a very quiet screamer or this door works splendidly.”

He waited for her to cry or panic or flee, as he’d wanted to the first time he did something like this. But she did no such thing.

Merely looked up at him with a grateful sheen in her eyes. “Thank you for including me. I know you probably didn’t want to.”

He pulled at his collar, discomfited by her gratitude, hating himself for allowing it to make him feel weightless when he should’ve felt fearful of corrupting her further. Instead, he felt so light his bloody head was going to knock against the ceiling. “You had a right to be there. You’re my apprentice, after all, and he had wronged you.” And he seems to continue to do so. “Now, come.”

“Come where?” Sage asked, tripping to keep up. “Your lack of direction is giving me whiplash.”

Trystan quirked a grin at her.

“To find Rennedawn’s storybook.”





Chapter 19


Evie


The back courtyard was quiet, save for the occasional whimper coming from the grate that led down to the male guvre’s enclosure. Evie tried not to fixate on it or the way it caused a twisting in her gut as she and The Villain exited the manor into the night. The stars were shining, with only the small hint of a breeze, and the smell of burning logs drifted from the manor’s many chimneys. Torches lit outside saved them from the shadows.

The stained glass pieces clanged in Evie’s skirt pocket. She took the pouch out as she slowly came to her knees, laying them gently before her.

A loud, nasal snore caused her to drop one, nearly slicing her hand when she dove to catch it. “Aw. Fluffy is sick.” The dragon slept on his back under one of the awnings, all four of his purple feet stuck up in the air. He reminded Evie of a stray cat in her village, except bigger…and scalier.

The Villain harrumphed, placing the pieces he’d been carrying beside hers. “He always does that.”

Evie frowned. “Perhaps we should send for a veterinarian.”

“I’ll consult Blade in the morning,” her boss offered, scratching at the stubble he clearly hadn’t had time to groom. “Let’s just attempt to put this back together without waking him up.”