Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(57)

Evie appeared unable to argue, her lip twitching as she said gravely, “It’s true. I am flattered you think I have any idea what I’m doing, but truly, I hardly ever know what is going to come out of my mouth. Which has gotten me into as many bad situations as it has good ones.”

Tatianna gave Evie a pointed look.

Evie admitted, “Mostly bad ones.”

“The point is, Rebecka, flirting is just a way to play and indicate your interest. There’s no right or wrong way to do that if the other person understands the language you’re speaking.”

Becky sulked, releasing Tatianna’s hand to push one of her hairpins deeper into her bun. “We’re always speaking the same language.”

“She means metaphorically, dear.” Evie squeezed her other hand, refusing to let go. “I would wager a guess that your direct manner of address is one of Blade’s favorite things about you. You don’t have to mold the way you speak to fit someone else’s ideal. Blade will like you as you are, and if he doesn’t, he is the worst kind of fool.”

A warm comfort made all her limbs feel languid, her body relaxing after releasing a tension that she may have been holding on to for years. A clear explanation for the headaches and the irritability.

“It’s strange. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken this candidly with anyone. I adore my brothers, and we have our own sort of bond.” She looked back and forth between the women on either side of her. “But this is different, with women, I think. I never had sisters.”

Tatianna leaned her head on Becky’s shoulder, and then Evie did the same. They sat there in silence for a few more moments, taking in a level of safety that only other women could give.

“You do now,” Evie said.

Becky’s heart felt like it was much too big for her chest.

But that contentment died when Becky realized that now that she had something worth holding on to…

Something—or someone—could take it all away.





Chapter 37


The Villain


“This way. Watch the branches,” Trystan ordered as they squeezed their mounts through another tight cluster of large trees. The group of women behind him groaned their discomfort, and Trystan had to force his head forward to keep from turning around to check on Sage.

Something had upset her. Something she would not confide in him. How many times had he wished her to share less? How many times had he found himself praying for her to cease her ramblings? Clearly whatever god had heard him decided lying in prayer was grounds for punishment. The punishment of giving him exactly what he’d asked for.

Sage’s silence.

She hadn’t spoken once in all the hours they’d spent on horseback. They didn’t need the fading magic to tell them that the kingdom was in grave danger—her lack of babbling was signal enough.

He warily tested the waters. “I’ve done a decent amount of business with Lord Fowler over the years. He’s the only noble I know who gets his kicks from defying the crown. And he has a hankering for collecting magical objects. He told me of a magical wand in his possession, invited me to come see it a few times. I denied him, of course. I don’t do social calls. Hopefully the offer still stands.”

He waited for Sage to ask more, expected her to. But there were crickets behind him making noise—and no one else.

“It’s getting dark,” Clare added, rolling her eyes at the two of them, riding closer to Trystan. “We should find somewhere to camp for the night.”

“No. I said no stopping. It’s too dangerous. We must ride through,” Trystan ordered with as much authority as he could salvage.

The first to defy him was naturally the fucking frog. Kingsley leaped out of his pack and atop the horse’s head. Trystan’s horse didn’t react, used to Kingsley’s light weight. Trystan soundlessly handed him a sign from his pocket, and Kingsley jotted down a word. A long one.

Exhausted.

“Who wouldn’t be exhausted after riding with the blankets all day? However will you go on, martyr?” Trystan barked at Kingsley, who rolled his gold eyes and jumped to join Clare. Her horse startled, whinnying, and raised up on her hind legs.

“Whoa!” Clare said, urging the mare forward until her hooves met the ground once more.

Tatianna had surged forward to grip the reins. “Are you all right?” Tatianna turned and glared at him. “Could you keep your temper in check for more than five minutes?”

“No, my cutoff is four,” he said dryly.

Tatianna gave him a pointed look. “We’re all tired, Trystan. Let’s stop here. One of us can keep watch, and the others can sleep.”

“I said we are not stopping until we get there. Not under any circumstances,” he said firmly, angling his head back to say the same to Sage. But she was hardly paying attention to them, too busy rubbing at her eyes and yawning into her hand, her entire face scrunching to accommodate it. A fist clenched his small, shriveled heart, followed by a pang.

She blinked slowly at him, as if her eyelids required effort to keep open. “Wha—” Another yawn cut off her speech.

Fucking deadlands.

“We’re stopping,” he ordered, dismounting his horse, and caught Sage about the waist before she fell over the edge of her saddle. She placed a hand against his shoulder, and it burned where she touched, causing an odd tingle in his bottom lip.