Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(59)

Kingsley hopped onto her chest, and that hope met a swift end. There was no good dream that existed where Alexander was still trapped in the body of an animal. Memories from before everything went dark came in pieces.

The poisoned darts. Tati. Trystan. Then Evie. Then…well, herself, obviously, but she hadn’t been conscious for that. Standing slowly, she stumbled, lightheaded, her vision disoriented as she took a few steps forward. “Tatianna? Trystan?” she called to the empty room. “Hello?”

No answer.

A hand closed over hers, and Clare squealed in the same manner as when Malcolm put a slug on her shoulder at her thirteenth birthday party.

Tatianna stood behind her, a finger to her lips, chastising Clare with only her eyes. Her ponytail had come loose in a fall of dark braids. It was a bad time to yearn, but Clare simply couldn’t help it when presented with near-obnoxious levels of beauty.

Clare followed Tatianna’s gaze and the tilt of her head to the other side of the room. A large patio door stood there—open.

Alexander leaped in front of them. With no signs available to him, he was forced to communicate with his eyes, too, drawing a webbed foot across his small green throat. “We’ll discuss this after we get out of here, Alexander,” Clare whispered, scooping the flailing frog up as she and Tatianna quickly slipped out the balcony doors and onto the terrace.

“Where are Evie and Trystan?” Tatianna asked as the wind brushed back her bows and knocked the pins from Clare’s hair.

“I have no idea. We need to send for the Malevolent Guards. The caller rubies were in the saddlebags.” Clare had never used the rubies or other caller gems to communicate with anyone, but they did make things convenient and helpful—both things she was endeavoring to be to her brother as of late.

It was funny how she’d spent her entire life building her scruples brick by brick, viewing the people she loved in black and white boxes, only to realize the world wasn’t just gray. It was a mess.

Tatianna stopped at the far end of the balcony, gripping the side of the railing and peeking out over the edge. “I don’t think we’ll be able to get to the saddlebags.” She backed up a few steps, and Clare gripped the railing to peek over next.

They were high up. So high that the only thing she could see below was darkness. No solid ground despite the lit lanterns lining the side wall. “Gods, how far down do you think it is?”

Tatianna picked up a stone from one of the potted plants and tossed it over the edge. They listened, and listened, and listened. After far too many seconds had passed, they finally heard it touch solid ground.

Clang.

“Okay, so we’re not jumping,” Clare said, and Kingsley finally ceased wriggling in her arms.

“Only if you grow a steady pair of wings first,” a weathered voice said from behind them.

They both spun, Clare stepping in front of Tatianna to shield her. “Stay back!” she ordered.

An old man stood there. His gray hair was swept off his forehead, his clothes so extravagant he looked to be dripping in gold. “If you would please come back inside, my lord will see you both as soon as possible. He had the guards deposit you in the library, as he felt that would be far more entertaining for you both than trapping you in the cells belowground.”

All the two women did was stare, and the old man laughed in a hearty sort of way.

“Or we can take you to a cell if you’d prefer!” he offered, seeming far too sincere.

“We’d prefer to be let go, and we’d prefer you do the same for Tryst—” Tatianna clamped her lips shut, correcting her speech in a probable attempt to protect them. “For our companions. Where are they?”

The odd gentleman was languid as he gestured upward. “I’m afraid they aren’t available. They are currently taking some air.”

Clare felt a lump form in her throat, her words getting caught on it as she choked out, “Is ‘taking some air’ code for ‘we’ve killed them and stashed the bodies’?”

The man waved his hand good-naturedly. “Oh, no, child, worry not!”

Tatianna sagged next to her, a relieved sigh coming out of her mouth.

The man continued. “We make it a point to never stash bodies. We usually pin them up!”

“Oh my gods.” Clare felt sick.

The man finished. “Oh!” He snapped his fingers. “And we haven’t killed them! Yet, that is.”

Clare picked up a rock to throw it at him, but Tatianna grabbed her arm, squinting at the symbol on the door: a phoenix. “Wait. Is this…”

Clare was frantic. “What? Is this what?”

A wave of emotion passed over Tatianna’s features—first speculation, then suspicion, realization, and finally, relieved annoyance. Clare was exhausted just from looking at her.

“Are we at Lord Fowler’s residence?” she asked.

A gust of wind knocked them all off balance as a large basket soared overhead, and a wild-eyed gentleman with a thick mustache and curly black hair waved at them. “We’ll be right down! You two make yourselves at home!”

Clare and Tatianna sprinted for the edge to watch the basket sail into the open air. A large balloon was carrying it up and over them, above the roof, over the tree that Clare could now see held the house aloft.

Tatianna turned around and addressed the butler. “We?”