Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(62)

Fowler grinned, his stupid pompous mustache making him look like an insolent king who was playing with them like pawns on a chessboard. “He’s seen me do it before, Ms. Sage.”

Sage shoved out of Trystan’s arms, and his hands twitched at his sides from the loss of sensation. “You knew he’d do that?”

Yes, he had, and he was seconds from throwing Fowler over a second time.

“I’d hoped Lord Fowler would have the courtesy to fall to his death.” Trystan glared at his associate.

Fowler winked, and it was so irksome Trystan’s eye twitched. “Perhaps next time, Villain. For now, I am so pleased to introduce you to my new and improved flying balloon!”

Sage followed the motion of his hand up and scrunched her eyes suspiciously. “Why in the deadlands would you need a flying balloon when your magic seems to do that for you?”

Fowler put a palm to his chest before looking dramatically off into the distance. “There is nothing like flying. Soaring through the air without a care in the world. The first time I did it as a boy, when my magic awoke, I couldn’t believe that others would never feel such a sensation.” He tugged on the handle, abruptly pulling them up at a rate that knocked Sage back into Trystan’s arms.

Fowler was safe—for now.

“I’ve dedicated my life to inventing things that could give others the exhilaration I have been blessed with by the gods.”

What a load of—

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Sage said, breathless, folding her hands underneath her chin.

Never mind, the fucker is dead.

“No. It’s not. It’s a ploy and a waste of resources from this privileged fool.”

Sage turned and glared at him. “Not everyone has such deep levels of cynicism.”

Trystan waved an arm toward the madman. “He drugged us, if you recall! And then brought us up here for gods know what reason. Where is my sister? And Tatianna? Kingsley?”

Fowler shrugged. “I figured if we were at a great height, you were less likely to use your frightening invisible magic on me while I ask for a favor. Although, from what my guards tell me, it’s not so invisible anymore.”

“The answer is no.”

The lord’s mustache twitched. “I haven’t even asked the favor yet.”

“Doesn’t matter. The answer is still no.”

Fowler frowned. “I’m afraid I cannot gift you the wand in my collection without a little something for myself in return.”

“What favor, Lord Fowler?” Sage inquired, ignoring Trystan completely.

He’d asked for this, had promoted her, given her agency, and in truth he was damn proud of her for using it. He had no right to be angry with her for going against him. He’d practically handed her a dagger and asked her to stab him in the back with it.

Lord Fowler turned his attention on Sage. “I have been doing business with The Villain for a considerable number of years, and in all that time, I’ve never managed to get him to one of my dinner parties.”

Sage patted the lord’s arm sympathetically, and Trystan felt gleeful at the image of bending Fowler’s elbow back until the bone snapped. “How disappointing, and what terrible business practice. On behalf of The Villain’s offices, how can I make amends?”

Trystan groaned. “Sage, do not—”

“I’m so glad you asked, Ms. Sage! When my guards spotted you all in the area, they were kind enough to bring you in just in time for my dinner party that begins in…” Fowler checked his timepiece. “Gods, only an hour! I must dress and prepare!” A few tugs of the ropes, and the balloon was making a quick descent back toward a large house sitting against an even larger tree.

They landed on a balcony, and Sage leaped out, running toward a woman emerging from the doors. “Tatianna!” Sage threw her arms around the healer, and Tatianna returned the gesture.

“Thank the gods you’re both okay,” Tatianna said, placing a hand on Evie’s cheek. Clare came out after, walking tentatively toward Trystan, vying for a friendly greeting, something the siblings were unaccustomed to.

“Are you all right?” Clare asked, reaching out to lightly pat his hand. It was stiff and awkward, but it was the most contact his sister had initiated in years. Gods, no wonder Trystan saw no sense in physical touches to display affection. He and his whole family were abysmal at it.

“I’m fine.” He nodded at her and reached over, patting her hand back just as stiffly and just as awkwardly.

“Okay, enough. This is painful to watch.” Tatianna stepped between them and examined Trystan for injury. “Good?” she asked him.

“Good,” he answered.

His magic was quieter; though he could still feel the stirrings of it underneath his skin, it felt like a kite whose strings had slipped away from his fingers. He could feel it floating within, but it was just out of reach.

Fowler’s treehouse was messing with it, or the proximity to Sage, or the godsforsaken curse it had apparently been under for the last decade. Take your pick. They all make me want to yell until my lungs stop working.

That feeling wasn’t improved when Lord Fowler called to them like they were all dear friends who’d arrived there of their own free will. “Now, everyone! We have only an hour until the dinner party, and I’ve taken the liberty of having outfits prepared for all of you!” Fowler smiled, clapping Trystan on the shoulder. “It’s themed, you see.”