Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(91)

Chapter 57


The Villain


Someone was attempting to break in.

Trystan—who had barely found an hour of restful sleep—awoke to rattling. He didn’t wait to investigate. In a true act of finesse, he launched himself off the crooked, uncomfortable excuse for a sofa and threw himself at the bed until he was blocking Sage with his back, frantically scanning his surroundings. Safeguarding her.

In red silk pants.

If this ever got out to the public, he’d have to kick a litter of kittens one by one to recover his reputation. He wondered if kicking Valiant Guards would have the same effect.

His mist surrounded them, eclipsing the quickly rising sunlight beginning to stream into the room, but it was useless. Expletives fell from his lips as a piece of the wall nearest Sage’s bed gave and two figures stumbled in.

Sage jumped out from behind him, dagger slicing through the air like a butcher drunk on mead. “Back up, knaves!” She dove for the shadowed figures, but as Trystan’s eyes adjusted, they widened, and he grabbed a flailing Sage from behind.

“I take it back,” he said incredulously. “You’re not a little tornado; you’re a godsdamned hurricane. Stop stabbing!” he yelled, tugging her back before she could pierce skin. “It’s Tatianna and Clare!”

And Kingsley, who leaped up and held a sign with no words on it, just a poorly depicted skull and crossbones.

“Oh!” Sage said, sounding too joyful for a woman who was on a spearing spree. Her dagger clanged to the ground, and she broke away from Trystan to throw her arms around them both. “I’m so glad to see you!”

Clare gave him a look—one he was sure all little sisters gave their big brothers when they’d caught them in a situation they would be teasing them about later. And possibly until the day they died.

“Are you wearing Trystan’s shirt, Evie, dear?” Tatianna said, scanning the fabric with obvious distaste.

“Are you wearing Tatianna’s lipstick again, Clare?” Trystan asked, his voice hardened and cold.

Clare’s pale cheeks went bright red as she found the nearest mirror and rubbed at her mouth with the back of her hand—the nearest mirror being the one on the ceiling.

Clare halted in her ministrations with a feline smile as she realized what she was looking at. “Did you enjoy your night with The Wicked Woman, Trystan?” Clare asked airily, and Trystan had the childish urge to shove her under his arm and dig his knuckles into her hair.

He was prepared to give sputtered excuses, to fumble and flail to spare himself, but mostly Sage, the embarrassment. Except it seemed his apprentice had skated well past shame, because Sage retrieved her dagger once again, then bumped him out of the way with her shoulder, walking toward the passageway his sister and Tatianna had just stumbled in from.

“He could have.” The look she gave over her shoulder was so chilling, it was like a blade of ice had sliced down his spine. Her attention was off him, but he still felt it. Sage had perfected a phantom glare.

As if he didn’t have enough problems already.

“Well. We did not enjoy the walls in those tunnels nearly closing in on us,” Tatianna said, removing her pink nightrobe and placing it over Sage’s shoulders, tying the sash tight in an act of sisterly affection. “But I suppose it was worth it.”

“To catch us looking guilty?” Sage asked, tugging at the hem of the robe so she wouldn’t step on it.

“Well, that, too.” Tatianna shrugged, pulling something free from the back of her nightdress’s sash. “Ta-da!”

Trystan gaped, staring baldly. “Is that the magic wand?”

Clare nodded, her expression suddenly shuttered, like she’d remembered something terrible. Maybe the fact that Trystan was her brother. “We heard a few guards earlier talking about a set of stairs at the base of the tree. It’s attached to the tree manor. I think it’s best if we make our departure before Fowler gets any more unhinged ideas.”

Trystan tugged on his shoes and took the wand from Tatianna’s outstretched hand, tucking it away into his boot and placing Kingsley atop his shoulder. “Lead the way.”

Together, they moved out of the lovers’ suite, but they halted when they spotted the guard posted just down the hall. Tatianna quickly threw some sort of powder to where the guard stood. They all poked their heads out to watch the man fall until his head cracked against the floor.

Everyone winced, even Trystan.

“Where did you get that?” he asked Tatianna, impressed.

“Lord Fowler’s study had many intriguing items in it,” Tatianna answered cryptically.

“This way,” Clare declared. “It’s off the library.” They made it down the suspiciously quiet corridor before finding a loose panel. Trystan kicked it in to discover a small circular door with rounds and rounds of stairs going down countless floors. Trystan gaped. “That’s too many stairs.”

Sage slapped a palm against her forehead. “You have just as many in the manor!”

“Yes,” Trystan agreed. “But I had the sense to have a magical lift installed.”

An indignant huff escaped Sage’s lips as she began her descent. “You do not have a magical lift.”

“Of course I do. I can’t expect everyone in the office to climb that many flights each day. Stuart in accounting has a bad knee, and Marv has asthma. I’m not nearly that unreasonable—though it’s certainly a goal to aspire to.”