Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(92)

Tatianna pinched his arm, running a finger across her neck, apparently signaling for him to stop, though it was far later than was helpful.

“There’s been a lift this whole time and I didn’t know?” Sage slapped his arm with both hands. “What’s wrong with you! Why didn’t you tell me? Are the stairs some kind of psychological torture?”

Her reaction was odd. He was almost positive he’d told her about the lift on the day of her orientation. He’d showed her the heads first, to get her acclimated, to which she’d just giggled nervously and said something complimentary about his decorating, and then he’d gotten distracted by the way she smiled at him and noticed a beauty mark on her collarbone and—

And that’s it. He hadn’t ever gotten to the lift part. He’d been too distracted by her blasted collarbone freckle.

“I—” He halted, realizing her ire was safer than the truth. “Yes. I thought it would be humorous to not share the information with you. Mwa-ha-ha-ha.” He attempted his most sinister laugh, but that was one facet of villainy he’d never gotten quite right. It came out as stiff as a marionette puppet.

“Oh, Trystan.” Tatianna rubbed a hand against her temple, putting herself between Sage and him before his apprentice could grow violent with her dagger once more.

Step by winding step, they made their way down, and after about an hour, they finally reached the bottom. Shoving aside a large branch, Trystan busted through the opening out into the early dawn air and froze.

For standing on the other side with an insidious smile…

Was Lord Fowler.





Chapter 58


Evie


Evie was still far too frustrated about the lift to care about Lord Fowler. She was tired, she was not wearing any underwear, and worst of all—

She was hungry.

There may be a murder yet. She sent the thought to her dagger. It leaped at her thigh in what Evie interpreted to be excitement, and she cooed at it. “Be calm. You can’t get violent yet,” she whispered and looked up to find everyone watching her with a confounded air.

“Are you speaking to your undergarments, Ms. Sage?”

“Shut it, Fowler,” Trystan seethed.

“No. I’m not wearing any undergarments,” she stated.

“Sage!” Trystan pressed, his dark eyes wild when she caught them.

She held up her hands, genuinely confused. “What? You already knew that!”

“Did he now?” Fowler smirked and looked at Evie a little like he could see right through her thin shirt. She folded her arms over herself just in case, and her boss clocked the motion.

The dark mist shot out and pinned Fowler to the tree, pushing his cheek into the bark.

“Release me, Villain! It was all in good fun!” His voice no longer held that careless edge, dipping into the beginnings of what sounded like panic.

“I think this is fun,” Trystan said dryly, shoving Fowler’s face harder into the tree until Evie thought she heard it scraping skin. She remembered his penchant for beheading and feared where this act of retaliation was descending to.

Oh, the mess.

She grabbed Trystan’s arm without thinking, and he didn’t move. His body was so still, her touch not even enough to cause a jerk. She squeezed as a test, and he froze further, tightening muscles she hadn’t realized existed. “Sir?”

“I’ll kill him, and we’ll all be happily on our way.” Trystan pressed the mist against Fowler’s throat, and he began to choke. “If you’ve objections, do not waste them. I do not care.”

Rude.

She scoffed. “All right, Dramatic One, except I wasn’t going to object. I was just going to urge you not to dawdle. We lost a night’s travel because of this fool, and I would like to find some pants soon.”

His shoulders loosened like an untied knot, his head swinging down until his gaze stopped on her. “Let me get this right. Your only objection to Lord Fowler’s death is that I might loiter?”

Evie released a sigh. “And yet you’re already doing it.” She made her way to a nearby stump and sat atop it, combing her fingers through her tangled curls. “Let me know when you’re done.”

Fowler was half gagging, half laughing, eyes sparkling with intrigue. “Oh, she’s brutal, isn’t she?” he managed to choke out.

“You kidnapped us!” Evie argued. “And I’m brutal?”

“Now, Sage, it was for a party. Fowler was trying to show us a happy evening,” Trystan said solemnly in rebuke. But the subtle shift of his mouth, the tiniest movement upward, nearly undetectable, told Evie that he was getting back at her.

How exciting!

“Then I suppose you should spare him after all.” She folded her arms and smirked. Got you.

“As the lady wishes,” he whispered roughly.

Oops. He got me.

But The Villain didn’t hesitate as he dropped Lord Fowler to the hard earth. His magic—for once cooperating—returned to him, leaving Fowler a coughing mess. Kingsley and his re-chained foot dragged over as he held up a sign that read: Choke.

“Charming, little frog,” Fowler said, climbing to his feet and brushing his hands down his trousers, which were now caked in dirt. As Evie suspected, the entirety of his right cheek was scratched from the bark, blood dripping from deeper cuts. “I merely came to ensure that you were given your horses back.” Fowler gestured to their four horses waiting at the tree line. “And, of course, to refresh your food and water stores. And to tell you the magic wand’s caveat.”