Assistant to the Villain (Assistant to the Villain, #1) (102)

His eyes softened when he saw her, relief searing through his blood that she was in one piece. But she was lying on the ground, on her side, her sweet eyes looking to him, pleading.

When another wave of screams came out of her mouth, he squared his shoulders, sending out his power to find who was harming her—and preparing to slice their flesh from their bones.

The gray mist of his magic pulsed, but instead of twirling around Tatianna and Clare, it swirled around Sage. Her eyes were closed now, her delicate hands pressed tightly to the ground, and her whole body was alight in colorful agony. Trystan didn’t hesitate. He raced toward her, sliding onto his knees and cradling her head in his arms. Her fists came up, gripping his shirt, tears falling from her eyes.

His gaze never left her face as he bit out, “Tatianna, whatever you’re doing to her. STOP.” The graveled boom of his voice sent her scrambling, and she slammed the box she was holding shut, latching it quickly and putting it aside.

In an instant, Sage was limp in his arms, her grip softening a sigh easing from her lips.

“Little tornado?” he asked, desperately trying to keep the worry from his voice.

“Present,” she mumbled into his chest, making it constrict. She was okay. Hoisting her up gently in his arms, he carried her over to the examination table before turning toward the guilty-looking women on the other side of the room.

“I will give you both the courtesy of ten seconds to explain yourselves before I rip out your throats,” The Villain said, pure rage laced through every word.

“Don’t do that, please,” Evie muttered weakly beside him. “I’m already nauseous.”

There was a short, silent pause before The Villain rephrased his words. “Fine. You both have ten seconds to explain now, and later, I will rip out your throats.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, Tryst.” Clare had the gall to sound irritated, and Trystan wanted to wring her neck. “We were helping her.”

“By torturing her?” he said darkly, looking to Sage, whose breathing was shallow. Her normally vibrant skin was pale, sweat beaded at her forehead, and her face was streaked with tears.

But Sage’s small voice cut through the volatile tension in the air. “They’re telling the truth.” They all turned to look at her as she sat up slowly. Trystan reached out a hand to steady her, and she smiled at him gratefully. His face heated.

“The dagger is in the box.” She nodded toward the box on the table. It was made of simple wood, no longer than his forearm.

“I don’t understand.” He shook his head.

“Well, if you would stop nearly breaking your neck jumping to conclusions, I could tell you.” Clare rolled her eyes and cocked a hip. “The dagger is imbued with a rare kind of binding magic. It absorbed her blood when it cut her. That’s why it hurts whenever she’s near it.”

“And?” Trystan asked, feeling his pulse rising again.

“Clare said the only way to break the bind was to expose myself to the pain until it didn’t hurt anymore,” Sage said, still sounding weak. He felt ill.

“So, you…you wanted them to do this?” He furrowed his brow, head reeling.

Sage flexed her hands after squeezing them. “I wanted to be free of it, the pain.”

His lips parted as he looked at her, unable to keep the fear from his gaze. “That’s very brave,” he said hoarsely.

Clare and Tatianna eyed them both, but when their gazes turned toward each other, they both swiftly looked away. Still both stubborn as ever.

Clearing her throat, Clare spoke again. “Tatianna allowed me to look at the blade this morning because the steel was made with ink much like mine,” Clare said, not looking at Tatianna at all. “The blade is almost sentient because of it, and when it gets a lick of your blood, it steals some of your essence.”

Trystan nodded; he’d heard of it before. “It’s not uncommon. Warriors in battle can greatly benefit from having a blade that is connected to them, like it’s an extension of their very being.” He smiled to himself.

“Warrior” seemed an apt description for the small woman in front of him already moving to stand.

“I want to keep going,” Sage said, color returning to her cheeks. “Clare says there’s something about this magic—something dangerous and unpredictable. I prefer not to have wild magic embedded in my shoulder, waiting to take me out like a ticking time bomb.” She paused and added, “I’ve had enough of those.”

Trystan wanted to tell her no, wanted to insist that she not proceed. But what if his sister was right? What if the magic of the wound could harm her without warning? “If that is your wish, then I’m sure Tatianna and my sister wouldn’t mind working together to help you.”

He looked pointedly at them both, and each gazed at the other before eventually nodding at him.

“Of course,” Tatianna said.

“Happy to assist.” Clare nodded demurely.

The list.

“Tatianna, where were you the night the guvre escaped?”

The healer widened her eyes before taking a step back, looking at him, and proceeding to howl with laughter. “Did you think it was me? The spy!”

Clare chuckled, too, and Evie put a hand over her mouth.

These women were taking years off his life. “You laugh, but you are the final person I couldn’t rule out as a suspect.”