Assistant to the Villain (Assistant to the Villain, #1) (107)

“Funny,” The Villain said dryly, reaching a hand out for the message, then quickly sliding the envelope open and scanning the page. The words etched there froze every muscle in his body.

“What?” Clare pressed. “What did they find?”

“Clare…” He trailed off, confusion numbing him. “The knight who bought the blue ink, who bought the timepiece from Malcolm…”

“Yes?” Clare said, sounding nervous. The rest of the room stood at attention, Marvin included.

“He’s dead.”

“What?” Clare staggered, pulling a hand through her short, dark locks, perhaps even pulling out a chunk. “So someone got to him first?”

“No, you don’t understand,” The Villain said. “The knight, Lark Moray, perished a day after purchasing your ink. He couldn’t have been the one to get the clock from Malcolm. He was already gone at that point.”

Trystan felt like he was outside his body, like he had separated from himself while his mind filed through what this meant. “We’ve been following the wrong trail this whole time.”

“It wasn’t him, then, who set the bomb,” Clare said incredulously. “But then—” Clare threw her hands over her mouth in shock. “East Marigold.”

“Who?” The Villain pressed.

“He always asked so many questions about me, about my family. He was so kind, though, I never thought.” Clare’s eyes watered.

“I don’t understand,” Blade cut in. “So it’s a different man? What’s the big deal?”

“There’s more, isn’t there?” The Villain pressed further, feeling like a disaster was looming right over them.

“Y-Yes.” Clare stiffened her lip, looking haunted. “The man who comes to see me, he uses a fake name. I mean, we all knew East Marigold had to be an alias. It’s ridiculous. But he came drunk just the other night and accidentally gave me the real one. After he left, I checked the town registry to be sure he wasn’t some sort of criminal, and it was there.”

The room was so quiet, a strand of hair could fall from his head and they’d all hear it brush against the stone. “And…” Trystan didn’t recognize his voice; it was higher pitched than he thought possible.

“I…I.” Clare looked at him, visibly holding herself to keep from shaking. “I didn’t think it mattered, I swear!”

“Spit it out, Clare!” Tatianna said, exasperated.

“His name was Griffin Sage,” she said finally.

Sage.

No.

But there was Kingsley at his feet, holding a sign: Father.

And suddenly it whooshed through him like a wave. The horror.

Tatianna finished his thought for him. “That’s… By the gods, that’s Evie’s father.”

“Oh my—” Rebecka’s head whipped up from her desk. “Her notebook.” She stood and stalked over to Evie’s desk. “Where is it?” She ducked down, digging through her drawers.

“She always takes her notebook home,” Tatianna said, confused.

Becky pulled an ink vial out with a determined strike, nearly shattering it. “Evie and I were having one of our…friendly chats. I may have said something about her ordering subpar office supplies, and she bragged about her father gifting her this special ink.”

The vial was a vibrant purple, almost artificially so.

“When was that, Rebecka?” The Villain stalked over, grabbing the vial out of her hands and passing it to Clare.

“About a week after she started working here, sir.”

“When the ink was purchased,” Clare confirmed, hand once again wrapped around her mouth, eyes wide with surprise. She turned the bottle over and nodded, tears watering her eyes. “This ink has been dyed. Someone mixed a few drops of red ink in here to make it look purple, but it’s blue and contains all the magical properties.”

Becky nodded, looking right at Trystan. Her hazel eyes were serious and resigned. “Whatever Evie wrote in her book, her father was able to see it. Our plans, our safe houses, even how to get in and out of the manor undetected. She was always writing everything down.”

“Her father tricked her,” Trystan said, his voice devoid of all life, though in his heart, a tiny flicker of hope that Evie had been unaware of her father’s machinations started to grow. “He knew she worked here all along, and he used her.”

Since The Villain had met Evie, he had felt himself changing in new ways, perhaps even better ones. But now he didn’t feel better. He felt destructive.

“Let’s calm down,” Clare said, putting a hand on his tensed arm. “He’s her father, Trystan. Perhaps there’s another explanation.”

“He put a bomb in my desk.” He attempted to keep his words level, but the last three came out in a roar. “He nearly killed her— He would have killed her.”

And now she was there, alone with him.

“Fuck,” The Villain growled, breaking for the stairs just as thunder roared to life outside. He halted in his tracks for a moment, listening to the rain whip against the window. “One of you go make sure this isn’t because a guvre once again found themselves outside of their cage. Tatianna, you’re with me.”