“Yes.” The memories of her father’s gentle smiles would be tarnished forever by the one pulling at his mouth now, what it meant. “And now you will help me get the mated guvres back for the king.”
“What does he need them for?” Evie narrowed her eyes, noting her father’s face growing pale, a sheen of sweat building on his forehead.
“The greater good.”
With a small smile of resolve, Evie dug deep inside herself with the last of her strength. “I don’t want to be good.” The last word was spoken with a malevolence Evie hadn’t been certain she possessed. But hearing it now—it felt pleasant.
More, it felt right.
Griffin Sage limped toward her, gripping her shoulders, painful, bruising. But Evie didn’t move—she just stayed there, staring at a man she’d once trusted, believed in. Who she always thought believed in her. She wondered if she’d ever adjust to this new reality. One in which the man who’d told her stories of made-up heroes named East Marigold, who’d checked under her bed for monsters, threw her love and loyalty away like garbage.
“You don’t even care that you ruined your life.” His voice cracked, and she realized her father looked genuinely devastated.
“No, I didn’t,” Evie whispered, finding pity for this broken man. “If anyone ruined anything”—she leaned closer to him—“it would be you.”
His grip on her shoulders loosened, eyes going unfocused.
“I wanted to be wrong.” She swallowed a lump as he released her and stumbled into his desk, knocking things to the ground. “But I knew I wasn’t the moment I heard that name.”
His chest started moving up and down at a rapid pace, and he was opening his mouth but holding his throat. Like his words were trapped.
“I didn’t notice the ink, or the invitation to see the core healer in my room, or the notebook you gifted me my first week.” Her voice cracked, and she turned away to wipe her eyes. “But when I heard the name of a story you made up as one of Clare’s clients, I knew it was you.”
Her father collapsed then, staring up at the ceiling, eyes glazed over in shock. She kneeled beside him, taking his limp hand in hers. “That pain medication I gave you earlier, the one Tatianna made. It didn’t taste different because it was the new one she’d made—it tasted different because it was a slow-acting sedative.” Her voice sounded like honey, dripping, sickly sweet.
Her father rasped out just one word. “You.”
“Yes, I knew. I knew before I even walked in the door.” She shook her head. “I’d hoped that I was wrong.”
Evie shook as her father reached out a helpless hand for her.
“But I wasn’t, Papa.” She swiped at the unwanted tear on her cheek, her face remaining unmoved. “There is no room in my world for someone who hurt me the way you did. You do not belong walking on the ground I walk or breathing the air I breathe. You don’t get to move on or be redeemed. Your story is finished. Whatever happens to you now is of no concern to me.”
She sounded stronger than she felt as she watched her father open his mouth one final time. “He’s…a…monster,” he rasped out.
She knew who he meant.
Evie let go of his hand and placed hers on his cheek. “We’re all monsters in the end. At least mine lives in the light.”
And then her father, the traitor, closed his eyes.
Chapter 55
The Villain
Trystan was soaked to the bone.
He rode furiously through the woods, jumping streams and boulders, barely able to see under the downpour of rain. The familiar fork in the road appeared, and he was relieved to see the lit cottage, light coming softly from each corner. Nothing bad could possibly happen in a home that looked so inviting.
By the gods, will he kill her?
He wouldn’t; he couldn’t. But the man had literally planted a bomb, knowing it could easily destroy her. With that thought burned in his mind, The Villain leaped from his horse, tucking it quickly underneath the pavilion at the bottom of the drive and then kicking the front door open.
“Evie!” he called, realizing that if there were any secrets left in this house, he was about to uncover them inch by terrible inch. But there was no answer, just a small-sounding sob coming from the hall. Trystan raced in that direction, halting hard when he saw who sat there.
Lyssa Sage was short, with hair that stuck out in every direction. He was sure there was no one on earth he had less in common with, but she looked up at him like she trusted him when she cried, “Mr. Maverine, I think my papa is hurting my sister.”