“Me?” Blade ducked as the pillow sang by and laughed. “I couldn’t pull that off if I tried.”
“But you are carrying around a gigantic lie!” Evie pressed.
“It’s not gigantic—it’s a tiny lie. More like an embellishment of the truth. I never actually told the boss where I got the egg, and he didn’t ask, so I think it’s for the best we just keep this between us, please, Evie.”
She took a deep breath and considered her options. “I believe you,” she said. “I do. But we can’t keep this from the boss, Blade. You’ll only look guiltier if he finds out on his own, and he will find out.”
Blade sighed and gripped the knit dragon a bit closer. “I know, I know. Can you give me a little time to do it? And maybe soften him up some before I do?”
Evie tucked the employee letter into the pocket of her light-green dress. She believed Blade wasn’t the traitor, but she wouldn’t take any chances by leaving the slip of paper with him. “I don’t have the capability to soften The Villain, Blade. Tell him and do it soon, or I will.”
Evie walked toward the door, making her way down the spiral stairs once more, but she heard Blade mumble under his breath before she left. She couldn’t make out the words exactly, but it sounded like he said, “You have no idea, do you?”
Her stomach twisted as she wondered if continuing to trust her friends would be the thing that doomed them all.
Chapter 17
Evie
“No.”
The Villain sighed, and Evie felt a soft pang of sympathy at the exhaustion in his expression. “Tatianna, I won’t be asking again. Put your childish vendetta aside and get in there to talk to Clarissa.”
The three of them stood in a field of plush grass and an array of brightly colored flowers, far from the manor.
The sun shone above them, bringing a warmth to the air that made Evie want to curl into the grass and soak it in like a flower.
“You’re one to talk about childish vendettas, Villain.”
Tatianna emphasized the word like something she’d choked on, the bright yellow beads through her braids catching the light. Evie stood back and watched the two pretty people about to kill each other with unnecessary amusement.
“Will one of you be so kind as to tell me who Clarissa actually is?” Evie interjected, watching both their heads whip toward her, their eyes sharp and blazing. She took a step backward.
She’d done her best to put her confrontation with Blade from her mind. Blade would tell the boss eventually, and when that time came, she would stand as a roadblock between them so the boss didn’t murder Blade where he stood. But that was a problem for another time.
After Evie had returned to her desk that morning, she’d had enough time to sort through the documents the pixies rearranged every couple of days. Until her boss had approached her desk with the request for her company to Rosewood Meadow, the side of Hickory Forest where the most magical and healing plants grew. It was theorized that one of the gods, Ashier, had accidentally spilled a large amount of magical pigment there when he and the rest of the gods and goddesses were painting their lands. Rosewood Meadow was charged with that magic and startlingly vibrant colors.
Despite what she knew of its splendor, Evie had wanted to decline the invitation. Staying in the office was the only way she could catch wind of anything from the other workers. But when Evie had looked at her boss, she swore she saw a flash of vulnerability in his request. So she agreed, embarrassingly quick.
Evie was surprised when they’d left the manor and found Tatianna leaning against a nearby tree, looking like she would rather be ripping her eyelashes out one by one than be a part of this little excursion.
They’d all walked for more than an hour in dead silence, which for Evie was the greatest type of torture. She wanted to ask so many questions, but the air was charged with something she had no wish to ignite. Every time a word formed, she bit her tongue hard.
“Clarissa is the only person in the Kingdom of Rennedawn who sells the sort of ink Malcolm saw,” The Villain said, taking a purposeful step toward the healer, hands braced on his hips.
Evie peeked around his shoulder to look at the small hut beyond, which was charming in an odd sort of way. The chipped top of the roof was taken over by vines covered in mushrooms that hung down over a light wooden door, yellow daisies painted on the front. It was just the sort of way Evie would decorate a home she had all to herself.
As she pulled back and looked up at The Villain, the question fell from her lips like drops from a fountain. “Is the ink maker a forest sprite?” She was only half joking; they were known to frequent this part of the wood.