Evie’s father had always told her she had a gift for keeping people together, had encouraged her to use that gift at every turn. He’d relied on Evie heavily after her mother had Lyssa and her magic arrived. When Nura Sage had fallen into such despair, it was Evie’s job to get her out of bed, to fix it. With no help from her father or even her brother, Gideon.
Evie had thought The Villain valued her. Found her useful, too. Appreciated her help.
But look at how her family had crumbled, how it had broken, how she’d failed. Maybe The Villain had simply taken pity on her, taken her in when no one else had wanted her. She was the one who’d mentioned needing employment the first time they’d met…
Evie reeled back and put a hand over her mouth as anger, helplessness, and shame made everything start to blur around her. The Villain seemed to flinch. Even Becky stilled as Evie pulled in several large gulps of air.
But The Villain recovered whatever imbalance he had suffered, and his eyebrows slashed downward as he demanded again, “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” He gripped the letter so tightly in his fist that it began to crumple, and Evie could no longer stand there and listen to another harsh word.
She held his gaze, her stomach twisting. Shaking her head, she pushed her way past him to get to her desk as fast as she could. Becky at least had the good grace to look a little apologetic as Evie stormed past.
“Where in the deadlands are you going, Sage?” her boss called after her.
“I’m going home!” she tossed back, not bothering to slow her step.
The bustle around them went deadly silent as she marched out of her boss’s office, the man following close behind.
“In the middle of a workday?” he asked furiously.
“It’s not a workday for me,” she choked out as an awful bitterness closed her throat.
“Oh no?” he asked incredulously.
“No,” she managed, poison coating her words, her heart.
“How do you figure that? When every other employee is doing as they’re told.” He was almost in front of her again, but she held up a palm, stopping him in his tracks.
And then she said words that felt like they sucked the very air from the room. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not an employee anymore.” Tears burned the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away, keeping her expression neutral.
“What did you say?” His voice was low and distant.
“I quit.”
She yanked open her desk drawer and grabbed her knapsack, throwing the strap over her shoulder as she strode to the cloak rack and grabbed hers. She swallowed back a sob, her chin high as she reached the doorway—and then she took off.
Flying down the stairs, leaving nothing but pain in her wake, Evie prayed to be swallowed into the earth and perhaps reborn as a tree, where the only thing she would be expected to do was grow.
She tied her cloak about her shoulders, replaying every moment in her mind as she always did. Analyzing every move, every word said. Over and over, until she wanted to find her reflection somewhere and smash it just to watch herself break.
Tears were flowing freely now, and she used the back of her hand and swiped it against her face. Striding past the gate, she kept walking until she began to run again. Her lungs burned in her chest, and she felt the tears begin to mingle with the sweat dripping from her forehead, but she didn’t care, wanting to feel the weight of her own actions.
Holding her hand up to see her pinkie finger, feeling the mark pulse underneath a broken bargain, dread pounded in her veins. She’d quit. When she’d made a vow to work for The Villain, to be loyal, she knew the consequences would be fatal. According to one of the Malevolent Guard members, the ink in their bargains could quickly become a poison, released into the body at even the hint of betrayal.
In quitting her job, Evie may have just signed her own death warrant.
Chapter 20
The Villain
The next morning, Blade Gushiken’s voice was laced with earnest amusement. “I think you’re going to wear a hole in the floor, boss.”
Trystan nearly took the man’s head off.
But he halted his pacing of his office floor, not caring for the nervous looks his employees were giving him through the doorway. Or did he care?
He ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t think properly under these conditions.
Without Sage, he’d had to go back to drinking his cauldron brew black, as Edwin thought he always did. The ogre had been his village’s baker when Trystan was just a boy, and he was one of the only beings in this world Trystan really believed was all goodness. It’s why Sage had to spend her mornings covertly adding sweetness to the brew. If Edwin found out Trystan didn’t like the drink he’d worked so hard to develop, it might wound him.