What a brilliant plan—pity he had no memory of creating it. “Who on earth arranged for that? The northern kingdoms usually have their shipments travel with an army’s worth of guards.”
Ms. Erring’s mouth pulled down, but she looked at him directly when she said, “Evangelina had the plans drawn up a month ago, and you signed off on them, sir.”
No, that couldn’t be… But he had, hadn’t he? Sage had proposed that some of the Malevolent Guards wear Roselia uniforms, slowly working their way through the throng of them and plucking the real Roselia knights off one by one.
It was suicide, but she’d seemed so sure. So he’d signed off on the plan, requiring that some of his best guards carry it out—no need to send the novices to an early demise. At least his more seasoned guards would have a chance of making it out.
But they hadn’t just made it out; they’d succeeded. “Well, that is excellent. But I’m still not understanding the conflict. Why can’t our financial adviser read the appraiser’s handwriting?”
Rebecka Erring, in the two years he’d known her, had never been without her armor of composure. Even when he’d first met her, under those unpleasant circumstances, she’d remained impassive. But she surprised Trystan when she rolled her eyes at him. “The handwriting is atrocious, sir. It would take a translator to make out even one letter of that scrawl.”
His patience was so thin, it may as well have been the ground beneath his feet. “Well, how did we manage to make it out before?”
But he knew the answer before the uncomfortable look fell across her face. “Evie could always read it without any problems,” she said. “Edwin used to give her pastries while she did it.” By her tone, the stern woman didn’t approve of the latter.
Trystan could hardly bring himself to care, however. He was currently coming to grips with the fact that he simply did not have an office without Sage. Or he supposed he did. But it was frankly an ill-functioning disaster.
The righteous emotions from that morning had turned and mutated into what it really was all along, a way for his brain to rationalize his regret. He truly hated being wrong, but he supposed if he’d defer being right to anyone, it was to Sage. Who would probably never take another step toward this place…which meant he had to go to her.
Trystan tried not to let his turmoil show in his words as he looked at Ms. Erring and said, “Have the finance men put them aside, and I will do my best to translate the handwriting myself.”
She nodded and turned to leave, but before she did, she looked to the ruins at the end of the parapet. “Isn’t it interesting that we are quicker to repair some things over others?”
There was an accusation there that made Trystan narrow his eyes at her. “What are you implying, Ms. Erring?” He noted the sharp edge to his voice, but to Rebecka’s credit, she pulled herself up straight, not wavering for a moment.
“That perhaps you need to remove your pride so that you can see what needs to be fixed more clearly.”
It was the boldness with which she spoke that made Trystan respect her. Rebecka Erring was without fear when she believed herself to be right. It was that respect that saved her.
“You should mind your own problems before mine, Ms. Erring. My employees are yours to counsel; I, however, am not.”
She nodded dutifully, the snap of fight winking out of her in a moment, and it confused him. Rebecka Erring was implying that Sage leaving the job was something that needed to be fixed? Trystan had been certain the feud between them had been quite mutual.
“Ms. Erring, do you want Ms. Sage to come back?” he asked curiously.
She didn’t look at him, just gave him her back as she turned to open the heavy door. “No, I don’t,” she said quietly. “But I think she deserves to.”
The words were so flat and honest that Trystan leaned against the stone half wall, the slam of the door as the woman left a dull, faded sound in his ears. He brushed a heavy hand over his mouth and down until it was resting under his chin.
He looked to the wreckage one more time before returning to his office.
Fix it.
Unfortunately, Trystan didn’t have the skills to fix anything. He was much better at destroying everything he touched.
Which was why he doubted, by the end of this awful day, that even the manor would still remain standing when he was done.
Chapter 23
The Villain
A soft knock on the door of Trystan’s office was his final straw.
It was nearly an hour until the day concluded, and he couldn’t wait for the sun to go down and the day to turn to night. He wanted to drown in it.