“I trust you are acquainted with Mr. Warsen?”
Evie saw familiar faces as they reentered the square, but no one stopped them to talk because of the street performances that had just begun.
“I used to work for him, actually,” she admitted quietly. “Right before I came to work for you.”
He must have heard something off in her voice, because his gaze turned to hers, a pinched look between his brows. “Why did you leave his employment?”
“It was just a difference of opinion,” Evie said, smiling lightly. Keeping her hands in the deep pockets of her skirts, she strutted forward, eager to leave all those feelings pushed to the past and pray to whatever gods had created this world that they didn’t make her do what she’d wished she’d done all those months ago—and hit her old boss in the head with a sledgehammer.
Especially in front of her new boss. But her anger was still raw, her pain twisting and curling inside her.
She was doomed.
Chapter 27
Evie
This excursion was ill-advised, to say the least. The closer they came to the smithy, the tighter the invisible cord around Evie’s throat grew. She should have said no—any excuse would have done. She was usually pretty good at coming up with misleading comments to dissuade even the most curious. The last couple of months of work had been amazing practice.
But some sort of shock had set into her limbs, and now she was about to walk into the last place she ever wanted to be, facing the last man she ever wanted to see again. Any conscious feelings screaming at her to run were muffled behind a thick pane of glass. She would not listen.
She could do this. For Trystan.
Taking a steadying breath and removing her damp palms from her pockets, Evie slid her hands against the sides of her skirt. But a sharp wave of nausea roiled through her when she caught sight of Otto Warsen’s burly form.
His face was smudged with black soot from the forge. He had a cloth in one hand, standing in the outside pavilion of his house, polishing a beautiful-looking sword. Evie felt rather than saw Mr. Warsen’s eyes as he observed her coming, her and her boss.
The Villain.
She was hardly alone or unsafe, so why did she feel like a human sacrifice?
The blacksmith’s gaze was slimy, coating every exposed inch of her skin as he looked her up and down, and it took every ounce of willpower she had not to turn back home and step into a scalding bath.
It wasn’t the first time she’d seen Mr. Warsen since she’d quit. Since the night he had asked her to be his companion, his breath thick with rum. She’d seen the rage contort his face after she said she wasn’t interested, and she’d known she had to get up and run, barely feeling the blade slice down her shoulder as she did. But she didn’t stop—she’d kept running and running and running.
She’d never told anyone and never went back. Anytime she saw Mr. Warsen around the village, he smiled and waved in a friendly manner and she swallowed down the bile and moved on.
But there was always that little glimmer, like the two of them shared a secret, and she could tell Mr. Warsen was pleased for it. She wanted to strangle him.
More than that, she pictured how she’d feel if The Villain hung his head in the entryway.
Suddenly, the smile on her face was very real as the two of them approached. “Good morning, Mr. Warsen,” The Villain said, his voice seeming to become smoother. He held his hand out to shake the blacksmith’s, who quickly pulled his hand from one of the leather gloves.
Evie didn’t move.
“A pleasure, Mister…？” Otto asked, his bald head reflecting the sunlight.
“Arthur,” The Villain said smoothly. “I believe you know one of my employees, Ms. Sage?”
Otto narrowed his gaze warily, looking to Evie. “It don’t matter what she—”
Before he could say more, Evie blurted out, “I was telling my boss of your wonderful craftsmanship when I was cleaning his collection of rare blades.”
There was still a wariness in the blacksmith’s face, but a renewed edge of interest at the prospect of a sale joined it. “Well, of course!” He grinned wide. “Evangelina got to witness my prowess with a blade firsthand while she was under my employ.”
Evie’s nails bit into her palms. “I certainly did.” A modicum of disdain slipped in over her false sincerity, but the two men were too busy sizing each other up to notice.
“What are you looking to have made, Mr. Arthur?” Otto gestured to a few pieces of unfinished work. “If you want it sooner rather than later, it’ll cost you, I’m afraid. I have many orders to fulfill.”