“Why?” he demanded low, but there was a light softening the corners of his eyes.
He wanted to know what her past was here, but she couldn’t admit her shame. Not to him. So instead, she did what she did best: deflect.
“Well, when you squeeze someone’s wrist like you’re trying to make juice out of it, their bones tend to break,” Evie said, stiffening slightly at the new sensation she felt as his thumb stroked just below her elbow.
“Sage.”
She sighed and pulled away, moving over to Otto Warsen’s sobbing form, growing quite overcome with the desire to press her boot against his injured wrist. But the closer she got, the more she realized there didn’t seem to be a point.
He had passed out, and if Evie were to ever inflict pain purposefully on another human being, she wanted them to be fully conscious for it.
“Sage,” he called again. “Why did you really leave this position?”
“Are you asking because my shoulder pain tolerance is coincidentally linked to the proximity of that dagger?” she joked weakly.
“You have a death blow in your shoulder,” he said. “Do you understand what that means?”
“I—”
“It means that if I hit that scar at just the right angle with my magic, you die.” His tone was growing harsher; he was angry.
But Evie didn’t care, as there were more pressing issues now. “I would be willing to bet a lot that whoever came in here placing the order is the inside man at Massacre Manor. Our focus right now should be finding that person and then using them for intel on King Benedict, making them our mole.”
She could see a war behind his eyes, but it was impossible to tell what sides were fighting and which was winning.
“We know we’re most likely looking at a man, based off the information Malcolm and Mr. Warsen gave us.” Evie began to pace farther away from the wall with the dagger, just for safety. “But we won’t completely rule out other possibilities.”
“You mean Rebecka Erring?” The Villain said, seeming to give up pursuing his other question for the moment.
“It’s possible.”
A soft groan came from the large man still lying in a sad heap on the floor, shattering the illusion of calm that was just beginning to surround them.
“We’re trying to talk—quiet down there.” Evie sighed, seating herself once more on the rickety stool. “What are we going to do about him?” Her whole body was starting to feel fatigued, like she’d run a hundred miles, which was unlikely—running and her went together like lightning and a metal rod.
Only run if someone is chasing you.
“Kill him?”
“Is that your solution to every problem?” she asked, exasperated.
“No, it’s just the most effective.”
“Not in this case.” Wrapping her hands about her waist, she sighed. “If we kill him, the entire village will know in a matter of hours. And if anybody saw us come in here, I would be in trouble.”
“Very well. Then he will leave town.”
“How are we going to get him to do that?”
“Kill him and make everyone think he left town.” The mischief in Trystan’s eyes caused her to chuckle to herself and shake her head as he continued. “I will have my guards come and clean up the little mess we made.”
“We?” She raised a brow.
He walked over to the blacksmith and nudged him with his boot. “They will convince this wretch, in the politest manner possible, to leave this town and his forge behind and start new somewhere else.”
Then he slammed his fist down hard to the right of the man’s head.
Evie gasped. “Why did you do that?”
“That will keep him down until they get here. Is there a way to lock the door?” He turned to her, all business, much to Evie’s relief.
“Yes, and there’s a sign as well.” She jogged to the front, opening the door just a crack to turn the wooden sign hanging from Open to Closed, before slamming it hard and turning the lock.
When she came back, her boss was propping the man up, gagging him, and using one of the chains from the wall to pin him there. “We can leave out the side, and I’ll send the guards back within the hour. And before you ask, I assure you, they will be discreet.”
“How will they know where to come?” She just wanted to go to sleep; her shoulder was aching, and the dagger on the other side of the room was making her feel more confined than any cage ever could.