The Villain
Trystan’s tentative to-do list early the next morning was as follows:
- Bathe.
- Get a report on all he’d missed while he was gone.
- Avoid thinking about Sage’s thighs.
- Murder Gushiken.
He’d been successful with the first two, failed at the third, and was about to check the last off his list.
“This is hardly my fault,” Blade grumbled, tossing several slabs of beef in to the mated guvres. The male, resplendent with his iridescent skin, eyed the meat but paused, motioning for the brown-gray female to have her fill first. Rather gallant, Trystan supposed with an eye roll, since she is eating for two.
His fists were clenched at his sides. The dark cellar was making him agitated and jittery. The sight of the bars sent him back, back to the cell he’d sat in for days with no hope. It was likely why his patience was so frayed—well, that and the worst night’s sleep of his life. He’d ordered everyone to bed upon their return, despite Sage’s protests. She’d laid a hand against his arm, an indecipherable look in her eyes, and asked if he wanted to talk. He’d had to leave before he did something drastic, like drag her to bed with him to do much more than talk. In the morning, he’d figured, his head would be clear and he’d see reason again.
But morning had come swiftly, and not only was he still exhausted, he was also spitting mad.
“I don’t care if it’s your fault or the fault of a celestial god. If the female gives birth to her baby trapped in our cell, we’re doomed,” he yelled.
“A baby guvre is called a let,” Gushiken instructed, then his amber eyes went round, and he stopped with another piece of raw meat in hand. “You
think keeping the let will start another Mystic Illness?”
Trystan shook his head darkly. “No. I think whatever vengeance Fate would reap on behalf of its young…would be something far worse.”
The firelight from the torches crackled in time with Blade’s wince as he tossed another beef slab in between the bars. “I sure missed your foreboding speeches, sir; my nightmares didn’t have nearly as much fodder while you were away.”
Trystan rolled his eyes again. “Very amusing.”
“We should just let them go if you’re so worried.”
Trystan had considered the option, but it couldn’t be risked. Not when the Valiant Guards were likely tearing through Hickory Forest, searching high and low for Massacre Manor, for the guvres, for Sage. The manor at least was cloaked in an impenetrable ward, but if they set the guvres free, they’d be sitting ducks.
“That would be handing Benedict exactly what he wants, and I would rather rip my own heart out.” Running a hand through his hair, he nearly tugged out the strands. “How long is a guvre’s gestational period?”
Gushiken chuckled nervously. “Um…”
Trystan’s head felt like it was going to pop off. “You don’t know?” he growled.
“Yet,” Blade corrected with an easygoing grin that made it difficult for Trystan to keep hold of his anger.
Kingsley appeared as if summoned, crown reaffixed to his head as he leaped in front of Blade like an amphibious shield. Trystan lifted a brow at his old friend’s blank gold stare, then sighed. “Figure it out, Gushiken. Or I’m finding another ‘expert.’”
Kingsley held up a sign. MEAN.
Trystan nodded at the frog. “Thank you. I needed that.” The small animal shook his head hopelessly.
Blade chuckled, scooping up Kingsley, placing him on his shoulder, and leaning them both back against the wall with his arms folded. “So, once we have a timeline for this detonating bomb”—he nodded toward the female
—“then what?”
A shiver ran down Trystan’s spine. “Then I’ll know how much time I have to destroy any hope of Benedict fulfilling Rennedawn’s little storybook prophecy.”
Blade’s brows shot toward the ceiling. “So that wasn’t just for show? The
king was being serious? I thought Rennedawn’s Story was just a tale to keep kids from misbehaving. My father used it as a threat to stop me from stealing cookies after dinner. Told me that Rennedawn’s storybook would steal all the magic in the land if I kept being so greedy. I always considered it a bit dark for a children’s story, but I never thought it was actually real.”
Rennedawn’s Story was an extraordinarily rare text, steeped in myth for so long that it had faded into obscurity, with much of the public unaware of its existence. Those who had heard of it dismissed it as a harmless story meant to keep children in line, like Gushiken’s father did.
Yet, the darkest tales often concealed the harshest truths.
Trystan had once believed the story to be mere fiction, too—until he found himself trapped in darkness for days, reflecting on his time with Benedict. He recalled how the king had become increasingly obsessed with the intricacies of magic, sending Trystan to search for people and animals with unknown purposes during his time as Benedict’s apprentice. He remembered how his guards had recently whispered about the fable spreading throughout the kingdom, though he had dismissed it at the time. He recalled how guvres were said to be a part of Fate, and how Evie’s mother’s erratic power turned out to be starlight magic. The king had confided in him a decade ago about finally having a user of starlight magic in the kingdom and how crucial it would be for his cause. Trystan hadn’t known then that the user was Evie’s mother. If he had, perhaps he could have prevented the tragedy… Perhaps he could have spared Sage the agony of losing everything in an instant.
With a weary sigh, Trystan finally answered Blade’s lingering question. “It’s real. Or at least real enough that Benedict is dangerously obsessed with it. And while losing magic isn’t ideal, letting Benedict enact the Rennedawn’s Story prophecy isn’t any better.”
Blade rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Why? We don’t want magic to die. Why not just let him do it?”
“Well, for one thing, it would involve using Sage’s mother in some way, and for another, we don’t know what kind of power Benedict would gain from meddling with Fate and fulfilling a tale supposedly crafted by the gods.”
Blade made a disapproving sound. “So, we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t?”
Trystan frowned at the guvres devouring their meal. “I never should’ve removed that damned wall.”
Blade gave the creatures a wry smile. “Oh, come now, sir. Some beings simply can’t be kept apart; they’ll always find their way back to each other.” The dragon trainer’s eyes met Trystan’s meaningfully. “You should know this better than anyone.”
The statement triggered a wave of panic—panic that Blade or anyone else might have noticed the affection that had plagued him for the past six months. It was not only inconvenient, but also dangerous—his magic had felt off ever since Sage had seen it the previous night, and he couldn’t afford for it to become unruly. Not when he was so close to defeating Benedict, and especially not now that Trystan suspected Benedict’s plans were far more sinister than the king had let on.
Curling his lip in disgust, Trystan retorted, “I don’t know what you’re implying. Sage and I are hardly comparable to a mated pair, Mr. Gushiken. She is my assistant; we must spend an inordinate amount of time together. Besides, I have no intention of procreating with Sage.”
Blade looked at him skeptically. “Are you sure?” He stumbled back when Trystan took a threatening step toward him.
Kingsley held up a sign that read: HA!
“Do you both want to keep your heads?” Trystan sneered, his jaw clenching so tightly his teeth ground together.
Blade opened his mouth to respond while Kingsley hid behind his hair, but they were interrupted by Tatianna, who descended the cellar stairs, looking fresh and well-rested in a swirl of vibrant pink. “Good morning! Isn’t it a lovely day?”
Trystan merely grunted.
Tatianna smiled, her every expression visible with her dark braids pulled back by a large, gauzy bow. “Ah, sir, always so eloquent.”
His mouth set in a grim line as he adjusted the cuffs of his billowing black shirt. “What do you want, Tati?”
She raised a thick brow and handed him a crisp envelope. “From Arthur. He left early this morning for home. He didn’t want to wake anyone.”
The parchment, shimmering in the firelight, was merfolk-made. The envelope read: To my son.
Trystan crumpled it and stuffed it in his pocket, ignoring Tatianna’s disapproving look. “And Clare?”
“She insists on staying, but I’d be happy to arrange for the guards to throw her out if you wish, sir.”
Trystan moved closer to the stairs, feeling better now that his emotions weren’t under scrutiny. “If you can’t stand to be around her, then by all means.” He said it casually, as if it didn’t matter to him.
Tatianna stomped her foot, her lovely face twisting in fury. “I can handle it just fine. I am not affected by her at all,” she ground out.
“Of course not,” he replied with a touch of condescension.
In the cage, the mated guvres had finished their meal and were curling up together, almost as if… Were they cuddling? He suddenly saw himself wrapped around Sage like that, and the image was so startling he nearly fell into the bars.
He looked up to see Tatianna smiling at him in that way that always made his interns flee. “Speaking of which, I thought you’d like to know that word of your return has spread to the workers, and the office is in an uproar. There’s a mob forming on the main floor.”
A mob? How delightful.
“Oh, but don’t worry,” she continued, a gleam in her eye that he didn’t like at all. “The Malevolent Guard are nearly back, and I’m sure they’ll arrive in time to assist Evie with the crowd.”
At the mention of his assistant, Trystan groaned and immediately turned to find her as his employees snickered behind him.
His frantic magic stirred beneath his skin. It was different, somehow, in a deeply unsettling way; this couldn’t be a coincidence. It had to be Evie.
The wall between the guvres may have fallen, but Trystan needed to rebuild the one between himself and his assistant. Before it destroyed them both.
Before it destroyed them all.
