The Villain
Trystan wasn’t nervous.
So perhaps the nausea and stomach twists were merely a result of the dragon dipping and diving through the sky, occasionally opening his mouth to light a tree aflame—something Sage took very strong objection to, as evidenced by her nails digging into her palms every time a sprig of green went up in an orange blaze.
“Gushiken, kindly tell Fluffy to cease making ash of Hickory Forest,” he said. “I enjoy destruction, but I bear the trees no ill will.” He did not move his gaze from Sage’s hands, willing them to loosen so that he didn’t reach over and do it for her. That would violate the spirit of the agreement between them.
I demand we revisit it after my mother’s found.
He shouldn’t have agreed to it, because now, on top of the guvres and the failing wards, he, too, was on a ticking clock, with an unknown outcome looming when the time ran out. Nothing could happen between them— nothing good, anyhow. Sage’s life was already in shambles just working for him; he couldn’t imagine how he’d destroy her if she became anything else, anything more.
It made him envy Blade, that the dragon trainer had the freedom to pursue whomever he chose without fear of destroying them by accident.
Gushiken gripped the reins tighter, his eyes on Ms. Erring, who was leaning with her chin in her hand and looking as far away as a person could be. No doubt she was dreading their destination. Though Trystan couldn’t understand the weight on the woman’s shoulders, he could imagine the nerve-igniting dread of returning to a place fraught with terrible memories. He’d feel the same returning to his own village, to his mother’s house, to the woman who, instead of accepting his power, had sought to destroy it.
Had sought to kill him.
Rebecka Erring was someone Trystan understood. It was why he’d so readily offered her employment three short years prior, when she’d been a desperate, far less composed version of the woman she was now. The woman he’d first met stumbling away from home, seeking— He wouldn’t say “rescue,” as that wasn’t in his repertoire, but his hiring of her came at a time when she’d sought escape. He’d known she’d be a fearsome ally, and she’d more than proven herself since.
Blade frowned at Rebecka’s forlorn expression and used what seemed to be the dragon trainer’s favorite tactic: diversion. “Lovely Rebecka, would you like to steer?”
Ms. Erring glanced at him, emptily shaking her head, before going back to staring off into the distance. Sage’s hands loosened, and Trystan internally exhaled, deeply affected by the small actions of her fingers. I demand we revisit it after my mother’s found.
At this rate, she’d be revisiting it at his grave.
Sage scooched closer to Ms. Erring, sliding a hand toward her but not touching her. “It’s not too late for us to turn back. If you don’t want to face them, you do not have to. We can find another way.”
Ms. Erring frowned. “You want to find your mother, don’t you?”
Sage pushed a wind-whipped lock of hair behind her ear. “Not at your expense. You’re not collateral, Becky. I don’t want you to be hurt simply because of who your family is.”
Tatianna chimed in, too. “This isn’t a requirement, Rebecka, it’s a choice.
Whatever you want to do, we will support you in it.”
Becky looked between both women, mouth pinching, suppressing emotion. He knew because he often made the same face when he was holding back. “I…appreciate the sentiments, but I cannot run from my family forever. If your mother is there… If finding her will help us defeat Benedict, then we are doing it.” Chin bobbing, she lifted her hand to lightly hold her throat. “But I warn you to not be dazzled by the grandeur of the fortress. It is not all that it seems, and neither is my family.”
Clare, on the opposite side of him—notably as far away from Tatianna as humanly possible—said, “We know of family complications, Rebecka. Don’t worry; we’ll be on guard. I know I always am any time I’m with any of mine.”
Trystan’s power snaked out, knocking into the side of his sister’s leg.
When she turned accusatory eyes on him, he looked away, whistling. “I know that was you, Tryst. Must you always be so hostile?”
He answered flatly, without hesitating. “Yes.”
Sage quietly placed something warm, wrapped in parchment paper, in his lap. He did a double take before unwrapping it and inhaling a large whiff. It was bread, much like the kind they’d shared in the Heart Village. “He’s always crabby when he’s hungry,” Sage clarified. “I once stopped him from razing a village to the ground by offering him a cupcake.”
He glared. “That is not true.”
Sage looked guilty. “You’re right.” She grinned at Clare. “It was a cookie.”
It was acutely unflattering to be spoken about like a recalcitrant child, but he was more taken aback by how well and easily Sage knew exactly what he needed, exactly what he would want.
That’s her job, you dolt.
It was nonsense that thinking of her carefully packing a loaf of bread caused disgusting sentiment to pull at the strings in his chest.
He cleared his throat, willing the sentiment to disappear. “Thank you, Sage. It will fuel my evildoing for the afternoon.” She huffed a laugh.
But her laughter faded when Rebecka adjusted her glasses with sobering grimness. “There will be no doing of evil once we arrive at the fortress. It’ll be a wonder if they even allow you two entry, with your faces so revealed to the world.”
She slid two scraps of parchment across the saddle into his and Sage’s waiting hands. Their WANTED flyers—the very same that had been held by Helena’s henchmen in the Heart Village. One had a recounting of his crimes and his real name, a now-tripled amount of gold pieces, and a sketch of—
“Well, this is absurd—my head is not this big,” he grumbled.
Sage peeked over his shoulder, her breath tickling his ear and making him see stars. The ugly kind that were bright and irritating behind your eyelids after being struck hard in the face. “Really?” Her blue gaze took measure of the head in question. “I think they made it smaller.”
The sun beat down harder upon them, reddening Sage’s cheeks and bringing a smattering of freckles out on the tip of her nose. He wanted to tap it. More so when the color on her cheeks deepened.
Biting her lip, she continued for reasons he could not fathom. “Not that your actual head is large. It’s more proportionate to the rest of your body,
which is also fairly…large.” She choked, and so did he—nearly. “Not all your body, of course! How would I know if other things are also…large? Although I would assume, based off the rest of you, that everything else is also proportionate in size…”
Tatianna smiled into the tiny mirror she was holding up to do her lipstick. “Evie, dear, quit while you’re three feet belowground.”
Sage saluted and scooted away from him—exactly what he needed.
Irritating that his hands itched to drag her closer.
A large gust of wind whipped back his hair, and he held up a hand to shield his face as he shuffled to the second WANTED flyer: Sage’s.
THE WICKED WOMAN flyer was a near-perfect and lovely depiction of Sage. Her dark curls were blowing away from her face, flying in every direction, like the artist had caught her in a stiff breeze. Her lips were quirked, and her eyes seemed to shine with a sinister glimmer.
She looked like the most beautiful nightmare he’d ever seen. But her list of charges had grown longer since the last flyer.
TREASON KIDNAPPING
THREATS TO THE CROWN
CONSPIRING WITH THE ENEMY APPRENTICE TO THE VILLAIN
Suddenly, she ripped the paper out of his hand. When she looked at it, her eyes widened and a small yelp left her mouth, her fingers coming up to brush against her lips.
“Sage…” he said, placating. Perhaps someone in the Massacre Manor Relations Department could find a way to spin Sage as a prisoner, so that she may still lead a normal life in Rennedawn when this was all over, when the chips finally fell into place and she was ready to leave him and his business behind forever. He ignored that his heart suddenly doubled in weight and dropped toward his feet; it was merely because the bread was dry. Never mind that he hadn’t taken a bite yet.
Fluffy sailed upward, as if sensing they needed to be lost among the skies, but the abrupt rush of air couldn’t drown out Sage’s scream.
Trystan was not a reader of emotions. He could barely interpret his own, with how little he endeavored to use them. But was the woman who drew nearly every ounce of his attention…bouncing?
“They…they promoted me!” Her smile was so wide that she beamed. It was like rays of color spilling out of her: red on her lips and her cheeks, blue in her eyes, a white sheen bouncing off her plaited hair and finally settling against the glow of her skin.
Did she want more flyers printed? He could arrange it.
Blade loosened his grip on the reins, leaning over to look at the paper she extended to him. “Apprentice, huh? Very official. Honestly, it’s about time. You’ve done far more than just assistant tasks in the office as of late.”
“You’re right,” she said smugly, snatching it back when Clare reached for it. “Don’t rip it,” Sage warned before handing it to Clare.
His sister lifted a dark and sardonic brow. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” She hmphed before looking back to Evie. “Whoever the sketch artist is, they’re halfway in love with you.”
“Is there a credit to the artist at the bottom?” he inquired without thinking. “Yes, at the bottom corner,” Clare answered.
He snatched it away from her, and the parchment tore a bit, earning an outraged cry from Sage as he said, dry and emotionless, “I will see him about my head measurements.”
Sage glared at him with murder in her eye before grabbing the WANTED flyer back and clutching it to her chest. “This is so exciting. I’m practically on your level now!”
He smirked, feeling an amusement that he knew would fade into dread minutes later, once the enormity of this had settled in. But he allowed it for the moment. “Not quite, Sage.”
Though he knew she’d earned the title and then some.
“You’re merely an apprentice,” he went on. “You have a ways to go before you’re a villain.”
