Evie
Someone was dripping water on her face.
It was cold and ran down her cheek, curling along the base of her scalp and the back collar of her shirt. She woke with a start, remembering she had stumbled into the guest room she and Lyssa occupied in the west wing, intending to only lay down for a moment after an exhausting brainstorming session with the boss, where they laid out their plan to use a bit of the stardust on her mother’s letters. They were meant to do it right then and there, but after her head had nearly hit the kitchen’s wood table in exhaustion, the boss had insisted she rest, promising he wouldn’t use the stardust without her. He even sent it along with her, safely in her pocket.
She scanned the room, noting the darkness. She supposed she’d rested far more than a moment.
“Oops.” She winced, rubbing a hand down her face, then noticed Lyssa standing over her with a damp cloth.
“You say funny things when you’re asleep.”
Evie tilted her head, massaging her neck. “How rude of you.” She tapped Lyssa on the nose. “I say funny things when I’m awake as well.” Lyssa crawled into the bed next to her as Evie scanned the room, whistling low. “This room really is absurdly large. Who needs a bedchamber this size?”
“Is it so the nobles have room to do cartwheels?” Lyssa asked. Evie scoffed. “Obviously.”
Lyssa cracked first, giggling, and moved to sit up against the pillows next to Evie. “You slept for a while.” Her sister had changed into a nightgown, and the clock that stood sentry in the corner read that it was half past ten o’clock.
“I’m sorry I slept so long, Lyss.” She moved to put her arm around her sister, who cuddled in closer. “Did you have fun with Ms. Erring today?
That woman’s sharp as a sewing needle. I know you’re missing school, but I was thinking I could hire someone just like Rebecka to be your instructor. They can come to the manor, and you can select whatever subjects you want to learn about! Doesn’t that sound exciting?”
“Evie, was Papa really sick?”
The words washed over Evie like ice water, but her cheeks burned. “Why would you ask me that?” She tried to keep her tone light. “Did someone say something to you?”
The blue corset that had felt movable and comfortable that morning was now pinching into her ribs, making it hard to take a full breath. She stood and grabbed her nightgown, needing a second’s break from her sister’s probing stare.
Lyssa picked at the edge of the sheet, eyes downcast to it. “No. But he did do something bad, right? That night we left home. He tried to hurt you… didn’t he?”
How should Evie answer? How could she tarnish the sweet image her sister still had of the man who had been a constant in her life since the day she was born?
Behind the changing screen, Evie dropped her expression. What can I even say that won’t break her heart? How can I be enough for her? For anyone? She nearly jumped when she saw herself in the floor-length mirror. The girl who looked back was so sad, with eyes that looked like they were crying for help. She glanced away.
But her sister had asked a very honest and direct question, and Evie knew she would rather gently guide her through the truths of the world than have her thrown in the deep end to learn on her own, as Evie had.
So she changed quickly, emptying her pockets and brushing her hair, then returned to sit gently at the edge of the bed, placing a hand over Lyssa’s. “Yes, he did. And no.” She paused when Lyssa looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “No, he wasn’t sick.”
Lyssa bit her lip, looking distraught. “I knew it. I should’ve told you.” “Told me what?”
“He used to leave all the time when you were at work. He didn’t think I’d notice, but I did. He would get better when you weren’t home, coughing one minute and stopping almost the second you were out the door. He had white powder.”
“White powder?”
“I saw him put it on, to look paler.” To look sicker was what Lyssa meant, but she was too young to understand the lengths Griffin Sage had gone to in order to deceive the ones he swore he loved. “I should’ve told you. He wouldn’t have been able to hurt you if I had!” Lyssa cried.
Evie’s chest was in a knot when she placed both hands on her sister’s cheeks, angling her face so she could look right into her eyes.
“Lyssa, no. What happened with Papa was not your fault. He is a grown- up; he knew better. You are a little girl. Your only job is to be just that, a little girl, and let me take care of you.” Lyssa dove into her arms, and Evie cradled her hands around her sister’s head, gently combing her fingers through her hair.
“But—” Lyssa sniffed, dampening Evie’s nightgown with her tears. “Who is going to take care of you?”
Oh, Lyssa, myself. I’ve always taken care of myself with a false smile and brittle strength.
Her burdens would not be Lyssa’s. She vowed it. “Don’t you worry about me, love. There are lots of people here who look after me. Why, it’s like a little family!”
Her sister pulled back, her young face sticky with tears. “But we aren’t related to anyone here.”
Evie had to bite her tongue to keep from blurting out, Well, Gideon is locked in a bedroom two doors down, and Father is also here, but he’s belowstairs in the dungeon, hopefully being fed stale bread and dodging spiders like they’re cannonballs.
She coughed into her hand. Probably not the best way to break the news.
Fiddling with the tie around Evie’s nightgown, Lyssa watched her. Evie started, “Sometimes family isn’t a thing we are born into but a choice we make. Sometimes”—Evie smiled—“the people who love you most in your life are the ones who choose you.”
It was saying it out loud that made Evie realize how fiercely she believed it. The family she had been born into was fractured, jagged, broken in ways she could not repair. It would never be what it once was, but it was not fully gone. And even if it were, she was not alone. She had a family. It was filled with villainy and mischief, but it was honest, and it was the one truth she could hold on to. One truth she could pass down to her sister.
They laid down then, side by side, and talked for hours. About the manor, about Evie’s job—excluding some of the finer, more violent details about
The Villain, about Trystan.
“It wasn’t difficult to figure it out, you know. Everyone keeps calling him The Villain, Evie,” her sister said, resting her head against her hands and giggling.
“And that doesn’t bother you?” she asked hesitantly. Lyssa shrugged. “He’s nice to me.”
Evie internally groaned. She was passing her warped logic down to the next generation, and everyone should run for the hills.
Lyssa’s lids seemed to grow heavy as her eyes drifted shut. “Evie?”
Evie’s lids had begun to grow heavy as well. The single candle on the bedside table was fizzling out. “Hmm?” she murmured, settling farther into the silken sheets, the crackle from the fireplace lulling her.
“I’m nervous for you to find Mama.” Lyssa’s voice was small, like she was almost too ashamed to admit the truth to her. “I’m afraid to meet her.”
Evie’s eyes opened, startled. “Why, love?”
Lyssa’s little face looked fierce, even seconds from sleep. “Because you’re the only mother I’ve ever had.” Soft, even breaths followed the statement. Her sister had fallen into a deep sleep.
Evie leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, brushing the stray hairs away. Lyssa’s admission had repaired a fissure that had cracked within her
—one she hadn’t realized was there. She still had so much to protect, so much to care about. Losing someone didn’t mean the end; it merely meant the beginning of the life you’d lead without them, the beginning of letting in the people you’d gain in their stead.
She’d protect those people by any means necessary.
That wicked, malevolent thought—the thought that there was no cost too great for the people she loved—settled in. It made her feel safe, powerful. The scar on her shoulder hummed, a warmth seeping into her limbs.
It chased her toward sleep.
But she remained that way for only a moment before her eyes shot open and she stumbled up, gripping her discarded pants as she searched frantically through every pocket, then did the same with the contents she’d left on the counter by the changing screen. It wasn’t there.
The vial of stardust. She’d lost it.
