Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain Book 3)

The Villain

They returned to the manor. It took several hours, and by the time they saw their home on the horizon, the sun was coming up.

Nobody had slept.

Arthur’s body had been covered with Tatianna’s cape.

Clare had wept into Tatianna’s arms, and Tati had held her so tight, her fingers were twined in the short locks of Clare’s hair.

At some point, Trystan’s hand had drifted toward Sage’s, and she’d wordlessly woven her fingers in his, using her other hand to fully cover his. “I’m so sorry,” she kept repeating. “I’m so sorry.”

He was too numb to be angry with her for apologizing. He’d find that emotion again later, when he fully realized the world would continue turning without the man he thought his father in it.

When they got inside to discover the disarray at the manor, he wasn’t even surprised.

They walked through the wreckage, and Evie froze in place, staring at the heads of innocent office workers with her mouth in a flat line, and he knew she was fighting back a sob.

She disappeared to check on her mother, and Trystan didn’t see her again until later. He found her standing on the parapet, reaching for Benedict’s flag, which was swinging in the breeze.

Some of his kindest workers had been slain. His home had been violated while he was off dancing with Evie, holding her body, enjoying her, selfishly giving in to all he truly wanted—and all the while, everything around him was destroyed. He must be a bastard, because while the guilt trickled in, hot and powerful, he wouldn’t exchange those moments with her.

Benedict could pry them from his cold, dead fingers.

Evie stared at the flag for a second, such hatred in her kind eyes. Then she tore it right down the middle and crushed it beneath her heel. “Trystan,” she breathed.

“He still hasn’t…returned to being…him.” Trystan held up Alexander, who’d shaken the crown easily from his head. It had remained in place for so long that Trystan had begun to believe he’d actually glued it there. It hadn’t occurred to him that the crown stayed because Alexander had made efforts to ensure it never came off. That him removing it was a symbol that his friend was gone. Forever.

Kingsley blinked, croaking, as Trystan kept hold of him.

“I could try.” A small voice echoed from the doorway that led back into the office. Winnifred. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying. Trystan wasn’t the only one who’d lost someone today.

“I wouldn’t ask it of you. You’re free to stay or leave at your leisure.” He said it with no urgency or flourish. It was a straightforward offer.

Winnie didn’t say anything, just reached for Alexander and squinted. Then she took a stray handkerchief from her pocket, dampened it with her lips, and rubbed off the dirt on his head, stopping when she saw them staring at her.

“He had a bit of dirt on his head,” she said. The handkerchief remained around his head as Winnie pulled the wand from the sash of her dress and waved it. It glowed, brighter, brighter, that brightness beaming out around Kingsley, the frog illuminated by magic, and then…

Nothing. It didn’t work.

Alexander was still a frog.

And he would remain so. Forever.

Trystan cursed under his breath. His soul was battered now; even as unused as he’d thought it, it twisted in agony as he lost the battle to Benedict, as he lost his friend forever.

Another ribbit signaled the frog’s discomfort. He was squirming in Winnie’s hands, and when she didn’t let him go, he opened his mouth—and bit her.

“Ow!” Winnie cried, shaking out her hand. “Oh no!” And the creature was off, hopping along the parapet, into the empty office space. Trystan and Sage chased the infernal animal over desks and piles of paper, past spilled mugs of cauldron brew, finally cornering him near the water cooler—except it wasn’t the water cooler. It was a shadowed figure standing in the corner where the water cooler used to be. The figure hunched over and picked up Kingsley. Then he walked into the harsh overhead light of the office.

King Benedict.

Trystan spat at Benedict’s feet, summoning his magic—but he found that it wouldn’t answer, that he could barely even feel it. The magic in Kingsley had vanished, the catalyst, and now all of Rennedawn was changing. They’d run out of time. Trystan’s magic was gone, and soon, Rennedawn would be, too. All was lost. Forever.

They were fighting a losing battle, but he’d fight it. For her.

“Benedict,” Trystan greeted, blocking Sage with his body. “An invitation into one’s home is usually customary, but since we brought so many uninvited guests to your last party, I suppose we can excuse the poor manners under the circumstances.”

“Oh, I won’t overstay my welcome. I know my dear associate Marvin didn’t receive such a kind reception. Then again, I suppose that’s fair, considering he tied up your chef and has been working as my spy. A useful young man, unsuspecting, which seems to be the ticket into The Villain’s office.” Benedict steepled his fingers, eyes on Evie. “But I’m afraid I’m missing one last piece of the prophecy, and as I’m sure you’ve discerned, time is wearing thin. I won’t go without it. My men will have the guvre returned to my custody imminently. I never thought that your foolish captain would be successful on a fool’s errand. But I suppose she is as easily influenced as she was as a child. Waiting for letters from a family she didn’t have, poor girl.”

Evie sneered, lunging forward, but Trystan stopped her with his arm.

“Keep that fire, Ms. Sage. I’ll need it. In the meantime, I thought I’d work on the ‘true prince’ portion of Rennedawn’s story.”

And then Benedict dropped Kingsley and allowed the frog to leap away.

“No!” Trystan cried out, but he froze when Benedict pulled a memory flower from his pocket—a new one, glowing opalescent petals open. “What’s happening?”

A bright light shone, and Trystan fell to the floor, clutching at his abdomen. Sharp pain spread through every limb, overwhelming every sense. It felt like his very blood was burning.

“Stop it! What are you doing?” Sage screamed. “It’s the frog you want!” Trystan fought through the pain, crawling on hands and knees toward the sound of her voice.

“Worry not, Ms. Sage! It’s all in the name of saving Rennedawn. A mistake was made twenty-four years ago on this day, and it’s time I righted it.”

The light faded, and Trystan drooped, groaning, into the ground. The voices around him were dull, his body depleted of magic and any sense of control.noveldrama

The office door slid open, and Nura Sage ran in, throwing herself in front of her daughter. “Don’t touch her, Benedict!”

“Nura.” Benedict tsked. “Isn’t it time we stop these charades and allow your daughter to live in the future you and Griffin took from her?”

Nura shook her head, curls so like Evie’s moving with her. “No. No. You made a vow when she was born. You promised me!”

Benedict pointed the flower toward Nura, and out spilled Trystan’s magic, his mist, wielded by his worst enemy. “You will regret this, Benedict. You will not win this,” Trystan rasped.

Benedict tsked again. “Let it be with her, Nura. It’s been cursed to the wrong man for too long.”

The darkness brushed over Sage’s ankles, and she screamed. “What’s happening?”

Trystan stumbled, climbing to his feet, falling again, but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop until he got to her. “Evie!”

Benedict clapped his hands together. “All in the name of the prophecy, Trystan.”

“But you’re wrong. You just let the heart of a true prince hop away!” he gritted out. Alexander was gone, Sage was being swarmed by his power, and his enemy was winning. Never had he felt this miserable, this low.

Benedict’s eyes were wild. “I don’t need him.”

Trystan blinked, rubbing his chest. “What are you talking about?”

“The heart of a true prince is right here in this room.”

And he pointed.

To Trystan.