Page 126 of Assistant to the Villain

“I’m a friend of your sister’s. You’re going to come stay with us for a while,” Tatianna said kindly, leading her out the door and into the lightning and rain.

“Evie’s not a maid there, is she?” The little girl’s voice, unbelievably, brought a small smile to his face, much like her sister’s so often did. But the smile lasted only a second before he remembered his mission and crept closer to the office door.

He leaned his ear against it, but there was no noise. The silence made his heart pound.

Trystan put his hand against the knob and twisted slowly, pushing it open on a groaning creak. When he could survey the full scene, he stopped, his mouth dropping open.

She was there, alive. He let out a soul-shuddering sigh of relief before taking in the rest of it. The body of a man, who Trystan assumed was her father, lay prone on the ground.

Evie’s eyes went to his, sad, bloodshot from her tears. Her hands were shaking. “I figured it out.”

His entire body seemed to sag from pure relief.

She sucked in a hard breath. “He’s not dead. But I gave him a sedative, so he should be out for— I don’t know, how long do sedatives last? Maybe I did kill him.” She sounded robotic, like she was reasoning everything out to herself rather than him.

He started to walk toward her, but she stood, moving up to him, holding out her hand before he could speak. After taking a deep inhale, Sage said quickly, “I know he was the traitor. I mean, I didn’t know before tonight—”

“I know you didn’t,” he interrupted.

“Shhh,” she scolded him.

He complied, feeling his back go straighter under her scrutiny.

“I didn’t know, but I did earlier when I left, and I knew you’d want to take him into custody, torture him for information. But I also knew you’d be conflicted because he’s my father.”

Nowthathe had to object to, really. “Sage, I don’t mean to burst whatever sort of morally gray bubble you’ve put me in. But this man sabotaged shipments and my revenge, not to mention he’s the reason that many of my guards are dead. I would’ve had no qualms about hurting such a man.”

“You wouldn’t have done it, though.” She sounded so absolute, he began to doubt it himself. “You would’ve given me the choice.”

And he knew then that she was right. It would’ve been agony not to capture him, not to kill him, but he would’ve left it up to her. This betrayal no longer belonged to him alone—they shared it, the burden of it now tethering them together, and he would defer to her wishes. Because what she wanted mattered to him.

“There wouldn’t have been many choices,” he grumbled.

Her lips turned up—not quite a smile, but that little glimmer in her eye was still there.

Thank all in existence for that.

“I wasn’t sure how long the sedative would take to go into effect, so I suppose I got lucky.” Sage sighed, moving toward the open office door and walking over to the kitchen. She pulled the cork off a bottle of wine and took a large swig, then another, then another.

“What are you supposed to do after you sedate your father, who also happened to betray you in every conceivable way? What’s the protocol?” She scrunched her nose adorably, and he hated the fact that he found anything adorable. Especially when Sage seemed so far away from herself.

“I don’t know. I’ve never had the pleasure,” he said dryly. “I think you have to improvise on this one.”

He watched her grip the sides of her head, nodding at two of his best guards coming in fully uniformed through the still-open front door. He gestured toward the office. “Take Mr. Sage out the window if you can. She shouldn’t have to see him a second time. To the cellars. A clean one, if you please.”

“It doesn’t need to be clean,” Sage called, taking another large swig. “I felt dirty for weeks after Mr. Warsen attacked me. I still do sometimes.” Her eyes went somewhere out of reach, and it scared him.

“Mr. Warsen?” He angled his head at the bottle, curious at the alcohol percentage.

“My father ‘offered’ me to him.” She began to laugh, and as the words sank in, he slowly realized what they meant.

He spoke carefully. “Are you saying that your father is the reason Mr. Warsen hurt you?”

The story spilled from her lips in slow waves, about how Otto Warsen had made it very clear he wanted her and how she had made it very clear she didn’t want him. How he lunged for her anyway and in her attempt to run, he’d ripped her sleeve, then run that dagger down her back. She recalled how she’d stolen a cloak off a clothesline to cover herself when she went home.

She sniffed and recounted how she’d gone upstairs quietly and washed the blood away.

As she talked, Trystan listened, keeping his fury contained, not wanting to frighten her. This wasn’t about him.