Page 87 of Apprentice to the Villain

Gideon blinked. “And then decided to use his blood for face paint?”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I slipped on my way out of the cell, and this was the result. Are you happy?”

Her brother’s hand flew over his mouth. “You slipped?” Though he was attempting to hide it well, she knew he was laughing beneath the shaking appendage. “In the blood of your victim?”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I don’t see why that’s so amusing. Blood is slippery. Isn’t it, sir?” she inquired, having felt his presence coming up behind them.

The Villain cleared his throat, probably finding the whole spectacle unsavory. “I suppose it could be described as such.”

Gideon lifted a brow and leaned an arm against his propped knee. “But have you ever fallen in it?”

The Villain scoffed in indignation. “No, that would be ridiculous.” But when his eyes fell upon her pinched features, his face took on an uncharacteristic panic. “Not that you are— I did not mean—” Her boss sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “Would you like me to kill your brother for you?”

“No.” She smiled sweetly, and The Villain took a step backward. “That would beridiculous.”

But Gideon interrupted their back-and-forth by pushing himself to his feet and reaching a hand down for her. She took it hesitantly, trying not to stumble over the heel of her boot. “After I recover from the carriage wheels I’ve been thrown under, shall I continue?” he asked.

The rest of the workers returned to business as usual, or at least pretended to. Evie caught more than one of them pretending to write, their quills hovering about an inch from the actual paper. This interlude would no doubt be a source of gossip for employees to speculate on beside the fountain that magically spewed water tucked into the back corner of the office. All the best rumors started there.

“I was doing schoolwork in my room when Father first cameto me about the king. I was perhaps twelve or thirteen.” Gideon shifted nervously. “I had dreamed of being one of the Valiant: noble, brave, beloved by all. I remembered seeing them ride through our village, and I couldn’t believe such men existed outside of the stories we were read at bedtime. I wanted it so badly, Eve.”

Her brother turned away and sauntered toward the nearest window, clearly not wanting to face her during whatever he said next. “All magic awakens from a trauma, and mine was awoken after I’d caught that fever from one of my teachers.” Evie knew this of magic, as well as the myth that magic could also be awoken from the purest joy. But that wasn’t real, just a fable. The real magic in this world was always brought about by pain.

It hadn’t been the Mystic Illness, according to the healer who had come to evaluate him. But Evie remembered how worried she’d been for her brother—and her mother, who was well into her pregnancy with Lyssa. Gideon had survived the fever, but he grew distant from her after that; she’d thought it was her fault. She’d been in the habit then of thinking everything was her fault.

“After that, Father had me begin training with a magical specialist in secret. He said it was too small a village to let anyone know about how powerful my magic was. It was a blocking magic of sorts—I was able to suppress other people’s magic, no matter how powerful, no matter how strong, and it made Father wary. He wouldn’t even let me tell Mother, said it would cause stress to her and harm the baby.” Gideon was facing the other direction, but she could see his body shudder, like regret was a physical torment.

“And then I met the king,” Gideon said. Her boss stiffened beside her, clenching his fists tightly. “He was thrilled by my magic and even more so by the development of Mother’s. She’d just had Lyssa, and her starlight magic was flourishing. He said it was the magic of a savior…and that it would be too powerfulfor her to wield all on her own.”

Warning bells rang in Evie’s head. She knew where the story was going, knew it had a tragic end. Because unlike the beauty of fairy tales, real life didn’t end in a neat and tidy bow.

“They asked me to use my magic to suppress the fullness of Mother’s power so it wouldn’t overwhelm her. They told me it was safe and I was doing my duty to the kingdom. So, every night after she’d fall asleep, I’d use my magic on her. She’d been withdrawn because of Lyssa, and once her magic evened out, after I’d helped her, I thought all would be well again. But I fell asleep early one night, and when she woke, her power came out full force.”

That early morning, dawn, when everything changed—the dandelion fields, the day her childhood had ended.

Gideon turned around and ignored everyone else, looking only at her with genuine tears in his eyes, and it broke something inside her. She saw him at fifteen, then at twelve, then at seven, until the earliest memory of her brother slammed into her.

“It’s my fault. What happened to Mother,” he said. “Her losing control of her power. I tampered with her magic for the sake of the kingdom, for the sake of the knighthood… And then I destroyed her.”

Chapter 52

Evie

Evie didn’t knock when she entered The Villain’s bedchamber, unless her shoulder slapping against the wood as she shoved it open counted. “Sir, you left before I could tell you about my lead! And now, to boot, I can’t find Lyssa.”

Shedefinitelyshould’ve knocked, or whistled, or sent out a raven call at the very least, because what she was witnessing was…truly something. The Villain was holding himself like a plank over the ground, shirtless, his back muscles rippling all the way down to the top of his rear end as he lowered to the ground and pushed himself back up. He froze when he heard her voice, the motion causing the muscles in his arms to shake as he held his stance.

“Sage, I hope I didn’t give you the mistaken impression that I enjoy company in my chambers.”

She replied with teasing amusement, “Sir, you’re doing push-ups alone at four o’clockin the afternoon. Nobody would get that impression.”

He glared as he stood, unwinding the white canvas wrappings around his palms and dabbing sweat off his neck. He eyed her now-clean attire, the blood washed from her skin. “What of your father? What did he say? I fear your brother diverted my plans with his little confession.”

My. Notour. It was a purposeful distinction. She could tell bythe subtle shift in his face.

She wanted to blame her brother for her mother’s disappearance and all the events that followed, for the revelation that seemed to drive a larger wedge between her boss and her, but it wasn’t fair. Gideon had been a mere fifteen years old, just as much a victim of their father’s and the king’s machinations as she. And anyway, her brother was not the sibling she was most concerned about at the moment.

“Later. I can’t do anything until I know where Lyssa is. I asked Edwin, Becky, Blade, and the guards. Edwin said she usually disappears around noon to write her stories in our bedchamber—she takes writing time quite seriously—but she’s not there.”