Page 114 of Accomplice to the Villain

She pulled away, and the animal allowed it, allowedherto stick out her leg and motion to the wound. “A second of reprieve is not worth a lifetime of regret. Don’t you agree?”

The animal made a trilling sound—

Then shot a flare of purple fire at Sage’s leg.

“Fuck!” Trystan roared, running toward her until the animal screeched in his face, swatting him to the ground like a stray piece of lint.

When he stood, he fully expected to see Sage up in flames, her body scorched, and he knew his own would hollow out as his soul passed over to the deadlands from the sight. But that’s not what he saw. Sage wasn’t burned. Sheglowed. Her leg was fully healed, all signs of blood or torn fabric gone, and she was spinning in a circle, her skirts billowing around her, the strapless fitted bodice glittering as she moved.

And because that wasn’t enough absurdity for him, right then the clouds parted and the sun made its first formal appearance of the day, shining right onto Evie. And he realized Fowler’s gifted dress wasn’t black at all. When the sunlight hit the fabric, it shined a different color with every twirl, each ray of light on her catching a new shade until she was lit up everywhere.

Colorful. All the color in his world existed just before him.

Evie Sage is meant to be your downfall, and you her undoing.

Until you decide to forge your own path no matter what destiny says…those dreams will be all you ever have.

He’d aspired to things before Sage, career goals that still mattered. Years of planning he could not let go of and a dear little green friend who desperately needed his help. The Villain was all he’d ever been; who was he if he let that go? And could it be someone who deserved her?

You’ve always had the habit of ruining everything and everyone, haven’t you?

If the only good thing in life he ever did was ensure Sage had a happy future, he’d do it, his own fate be damned.

He’d exist without color. He’d done it for his first twenty-nine years of life—he could do it again. He had to.

The phoenix eyed him as he edged closer, hands outstretched in deference. “I’m with her.” It was an animal, so he knew there was no logical way that it raised a skeptical brow, but Trystan felt it regardless, and he rolled his eyes. Up close, he could see that the bird’s eyes were red, and…he’d never claim to be an expert at emotion, but he felt they looked somber, sad.

Sage reached out, gently stroking its beak, and whispered, “Go. Fly somewhere grand for now, and when we restore the magic, you may return, and you won’t feel so out of control.”

The sun made his eyes burn; he had to rub at them.

A ring of fire had appeared around Sage when he stopped, purple flames trapping her in place. Trystan rushed at the flames and felt the heat burn into his arms as he reached for her. Sage gasped, gripping both his hands, drawing him into the circle with her before he burned any further.

He held on to her hips to steady himself, and his forehead landed against hers. Her shoulder glowed, the dagger in her hand, too, and it was the damnedest thing, but Trystan began to feel a little like he was glowing as well. She flicked his nose and scrunched hers.

I love you,he thought.

The phoenix trilled, a sad sound as it looked upon the villagers screaming in its direction.

Villagers who used to worship the animal, now holding pitchforks and weapons, ready to destroy the being who once protected them.

It made him feel compassion.

He’d retch over a basin later.

Looking the animal in the eye, he steadied his voice. “They’ll forgive you. And if they don’t, you’ll have a home at Massacre Manor. We’ve made a habit of taking in strays.”

The phoenix let out a final screech before launching for the skies, and the village fell quiet as the fires fizzled into nothing more than bits of ash. The smells of burned hay and smoke scratched the inside of his nose and throat—it explained the burning in his eyes.

He coughed into his hand. “How did you know that would work?”

Sage gave him a pointed look. “You said they were as gentle as you are, and I remembered that even villains need a bit of softness every now and again. Forgiveness even more.”

Trystan pushed a hand through his hair, in desperate need of a trim. “I care nothing for forgiveness.”

Sage hummed, and he knew she saw right through him. “Fine, then. You’re right, and I’m wrong.”

It didn’t feel like a victory.