Page 140 of Accomplice to the Villain

Evie wondered what darknesses festered within a person, that they’d need to promise to be civil to their own children.

“It’s fine, Father,” Clare said, morphing into someone new just as Trystan had. Their mother’s presence was turning both of them into versions of themselves that didn’t suit, that were wrong.

The dark pall cast over the Maverine siblings didn’t extend to the room itself. Instead, the sitting room was warm, lit by candles. Comfortable-looking furniture and book-lined shelves filled the space, and there were worn spots in the wood floor from all the footsteps in and out. It was a home that was lived in, perhaps even loved in at one point, but it was empty now.

The memories just lived as ghosts in the walls, built into the foundation of a now-haunted home.

Evie coughed into her arm to disguise her nervousness, drawing Amara’s attention. She eyed Evie with interest. “Wicked Woman? That’s a lark, isn’t it. You look like a deer caught in a carriage lamp.”

Evie prepared to argue, but a lethal voice cut in. “Do not speak to her like that.”

Amara’s eyes fixated on Trystan again. She was poised like a queen as she placed a piece of paper on the table. “And Trystan fighting for vigilante justice instead of villainy. How refreshing. I am so proud.”

Amara slammed a finger into the news pamphlet on the table, and Evie gasped when she saw the plain bold letters etched at the top.

EXTRA: THE VILLAIN OR THE ANTIHERO?

THE NOTORIOUS VILLAIN OF RENNEDAWN SAVES INNOCENT VILLAGERS FROM EVIL PHOENIX ALONGSIDE HIS APPRENTICE, THE WICKED WOMAN.

The short article was followed by one harrowing statement.

The Villain—not so villainous after all?

“Who wrote this utter garbage?” Trystan gripped the paper in his fist, tearing it under his fingers as he scanned the words. “I save one fucking village, and my whole reputation is tarnished. They are calling me a…a hero.” Oh dear, was he turning green?

He fumed, glaring at the piece of paper.

Evie hesitated, but her tongue got the better of her. “An antihero, sir. A hero who doesn’t act like a hero is a far cry from sainthood. Calm down.”

Amara huffed, and then silence permeated the air with a deep, nervous tension, the mood punctuated nicely by the crack of thunder and a sudden downpour outside. “Winnifred. Bring more candles!” Amara barked.

Her quiet kitchen maid crept into the room, hunched over as if to make herself smaller, and she lit candles carefully, leaping over Kingsley when he appeared by her foot.

“What is all the squealing about, Winnifred? I’ve had enough of your misconduct today.” Amara stood, moving to rush for the frightened young woman before Trystan interceded.

“Oh, Mother. Don’t tell me after all this time you’ve forgotten your greatest achievement?”

Trystan stood, sauntering for the other side of the room and scooping up the frog with one hand. “You remember Prince Alexander Kingsley of the southern kingdom.”

Amara gripped her chest, as if she had been shot. “You dare bring that thing into my house? That abomination thatyoucaused!”

“Amara.” Arthur grabbed her elbows, trying to soothe her. “You agreed to be peaceful.”

“I agreed on the condition thathewould be!” Amara waved her hand. “Instead, you bring before me my treacherous daughter and my evil, monstrous son.” She poked her finger into Trystan’s chest. He kept his eyes forward, not looking down at her but not moving, either. “Do you know what a mess you have made for us since revealing your identity? I have friends of twenty years who avoid me in the streets. The entire life Arthur and I have built for ourselves here—ruined because of your selfishness.”

“Surely they suspected something off about our family long before now.” Trystan’s voice was steel, hard, cold. “Where did they think I’ve been all these years?”

“Dead,” Amara spat. “As I wish you had been.”

“That is enough!” Arthur grabbed Amara, but it was too late. Evie’s anger had taken hold; the thoughts of making peace left her in a flood of protective anger, and she was submerged in it. It was all she knew, just the pulse in her ears and the fury in her heart. She stood, stepping in front of Trystan.

And slapped Amara Maverine across the face.

Unfortunately, Evie’s anger seemed as quick to leave her as it had been to take over, and she knew her anger usually left behind its most tried-and-true friends.

Guilt and regret.

Though only guilt seemed to show up this time. Regret was currently doing a jig and cheering for Evie to do it again.