Page 27 of Accomplice to the Villain

Clare looked down at her hands. “I told her I did it.”

“Why on earth did you do that?” Tati asked. Clare looked up to see she was smiling quizzically at her.

On a deep inhale, Clare breathed in the scents of herbs and medicines, the smells so exact to Tati; they soothed. “I was afraid she wouldn’t let you come over again. I think I told Tryst that night I wanted to marry you.”

Tatianna pushed aside the glass bottles and leaned her elbows across the table. “And what did he say?”

Clare felt comfort at the memory, mingling with regret at how bitter it had all turned out. “He said, ‘You’d better grow comfortable with glitter, then. It appears she owns a lot of it.’”

Tatianna laughed—that light, carefree one she’d had since they were children. The kind that had been so rare in Clare’s home with the pain her mother caused, she’d grown addicted to that laughter. Clare had taken every bit of her disapproval as a challenge to change her mother’s mind. And failed at every turn.

Tatianna’s laughter brought her back. How had Clare gone without it for so long? “Oh, he would say that. A romantic, that one.”

Suddenly, the door collapsed inward with a loud crash, and both women leaped away from the splintering wood.

“Damn it, Trystan!” Tatianna screeched. “Have you never heard of a doorknob, you— Oh gods, Evie! What happened?” Tatianna rushed to clean off the table where she’d been treating Keeley as Trystan carried his apprentice through the shattered door and placed her gently down.

“Someone broke into the manor,” he rasped, face stoic, eyes solemnly staring at the blood on Evie’s face. “She was attacked.”

Clare grabbed her older brother’s arm, gently tugging him away. “Let Tatianna take care of her, Trystan.”

“Make sure she’s still breathing,” Trystan pressed, the pain echoing in his voice. Clare imagined that pain was made exponentially worse by how similar this was to what Trystan had seen when he found Evie lifeless in the Gleaming Palace. “Make sure she’s okay, Tatianna. Please.”

Tatianna’s glowing hands roamed over Evie’s body, assessing as she went. “A few bruises, sprained wrist, and it looks like she has a concussion, but her skull isn’t cracked.”

“I—I’ve got a hard head,” Evie muttered, opening her eyes with a hint of amusement.

Tatianna brushed stray curls away from Evie’s face, dabbing at the dried blood with a damp cloth. “That you do, little friend. I’ll mix something up for the pain, and then I should have you fixed up in just a moment.”

“I can make the mixture. I know the plants well,” Clare offered, already starting for the table. Tatianna nodded, returning her attention to Evie, who continued her jokes until the tension in the room eased.

Clare grabbed several ingredients and began crushing them together, so distracted she didn’t see her brother approach. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For helping.”

Kingsley hopped between them, holding up a sign that said…

Nothing?

Not the word. It was simply blank.

Trystan frowned, deeper than he already had been, and picked up the sign, staring down at his old friend. “Is this meant to be a metaphor, Kingsley?”

His gold crown tilted, but the frog prince did nothing to respond except ribbit.

There was a pinch of worry forming an uncomfortable knot in her chest as she stared down at Kingsley, distractedly handing off the mixture she’d produced to Tatianna. “Maybe he’s feeling lazy today.”

Pushing his hair out of his face, Trystan made for the door. “How long will it take for you to heal her, Tatianna?”

“A half hour, maybe?”

“Good. When you’re through, come find me. I’m calling a meeting.”

Evie sat up, ignoring Tatianna’s protests. “I’m coming, too.”

Trystan paused at the door, one hand on the doorframe, but didn’t turn around as he said, “If you must.”

And then he was gone.

Clare was a victim of her mother’s machinations, it was true, but Trystan had been their mother’s choice for the brunt of her antipathy. And Clare was still ashamed that there was a time she’d believed he deserved it.