Page 44 of Apprentice to the Villain

Behind the changing screen, Evie dropped her expression.What can I even say that won’t break her heart?How can I be enough for her? For anyone?She nearly jumped when she saw herself in the floor-length mirror. The girl who looked back was so sad, with eyes that looked like they were crying for help. She glanced away.

But her sister had asked a very honest and direct question, andEvie knew she would rather gently guide her through the truths of the world than have her thrown in the deep end to learn on her own, as Evie had.

So she changed quickly, emptying her pockets and brushing her hair, then returned to sit gently at the edge of the bed, placing a hand over Lyssa’s. “Yes, he did. And no.” She paused when Lyssa looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “No, he wasn’t sick.”

Lyssa bit her lip, looking distraught. “I knew it. I should’ve told you.”

“Told me what?”

“He used to leave all the time when you were at work. He didn’t think I’d notice, but I did. He would get better when you weren’t home, coughing one minute and stopping almost the second you were out the door. He had white powder.”

“White powder?”

“I saw him put it on, to look paler.”To look sickerwas what Lyssa meant, but she was too young to understand the lengths Griffin Sage had gone to in order to deceive the ones he swore he loved. “I should’ve told you. He wouldn’t have been able to hurt you if I had!” Lyssa cried.

Evie’s chest was in a knot when she placed both hands on her sister’s cheeks, angling her face so she could look right into her eyes.

“Lyssa, no. What happened with Papa was not your fault. He is a grown-up; he knew better. You are a little girl. Your only job is to be just that, a little girl, and let me take care of you.” Lyssa dove into her arms, and Evie cradled her hands around her sister’s head, gently combing her fingers through her hair.

“But—” Lyssa sniffed, dampening Evie’s nightgown with her tears. “Who is going to take care ofyou?”

Oh, Lyssa, myself. I’ve always taken care of myself with a false smile and brittle strength.

Her burdens would not be Lyssa’s. She vowed it. “Don’t you worry about me, love. There are lots of people here who look after me. Why, it’s like a little family!”

Her sister pulled back, her young face sticky with tears. “But we aren’t related to anyone here.”

Evie had to bite her tongue to keep from blurting out,Well, Gideon is locked in a bedroom two doors down, and Father is also here, but he’s belowstairs in the dungeon, hopefully being fed stale bread and dodging spiders like they’re cannonballs.

She coughed into her hand. Probably not the best way to break the news.

Fiddling with the tie around Evie’s nightgown, Lyssa watched her. Evie started, “Sometimes family isn’t a thing we are born into but a choice we make. Sometimes”—Evie smiled—“the people who love you most in your life are the ones who choose you.”

It was saying it out loud that made Evie realize how fiercely she believed it. The family she had been born into was fractured, jagged, broken in ways she could not repair. It would never be what it once was, but it was not fully gone. And even if it were, she was not alone. She had a family. It was filled with villainy and mischief, but it was honest, and it was the one truth she could hold on to. One truth she could pass down to her sister.

They laid down then, side by side, and talked for hours. About the manor, about Evie’s job—excluding some of the finer, more violent details about The Villain, about Trystan.

“It wasn’t difficult to figure it out, you know. Everyone keeps calling him The Villain, Evie,” her sister said, resting her head against her hands and giggling.

“And that doesn’t bother you?” she asked hesitantly.

Lyssa shrugged. “He’s nice to me.”

Evie internally groaned. She was passing her warped logic down to the next generation, and everyone should run for thehills.

Lyssa’s lids seemed to grow heavy as her eyes drifted shut. “Evie?”

Evie’s lids had begun to grow heavy as well. The single candle on the bedside table was fizzling out. “Hmm?” she murmured, settling farther into the silken sheets, the crackle from the fireplace lulling her.

“I’m nervous for you to find Mama.” Lyssa’s voice was small, like she was almost too ashamed to admit the truth to her. “I’m afraid to meet her.”

Evie’s eyes opened, startled. “Why, love?”

Lyssa’s little face looked fierce, even seconds from sleep. “Because you’re the only mother I’ve ever had.” Soft, even breaths followed the statement. Her sister had fallen into a deep sleep.

Evie leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, brushing the stray hairs away. Lyssa’s admission had repaired a fissure that had cracked within her—one she hadn’t realized was there. She still had so much to protect, so much to care about. Losing someone didn’t mean the end; it merely meant the beginning of the life you’d lead without them, the beginning of letting in the people you’d gain in their stead.

She’d protect those people by any means necessary.