Page 107 of Accomplice to the Villain

The frog leaped upward, landing atop the wand and leaning his weight on it until the long piece of pure iridescent white fell to the floor with a clatter. Both women froze, their hands up like they were trying to cover themselves if the ceiling came tumbling down.

Clare exhaled. “Okay. I think we’re safe.”

But then the walls started shaking, knickknacks on the shelves rattling with them. “From growing old?” Tatianna quipped as a horrible creaking sound came from the corner. “That seems likely, yes.”

And then Clare realized that no, the ceiling was not tumbling down upon them.

But the walls…

The walls were closing in.

“Clare. Run. Now.” Tatianna shoved at Clare, and they sprinted at full speed down the hall, leaving the study behind them. The ground shook beneath them as they pushed faster and faster until they hit a dead end.

“Tati, move!” Clare cried, rushing past her, pulling a vial of orange ink from her pouch as the walls continued moving closer. The ink floated freely as she wielded it out of the vial, and then in one sweep of her hand, Clare seared the stone wall with the orange ink’s melting properties. The brick started to dissolve before them, slowly, as the walls closed in.

Chapter 57

The Villain

Someone was attempting to break in.

Trystan—who had barely found an hour of restful sleep—awoke to rattling. He didn’t wait to investigate. In a true act of finesse, he launched himself off the crooked, uncomfortable excuse for a sofa and threw himself at the bed until he was blocking Sage with his back, frantically scanning his surroundings. Safeguarding her.

In red silk pants.

If this ever got out to the public, he’d have to kick a litter of kittens one by one to recover his reputation. He wondered if kicking Valiant Guards would have the same effect.

His mist surrounded them, eclipsing the quickly rising sunlight beginning to stream into the room, but it was useless. Expletives fell from his lips as a piece of the wall nearest Sage’s bed gave and two figures stumbled in.

Sage jumped out from behind him, dagger slicing through the air like a butcher drunk on mead. “Back up, knaves!” She dove for the shadowed figures, but as Trystan’s eyes adjusted, they widened, and he grabbed a flailing Sage from behind.

“I take it back,” he said incredulously. “You’re not a little tornado; you’re a godsdamned hurricane. Stop stabbing!” he yelled, tugging her back before she could pierce skin. “It’s Tatianna and Clare!”

And Kingsley, who leaped up and held a sign with no words on it, just a poorly depicted skull and crossbones.

“Oh!” Sage said, sounding too joyful for a woman who was on a spearing spree. Her dagger clanged to the ground, and she broke away from Trystan to throw her arms around them both. “I’m so glad to see you!”

Clare gave him a look—one he was sure all little sisters gave their big brothers when they’d caught them in a situation they would be teasing them about later. And possibly until the day they died.

“Are you wearing Trystan’s shirt, Evie, dear?” Tatianna said, scanning the fabric with obvious distaste.

“Are you wearing Tatianna’s lipstick again, Clare?” Trystan asked, his voice hardened and cold.

Clare’s pale cheeks went bright red as she found the nearest mirror and rubbed at her mouth with the back of her hand—the nearest mirror being the one on the ceiling.

Clare halted in her ministrations with a feline smile as she realized what she was looking at. “Did you enjoy your night with The Wicked Woman, Trystan?” Clare asked airily, and Trystan had the childish urge to shove her under his arm and dig his knuckles into her hair.

He was prepared to give sputtered excuses, to fumble and flail to spare himself, but mostly Sage, the embarrassment. Except it seemed his apprentice had skated well past shame, because Sage retrieved her dagger once again, then bumped him out of the way with her shoulder, walking toward the passageway his sister and Tatianna had just stumbled in from.

“He could have.” The look she gave over her shoulder was so chilling, it was like a blade of ice had sliced down his spine. Her attention was off him, but he still felt it. Sage had perfected a phantom glare.

As if he didn’t have enough problems already.

“Well. We did not enjoy the walls in those tunnels nearly closing in on us,” Tatianna said, removing her pink nightrobe and placing it over Sage’s shoulders, tying the sash tight in an act of sisterly affection. “But I suppose it was worth it.”

“To catch us looking guilty?” Sage asked, tugging at the hem of the robe so she wouldn’t step on it.

“Well, that, too.” Tatianna shrugged, pulling something free from the back of her nightdress’s sash. “Ta-da!”