Page 104 of Adversary to the Villain

Her father flipped a page, then another, and another, all blank, save for one, and this one he kept open. “Oh, Trystan,” he murmured. And when Clare saw what her father did, she understood.

The etching on the page was Hickory Forest, but it was not. Endless lines of tree stumps scattered about the page—sparse forest floor, dead wilted flowers, with a cursive line of text beside it that Arthur read aloud.

“All must be destroyed before it is undone. To end is to begin, to lose is to gain. Rennedawn will be forever changed.”

The voice Arthur used to read the passage was the same he’d used at bedtime, for stern talks, and for advice. It was the safe authority of a parent you knew had your best interest at heart, who did not merely love you, but liked you, too. Clare reached for him, her hand going right through his shoulder, her heart clenching when her father turned his head, touching the spot, smiling to himself. Placing the open book on the table with a tight shut of his eyes, Arthur swept from the room, following a crashing sound outside.

Clare made to follow as well, but the book’s pages fluttered so quickly she worried it would take flight, like a hummingbird’s wings. But the page it stopped on was the first, the inside cover. A sentence was etched there that made her halt, made everything halt. Including her mother, who had reentered the room and now was walking around the sofa to stare at the same page that had caught Clare’s attention.

To my dearest friend, Fate. May all our years together be as fruitful as every story we’ve made together. Endings exactly as we will it.

And below that…

To my dearest friend, Destiny. May all our years together be full of happy endings and joyous times. Where color peeks through to save those from grayest nights. Endings exactly as they’re meant to end.

That wasn’t the part that shocked Clare. It was the claw marks over Fate’s name. Angry. Vicious-looking.

Fate and Destiny were once dear friends. But something changed, something went wrong.

Amara interrupted her reading, stalking for the door, and when she wrenched it open, Clare gasped, falling through furniture until she was stumbling to her bum.

Evie’s mother stood at the door. Her father, too. As they entered the space, so did a third figure: Benedict. There was a small infant in Nura’s arms with a shock of dark, curly hair.

Evie.

“You’re sure about this, Griffin?” Nura asked shakily. She was twenty-odd years younger, a perfect amalgamation of both Evie and Lyssa. So startlingly similar that Clare blinked, rubbing her eyes to ensure what she was seeing was real.

“What is the alternative?” Griffin reasoned, taking the baby from the woman’s shaking hands and crossing the room to Arthur, who was already on his feet, greeting them with a grim expression. “Arthur. I thank you for what you’re doing for my family.”

Arthur’s eyes were downcast, and Clare waved a hand in front of him before peeking at the baby in his arms. Only a few days old, with dark mist playing in the soft curls around the infant’s face.

No. Oh no. This was it. This was the moment where they’d changed fate, where they’d changedeverything.

Renna Fortis entered next, carrying a familiar plant. The memory flower. They were going to take Evie’s magic and—

Little Trystan sprinted inside, wide-eyed and startled when all the adults in the room turned to him. Arthur looked ashamed, a hand washing down his face, tugging at his red beard. Their warm home didn’t appear warm any longer, chilling further when Amara crossed her arms, nodding at the newcomers. Either she’d been expecting them or she was incredibly composed in the presence of several new faces, including the king of their land.

“Shall we get on with it, then?” Amara asked, sounding far too blithe for the act she was about to commit. “Trystan, come here.”

Trystan didn’t move. He looked at Nura Sage, who was huddling in the corner, her dark eyes watering with unshed tears. Tugging a yellow handkerchief from his pocket, he handed it to her with a small smile. “For you, my lady.”

Nura took it the way one would take hold of a butterfly’s wing, unable to look at the little boy whose life she was about to permanently alter. “He’s a dear boy, Griffin. How can we—”

“It’s him or Evie, Nura,” Griffin snapped. If the man had a thread of patience, it was now gone.

“Be calm and worry not, Mrs. Sage,” Benedict declared with a practiced smile—one he knew would put his people at ease. “Trystan’s born Core Healer magic will eventually destroy the darkness from your daughter’s. We’re merely taking her out of the equation.”

Little Trystan walked toward Arthur and pulled at his hand. Arthur wouldn’t look at him, and Clare wanted to scream. The infant cried when Renna held the flower over her, an ugly sound coming from the mist now extracting itself from the small body.

“Stop! You’re hurting her!” Trystan’s small voice called, and he ran for Benedict, appearing to understand nothing but the pain the baby was experiencing.

But Arthur caught him about the waist. “It’s all right, my son. I promise you. It will be all right.”

The scene froze, and a voice called from somewhere at Clare’s right ear, a whisper, the way doubts crept in. “You can stop this, you know,” the voice said.

“What?” Clare whispered back. “Stop it? How?”

“Wish that it never happened. That their fates were never switched, that their paths were never meant to diverge here. Wish it, and it shall be done.”