Page 139 of Adversary to the Villain

“Did Papa write this?” Lyssa asked.

“Likely,” Gideon murmured. But something niggled at him that the answer was no. “Could have been Marv.”

“Marv didn’t plant the bomb,” Keeley objected. “He was accounted for at the front gate through the entirety of that incident.”

A chirp interrupted them.

Clarke stumbled over his sister in an effort to climb up Becky’s skirts, and she let him, holding the animal tightly to her chest. “Do we find it odd that the parents have been trusting us with the babies without any qualms?”

Blade huffed. “I think turning the kitchens into a colorful cartoon painting wouldn’t be considered ‘no qualms,’ but why would they? We’re unpaid childcare.”

“How would a guvre pay you?” Lyssa asked, tapping her chin.

Gideon sighed. “Death by melting, likely.”

Lyssa gestured to her dress that had appeared when the starlight and venom met. “Or a tutu.”

“One has to wonder which is worse,” Becky grumbled, patting Clarke’s back when the animal let out a rumble-like burp.

The sound startled Lyssa into dropping another bit of ink onto a blank sheet of paper, and words slowly formed across the page.

True love was never part of the plan.

Signed,

A man trapped.

“It was my father. It must have been. I’m sure.” Gideon held up the paper, reading it again, wondering why the more he stared at it…

He wasn’t sure it was his father’s. He wasn’t sure at all.

Chapter 72

Clare

“Do you think they drowned?” Clare asked as the crew hurried around the boat, throwing down the anchor, preparing for them to disembark.

“Ever the optimist, my love.” Tatianna closed her hand around Clare’s, kissing her cheek. “I’m certain they didn’t—the earth would have rattled.”

Amara exited her cabin, wearing a formal black dress, and Clare took a step back into Tatianna’s side. “Clarissa. I expect you to be front and center for the burial today.”

“Of course, Mother,” Clare said with a saccharine tone.

Amara glared. “What are you wearing? That’s hardly appropriate for a funeral.”

She looked down at her bright-green dress. “Father wouldn’t have wanted a sea of darkness to bid him farewell.” Clare straightened her spine, feeling so much stronger than the times she’d faced her mother before. She no longer cared what her mother thought of her; her judgments could no longer sting. Now all Clare felt when her mother glared…

Was triumph.

“We’ll never know, will we. Winnifred!” The young enchantress scurried after her mistress, her long hair falling behind her as she raced to catch up with Amara, who was now departing the ship. But she stopped at the top of the plank when Tatianna called after her.

“Why did you marry him—Arthur? You had Trystan, but there were other ways out of being a mother, of being his wife.”

Clare sucked in a breath, frozen, but her mother appeared human—sad, even—when she said, “He was my one taste of goodness. I wanted some of the joy he gave to others. But even Arthur could not give it to me. If you never listen to me again, Clarissa, remember this: joy can be given by others, but it must live within a person for it to truly grow.”

Amara straightened, swallowing, her neck muscles straining. “Maybe you’ll be better at nurturing it than I was.” And with that parting shot, Amara walked down to the dock.

“Clare?” The ever-present pink ribbon tied to Tatianna’s wrist rubbed against Clare’s shoulder when she went to touch her. “Are you all right?”