Assistant to the Villain

This excursion was ill-advised, to say the least. The closer they came to the smithy, the tighter the invisible cord around Evie’s throat grew. She should have said no—any excuse would have done. She was usually pretty good at coming up with misleading comments to dissuade even the most curious. The last couple of months of work had been amazing practice.

But some sort of shock had set into her limbs, and now she was about to walk into the last place she ever wanted to be, facing the last man she ever wanted to see again. Any conscious feelings screaming at her to run were muffled behind a thick pane of glass. She would not listen.

She could do this. For Trystan.

Taking a steadying breath and removing her damp palms from her pockets, Evie slid her hands against the sides of her skirt. But a sharp wave of nausea roiled through her when she caught sight of Otto Warsen’s burly form.

His face was smudged with black soot from the forge. He had a cloth in one hand, standing in the outside pavilion of his house, polishing a beautiful-looking sword. Evie felt rather than saw Mr. Warsen’s eyes as he observed her coming, her and her boss.

The Villain.

She was hardly alone or unsafe, so why did she feel like a human sacrifice?

The blacksmith’s gaze was slimy, coating every exposed inch of her skin as he looked her up and down, and it took every ounce of willpower she had not to turn back home and step into a scalding bath.

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen Mr. Warsen since she’d quit. Since the night he had asked her to be his companion, his breath thick with rum. She’d seen the rage contort his face after she said she wasn’t interested, and she’d known she had to get up and run, barely feeling the blade slice down her shoulder as she did. But she didn’t stop—she’d kept running and running and running.

She’d never told anyone and never went back. Anytime she saw Mr. Warsen around the village, he smiled and waved in a friendly manner and she swallowed down the bile and moved on.

But there was always that little glimmer, like the two of them shared a secret, and she could tell Mr. Warsen was pleased for it. She wanted to strangle him.

More than that, she pictured how she’d feel if The Villain hung his head in the entryway.

Suddenly, the smile on her face was very real as the two of them approached. “Good morning, Mr. Warsen,” The Villain said, his voice seeming to become smoother. He held his hand out to shake the blacksmith’s, who quickly pulled his hand from one of the leather gloves.

Evie didn’t move.

“A pleasure, Mister…?” Otto asked, his bald head reflecting the sunlight.

“Arthur,” The Villain said smoothly. “I believe you know one of my employees, Ms. Sage?”

Otto narrowed his gaze warily, looking to Evie. “It don’t matter what she—”

Before he could say more, Evie blurted out, “I was telling my boss of your wonderful craftsmanship when I was cleaning his collection of rare blades.”

There was still a wariness in the blacksmith’s face, but a renewed edge of interest at the prospect of a sale joined it. “Well, of course!” He grinned wide. “Evangelina got to witness my prowess with a blade firsthand while she was under my employ.”

Evie’s nails bit into her palms. “I certainly did.” A modicum of disdain slipped in over her false sincerity, but the two men were too busy sizing each other up to notice.

“What are you looking to have made, Mr. Arthur?” Otto gestured to a few pieces of unfinished work. “If you want it sooner rather than later, it’ll cost you, I’m afraid. I have many orders to fulfill.”

“Oh, I’m willing to pay whatever it takes.” The words were lower, almost angry, before they lightened again. “Especially since this will be a rather large project for you, Mr. Warsen. I hope you’re up to the challenge.”

Evie could practically see gold coins dancing in Otto’s vision. His beady gaze darted to hers as he answered, “I love a challenge.” Then he turned and opened the door to the smithy, a gust of hot air rushing out from the forge. “Please come in.”

The Villain followed him through the doors, and Evie tried to stay close behind him, but she froze when she felt Otto’s arm slip around hers. He leaned in and whispered in a low voice, “I’m glad you’re not letting what happened between us grow into a personal matter, Ms. Sage. It was, after all, only a misunderstanding.”

Her pulse pounded in her neck. “Misunderstanding, yes. I told you to get away from me…” Her boss was distracted by a row of chains hanging on the other side of the room. “And you misunderstood that for ‘attack me.’”

She pulled her arm from his grasp, smiling sweetly at him. “I can see the confusion.”

The blacksmith had the good grace to look panicked at her pronouncement. Good—she hoped he felt like his guts were about to spill out. Hers certainly did.

If there was ever a time to lose your lunch on someone’s shoes…

Pushing her shoulders back, she looked the feeble man directly in the eye. “But I can keep things professional. I hope you have the same capability.”

The Villain seemed to notice their hesitation and turned toward the pair standing by the door, a question in his black eyes.

“Why don’t you tell Mr. Warsen about your most recent purchase, Mr. Arthur?” Evie came to her boss’s side, her gaze focused on Trystan instead of the surroundings that haunted some of her darker nightmares.

Her boss angled his head but picked up her clue smoothly. “Of course. Mr. Warsen, what do you know about the dealings of wild creatures?”

“Not much, my lord, I have to admit.” Otto seemed to be taking the stance of humble shopkeeper. He played the part well. “I’m not as worldly a man as yourself, clearly.” He laughed, gesturing to his shabby clothes and dirt-covered face.

The Villain smiled, wide enough that the dimple in his cheek appeared. A boiling anger was building in her gut. Otto Warsen was hardly worthy of seeing something so precious.

But her boss didn’t notice her anger at all as he added, “I’ve had great luck in acquiring a guvre recently.”

The warmth in the room seemed to be sucked out with the mention of the deadly beast, whose serpent body and batlike wings were the least terrifying things about it. It was their breath that summoned nightmares. Dragons breathed fire, but guvres breathed venom that could melt the flesh from your bones. Their bites were slightly less deadly but no less terrifying.

“A rare and elusive creature, my lord,” Mr. Warsen said nervously. “They’re considered nearly impossible to train.”

“Yes, well, I’ve hired a very talented tamer of wild beasts. I have no doubt he’ll be successful once the animal is delivered to me.”

Evie almost snorted.

Good luck, Blade.

The boss did a double take when he spied a small desk and wooden chair pushed up against the corner. “Is that where you used to do your work, Sage?” He walked over and ran a hand over the desk, his lips pulling up lightly at the corners when he saw the little heart she’d carved into it nearly a year ago.

She ignored his question, determined to finish what they came for. Determined not to go down memory lane when it eventually led to a steep drop off a cliff.

“My boss was hoping to procure a collar for the creature, Mr. Warsen.” She took a step forward and nearly gasped when she felt a shot of pain in the scar on her right shoulder. She was quickly reminded of the magic in the blade he’d cut her with, the way her skin was probably glowing, even now, beneath her clothes.

Wincing and rubbing at the wound, Evie watched Mr. Warsen’s eyes follow her hand. He smiled.

She hated him.

He lifted a familiar dagger, holding it between his hands like a sacred object. Its uniquely white-colored blade gleamed and glittered beautifully, but to her it looked like a threat. “The last project we worked on before you left, Evangelina.” The closer the dagger came, the more her shoulder began to throb. He must have known, because he looked smug when he saw her wince again.

The universe was granting her small favors, it seemed, because her boss remained distracted by the little etchings on her old desk, looking lost in thought.

“I remember,” she said flatly, keeping the tremor out of her voice. “I told him I wasn’t certain a collar of that magnitude would be something you were capable of, Mr. Warsen, but perhaps I am mistaken?”

He took the bait like a fish on a hook. “Of course I can!” The man’s chest puffed up, and he threw his arms wide. “Take a look at a few of my creations, my lord!”

They both did a full scope of the room, blades and metals hanging from the walls like trophies. “Very impressive,” The Villain said, walking back toward the two of them until he was standing beside Evie. His warm presence and the smell of cinnamon drove a relieved exhale from her lips. “So you think you’re up for the job? I don’t want to tax you, especially with such an unfamiliar type of restraint.”

“It’s not unfamiliar!” Otto objected before lowering his voice to a heightened whisper. “Between you and me, my lord, I once designed a collar for a real-life dragon.” Evie began to have a daydream of grabbing a wooden floorboard and whacking the smug look right off his face.

“Is that right?” her boss said, trying to mask his interest.

“It was a secret project, solicited by one of King Benedict’s Valiant Guards.” Mr. Warsen’s grin was superior, so full of esteem for himself that he didn’t realize her boss was playing him like a fiddle.

She couldn’t believe it, but she felt like laughing. Evie resisted a sudden urge to plant a kiss on The Villain’s cheek for making this moment easier. But he had a habit of doing that, making her float when she was feeling like she’d sink.

“A special agent?” she said lightly, acting awestruck. “I wasn’t aware the king had a dragon in his possession.”

Otto turned to her, but his gaze snapped right back to The Villain, wanting to keep his attention. “No, our esteemed ruler would never want any part of an animal like that.” The blacksmith’s eyes widened as he shook his head at her boss. “Not that there is anything wrong with harboring rare beasts, my lord!”

“It’s hardly a savory hobby for a leader as esteemed and benevolent as our King Benedict,” The Villain said, a look of deference on his face.

He was a fantastic play actor. If Evie didn’t know the subtle shifts of his expressions, she’d truly believe the respect and admiration he was showing for their kingdom’s ruler, his literal enemy.

But Evie spent an inordinate amount of time studying her boss’s face, so she did catch the slight tick in his jaw and the rumble of something dangerous behind his words.

“Perfect for a strong-willed nobleman like yourself, my lord!” Otto said, turning to grab a cloth hanging on the far side of the room and wiping the sweat from his dirty forehead.

“Maybe you should bend over so he can have an easier time kissing your ass,” Evie whispered to her boss in a low voice.

“That would ease things a bit, wouldn’t it?”

She gripped his arm, hard. “You can’t make jokes on top of my jokes without warning; I may faint from the shock.”

“Noted,” he said dryly, rolling his eyes. “Mr. Warsen!” The Villain called the man over with a smile on his face. “I have to know—what need of a dragon’s collar would King Benedict have without harboring the dragon itself?”

“It does seem a curious sort of request,” the blacksmith agreed before pausing and looking around them as though to ensure they were still alone. “If one doesn’t know the whole story, that is.”

“And how much might it cost for a person to learn the whole story?” The Villain dug into his front pocket, retrieving a heavy-looking pouch clanging with gold pieces.

Was that the glisten of drool coming down from Otto’s mouth?

“I think for ten gold pieces, I may be able to recall the tale in its entirety.” He pulled on his suspenders, waiting for The Villain’s response with a greedy glimmer in his eye.

“Five,” The Villain said, walking closer to the man, causing Otto to tilt his head back so he could look her boss in the face. “You will do it for five, won’t you?”

He asked the blacksmith a question, and yet it did not feel like one. It felt like a command, one that a person dared not refuse.

Clearing the fear from his voice with a cough, Mr. Warsen took a step back, holding out a hand. “O-Of course, my lord. So generous of you.”

The pieces clicked together when they hit the man’s hands, then deposited immediately into his pocket. “Have a seat, please, my lord!” The blacksmith settled himself onto a rickety stool, gesturing to another stool across from him.

The Villain gripped the stool in his fist and dragged it closer to them, closer to Evie. “Here you are, Sage.” Without another word, he moved to the other side of it, leaning lightly against a wooden support beam, arms crossed.

Evie felt the leg of the stool wobble under her weight and twined her fingers together on her lap. Otto eyed the space between the two of them, giving just a hint of disdain before switching quickly back to a jovial expression.

“Where shall I begin?” He rubbed a thick finger against his chin. “It was half a year ago, if I recall.”

“For five gold pieces, I should hope you are recalling everything accurately.”

Evie loved watching Otto squirm underneath The Villain’s censure. “Of course, my lord, yes, it was six months ago, nearly to the day! I was hard at work, hoping to finish early so that I might find company with a woman.” He winked at her boss in camaraderie, but The Villain merely lifted his brow, waiting for the bastard to continue. “It was late. I’d had a few too many drinks, you see. Helps keep you warm at night.”

“You must get cold during the day as well,” Evie remarked innocently. “You did use that method often.”

The bitterness in her words must have become more pronounced, because she felt The Villain’s head dip so he could look at her, his scrutiny like a caress against her cheek.

Otto thankfully ignored her, as though her words were like the annoying buzz of an insect that could be swatted away.

“It was the beginning of the week. I was flooded with orders and repairs. But a man came in, asking for a very special order. He said he worked for the king.”

A man.

There was, of course, no guarantee that the person who’d placed the order for the collar was the person who’d infiltrated their offices, but whoever it was had a direct line to them.

“Did you happen to see what the man looked like?” her boss asked, his goals and focus singularly on solving this perplexing little mystery.

“I didn’t—he wore a mask. It had the king’s symbol on it, the two swords crossing over the lion.”

“And he requested a dragon collar for the king? When he had no need for it?” The Villain began to tap his fingers against the hilt of the sword hanging around his waist. He was itching for violence; Evie could tell. “That is exceptionally peculiar, is it not?”

“Apparently…” The blacksmith leaned closer, looking all too much like a conspirator. “He was doing some sort of undercover work. Everyone thinks King Benedict’s been too passive when it comes to dealing with The Villain.”

The use of his moniker had Trystan standing up at attention. “Do they?” But Evie could tell he was pleased with this development.

“Oh yes. For all his strengths, King Benedict has a good heart. There’s a rumor that The Villain was once an apprentice of sorts to the king, and that’s why he’s been so quick to let him get away with all his nefarious doings.”

“It would be by the benevolence of the king and not of his own merit,” her boss said darkly. “The Villain doesn’t have the intelligence to outsmart him.”

Otto nodded in furious agreement, oblivious to the fact that The Villain was probably imagining several different ways to decapitate him. “But apparently the good king has us all fooled. I think he’s had inner dealings with The Villain on his own all this time.”

“Why would you think that?” Evie asked.

“Because the man who was here said that the collar was going directly to The Villain’s lair at Massacre Manor. That the king found out about The Villain acquiring a dragon, and the collar was to be a subtle message to him. That his days of wreaking havoc were numbered.”

And there it was. The flat truth they’d been looking for, laid out before them. And yet they were no closer to learning the identity of the traitor—or the king’s ultimate plan.

Evie’s heart raced. It was funny, really, that she had felt such anger and dread when she’d entered this room, and despite finding exactly what they wanted to know, she was going to leave it feeling the same way—worse, even.

Which simply wouldn’t do.

The stool groaned loudly as she stood. Shoulders back and chin high, she looked Otto Warsen directly in the eyes. “You were very helpful, Mr. Warsen, thank you. Unfortunately, my boss will not be needing your services after all.”

The blacksmith nearly toppled off the stool with the force of his sputtering, “You— I— How dare you speak for your betters, you insolent little brat!”

Evie imagined for a moment that she saw steam coming out of the man’s ears and nose, and a small smile graced her lips.

A slip.

When Otto’s eyes caught the movement of her lips, he went from enraged to explosive. But his oncoming meltdown was disrupted when The Villain stepped forward and held up a staying hand, looking at Mr. Warsen like he was nothing more than an inconvenience.

“What my assistant says is true. I have no need of your services any longer. As it turns out, I don’t think you can provide me with what I require, but I thank you for your time.” There was leveled calm in her employer’s voice, like the stillness in the wind before the beginnings of a storm.

“Of course. I wish you luck on finding someone who can serve you better,” the blacksmith sneered.

The Villain turned to Evie. “Are you ready to depart?”

She nodded, a little awestruck by the exchange. They both began for the door, but then Evie saw Mr. Warsen move toward Trystan with that all-too-familiar dagger in his hand.

And she started to scream.