Assistant to the Villain

After a mad dash through the ruins of the party, stepping over unrecognizable bodies, some of them still groaning, Trystan spotted Clare. Tugging his sister hard by the arm, Trystan ducked them both into the shadows in one sweeping move.

She was shaking, her dress torn and her left shoulder bare where the strap was missing. It made him think of their childhood, when Clare was reckless and Trystan would feel pinches in his chest at what might happen to her.

But they were grown now. He’d learned quickly that neither of his siblings needed his worry or concern.

“Tryst?” Clare’s voice shook, as though she was unsure her brother was really here to rescue her. But then she seemed to collect herself and shouted, “Father. We must find Father!”

“What in the deadlands are you even doing here, Clare?” He was feeling so many things, too many. Emotions had never been easily processed through the dark confines of Trystan’s mind.

He worried for Evie, he worried for his sister, he was infuriated at whoever caused this mess, and there were not words to describe the anger he felt toward King Benedict.

“Father invited me!” Clare yelled, her usual temper flaring and melting away any trace of fear he thought he’d seen in her gaze. “What in the deadlands are you doing here?” Her eyes became horrified saucers. “Did you do this?”

“Of course not,” he growled, freezing when he saw Blade sprint past him. “Gushiken!”

The dragon trainer halted in his tracks, swinging a looped rope, sweat pouring down his face. “I almost had him—just need a little more height.” Blade peeked over at Clare and smiled like they were meeting over brunch. “Nice to meet you.”

“My sister.” Trystan claimed her, even though it was unwise. No one at the office, save for Tatianna and now Sage, knew of his familial connections. Or even his identity.

“Oh.” Realization lit in the dragon trainer’s eyes. “Oh, you’re— Hello.” The man obviously knew something he shouldn’t, because he looked like a cat who’d found a mouse to play with.

Trystan was out of patience, as usual. “Clare. I’ll find Arthur—just stay out of the way.”

“I don’t take orders from you.” She rolled her eyes and turned to Blade. “You need a sleeping draught to take that thing down, don’t you?”

“I—” Blade looked to Trystan, uncomfortable to be caught in the siblings’ squabble. “That would be good. Can you make one?”

Clare curled one side of her lips at the trainer. “Yes, I can. There are some herbs I can use growing nearby—give me five minutes.”

They both turned in the direction of the shrubs, but a familiar scream wrenched the air and a horrid, hollow feeling knifed its way through his heart.

Sage.

“I have to—” But then a sharp pain sliced through his head. He saw dark spots as he fell to his knees, and his last image was of Sage waiting for him to come save her, but he’d never reach her in time.