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.
Chapter 28
Evie