Sweat beaded her brow, and Evie snapped back, “Please do me a favor…and shut up.” This somehow worked—Becky didn’t reply.
Evie’s palm burned where it slid against the metal, and she pushed the corner of the frame higher before it could cut farther into her skin. The fact that she was even doing this in the first place was a little absurd, but she didn’t trust anyone else to peek under the cloth before she unveiled her precious find.
“I hope whatever you picked from storage to replace the last portrait is worthy of the front wall,” Becky said, and Evie could just hear that she had one eyebrow raised.
It was no secret that Becky was bitter about what had happened to the last portrait. She apparently had given it to the boss as a gift. It was an ugly art piece Becky had said was an abstract work from an elusive artist, and she never failed to brag about it whenever anyone breathed in the artwork’s direction.
The sudden whipping sounds of flapping wings from the courtyard caused Becky to flinch, and Evie chuckled to herself and reached out to straighten the frame one last time before climbing back down the rungs.
Blade and the dragon had been working together like a finely tuned machine, but they still had some rough edges to smooth. Still, Evie had grown fond of those edges. Seeing as yesterday afternoon the dragon, who was still growing accustomed to free range with his wings, came crashing through one of the stained glass windows. Not Evie’s favorite brew companion in the kitchen, thankfully.
It was just as well; it had been an incredibly boring and unproductive beginning of their week until that point.
After leaving Otto Warsen’s smithy, a sense of finality and closure following the incident, the boss had become distractingly preoccupied with an issue he didn’t seem to need her for.
But Evie contented herself with the sweet bit of joy she’d get with the dangerous stunt she was about to pull with this art display.
After the dragon had plowed through the window, taking the hideous painting with him in his destruction, Evie had yelped in fear before feeling a moment’s satisfaction at seeing the painting’s fiery end. The abstract portrait had been staring into her soul for the better part of the last six months.
“I doubt whatever you found in storage will live up to what hung here before.” Evie didn’t mind the disbelief in Becky’s voice—not when she was subtly winning their battle of wills.
“Nothing can live up to that eyesore.” Blade chuckled, joining them for once without a wound or blood coming from some area of his body. Kingsley was sitting comfortably on his shoulder.
“Yes,” Becky drawled, looking Blade up and down. “Let’s take advice from the man who woke up today and decided bathing was optional.”
Blade smiled widely, like her insults were the sweetest of compliments, and sauntered closer. Kingsley’s eyes darted around, looking for a means of escape from the squabble. Evie watched Becky’s back go straighter than usual as she took a tiny, almost unnoticeable step backward from the frog.
But Blade saw. Evie could tell by the twinkle in his eyes, but also by the way he stopped in his tracks instead of bringing Kingsley closer. “If I ever need a new cologne, I’ll ask for whatever scent you’re wearing that allows you to smell so lovely, even when your rules are so rotten, Rebecka.”
Evie caught a flash of red glowing around Becky’s cheeks and almost stepped in to tell Blade to lay off. But before she could, Becky said, “Just pull the tarp, Evangelina. I have work to do.”
With a quick smile, Evie grabbed one corner of the cloth covering and yanked, revealing the canvas she’d spent the last hour framing and hanging.
There was stunned silence, quickly followed by the howl of Tatianna’s laughter. An intern walked by with a tray of cauldron brews, caught sight of the newly unveiled portrait, and stumbled into the nearest desk, spilling the cups of liquid everywhere.
“It’s the boss,” Blade said, wide-eyed, biting his lip to hold back a smile.
But it wasn’t—or it was, just the public’s perception of him. Evie had been walking through the village square last night, only to find a cart selling large, hand-painted canvases of the hideous rendition of The Villain for half the price.
It was the best money Evie had ever spent.
“It’s horrible!” Becky was slack-jawed, her look of horror only sweetening Evie’s little play at revenge on the boss for leaving her out of his most recent plans.
It looked worse in a larger size, the flaming-haired depiction of the man clearer and the letters in bold at the bottom standing out with perfect clarity.
THE VILLAIN
WANTED FOR MURDER, TREASON, AND GENERAL VILLAINY
DANGEROUS. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.
“Add ‘hideous’ to the charge list.” Evie and Tatianna snickered at Blade’s comment. Becky threw her arms in the air, glaring at all three of them with pure venom.
“You all make a mockery of the work we do here.” She pulled her chin up, then jumped slightly at Blade’s laughter. “The boss offers each of us decent, though private, employ. And if each of you had any sense, you’d show just a bit more respect for it, given how rare that really is.”
The entire group paused before Blade spoke again. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, concern pinching his features. Followed quickly by panic when Becky spun on her heels, walking away. “Rebecka! Hold on!” he shouted, passing Kingsley into Tatianna’s hands before rushing to catch up to the fast-moving woman.
Feeling a strange sense of defensiveness for Becky, Evie realized she really didn’t know much about how she’d come to work here. Had never even asked. Perhaps it was time she changed that. Maybe if she took the time to know Becky, they could find a common ground from which to build.
“Tati, can you have Marvin let me know when the boss returns? I want to see his face when he comes in and sees the new art.”
“Then turn around.”
Evie froze, moving slowly in the direction of the voice, knowing exactly who was going to be standing there. Even without Kingsley’s eyes darting behind her and him popping up his little sign that now read Trouble.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
Chapter 31
The Villain
The caricature was amusing.
But what truly caught his attention, making him do a slight double take, was the look on his assistant’s face. There was a mischievous tilt to her mouth, a maniacal satisfaction gleaming in her eyes.
He had a wild thought of getting a hundred more of those hideous depictions of him hung around the room, just to keep seeing that look on her face.
Sage gasped, her eyes going wide as she finally took in his appearance. “What happened to you?”
Ah yes, he’d forgotten to clean up the blood.
“I had a small run-in with a guvre,” he admitted.
Wiping at the oozing burn on his forehead, Trystan flinched away from his own hand. Catching a guvre was not easy work, but it needed to be done.
Thinking of the guvre reminded him of the blacksmith…and the way Trystan had carelessly missed how discomfited Sage was in the man’s presence.
Finding small marks of her throughout the smithy’s workplace had disarmed him. The carvings on her old desk were clumsy but sweet. The paper butterflies that had been left stuck to the windows, identical to the ones Sage had cut up and put all over the walls on her first day of work. They had driven him mad.
But he’d been oddly bereft when she’d taken them down.
Seeing the little touches of her everywhere in the blacksmith’s shop gave him a jittery sort of joy, which was oddly distracting. Thus Trystan had missed her flinches until it was almost too late. And he found that he hated himself for that quite a bit.
That was a problem.
He could tell his assistant was fighting the urge to rush to his side and look more closely at his wound…which was not necessary. “May I speak with you a moment, Tatianna?” he said and moved to a more discreet area of the office. Far from his assistant’s reach—and ears.