Apprentice to the Villain (Assistant to the Villain, #2)

by Hannah Nicole Maehrer

You’ve been told for a very long time that you are made for destruction, but there is nothing that says you cannot be more. You can be capable of bad and do good. You can do good things and still be bad. Nothing is set in stone, and if it helps, I’ll stand by you no matter who you choose to be.”

“I do not smile when I don’t feel like it.” Lyssa blinked, surprised. “Why not?” “Because we are always expected to plaster a grin on our faces even when we don’t wish to. I used to do it so often, I stopped being able to tell when I was smiling for me or for someone else. So now, I don’t smile unless I’m one hundred percent sure it’s something I want to do, not something someone else wants me to do.” She smoothed a lock of hair away from Lyssa Sage’s face. “And you shouldn’t, either.”

“You know as well as I, Trystan Maverine, that humans demonize what they cannot understand. It isn’t our job to educate them, just to live the way we’re meant to with the knowledge that being called a monster does not make you one.”

“But—” Lyssa sniffed, dampening Evie’s nightgown with her tears. “Who is going to take care of you?” Oh, Lyssa, myself. I’ve always taken care of myself with a false smile and brittle strength.

“Sometimes family isn’t a thing we are born into but a choice we make. Sometimes”—Evie smiled—“the people who love you most in your life are the ones who choose you.”

A tragic inheritance, seeing your mother’s flaws crop up within yourself and having the awareness to know it but no idea how to stop it.

But of course, Lyssa heard, because ten-year-olds seemed to hear none of the things they were supposed to and all the things they shouldn’t.

It had occurred to her many times over that “impossible” was merely a word people used to describe limitations they wished for you to adhere to, so you wouldn’t upset the balance.

Evie knew this of magic, as well as the myth that magic could also be awoken from the purest joy. But that wasn’t real, just a fable. The real magic in this world was always brought about by pain.

They had an evening to kill, and if she wasn’t going to spend it in his arms, then she would take some delight in throwing sharp things at his head.

It was the one beautiful thing Evie could find in this mess: being held by siblings who had been hurt by the same set of hands that had hurt her. She would never be known like that by anyone else.