The only thing to hide behind in his current situation.
Miss Grant—Sybil he must call her since he was to be her brother—did…somethingto him.Something he couldn’t name and didn’t like.He’d not meant to tell her about Stone and spying.The words had simply left his tongue of their own accord.She made him feel… desperate.Like damp back alleys and shaking hands, like blurry vision and buzzing sound, like a potion bottle in one hand and an opium pipe in the other.
Lost desperate.
Hurt desperate.
I’d rather not be alivedesperate.
He’d conquered all that months ago, clawed himself out of the pit.
And a thimble of a woman with golden hair had kicked him back down into it.Even with the green glass between him and the world, he felt raw, revealed.He couldn’t look at her, so he looked out the window instead.He’d have to be more careful around her.
What did it matter she knew about Stone, anyway?It had gotten him what he wanted, and he could still spy for the man.If fact, he’d put himself in a perfect position to do so.Telling her earned her trust, earned him a spot in this coach without fuss.When he didn’t need the one, he could break the other.
The coach shook and the door opened.The driver had accepted their story, but he still eyed Apollo with a suspicion so sharp it felt like a knife peeling his skin away inch by meticulous inch.
Apollo ignored him, descended, and helped Sybil down, settling her hand in the crook of his arm.“Come along, sister.”
“That was rather commanding of you,” she whispered.“How did you know Hesperus is just like that?”
“He’s a Grant.Which means he likely possesses the not inconsiderable urge to be a hero for everyone in skirts.”
She sighed.“Brothers are a trial.I hope you prove less burdensome.”
“I plan to be more so.”He patted her hand.
The innkeeper was a short, slender man with a short, slender wife, and they were happy to welcome anyone with deep pockets.They followed a maid up the stairs to the only single rooms left at the inn, on the very top floor.
At the end of the hallway, a fire burned bright, and on either side were several closed doors.Sybil let Apollo care for everything—paying the innkeeper, tipping the maid, getting the keys, arranging to have meals sent to their separate rooms.
“Youarea princess, aren’t you?”Apollo mumbled, opening the door to his room as she opened hers.
“What do you mean by that?”
He looked over his shoulder at her.“I simply would never have expected you to cede all the decision-making to me, the paying for things, the superior position in this relationship.”
“There’s a proper way of doing things.Women always hang back while men make the arrangements.”
“Hang back.Hm.Like you did with Temple?”
She turned all the way around, abandoning her door with the key inside the lock, unturned.“What do you mean bythat?”Her hands hit her hips.
When a woman’s hands hit her hips, someone was in trouble.Usually a man.In this case Apollo.Clearly.Might as well jump all the way into the fire.“That you knew what your brother would do, knew you didn’t want it, yet let him do it anyway.”
“I tried not to.You told him where I was.”One large step and swinging skirts brought her closer.And put him in imminent danger.
“That was hiding.The easy way out.”He stepped into his room.“Damned dark in here.”
An orb light flashed on, revealing Sybil holding the small sphere up high, washing the room in gentle light.
“There’s a candle and tinderbox,” he said, making for the table where they sat discarded.
“But there’s no fireplace.”
He stopped, slowly looking around.“Damn.”
“Precisely.Maybe my room has one.”
