“I don’t see why I’d need to say anything to anyone.”For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the fire.“Why not travel as husband and wife if… the two of you are… well,you know.Youcouldtravel as husband and wife.”
Sybil pressed the backs of her hands to her burning cheeks.“We are not lovers.That kiss… that was the first…” She rolled her lips between her teeth and pressed her eyes closed.Her eyes burned hot too.She swallowed.“It was unexpected.An experimental alchemical strategy.”
“It appeared… passionate.”
“Well”—Sybil gave a forced laugh—“we are passionate about alchemy.”She cleared her throat.“How did you become a blacksmith?It’s usually a man’s job.”
Mrs.Paisley sucked air through her teeth.“Mostly.My husband was the smith before me, and his father before him.Until about ten years ago.He’s a tailor now.Always loved sewing and colors and patterns and what not.I always felt called to the fire.I met him because I was always hanging about the forge, watching his father.I was never an official apprentice, but I learned what I need to know without a title.I’m not fancy enough with the iron to be an alchemist, but I do my job well.”
Sybil wandered the edges of the shop, pausing to appreciate the severe edge of a new sword or the perfect curve of a horseshoe.“You do at that.Are there others like you?Who practice alchemy?Women, I mean.”
“Mm.A few, yes.Cooks who can get water boiling quicker than you can blink.My sister’s a lady’s maid, and she can mend a broken bit of jewelry with the heat from her bare hands.”
“She can call up her own heat?”
“That she can.I’m right proud of her.”
“Marvelous.”
“It’s no more than you can do, miss.”
“I’m just learning.”But my… what she’d learned today.She’d wanted to know if there were others like her—women who wanted to learn and create, to bend metal to their wills.And she’d found them.“In London, Manchester too, women don’t do alchemy of any sort.That I’m aware of.”
“Seems a waste.Can’t imagine a husband or brother would want to fix a bangle for you.”
Sybil laughed.“No.My brother—my real brother—hates making jewelry.”
Mrs.Paisley leaned a hip against her anvil, and Sybil could just see the tips of a smile behind her teacup.“Johnny and I were never happier once I decided to pick up the hammer and him the needle.And you must be happy, too, with your fella.He doesn’t seem to mind your alchemical tendencies.”
“Not at all.”And Sybil smiled too.
A cessation of sound on the roof pulled their attention toward the windows.
“Rain’s stopped,” Mrs.Paisley said.“Finally.”
“I should return to the inn.”Sybil held out a hand.“I cannot tell you how delightful it was to meet you.”
“Same, miss, same.And you have my gratitude for saving Farmer Paxton’s sheep.You’ll have his, too.”
“I hope you get a new alchemist soon.”
“Perhaps I’ll try my hand at it.”
Sybil bit her bottom lip, her feet wanting to dance.“I’m going to hug you.”And she did, squeezing tight.Mrs.Paisley laughed as Sybil released her, and Sybil stepped into the sunshine.“I’ll visit again.And I’ll tell you everything I know, but you must share some secrets of the anvil with me, too.”
Mrs.Paisley promised, and Sybil set her steps toward the inn.She was whistling by the time she reached her bedchamber.She needed to pack and perhaps call for a bath before they left, and?—
What was that?
She put her ear against the door across the hall—Apollo’s door—and heard… a bubbling cauldron?No.What was going on in there?She knocked.
Apollo’s muffled voice, from the other side of the door, cried, “Enter!”
She did.And froze in the doorway.“Oh!”Her hand flew up to cover her mouth.
Apollo lounged in a copper tub placed before a barren fireplace.His muscled arms stretched along the sides of the tub, and his head rested on the back edge of it, face tilted toward the ceiling.The water bubbled against his naked chest, and his knees were drawn up, forming mountains that popped out of the hectic surface of the water.
Which was boiling.
