Perhaps she didn’t, after all, have it under control.
But that meant…
God help her if Apollo had to play hero.He did not fit the job description.And if he jumped out of his hiding spot now and bashed Stone on the head with… something, he’d lose his apprenticeship.
Sybil clawed at Stone’s hand on her throat, and Stone released her, tossing her back to the floor.She rose, keening like a banshee, and slammed the Master against the iron bars.The entire cell shook.
She did seem to have it under control after all.
Perhaps it would be best if Apollo simply… waited it out.He rolled to his back, closed his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest like one of the desiccated mummies on show in the museum above—cursed, rotting, his heart removed, forgotten, and sealed inside a jar.
3
TWO PATHETIC PAINS IN THE ARSE
Sybil was going to claw his eyes out.Baxter Stone would never see daylight again.Anger gave her strength, and she swiped at his face, but his strength was greater.He pushed her back, and she hit the floor, twisting her ankle and tearing the knee of her trousers.She growled and tried to rise.Pain, sharp and ugly, wrenched a gasp from her lungs, and she fell back to the stone.
“Damn you!”she shouted.Her cry echoed down the damp, dark corridor.
Baxter snorted.“Me?Damned?Hardly.I’m on my way up, not down.And you’re going to help me.”Now that she was nothing more than a helpless bundle of bones, he leaned against the locked door of her cell, regarding her calmly as he twisted his gold binding ring round and round his finger.
She spit at him.“You’re mad.Release me now.”
“No.I need you.”
“You don’t need me.Isn’t that why you ended the engagement?I was nothing but an anchor pulling you down.”
“Do not pretend as if your own intentions were pure.Do not pretend you loved me, Sybil dear.”
No.She’d not loved him.But she’d thought maybe one day she might.“I would not have abandoned you, if you’d found yourself in my position.”Her entire family exiled from alchemist society.Her father stripped of his position as Master of the Alchemist Guild.Baxter had ended their engagement as soon as he’d realized it would do his ambitions more harm than good.“I would not have led the charge against you.”As he had against them.
“Tell me,” he drawled, “how is exile coming along?”
“It’s a delight.I don’t have to worry about friends and family betraying me.I know quite well who would rather have me dead than anywhere near them.”
His brow furrowed.“I see that could be a perk of exile.I’d not thought of that.”
“Oh God, you’re dimmer than an un-flamed fairy light.”
A sound from nearby.Sounded something like a… snort.But from where?They were alone, and the darkness outside their small circle of light was absolute and empty.
“Enough with the insults, Miss Grant.I’ve brought you here as my guest because I need your inventive mind.”
She should never have agreed to marry him.But he’d always appreciated her skill, and she’d hoped that he would help her nurture it.She’d also enjoyed his kisses.And no matter the quality of his brain, he was quite nice to look at.
He wasn’t nice to look at now, sneering in the dim dungeon light.
“Behind you,” he said, “on the table, you’ll find a book filled with sketches.I would like your thoughts on how they can be practically realized.There’s a pencil.And you can keep this orb.”He set it on the floor by the door and stepped backward, out of the cell.
She lurched forward, reaching for him.“Wait!”
“I don’t think I will,” he said with a crooked slant of a smile as he closed her cell and locked it.Then he stepped into the darkness.
“My brother will kill you for this.”
“He’ll never find out.”The words slid out of the inky void, punctuated by footsteps.In the distance, the groaning of a floating chamber.
Then silence.
