“There is no future forus, Sybil.There’s barely one for me.Barely one for you.”At least not the ones they wanted.
She lifted her chin, and he’d been correct.Tears shone in her eyes like stars.But that chin—defiant and set.And behind the tears like stars—a wild bloody witch, ready to curse him and his whole lineage.
“You’re right,” she snapped.“There is nothing for us.”
“We were only?—”
“Fucking.”
Lies.“Precisely.”His heart felt like a plant grown too large for its pot, roots pushing through soil, meeting the barrier of hardened clay, bone-hard rib and fire-strengthened muscle.The clay would eventually break, the roots crawling to freedom.But his heart couldn’t snap bone, couldn’t rip through muscle.Better to shrink it.Try to.
Sybil’s eyes glistened.“I’ll never speak to you again.”
“That was going to happen anyway.”When she parted her lips, no doubt to object, he rushed in before she could speak, bumping the side of his nose against the side of hers.Lips brushing, breath mingling.“Tell me I’m wrong.”
She wrenched her head to the side, squeezing her eyes closed.
“You can’t.My past, your family, their connection to the queen… You and I are like this fog.Past the drive of Foggy Hill House, we dissolve.We aren’t made for lasting.”Lasting.It felt ridiculous to even say it out loud.That’s how ephemeral they were.He stepped away from her.“I do this for you, princess.”Back to the horse, all the way up into the saddle this time.
“You do it for yourself.”She marched toward him, stopped mid step.She bent and picked something up, held it up to him.
His gold.One half of it from when it had melted.The other lay glinting in the dirt.
He gripped the reins tightly, but she wouldn’t drop the glittering lump, so he took it, pocketed it, then urged the horse out the door.
She screamed, a piercing thing, flinging her frustration and rage into the air.His horse made a noise, flicked its ears, but Apollo pressed it forward, curving down the drive.She screamed again, this one louder.Birds careened off the branches of nearby trees that lined the road.
It echoed for a moment, her anger hanging in the air, thicker than the fog that meandered through the yellow morning.Then there was nothing.
But he still heard it, her scream.Probably always would.
He’d rather remember other things.How it felt when her heat rose up to meet his.The kiss at the gate.A trail of honey down her inner thigh.A worktable that had seen more naked body parts than some marriage beds.How she looked at just this hour when the sky was new, the fog rolling against her bedchamber window—fresh, sleep hugging her tightly as he crept out of her chamber.
He crept out of her life now.Moving south, the sun rising on his left.
To London.
To Stone.
To his future.
He could see it in exquisite detail—obtainable, what he’d always wanted so very near.The power of being the only alchemist with the knowledge of true alchemy.He could keep that knowledge or sell it to the highest bidder.Riches a given, a title possible.One in the Guild—and perhaps even a new title given by the queen.He could never be the Marquess of Fordham again.But he could be a baron or an earl.Even a new title would be better than none.
He could…
He could…
Be thrice cursed and eternally damned.
Because Sybil would despise him for using the device for his own gain.
Not his gain.Hers.He was keeping her safe.He needed to keep her safe.And he’d adopt a pet cause, donate to… to orphans or soldiers or… found a damned school where women could learn alchemy.
Hell.
None of it mattered.
She’d never forgive him.
