Epilogue The Soul Finds a Home
Four weeks later
Apollo had done everything the proper way. He’d met with Sybil’s parents on his own, asked their permission to marry their daughter, and he’d met with Temple and Diana, the latter who smoothed Apollo’s way more than Apollo had any right to expect her to.
Those meetings had been stiff, formal, and punctuated by gratitude for Apollo’s help in Stone’s forge. Gratitude set like an ill-fitting cloak on Apollo’s shoulders. He didn’t need thanks for that. Sybil was his; he’d have razed the entire British Museum if it would have saved her.
Hell, he’d faced the queen for her and behaved well enough to earn her grim and provisional approval. If he misbehaved in any way before the wedding, she would rescind it. And he’d only gained that much by complimenting her conservatory and helping to heal a sick palm.
The Grant Army must have realized how desperate he was because the fools had also agreed Sybil could marry him.
And now he was surrounded. He’d never been made the center of attention by so many people all at once.
Oh, there had been the servants when he’d been marquess, but they’d been paid to attend to his needs, and they’d never done so at the same time.
And in the streets and ballrooms, he was surrounded, no doubt, but few were acknowledging his existence the way ten sets of eyes now did.
Eleven if one counted the dog, and since old Merlin’s gaze was as steadfast as the others, Apollo did.
He cleared his throat.
Sybil squeezed his hand, and it gave him courage to continue facing the onslaught of curiosity and… oh yes. He knew that particular gleam well enough to recognize it, having seen it in the mirror so often. The Grant Army no doubt ran on curiosity and produced nothing but mischief.
Then again, the Grants were good, upstanding alchemists.
Their home a lovely little thing on Hampstead Heath, the entryway cozy with glowing fairy orbs mounted on the walls instead of candles and thick, ornately decorated rugs beneath his feet.
This paragon of the modern family would not resort to… mischief!
He cleared his throat again, not feeling at all confident in that assumption.
Sybil squeezed his hand again, encouragement to end the now almost fatal silence that was stretching out between her introduction of him to the Grant Army and his inability to greet them.
No more clearing his throat.
He squeaked out a “Good evening. Thank you for having me.” Oh God, he’d reverted to the indignity of boyhood when his voice could not decide on a pitch.
Diana slapped a hand over her mouth, not quite hiding a laugh.
Mr. Grant chuckled, a low-throated rumble that seemed to shake the entire house.
“I think,” Temple said, “the best course of action is to leave him to the children.”
Mrs. Grant slapped her oldest son’s shoulder. “Oh, that’s too terrible.” But she gave a wicked grin and followed Temple, Diana, and the dog into the dining room, where they began to set the table for dinner.
“No servants for that?” Apollo asked without quite moving his lips.
Sybil kissed his cheek. “Not during family dinners. Mama likes things just so. You’ll have to help next time, but for tonight, you’re a guest.”
“Ex-cell-ent… And tell me, when will they stop staring at us?” He pointed at the six Grant siblings of various ages who still occupied the entry hall.
Two young men and a boy of about three years of age, a numerical fact Apollo pulled from his memory because he couldn’t make an estimate based on observation.
All small children were simply… small. And messy.
This small child stood legs apart and arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the center of a group of three young women, two of whom looked like Sybil and one who shared Temple’s darker coloring.
They seemed polite, eager, hands folded in front of them.
Quite suspicious. He rather doubted any sisters of Sybils were as innocent as these three seemed.
Finally, the oldest of the young men came forward. He looked like a small copy of Temple with dark hair and silver eyes, but slighter of build and more playful.
“Good evening, cadet,” he said. “I hope you know your place in the ranks.”
Apollo looked to Sybil, who only laughed.
“What are your orders, general?” the young man asked Sybil.
“Stand down, Hesperus” she said, giving a salute.
The young man, Hesperus apparently, scowled. “You’re no fun. I see things haven’t changed at all during my time in Germany. You’re still ruling with an iron fist.”
Apollo lifted a brow, bristling. “And you’re lucky she’s benevolent. What was your name again… Hesperriwinkle?”
“Apollo,” Sybil hissed, “you said you’d be nice.”
For a moment, Apollo and Hesperus stared at one another. The boy was taking his measure, and the next few seconds would decide Apollo’s fate.
Hesperus backed down. “Welcome to the family, lieutenant.”
Apollo grinned.
Hesperus wagged a finger at him. “But only a second lieutenant. Ajax still outranks you.”
Apollo snapped a salute, and the Grant siblings followed him, marching single file, into another room.
“That could have gone better.” Sybil released a heavy breath.
Apollo kissed her knuckles, the only bit of her he’d kiss as long as they were between these walls. “I just needed to show them where I stand.”
“And where’s that?”
“Next to you.”
Her cheeks rushed pink, and she bit her lip to keep from splitting her face wide with a smile. “Oh. Well, that’s lovely.”
He loved how he could fluster her even by saying things to her he’d already said a thousand times.
You’re beautiful.
You’re brilliant
I love you.
“Shall we join the others?” she asked.
He nodded and held out his arm, and once she hooked hers through it, he said, “Tell me everything I need to know for success.”
“Helios and Helen will both answer to Hel.”
“Ominous.”
“And if you’re not fluent in German, Hesperus will try to trip you up linguistically.”
“I already accept defeat. What next?”
“Arty and Althy will chatter all night long about death and mummies and sirens luring men to their deaths.”
“Charming.”
“Oh!” Sybil stopped in the doorway and set a serious hand to his shoulder. “You must not accept anything Ajax gives you.”
“And Ajax is?”
Sybil pointed near Apollo’s feet.
Apollo looked down. And jumped. “Good God, when did he get there?”
The smallest boy, Ajax, stared up at him with unblinking eyes.
“Does he talk?” Apollo asked.
Ajax kicked him in the shin.
“Fu—uuuunny little fellow, isn’t he?” Apollo hopped on one leg and massaged the bruised bone.
The little boy swaggered into the parlor, tossing over his shoulder, “Of course I can talk, you insulting jackanapes. Now, are you going to join the rest of the ranks in charades, or are you going to lounge in the doorway all evening?”
Sybil and Apollo joined them, taking seats near the large windows.
All the chairs in the room—some large, some small, some padded and plump, others wooden and rigid, some plain brocade, others rich, blush velvet with golden tassels—had been pushed to the sides of the room, and forgotten teacups and plates and pots of tea that seemed to steam continuously, no matter how long they’d been sitting there, were scattered around the room.
A rather sleek grate warmed by clean, eternal coal was surrounded by an ornately carved mantle, green tile, and a clean stone hearth.
The room was so different from everything Apollo had grown up with. It was small and cluttered and…
Happy.
Happy sat uncomfortably on Apollo’s shoulders. He didn’t quite know what to do with it. But he soon did not have time to think about the matter overly much.
Hesperus announced charades, and Sybil bounced in her chair. “I’m horrible at acting, but rather good at guessing,” she told Apollo.
Apollo had never played before. He turned out to be horrible at guessing but wonderful at acting.
He’d also never been given a glass of whisky by Temple before, but he accepted it, only a little worried it might be poisoned.
And when everyone laughed together, it felt like his heart might explode. And when Sybil’s mother patted him on the shoulder it felt like he was part of the raucous circle.
And when Sybil rubbed a circle into his silver sleeve button and turned it gold with wink, he murmured, “Crafty minx.”
And when she looked for one second unsure of herself as her father expressed concern about her safety working in a forge, he held fast by her side to give her strength.
And when Sybil set her hand in his and kissed his cheek, it felt like the only bit of the world that mattered was in that very room.
He’d finally found his soul.
And his soul had found its home.
* * *
Author’s Note
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed Apollo and Sybil’s story. Are you itching for what’s next in the Alchemy of Desire series? Turn the page for a bonus epilogue that answers the question: What happened to Bran?