6. Extinguish All the Lights
EXTINGUISH ALL THE LIGHTS
The next morning, Bran found Guin in the conservatory, wrist-deep in soil.
He’d spent the night in his bed but not sleeping.
He’d sunk deep into that liminal space he’d been taught to find as a boy.
Not sleeping, not awake. The body could rest, the mind could rejuvenate, but his senses were alert.
He belonged there, in that place between waking and dreaming, all Second Shadows thrived walking the line between contraries.
And Bran currently walked the line between alert and arousal. In her potion shop, she’d been his employer, he her hired muscle.
But the danger had been in the kissing, not the killing.
If he’d taken her to bed—as she’d asked him to do once—she might have recognized him.
They’d only fucked once, a ducal consummation, but it could have been enough to unravel his deception.
So he’d kept his distance, denied he even possessed a cock (or a wife to wield it with) and lived chaste as a monk.
But his wife was back, and he was stuck as Braxton, and kissing her wouldn’t reveal the ruse.
He could kiss her.
He rearranged himself in his trousers before striding through the vines and leaves and clearing his throat. “I assume you have no intention of staying put today.”
“Hmm?” She glanced over her shoulder then back at the soil she was tilling with her hands. “Oh, no. Not at all. I assume you insist on shadowing me.” She laughed. “Shadowing me. Do you lot ever make puns about yourselves?”
“Not usually, no.”
“Too serious for such stuff?”
“Shadows are serious stuff.”
“Do you… actually use shadows? I thought it a metaphor.” She packed the soil then wiped her hands on a cloth and faced him.
“We do.”
She scratched her chin, and it left a streak of dirt across it. “Fascinating. I knew someone once, and he could… but I always thought it a trick of the light. He fought incredibly well in the dark, in the shadows.”
He swiped his thumb across her chin, clearing away the dirt and giving him a taste of the silk of her skin.
Her red-gold lashes quivered briefly on the curve of her cheek before her eyes flashed open, and she swept his hand away with a bit of linen she worked across the smudge. “You do not wear gloves?”
“Sometimes. Does it really matter what I wear beneath the glamour?”
“I suppose not.” Her gaze darted downward. “You aren’t entirely without clothing, are you?”
“Would you like to know?”
She rolled her eyes and cleaned the space where she’d been working, scrubbed a brush beneath her nails, and slipped on her own gloves.
He popped a hip against the edge of the table. “The someone you know who fought well in the shadows… It’s Bran, isn’t it.”
“You know about him, too? Of course you do.” Her brittle little laugh was like a pot dropped to the marble floor, breaking in two, spilling its contents. “It is no matter. I should like to see your shadow work.”
She had seen. Countless times when he’d been himself. He had to be careful about showing her now. If she saw him gather shadows and wield them like weapons, she might come to a few realizations he’d rather she not.
“Where are we going first?” he asked.
“Clever of you to know there is a first.”
“My only question is whether there will be a third, fourth, or fifth as well.”
She chuckled, took off her apron and grabbed her reticule and bonnet.
She also grabbed her walking stick. He’d given her that blade.
It was fashioned of a cherry handle he had carved himself into a raven mid flight.
And the hidden sword inside the cane was made from the same alchemist metal as his sword.
It grew or shrank to do a man’s bidding. A woman’s too.
He followed her outside into the cold, gray day, placing his hand over his own sword strapped to his outer right thigh.
He wouldn’t use it unless absolutely necessary.
If she saw the sword, he’d raise her suspicions.
At the very least, she’d realize that Bran, like Braxton, was a Second Shadow.
Then she’d have questions, and hell, things were already too complicated.
So he allowed her to march ahead of him while he kept watch from behind.
Soon they were standing in front of Apollo‘s plant shop.
Bran stopped Guin on the threshold. “Be careful.”
She brushed right past him, and he was forced to follow despite the sounds only just covered by the susurrations of whispering leaves. And he wasn’t at all surprised when they found the shop’s owner and the owner’s wife. Guin was. She gave a little gasp and hung onto his arm to steady herself.
Sybil sat on the counter at the back of the shop, and Apollo stood between her legs. Her skirts were bunched up, and his hands were flat on the counter, bracketing his wife’s hips, and he was kissing her leisurely.
“Erm. You have company,” Bran said.
“What do you want?” Apollo said against his wife’s lips.
“To understand how you retain any business. Doing that during shop hours.”
Guin nodded. “You could at least lock the door.
Apollo’s head dropped backward on a sigh. “You again.” He looked over his shoulder, brow raised. “With Lady G. Now this is interesting.”
“Lady G!” Sybil wiggled out of her husband’s grasp and came to her feet. “Oh, it is you! Apologies for the—erm—state you find us in.”
“I do not apologize,” Apollo said.
Sybil punched his arm, gained a wicked, adoring grin.
“We quite lose sense of time. And place.” She was petite and blonde and easy to underestimate.
Seemed like she’d be more at home at a garden party than a forge, but she was the Royal Alchemist’s sister, and his apprentice, and was stronger than she looked. “What brings you here?”
“My wife needs plants,” Bran said.
“Naturally,” Apollo drawled.
“Let me find them!” Sybil tore toward Guin. “I’ve been learning, and it would be good to test myself with someone who won’t scold me too terribly if I get it wrong.” She hooked her arm through Guin’s, and they disappeared into the plants.
Bran stepped closer to Apollo, then after a final look into the foliage to make sure they were alone, whispered, “Have you thought about what we talked about? The last time I was here?”
“Almost incessantly. It’s annoyingly fascinating.”
“Well? Do you think you can do it?”
“I can do something.” Apollo went up on tiptoe and looked out over the shop.
The women were not visible, but it did not mean they were not listening.
“This way.” He took off toward his office.
“I’m assuming, because you still have all your appendages—so far as I can see—that she does not yet know who you really are? ”
“Shh. She’s never going to know. The only reason I’m allowed to follow her about right now is because the queen ordered it.”
“I had heard that.” Once in Apollo’s office, he shut the door. “You visited Diana yesterday. She’s a little bit of a gossip.”
“Doesn’t matter. Saves me the trouble of explaining myself.”
“Very irritated, are we?” Apollo tsked. “Perhaps your personality problems will alleviate themselves once I rid you of your glamour. Shall I try now?”
“Fucking Jupiter.” It was possible, then. “Yes. Now.”
“Very well.” Apollo laced his fingers together and stretched them high above his head, palms up. He shook his shoulders all the way down to his fingertips and jogged in place.
“Could you get on with it?”
“Never do magic without stretching first.”
Perhaps he should have sought the help of a more serious individual.
“Now,” Apollo said, “glamours are nothing but light, and if yours is stuck, that means we need to rid you of light.”
“I’ve tried that. Spent two days in a dark closet. No windows. I stuffed a shirt into the crack beneath the door. I didn’t leave. For two days.”
“Not good enough. Diana says—”
“You were not supposed to tell anyone.”
“I didn’t. I just got her going about one of her favorite topics.
” Apollo patted his shoulder. “Have faith, my lying friend, and do listen. As I was saying, your body can create light as well. In small amounts, but it’s enough to keep your glamour going.
I think at least. We have to extinguish all the lights. ”
“Wait… All the lights?”
“All. The. Lights.”
“You want to kill me.”
Apollo grinned. “Just a little bit.”
“No.” Bran backed toward the door. “No no no no no. Horrible idea. Come up with something else.”
“You must not want to get back to your old life, then. No glamour. No ducal duties. Just the girl who thinks you’re someone else.”
Just the girl who knew the real him as no one else did. He’d always been willing to die for her.
Apollo must have sensed Bran softening. He pressed closer. “If you’ve tried everything and this is new, well, maybe it’s the only thing that works.”
“Fucking Jupiter.”
“I’m going to bring you back. I’m not going to leave you dead. Obviously.”
“Can you do that?”
“Theoretically.”
Bran groaned.
“It’s quite a strong theory. Don’t fret. I’m the fire eater, remember. And you, old boy, are the death cheater. This is nothing new for you.”
“I did not actually die last time,” Bran reminded him.
Apollo waved his worry away.
Finally, Bran abandoned his position of retreat by the door. “What do I do?”
“Just stand there.” Apollo tilted his head.
“No, no. Better not.” He grabbed Bran’s upper arms and moved him toward the sofa, sat him down on it.
“Might be better to lie down. You are going to die, after all. Don’t want you falling and hitting your head and dying in a way I can’t bring you back from. ”
Bran shifted, stretched his legs across the sofa and propped his head on the arm.
“Now close your eyes… No, no, never mind. Keep them open. I think they might be a good marker for how far I’ve gone and if I go too far. Need to see the light in your eyes and all that.
“Too far?” Bran popped upright.
Apollo pushed him back down. “I’ve got this under control.”