Chapter Thirty-One
Letty grasped Reid’s shoulder, shook it hard, and stepped back. “Icarus, wake up!” How familiar everything had become, a routine that had grown up between them. She plumped up Reid’s pillows, poured brandy—a quarter of a glass only, because that was all he’d drunk last night—uncorked the valerian and measured out a teaspoon, and opened Herodotus to the page she’d marked. She read until his eyelids were heavy and his breathing slow, then she slipped the ribbon between the pages again and put the book aside. She reached out and smoothed Reid’s hair back from his brow, as if he was a child. I love you, Icarus Reid, she whispered silently.
He didn’t love her. She knew that without needing to be told. Reid had kissed her in the parlor in an impulse of gratitude, and he woul
