Chapter Sixteen: Lyewkin

From one sidelong glance, I could tell Godwin wasn't pleased.

For a week he had been grilling me—for avoiding him and Finn, avoiding the basement tavern, not once taking my mind from the case. And when he suggested I take the night off—hit the gambling tents, help him drain every nobbish geezer of his last shilling, I agreed. Perhaps taking a break was just the thing to lift my spirits and pull me from this slump.

But now, by the way his eyelids drooped, expression dulled, and shoulders sagged, I could practically hear him thinking, we rode east and paid a mint to skirt-chase?

I tilted my head to the ground and cast an apologetic smile up at him. He huffed a sigh in reply, and in seconds, we were catching up to Esselle.

She was a bonny lass in her little green dress, but I was accustomed to seeing her in linens. I almost didn't recognize her in the presence of the blonde, life-wasting laddie, who attracted my gaze with his horrid tongue at the bottom of the Giant Wheel.

I would've had no qualms pummeling the fool if he were brave enough to stand up to me. Men like him reminded me of my father and Antolie. Entitled pricks.

Perhaps I should have been grateful to the fool. Were it not for him, I wouldn't have spotted Esselle. Then again, in that green dress, maybe I would have.

"I hadn't the chance to introduce you to my friend," I called out to her, catching up to the surprisingly brisk pace her tiny frame could maintain, "This is Godwin."

Godwin dipped his head in her direction.

"Esselle… pleasure to meet you," she greeted, her darkened lashes flouncier than usual. She was hasty to get away—her determination to escape the two of us was nearly tangible.

Why so hurried, Esselle? Why so rushed to leave?

"The pleasure's mine, doll," Godwin retorted with a grin, his flirtatiousness coming out to play. The brutish build and coquettish slant worked wonders for him, as far as ladies were considered. Esselle, however, didn't appear the least bit amused.

"Would you like to join us?" I queried.

"We're fetching a bite," Godwin added—his eyes darting to mine, as though I'd forgotten, "And some spirits. I'm sober and would rather I wasn't."

I scanned her expression for any hint as to what she might be thinking, met with nothing but a blank stare.

I was nothing short of surprised when she shrugged and responded with, "Sure."

I blinked and willed myself not to gape—so did Godwin. "Sure?" I queried, making sure I heard correctly.

"Sure," she repeated, "But only if you give me a moment to freshen up in the washroom." She pointed to a small building camouflaging itself as a tent. "I'll be right back." And she strolled to it, truly mistakable for royalty in that gown—the way she walked effortlessly pin-straight.

It was so odd, the way she didn't conform to a trope like the other Pale dwellers.

Godwin let out a low whistle as she strutted inside. "You've spared me bits and pieces, Mate. But you never said Esselle was such a peach." A foreign feeling struck me in the gut at his words—one I couldn't decipher. When I didn't respond, he flashed me a wry grin. "Don't worry. I'll keep my hands to myself."

The odd feeling, odd pinch, lingered on. But I said, "Don't." His eyes shot to mine and his brows furrowed. "Give it your best shot," I teased. And I narrowed my eyes on him.

Realization setting in, Godwin's eyes widened slightly, "You don't think I can seduce the lass?" I smiled wide, baring my teeth—an answer in itself. "Alright, then—I will. You and I both know I've never lost this bet."

"What bet?" Esselle queried, pulling both of our gazes to her out-of-nowhere arrival.

We both straightened to her sudden presence.

"Drinking bet, Love," Godwin lied—and damn if he wasn't the best at it. But he looked back at me and smiled, guiding her along with a hand gently grazing her lower back. And when he winked at me, I realized exactly what that feeling in my gut was.

Some strange breed of protectiveness.

How ironic.