Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (20 page)

The
city-prince leaned back on the sitting room's couch, the royal
sunburst on his short tabard glittering and making Iathor remember
every time Loria'd ever muttered about the furniture or wall-fabric
being shabby. "Interesting."

Iathor
did
not
like that tone. It suggested Tegar knew something he
didn't, and was debating whether he'd share. Iathor was working on a
suitably roundabout inquiry when the servant-girl returned. "Miss
Kessa Herbsman, m'lords," the girl said, curtsying and backing
off.

Kessa
followed, in a dark brown dress Iathor dimly recalled his mother
wearing for one or two harvest festivals. It looked . . .
much better on Kessa, its darkness somehow both lightening and adding
a healthy color to Kessa's hands, while the true-black of her sleek
hair kept the dress from seeming somber.

She
also curtseyed, with the poise and grace she'd shown any number of
times. (Such as in the cell where he'd found her . . .
He'd noted it even then, despite the thought of
Immune!
distracting him.) And, for a moment, he found himself as tongue-tied
as when he'd been a boy, realizing girls were almost as interesting
as alchemy.

"A
quiet one, Kymus? Not what I expected." Tegar sounded amused.

Iathor
remembered his manners, and his company. "You've three
bodyguards with you, your Grace. Kessa, this is Prince Tegar Aeslird.
He's here quite unofficially, so we're obliged to pretend we're
treating him informally. Do you want honey in your tea?"

Still
silent, Kessa moved to sit beside Iathor on his couch. Undoubtedly
she was darting paranoid glances at everything she could, without
flashing her unsettling eyes at the city-prince or the bodyguards
Iathor feigned to ignore. He added honey to her cup, taking her
silence for permission. "Kessa, Prince Tegar has offered his
palace as a location for our wedding. Would this be acceptable?"

"Will
it make the noblewomen want to kill me?" Her voice seemed
faintly dazed.

The
city-prince barked a laugh. "You'd have to ask my wife. I try to
stay out of the ladies' way, m'self. Besides, till it's found who
organized that attack and arson, I'll want an extra guard 'round this
place. I've got the only three immunes in Cymelia, so my cousin'd
have my head to lose any of you."

Iathor
said, "With all respect to the Princeps' concern, your Grace, I
feel the matter more likely involves home-grown grudges than agents
from the old empire. The guard shouldn't be necessary."

Seriously,
Prince Tegar said, "Better to be prepared than have someone
dead. I'd not want to inflict that autumn deadline on a man in
mourning."

"I'll
not let anyone harm her." Iathor put all his determination into
his voice. Only holding his own tea kept him from reaching to pull
his betrothed closer.

"Then
consider my offer, Kymus. There's no harm in it."

He
tried to tamp down his emotions. "I'll discuss the matter with
her, your Grace."

"Why
not right now? She's sitting next to you."

Iathor
paused, but she didn't speak. "Kessa?"

She
thought before saying, in her timid-mouse voice, "It'd depend on
the guard, I suppose. It might be nice to let Dayn and Brague go back
to their old routine. But if it's an imperial threat . . ."
She paused; Iathor tilted his head to see her frown. "The guard
would have to be someone's dramsman. And if not Iathor's, none of the
dramsmen here would get any rest till the guard was gone, which . . .
wouldn't let the old routines come back, after all."

The
city-prince grunted. "Know a lot about dramsmen, do you, girl?"

"Only
what Iathor's told me, your Grace."

"Been
educating the girl about it, Kymus?"

Iathor
shrugged. "The day I found her, your Grace, my brother returned
unexpectedly from Cym and landed on my doorstep. I'm sure you heard
how his student had made his house unlivable for stench. The matter
of Iasen's dramsmen, mine . . . It came up in
conversation some few times." He snorted and added, "Kessa
came up with the counter-agent for the smell."

Kessa
quickly murmured, "With Nicia."

"With
Nicia, yes. And I'm grateful to you both. Perhaps someday he'll
realize what a favor you did him."

Prince
Tegar said, again, "Interesting."

Iathor
kept himself from narrowing his eyes. "Interesting, your Grace?"

"Later.
Men's business." He waved a hand. "So. A guard? A palace?
Both? Neither?"

"If
I'm thinking of the same hall you are, your Grace," Iathor said,
"it would certainly simplify decisions of whom to invite and
who'd have to be mollified later."

"Thought
so. Shall I send my steward to yours?"

"Mm,
probably. Kessa?"

She
sipped her tea. "I don't understand the politics. If it'll be
sooner than waiting for spring, then I've no argument."

"Have
a deadline to beat, you two?" Prince Tegar asked, amused, before
Iathor could think of a way to get past Kessa's determined meekness.

She
murmured, "My nerves, your Grace."

"Of
course," he said, insincerely.

"That
would be the brewing time
I'd
concern myself over, your
Grace," Iathor said, before she could say something too
outrageously timid.

"Mmm,
if you say, Kymus. Now, the guard?"

"Kessa
has well remembered what I've said of dramsmen and the draught.
If
some imperial agent is trying to keep me childless by attacking my
betrothed, rather than assassinate me outright, it would be unsafe to
have a guard who wasn't bound." Iathor set down his own cup.
"I'm planning on acquiring a guard for her. I'm hoping a
suitable woman may be found, either not inconvenienced by her
moon-flows, or willing to have me request dispensation to render her
barren."

"You're
planning on a Cymelian woman? It'll take some time to train her as a
guard, Kymus," the city-prince said.

Iathor's
voice was entirely bland. "I'm assured there are potential
candidates who'd require training more as a lady's maid than as a
fighter. There's leeway in educating a maid."

The
other man held up his hands. "All right, it's your household. If
I send one of my own men, would that be intolerable for a month or
two?"

"If
only
a month or two, perhaps not. I still don't think we need
a third guard in the house, your Grace. If an agent were inclined to
hire or subvert some Shadow Guild assassin, such a thing would
already've been done." Iathor refilled Kessa's tea-cup.

Prince
Tegar held up his own cup, and his guard stepped forward to fill it.
"I'd much rather send someone . . ."

Kessa
said, meekly, "Your Grace?"

"Mm?"

"Perhaps,
if there's concern, you could send someone to watch over Iathor?"
she said. "At his offices? For really, he's the important one.
If something happened to me . . . I gather there are
other women willing to take my place."

None
I
want.
He spooned another dollop of honey
into her tea, pointedly.

The
city-prince said, "Sweets've never improved my wife's temper
when she was in a mood, Kymus. If this is temper . . ."

"She's
not kicked my ankles yet." (Kessa quickly crossed her own beside
him.) Iathor went on. "I agree with her reasoning. Send an
irregular patrol past the house. Set a guard at the offices or as
escort to and from there. Mount the best security for the wedding.
But there's been quite enough upheaval in my household for the past
few months, your Grace, and a guard within the house should be
unnecessary."

Prince
Tegar harumphed a sigh and drained his cup. "Very well, Kymus.
Though in that case, there are matters I'd speak to you about. In
private." He set the cup down and stood easily.

"I
see." Iathor followed suit, if less athletically. "I trust
one is when I may replenish my empty vial, your Grace? I'll need it
when we find someone suitable for Kessa." He pulled her chair
back for her.

"I've
no reason to interfere." The city-prince waved his hand
dismissively. "The usual channels should get that accomplished
within everyone's schedule."

Kessa
gathered the cups and tea-pot together onto their carved wooden tray
like a deferential servant. Iathor brushed her shoulder; she tilted
her head enough to glance through her hair. He asked, "You're
all right?"

She
nodded, as if she were biddable. "I'll just take these to the
kitchen."

"Mm."
He leaned closer. As she froze, wary, he whispered, "Vixen."
Then he stepped back quickly, lest she kick his ankle after all.

She
glanced at him side-long (an uncanny almost-glare), then went through
the far archway that led to the kitchen, carrying the tea-tray like a
servant – and walking like offended nobility. He'd have
preferred the almost-swaggering stalk of "Kellisan," but
doubted she'd use that in front of the city-prince.

Beside
him, Prince Tegar said, "Thought you were worried for some
hot-headed barbarian, Kymus. This the same girl?"

Iathor
supposed that, meeting Kessa in her mousiness, it would be hard to
think of her as a snarling, feral terror – as he'd seen once,
when she was too furious at him to care for her own safety –
or even as a vixen who'd kick a man's ankles. He smiled. "She's
a complex young woman."

"Shifty,
then. People who'll not look you in the eye have something to hide."

"In
her case, her eyes themselves, your Grace." Iathor gestured. "My
office?"

"Of
course." The city-prince fell into step beside him. "I'd
thought my reports must be exaggerating. Barbarians are disconcerting
and have odd eyes – seen it myself. But it's not like there's
never been a brown-eyed Cymelian lass, nor one with dark hair. And a
good quarter of the army lads have such things, too. Mayhap even a
third."

"I
admit, her glare gets easier to bear with experience – but
she's chary of letting anyone see her eyes
unless
she's angry.
And they are distinctly . . . unsettling." He
held the door into his office for the city-prince, and waited to see
if any of the dramsmen would follow.

Prince
Tegar waved his men back, perforce excluding Dayn and Brague.
"Planning on a dark bedroom, eh?"

Iathor
leaned against his desk. "Most people close their eyes anyway.
What do you wish to say in privacy, your Grace?"

The
roan-haired man put his arm up on the mantle and looked into the
hearth for a moment. "You're not being forced into high
marriage, are you, Kymus? Not some matter you'd avoid if only you
honorably could?"

That
was . . . unexpected. "I fail to see why I'd not
want the mother of my child to be my fourfold wife, your Grace. The
matter's too important to take a low-wife and worry that some other
family might claim a more legitimate heir to the title. Besides, if
they
had
such a person, they should've made him known long
ago, to be recognized as third in line. Dispute about my heir would
more likely result in some poor lad being dramsman to his father, or
to me."

Prince
Tegar's gaze was unreadable. "The girl's half-barbarian, and you
already admit she's disfigured."

"She's
immune, and she lives with her coloration. Barring accidents, I
should continue to be Guild Master and Lord Alchemist long enough
that whatever features our son has, he'll not be overly
inconvenienced when he takes my place. Your Grace, you nearly ordered
me to marry her, not a month ago. Why this questioning now?"
Iathor's desk was smooth and hard under his hands; he focused on
that, rather than the unexpected roiling in his gut.

"I'd
heard you were pressured into this. Suggestions she might've torched
her own shop, for leverage."

"Whoever
claimed such was mistaken or lying, your Grace." He bit out the
words, forcing himself not to snap at the city-prince. "She was
avoiding the question entirely, before the attack and arson. When she
agreed . . . She explicitly made no conditions."
That still bothered him, but he feared to complain before the
wedding.

"And
you've not changed your mind? I could legitimize any issue, whether
low marriage or concubinage." The city-prince seemed unaffected
by anything.

Iathor
took a breath and pulled an equal calm around himself, as if this
were a guild meeting. "I've not changed my mind, your Grace.
I've asked, she's answered. I intend a high marriage."

The
other man turned to the door. "Well, I suppose that answers
that."

"Your
Grace . . . If some conspiracy's gone so far as to
seek your ear, I should wish to hear of it."

"You'll
not like it." But he did pause.

Iathor
had a sudden flash to when his brother discovered Kessa was his
student. Iasen'd stormed into his office to protest her presence,
guessed at her tolerances, and finally sworn,
"If you try to
pollute
the Kymus bloodline with that dog-eyed
vixen, I'll take it to the Princeps and have it annulled."