Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (28 page)

"
Kessa.
"
He put his forehead against her hair, and gathered breath for some
impassioned plea or angry snarl.

Someone
knocked.

Iathor
paused, perhaps counting in his mind, and called out an irritated
"Yes?"

Brague's
voice came from beyond the door. "M'lord, Tania and Loria are
concerned for breakfast – nearly lunch now – and
there's a letter for you from Watchman Thioso."

Iathor
was silent, his visible shoulder tensely slumped in a way that
suggested
extreme
frustration.

Wondering
if she'd found the one man in the city who might be vulnerable to
Laita's wiles in Kessa's body, Kessa used her smallest voice to say,
"I'm hungry."

"And
a vixen," he half-snapped, before deflating. "I'm sorry. I
likely need food also."

She
was close enough to put her forehead against his chest, and think he
smelled nice, like cinnamon with alchemy hints. "I need a robe.
Mayhap a towel, or a moon-blood cloth."

"Yes."
He called over his shoulder, "Brague, has a robe been laid out
for Kessa? And a morning basin?"

"Aye,
m'lord. Both in the sitting room. The basin's by the hearth, and
there's towels for it. Will you be wanting a meal in the sitting room
as well?"

Iathor
asked her, "Do you want to walk to the dining nook?"

That
was entirely the length of the house. She grimaced. "I can try."

"If
you'd rather stay up here, we can have food brought, though the
sitting room's table isn't suited to more than small meals . . .
There's the formal dining room. We could be less than formal in it."

Though
she'd rather not've moved at all, the dining room was closer, and
staying in the sitting room meant being entirely alone with him and
his persistent questions. "If there's a towel for the chair,
just in case."

"Yes."
He stroked her hair, then paused, as if he'd nearly forgotten to call
to Brague again. "Ah, the formal dining room, Brague –
for an
in
formal meal. We'll be down shortly."

"Aye,
m'lord. I'll see to the table."

Iathor
called
my thanks
, and turned his head back to rest his chin on
the top of Kessa's hair for a moment. Then he asked, "If I go
and fetch your robe, will you flinch when I return?"

"I . . .
don't know." She was surprised he'd asked, but it was
reasonable. He'd hurt her, if by her bidding. Tearing pain, bruising
pressure, enough of his weight on her to make breathing difficult,
and no knowing when it'd stop so she could try to count her breaths,
or his upon her neck. But once over, it'd been
over
, and he'd
offered healing. Called her
Kellisan
, for whatever reason, and
held her close as family might.

It'd
been unpleasant, not a nightmare itself. The tinge of terror was
foolish, she told herself; she'd escaped the true attack, and that'd
hardly been the first fight she'd been in.

She
let out her breath in a sigh. "I'll try not. Unless you . . .
poke something that hurts."

He
kissed her hair. "Swat me if I do."

"All
right." She shifted so he could slide off the bed, and watched
him go to the door.
Pale as a noble,
she thought. But then, he
was, with power all out of proportion to his small barony. And now
she was well and truly tied to his eagle's talon, no matter how
common a rat she was.

It
might've been more terrifying if she'd expected to see their first
anniversary, but the unknown politics of Guild Masters and nobility
faded to insignificance when she'd only have to endure them for less
than a year. She put a hand on her stomach, and hoped the blood was
all from her lost maidenhood and not from some mistake in the brew.

Either
it is, or it isn't.
Kessa pushed the bedcovers off and slowly
dragged herself into a sitting position, legs dangling off the side
of the bed. It hurt, but not enough to make her collapse and change
her mind about a healing ointment. Still, she decided to wait for
Iathor before she tried standing, in case that hurt worse. Falling
would be . . . embarrassing.

He
brought too-big robe she'd been using, and the under-tunic she'd been
sleeping in. She reached for that, first, trying not to curl up
around her bare front and awkwardly relieved that he was holding the
robe in front of himself. While she got the tunic, he laid her robe
beside her and went to the other side of the bed to for his own robe,
and a tunic from the floor.

When
he got back, he reached for her robe, probably to hold it for her.
She said, "Wait. I need to stand up." Or stand down; the
bed was slightly higher than her hips, far from possible drafts or
vermin who somehow avoided the ratbane sachets, and much more
impressive than her old, low cot, or even the thigh-high guest bed
she'd been in before.

"Mm,
yes." He held out his hands so she could take them for support
before she slid down.

It
wasn't as bad as she'd feared, though she did cling to his sleeve as
she found her legs were stiff from all the standing she'd done the
prior day. Keli'd introduced her to various wives, daughters, and
elder herb-witches who'd secured invitations. The herb-witches, at
least, had mostly overlooked Kessa's ancestry, since she'd just
married the Guild Master.

Kessa
wobbled a step, gritting her teeth and holding onto him with only one
hand. "Ow. I should wash . . ."

"There's
a basin by the hearth. I feared I'd spill it. Do you need help?"

She
lifted both hands and took another step. "I'll be all right."

"Mm.
So long as you're not feeling faint."

Kessa
looked over her shoulder. He'd picked up her robe and flipped the
bedcovers back further. Where she'd been sitting, there were spots of
fresh, red blood. She frowned at them. "Not more than hunger
should do." She went into the sitting room.

There
was a basin with water, warmed from the fire, and an empty one with
dry hand-towels inside. As she took those out, she saw the belt with
the moon-blood pads beneath, and felt relieved. At least
someone
thought lost maidenhood could bleed enough to require them. After
using a damp towel to wipe away the blood – the fresher
spotting was just a pinkness, also relieving – she dried off
and got the belt on. By the time she turned around, Iathor was
waiting with his back politely turned, holding her robe.

She
went to him, and he helped put it on. Unnecessary, but she ached
enough to find herself comforted.

He
didn't offer his arm, as she'd expected he would. Instead, he stroked
his fingertips down the white ribbon that held her wedding earring.
"Kessa," he said, quietly, "is someone forcing you to
have my child?"

"What?"
Her braid was a tousled mess, but enough of her usual loops remained
to slant a look through one. "No."

He
didn't look reassured. "Is one of your family held captive?"

A
heart-stopping thought. She pressed a fist to her chest. "I . . .
I don't think so. Laita would've said. Or Burk. If nothing else,
Laita would've said
after
the ceremony, or . . ."
She broke off before mentioning Jontho, and cursed her distraction
for letting her admit to more than Burk and Laita. "No one's
told me, if there's trouble of that ilk. Iathor, why would you
think
that?"

"I
don't understand why you'd insist on doing something that . . .
troubled you so."

I'd
have lost my nerve, otherwise.
Drinking the conception potion'd
been more terrifying than taking the green death poison. She
tightened her mouth and headed for the stairs on her own, curbing her
stride so she wouldn't pull at whatever was torn inside. There were
other secrets, harmless enough now, that might divert him. "Do
you know what your Herbmaster was planning, if I'd refused your
proposal?"

"Did
Keli
coerce you?" His voice was mostly shocked, with
hints of an angry Guild Master bubbling up, as he followed her.

"No.
But she told me that, if Nicia agreed, they
would
try to fake
alchemist's immunity for her."

"
What?
"

She
paused at the stairs. "She knew you'd be furious, but thought
you'd do your duty. And with someone so suitable, you'd not've tested
her before the wedding, am I right?"

"Likely
not," he whispered, and put his arms around her shoulders,
holding her from descending. "You were protecting Nicia?"

Laita
would've leaned back against him, Kessa thought. She tried it,
turning her head so her ear brushed his chest. "The guild needs
your son." She frowned suddenly. "You
have
been
taking the right potions to make sure it's a boy, haven't you?"

He
made a noise midway between embarrassment and exasperation. "Yes."

"Good."
She pulled away, leaning on the stairway railing and gritting her
teeth. "But if, ow, you want to call him
Kellisan
, I'll,
ow, object."

"Lad
might gain a temper, named after his mother," Iathor said, a
half-step behind her. One of his hands hovered in her vision,
probably to guard her from stumbles. "Has he no uncles with
suitable names?"

She
quirked a smile despite everything. While Jontho's name might do,
Burk's wasn't harmonious, and Tag's was as common as a
manure-sweeper's. "Not really."

"Well,
I've an assortment of grandfathers to provide inspiration, and if
those fail, there's earls and city-princes if we want to choose
something political." His voice turned plaintive again. "I
just wish I knew why you were so adamant . . ."

She
reached the bottom, and glared up at him. "I've not had
breakfast, and you've asked me that enough now! Don't you
want
the boy?"

He
shied away. "Yes! But–"

"Then
stop asking! Even if I
were
a rain spirit, those only turn to
puddles when their lovers follow them during storms!" Kessa
stalked, wincing, towards the formal dining room.

"You'd
be a sun spirit," he said, behind her.

"They're
all male."

"A
theory I begin to doubt."

"You
should know by now I'm not a boy!"

"That's
why I doubt sun spirits are all male!"

Outside
the dining room, one of the servant-girls waited, darting off when
they arrived. On the table itself, two places were set. The side
chair had a letter beside it. The end-chair had a towel on the seat.

Iathor
pulled it out for her, while she lowered herself gingerly. She winced
as the moon-blood padding pressed against her, and shifted
uncomfortably. Meanwhile, Iathor sat and broke the letter's seal.
Kessa idly unbraided her hair while she watched him read; he grunted
twice, and snorted once, at the end.

As
Tania brought in egg-crepes, Iathor set the paper next to Kessa's
place. "The Shadow Guild gives us the first of our wedding
presents."

Kessa
picked it up, silently sounding out the long words. Though Thioso's
handwriting was pinched, the letter was short:

Tania
leaned on the table and sighed. As Kessa put the letter down, the
cook asked, "Reading mail at the table, m'lord?"

"It's
about a wedding present," Iathor said. "Perfectly
acceptable. Will you attend as well, Kessa?"

The
urge to stand and smile at the men, to hear first-hand why they'd
attacked her . . . The inexplicable nausea at the
thought . . . And if they'd been hired directly, by
some foolish chance, did she want to be there if they accused Iasen
by name?

She
shifted, reaching for the water glass, and winced. Sitting the entire
way in a bumping carriage would be worse, she realized, and scowled.
"I'd like to go, but unless they're brought here – which
I'd rather not, considering what you'd likely feed them –
that's more jostling than I want today."

"Ah.
I see." He sounded gratifyingly dismayed.

Tania
pretended she heard nothing, and just shook her head as she headed
out.

"You
go," Kessa said. "I'll lie down, and you can tell me what
they said."

"All
right." He ate another bite. "But have someone near you? In
case there's enough blood that you need a healing draught?"

"If
I were going to bleed
that
much, I'd have fainted already."

"I'm
just concerned."

"Don't
be." It'd be a bad habit for him to get into.