Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (40 page)

Iathor
slipped out and came back with her clothing, laying it beside her and
only watching sidelong. Once she'd the undertunic on and the larger,
warmer one ready, she asked, "Why aren't you angry with me?"

He
looked at her sharply; she pulled the outer tunic over her head to
shield herself. He said, "About what?"

The
tunics covered her chest. A fold of blanket still wrapped over her
hips. "I told you to leave the . . . to leave my
room. Before . . . I don't know. Before trading."
She vaguely recalled Laita'd mentioned tricks for pleasing men.

Iathor
snorted. "If rainclouds absolutely
must
burst, nothing
keeps it from happening in a bath or water-closet."

"Ah?"
She blinked, confused.

He
gestured vaguely at his waist. "I've hands. The process doesn't
require two people."

Oh.
Realizing what he might've done was an odd combination of
embarrassment and amusement. "Still. You said . . ."
She reached for the long stockings.

"Mm.
You were right, though. If I say your permission is required, then
it's required. Even if I think it was revoked unnecessarily." He
moved to help her.

It
was necessary,
she didn't say. "You said you knew better."

"Probably."
He worked the stocking onto her foot, pulling it up her leg and
covering the goosebumps that made.

"But
you left." Amused, and smug. No doubt he'd seen how she wanted
to keep reaching for him.

He
sighed, and left the lacing of the stocking to her. "Yes. And
though your sister thinks I should've seduced you, or argued till I
won, or both, on our wedding night . . . Well, perhaps
I should've thought to kneel and not lost my temper."

Kessa's
fingers were slow on the ties. "I don't understand."

He
frowned thoughtfully, his gaze lowered so she could watch his
expression, and worked the other stocking onto her bare foot. For a
moment, the dark stocking and his pale hands seemed
right
against her coppery skin. He watched her tie those laces, too, before
he moved and kissed her earring. He murmured, "Your sister
remembers you as a child, needing protecting from your own choices. I
first saw you with your shoulders squared bravely in a prison cell,
proud as any noblelady. If I trust you at my back, if I trust you on
night patrol at all, I'd be a fool not to treat you as a grown woman
else-times."

As
he pushed away from the bed, Kessa reached to pull him back, and only
long habits of self-control let her stop before she'd done more than
brush his tunic. Iathor took her hand in both of his, and kissed her
palm. "Of course," he said, "we
can
send Jeck
and Brague to pick up the patrollers and stay home ourselves."

Kessa
groped for the pants beside her, one-handed. "I . . .
don't think that'd be right."

He
released her. "Likely not. But appealing."

There
was definitely smugness in his voice. If she'd not been sitting,
she'd have tried to kick his ankle. She got the pants on, and slid
from the bed to pull them up, tucking the undertunic in for warmth.
She pulled her hair into its queue, and paused.
The earring will
gleam.
She tried to adjust the horsetail of hair to be
off-center, to hide the earring.

Iathor
chuckled and brought a comb to help. It raised goosebumps on her head
and neck, and down her spine, but she pretended she wasn't breathing
harder and knotted the hair-tie. Then they padded out and down to the
dining nook. Iathor slipped his hand into hers, and all she could
think to do was snort at him and wrap her fingers around his.

Stew
already waited, with a sleepy Tania yawning her way back to bed.
After a few bites, Iathor said, "We'll stay at the Birch only
till the last patroller gets in, then return everyone to their proper
beds. Most everything is prepared for tomorrow, and I've bought seats
on the Cym Mail, but I'd rather spend less dawnlight traveling and
more ensuring nothing's forgotten."

Kessa
chuckled. "We'll all be just as tired."

"Mayhap,
but you could sleep in."

She
snorted again. "I used to wake before dawn, most times. In the
cold, with brews needing tending."

"Brr."
He gave a theatrical shudder all the way down his arms. "If you
want
, but I'd like to sleep till slightly after dawn, myself."

It
made her smile. She felt the expression falter.
Grab with both
hands, and perhaps it will last three seasons,
she reminded
herself; she'd decided to try, yesterday as she wrote to Nicia and
Laita about the Cym trip. "I've some brews in the workroom."

"Tell
Loria if they'll need tending. We'll be gone at least twelve days,
and that's if everything happens more smoothly than I can believe."

"Nothing
should be hurt by over-steeping, but I'll tell her which is which."

He
set down his spoon and touched her arm. "Kessa, I want to be
clear. You don't
have
to go. Mail coaches are well-built, and
the route is generally safe, but . . ."

She
propped her other elbow on the table, letting him stroke down her arm
to the wrist and hand, and watching as he rubbed her palm with his
thumb. "If I'm going to be frail with pregnancy, better to find
out early." And besides, she'd go half-mad, waiting for
days-delayed news in letters.

Iathor
held her hand tightly. "I'll bring healing draughts. Some
Brado's elixir. Perhaps one of Lesant's brews."

Kessa
made a small noise in her throat and went back to eating, as did he,
awkwardly – he didn't release her left hand until they got
their cloaks. And only after she'd gotten onto the carriage did she
realize he'd not
forbidden
her to go.

It
didn't make sense. Tanas'd been low-husband to Maila, with an Earth
priest blessing the alliance – but the wooden earring'd been
off Maila's ear as often as the cheap-whittled band had been off
Tanas' finger, when their tempers flared or they fancied some other
bed-mate. And if Tanas'd been as loath to strike his low-wife as he'd
been willing to slap his crèche, that was no doubt from knowing she
could poison him in various unpleasant ways.

Iathor
was as immune as Kessa, with protective dramsmen besides.

Kessa
supposed her brothers wouldn't have kept her behind, but she'd proved
herself on roof-tops plenty of times. And they'd known her as a
not-quite-boy, and
family
, not . . . a wife.

Marriage
had always been something that happened to other people. Not Kessa.
Nor her family, either, for whatever reasons.

She
wound up in a thought-fogged haze, following Iathor into his little
night patrol headquarters. She'd no idea what she
should
expect from him; he wasn't like Tanas at all.

Chapter
XXIV

M
orning
came far too early, Iathor thought, pulling a pillow over his head at
the knocking from the bedroom door. He was comfortable, his warm wife
under his arm, and five minutes of being childish wouldn't hurt . . .

. . . unless,
of course, Kessa started chewing on his wrist. He pulled his hand
back. "Ow."

She
sat up, side and back visible but the rest blocked by his protective
pillow. "Planning to smother me
every
morning, Kymus?"

"Mm,
I'll learn better eventually." He considered ways of
apologizing, perhaps involving backrubs, when someone knocked again.
On the other side of the door, Brague said, "Breakfast is ready,
m'lord."

Kessa
went padding off to the water-closet. Iathor pushed aside the pillow
to watch her go. "We'll be down soon," he replied, and
wondered if he dared lie in wait for her, even for a brief embrace,
or if she'd call it stifling.

Probably
the latter, for all that she pressed against him in sleep. He sighed
and went to get the clothes that'd been laid out sometime before
they'd returned to collapse like exhausted kittens. (Iathor'd had the
wit to offer to help her undress, ensuring she stayed in
his
room.)

He
glanced over his shoulder when she returned, but politely looked away
when her shoulders hunched. He remembered, all too clearly, being a
callow journeyman in Cym; some days, after failing to become drunk in
taverns, he and his brother'd wandered the streets in search of
freelance courtesans, pondering the passers-by.
"Rack of
bones like that'd leave bruises,"
he remembered Iasen saying
once, loud enough that the thin woman'd likely heard him, though
she'd not given sign of it.

Iathor
wanted to go back through the years and punch his brother for the
memory, and his younger self as well.

Rather
closer than expected, Kessa said, "What?"

"Mm?"

"You
were . . . growling, sort of."

He
sighed. "Old memories. Something reminded me of my brother."
Newer memories didn't help. "Blight. What
drives
him? It
can't be ambition. He's never shown signs of it before."

Kessa
didn't reply; when he turned, he saw not Kellisan, but a small young
woman in men's clothing, hair loose around her face. Iathor went and
wrapped his arms around her. "Chh, it'll be all right. After
he's done with this childish tantrum, he'll settle down. The worst
we'll have to fret over will be if he tries to teach his nephew bad
habits, and it's not so bad for a boy to have a frivolous uncle."

Briefly,
Kessa's shoulders tensed. Then she sighed. "I'm hungry. Let's
get breakfast."

"All
right." Iathor held the doors for her, and tried to take her
hand at the top of the stairs. Instead, she slid hers around his arm,
and watched the steps fixedly.

She
seemed to relax during breakfast, and listened to him lay out the Cym
Mail's route. It tracked the River Eath, with places to change
horses. Stops provided barely enough time to relieve oneself and
perhaps purchase food. Iathor hoped his status, and the city-prince's
man, would keep the coach from leaving without them even if they were
slightly tardy. Such a delay could cost them two or three days before
the next mail coach.

"And
if we're truly lucky, despite my brother's head start, we'll overtake
him on the road. I suppose we could accost him, but his carriage
would be overcrowded even if he weren't likely to be intolerably
rude. Best to go to Cym and steal the flame from his brewing before
he even gets there." Iathor paused, realizing Kessa'd been
silent. "Ah. I've been lecturing."

For
some reason, she smiled – a delicate Kessa expression,
revealed by the masculine way she'd pulled her hair back. "I
don't mind. This time, anyway."

"Well,
if you appreciate my lectures, I'll
definitely
have to resume
your and Nicia's lessons." He addressed himself to the remains
of his meal, lest he lecture further.

Kessa
didn't fill the silence, though her own wasn't precisely sullen. When
they were done eating, Iathor stood and absently pulled out her
chair, thinking of asking if she'd aught to say before they lost
privacy for the trip.

She
was nearly as abstracted, standing, and stumbled against him when he
didn't move. He reached to steady her – needlessly, for she'd
already caught her balance. She gave him a side-long look, perhaps
forgetting Kellisan's horsetail of hair had no shielding wings.

Eyes
unshielded . . . Daylight from the window . . .
With a slight frown instead of a snarl, she seemed less a hungry
predator and more a coldly vicious one. He caught his breath, and
though he remembered his words to the city-prince:
people closed
their eyes when . . .
It seemed dangerous to look
away.

He
moved his hand up her arm, stroked his fingers along her neck, her
ear – his thumb along the curve of her earring.

For
a moment, Kessa's expression faded from vicious to wide-eyed and
feral, then she closed her eyes and he could see her expression was
none of those, had
been
none of them. Angry with himself, he
wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her.

After
a briefer moment than prior ones, she kissed him back. By the time
they broke for air, her arms were around him, her hands clenched in
his tunic.

"I
hate you," she said, almost apologetically, as if reminding him
of some trivial, forgotten thing.

"I'll
learn. I'll learn not to flinch," he said, as fiercely as he
knew how.

She
put her head against his chest. "I don't hold you to that."

"Even
my own family twitch,"
she'd said at the Birch last night,
as if forgetting family made by high weddings. It was painful in his
chest, to think she'd never looked at another and found welcome, till
she'd patrolled with him.
Blight it, I should've been more able to
meet her eyes, after seeing her face in the darkness.
Or perhaps
he'd gotten overconfident. "
I
hold me to it."

For
a moment, she seemed to press against him. Then she said, "I've
some preparations in the workroom."