Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (46 page)

"Unacceptable,"
Iathor muttered. More clearly, he said, "I'll have to write a
letter, then, and hope I can idle about the palace later. Have you a
servant who'd run missives, or shall I send Dayn?"

Daleus
stood behind his wife, perhaps with one hand against her shoulder,
though Kessa didn't look high enough to see. "We can send
someone. Jonie, your driver and buggy? Those high wheels should be
good for
something
besides fashion."

Joniacae
giggled. "All right. Have you paper, Iathor?"

"No."
He sounded abashed. "Cousins, could I beg a scrap?"

Daleus
snorted and Joniacae rang a bell on the table beside her. After a
servant left with instructions to fetch paper, ink, quill, and
lap-board, Ietra asked, "Master Kymus, did you really dress your
wife as a
boy
? Jonie said, but . . ."

It
was a comforting sort of insult, to be talked over. Kessa kept
silent, despite Iathor's pause and annoyed snort. He said, "Yes,
we traveled as a group of 'men.' It seemed, overall, safer –
especially since we've not gotten a proper guard for her yet."

"Oh,
surely she doesn't need one," Ietra said. "Besides,
dramsmen can't be fired, and that'd be a great nuisance if one's
unreliable."

"Many
dramsmen have . . . difficulty being unreliable,"
Iathor said. Kessa wondered if the others heard the troubled note in
his voice. "And she does need one, despite our reservations."

"Mm,
if you say." The woman shifted, perhaps eyeing Kessa. "I
suppose you've already put out word in Aeston."

"Yes,
actually. And some of the less usual places, too." Iathor
sounded amused. "If you've suggestions, though, I'm sure we'd
consider them."

"Well,
I hardly think the
usual
sort of places would do . . ."
Ietra's voice trailed off, as if she were at a loss, or reconsidering
her words.

Kessa
thought,
The prison work-gangs not a bad match for my
dirty-blooded self?
She stifled it. Ietra was trying to be civil,
and Kessa couldn't object to being talked around when she was
trying
to be unnoticed.

"What
sort of servant will you be needing?" Joniacae asked, more
sensibly, and Kessa let Iathor clear his throat and consider –
apparently – how much he wanted to tell his cousins of
thoughts of a woman in body and birth, perhaps renouncing that
willingly.

As
someone'd tried to force upon Kessa. She knotted her hands in her
lap.
Safe. I'm safe enough here. Iasen's likely stranded or slowed
on the road, passed by because we changed horses at every stop.

A
maid returned with the letter-writing materials, saving Iathor from
roundabout specifications for his wife's bodyguard. Kessa watched the
girl through her hair: perhaps a little taller than herself, wearing
a light brown dress that did nothing to hide her narrow frame. Her
skin was pale and her hair golden. Her face was sharp, though not
starving. Her fingers were thin, though not bony.

As
the servant-girl left the room, Kessa couldn't help turning her head
to watch.

"Is
something wrong, ah, dear?" Joniacae asked.

"No . . ."
Kessa realized the issue of address went both ways. "Lady
Dhaenoc?"

"Oh,
pfft. Call me Jonie, or I'll look 'round for my marriage-cousin's
wife."

"Jonie.
Thank you." Kessa lifted her head, eyes closed, enough to smile
slightly. "And my name's no rare thing to be sheltered, if you
will."

Joniacae
laughed. Ietra said, thoughtfully, "If you were considering
Bynae, I'd advise against it. We'll be letting her go, come spring."

"Ah?"
Kessa said, faintly.

"Bad
enough she got pregnant, but she lied about the father. Said he was a
servant of good household, who'd seek leave of his employer to marry.
But when she miscarried, the child . . . Well. Dark of
skin, and a bit of dark hair as well. I'm sure things are different
in Aeston," Ietra said, with forced charity, "but here, a
maid-servant who'll go off with a tribesman is of no good character."

Baffled,
Kessa said, "But of course the child would be dark, even if the
father were as pale as a noble."

Iathor
stopped writing, and Kessa tensed as she realized she'd centered
herself in everyone's attention. It was Daleus who asked, "Why
do you say that, Kessa?"

She
clasped her hands in her lap, her knuckles nearly as pale as any
other woman's. "She's at least as barbarian-blooded as I. Mayhap
more. That shade of hair . . . I could brew a potion
for it myself. But the dyes, they won't change the color of the
children. And her bones and build . . ." Kessa
paused.

Iathor
finished the thought. "She could be your sister. Oh, my lady
wife."

After
a disquieting silence, Ietra shifted in her seat again. "I'm
shocked. I'd thought her references were good. Well. I suppose we'll
just have to send her to the work-gangs, after the snow stops."

"What?"
Iathor snapped out what Kessa kept her jaw clamped upon. "Earth
and Rain, whatever for?"

"It'd
be cruel to turn her out in it, Master Kymus!" Ietra explained.
"But she can't stay here, after lying about her very blood, and
it's been a few months since the miscarriage. She'll have enough
health."

Tightly,
Iathor said, "My lady wife, I believe I've been remiss in
failing to provide you with a maid in our travels."

Daleus
said, exasperatedly, "Oh, Iathor!"

Kessa
flicked her husband a glance through her hair. "The buttons can
be quite awkward, yes."

Iathor
looked at Daleus. His voice was that of a teacher, asking a
particularly obvious question. "I hear you've a maid-servant
you're planning to . . . let go, cousin. Would you do
me the favor of placing her in my service, at least while we're
visiting?"

"Are
you going to bind her?" Daleus asked, giving no clue as to which
answer he'd prefer.

"No.
I've not a finished dose, since I tested my wife's tolerances. But
both my men can watch after her."

Ietra
made an irritated noise and pulled herself up in a rustle of pale
gray and cream. "Take her, then. I suppose it's only fitting!"
She flounced out.

"Oh,
blight," Daleus muttered. He hesitated, then strode after his
wife.

Joniacae
sighed once the couple were gone. "She's not even sure they've
planted a girl, and already she's as snappish as a plains fox. Write,
Iathor. I'll go see to Bynae's transfer, and have my driver ready for
your letter."

"Mm.
Thank you, Jonie." Iathor adjusted the board again.

"Thank
you," Kessa echoed, faintly.

The
woman stood. "It's better than the theater-drama that'd be
enacted otherwise. Being snowed in is boring, but there are finer
ways to entertain oneself than locking up a poor girl to deliver to
the work-gangs. Really, for all we know, she might've had the doses
before she was old enough to remember. Good morn to you both."

Once
Joniacae left, and there was nothing but the scritch of quill against
paper, Kessa looked up again and watched the snow falling. It wasn't
soothing, reminding her of chill, hungry days and bitter tears. "Can
I hold the ink jar?"

"Mm?
If you would. Thank you." Iathor passed it over.

Carefully,
she kept it level as she slid from her chair to lean against his.

"Ah . . .
Kessa. You don't have to . . ."

"I'm
cold." Not the outside of her skin, warm enough from the room's
Fervefax Stones, but inside her chest.

"You . . .
needn't
kneel
at me. I could move to the couch."

"I
don't want to sit there." She smelled Ietra's perfume on it.

"
Ah.
"
Iathor took a breath. "Then perhaps, once this letter's attended
to, we may go sit in the guest room."

"I'd
like that." Even if they had to speak with Bynae, it'd be nicer
to be in the company of someone far more predictable than the
Chemstones. And kinder than two thirds of them, as well.

He
would surely break her heart. Better to grasp what sweetness she
could, first.

Chapter
XXVIII

A
s
it happened, they sat for little time indeed. Jonie's driver arrived
shortly after – distracting Kessa from tangled urges to hide
somewhere alone, or sit on the floor again so she could press her
husband's leg like a hound. The man, Craym, said his buggy could make
it through the snow for some time, if it got no heavier. Iathor took
out the letter, saying, "There's little enough hope the Princeps
would have a moment. I can send Dayn . . ."

Kessa
put her hand on his arm (clutching and releasing his sleeve). "Get
it over with, if you can."

He
might've argued, but after an indrawn breath, he stood instead to
bend over her and hug her tightly. "As quickly as I can, my lady
wife."

She
nodded against his chest, let go his tunic, and sat while he and
Brague got their coats and outside boots.

The
idleness, after, wasn't comforting; Kessa stayed in the tiny sitting
room, thinking tiny thoughts, until Dayn cleverly brought her a trio
of alchemy texts – clearly from the Chemstone library, being
about Stones. Kessa examined the first in the sitting room, then went
to curl upon the bed where she could spread out all three books if
she wished.

When
the fascination with Stone-making palled, some time later, she pumped
a bath for herself, and only got out when she heard Iathor and Brague
in the other room. Towel-wrapped, she peered into the room, and saw
only Brague, frowning at the door to the servants' quarters. He
noticed her a moment later, and they both averted their eyes.

"I'll
be in the entry room, m'lady."

She
snorted. "Not like there's anything to see."

The
closing door saved him from having to reply, and she went to perch on
the end of the bed and dry her hair while wondering where Iathor was.

She
caught his voice from the servants' room, though not the words, so
she wasn't startled when he came in from there. Instead, she glanced
at him through her still-dripping hair, and pointed at the door into
the tiny sitting room. "Brague's in there."

Iathor
snorted, and called, "Brague, I'm out of the other room now."
There was an indistinct reply, and the sound of that servants' door.
Iathor turned back to Kessa. "I delivered my letter, though it
took nearly two hours for it to be acknowledged. I've been advised to
wait at the palace tomorrow, in case the Princeps has a moment to
spare, but it'll likely be the day after before I'm seen."

She
wrapped a corner of towel around a handful of hair, squeezing. "If
the weather's good enough, mayhap I could dress as a boy and go
wandering with Dayn. Though someone'd accuse me of stealing the gold
in my ear, like as not. I should've thought to buy a wooden ring."

"If
you go out, it might be wise to take Bynae with you. Though . . ."
He frowned and sat beside her.

"She
shouldn't be alone here, no," she said, thinking of the threat
to take Bynae to a work-gang. "Though?"

Her
husband paused, then said, wryly, "Congratulations, my lady
wife. You're a dragon – or the barbarian equivalent, anyway."

"What?"
She couldn't decide if that was funny or insulting.

"They've
the most wretched superstition. Vile. To claim the color of someone's
eyes shows if they've a soul or not! Telling little children the
animal-people will eat them if they stray, like we'd threaten dragons
or poisoned earth spirits."

"She
thinks I'm some
monster
?"

"Mmph."
He shifted on the bed. "I tried to dissuade her, but childhood
stories have deep roots."

Kessa
snorted, and didn't say anything as she continued to dry bits of her
hair.

After
waiting a time, Iathor asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes."
She hesitated, then said, "It's odd. Irksome, yes. But . . .
it's not my fault, those times some wandering barbarian hunter just
walked past me as if I were someone else's dog. Like I'm not the only
one. Both. I guess it's better to be a night-monster out of legend
rather than just . . . too ugly to look at."

"You're
not ugly."

"Pfft.
Ask anyone."

"I
don't want to ask anyone." He put his arm behind her back,
leaning against her despite her still-damp hair. "I've my own
eyes, and needn't rely on anyone else's."

She
wanted to believe, wanted to turn to him like a foolish girl . . .
She made herself clutch the edge of the towel instead. "If . . .
If you're planning on a bath before dinner, you'd best take it now."

"As
you say, my lady wife." He kissed the top of her head before he
went into the bathroom.

She
refused to follow him.