Herb-Witch (Lord Alchemist Duology) (32 page)

"Better
than losing a finger to that thing. First . . . B-R-S.
Brine-salt?"

"Or
Bradomach's salt."

Kessa
went to the chalkboard. "Spin that dial."

Nicia
did, Kessa sketched, and for a while, it was very close to family. As
they measured ingredients, it ripped at Kessa's heart that Laita'd
been taught courtesans' tricks, and not herb-witchery with her.

Eventually,
with three bowls each containing part of the mix, and a clear glass
alembic beginning to simmer the water, Nicia said, "I think
I
need the water-closet."

"Go
on." Kessa waved a hand vaguely at the door. "I'll watch
the alembic."

"Thanks."
Nicia slipped out, leaving the door open.

Kessa
busied herself with tidying, doing her best to put everything back in
the same order it'd been in.

There
was a step at the door. Kessa glanced over as the man growled, "You!"

"Master
Iasen." She tensed. He seemed to've gone from calm to a boil in
an instant.

He
stepped into the room, pulling the door shut behind him as if by
habit. She backed around the table. He demanded, "What are
you
doing here, half-breed?"

"Learning
alchemy, by my Guild Master's will." She watched his
tabard-covered chest, his hands at the corner of her eyes, darting
glances to see where the table held the solid book, or the fragile
alembic. Her knife was under her skirt; she'd need time to hike it
up.

"You
said you didn't
like
him." It was a petulant complaint,
as if she'd promised mint tea and found herself out – but he
continued to advance on her.

She
stopped near the geometry analyzer, on its corner of the table. (It
was heavy; she could duck around it for cover.) "What has liking
to do with a chance to learn?"

"You
want to learn
true
alchemy?" He took another step,
putting him too close for her comfort. His voice was a mildly
irritated nobleman's; his body spoke of grabbing or slapping to
punctuate his words.

She
looked up. He had lighter blue eyes than his brother, and less
inclination to hold his ground. Kessa returned her gaze to his chest
as he stepped back. "I'll certainly do my best, Master Iasen. If
I'm not sufficiently competent, then no doubt Master Kymus will
dismiss me."

"
Will
he?"

"I
certainly hope so," she said, quietly and fervently.

He
loomed, if not as close. "No . . . You're
here
,
where you don't belong." It might've been conversational, but
she heard a guard-dog's growl underneath, defending its yard.

She
bit back
That's not your choice, spare.
She nearly choked on
The Guild Master thinks otherwise.
Instead, she whispered past
those words, "I'm sure he'll realize soon. I've no aptitude for
the forms. Till then, I've no wish to be expelled for disobedience."

"Is
that all, half-breed? Or do you humor him so he'll feed you something
more potent?" His words were speculative. His stance was too
balanced for mere rude curiosity.

The
table was just a table, without shelves or cabinets beneath. Kessa
thought she could roll under it if
he
grabbed the alembic as a
weapon. Then out the door, closed but not latched, and up, up, up as
a roof-rat should run. "I don't know what you mean, Master
Iasen."

He
lowered his voice and began to lean towards her. "What I mean,
you greedy little vixen–"

The
door opened. There was a surprised gasp. Nicia said, "Oh! Am I
interrupting?"

Iasen
straightened, putting his shoulders back in a far more attractive
pose. Kessa said, "Nicia, this is Master Kymus' brother. Master
Iasen, this is Herbmaster Keli's daughter, Nicia Greenhands."
Introductions rarely hurt conversations like this.

"We've
met." Iasen took a breath to compose himself. "Miss
Greenhands. I didn't know my brother had . . .
two
young women to himself, down here. Truly, his tastes haven't changed
since we were students in Cym!" The last sounded a light joke,
meant to tease someone who wasn't there.

Kessa
smiled tightly. "Sadistic alchemical lessons. I do believe it of
him. Nicia, could you come check that I've not put up anything we
need for this brew? I'd feel stupider than usual if Master Kymus
returned and found us hunting stray jars."

The
apprentice moved around the table to behind Kessa, nervously. "That
would be bad, yes. He . . . was going to check on us
soon, wasn't he?"

Earth
and Rain bless your quick eyes and quick thoughts.
"Exactly.
Master Iasen, if you'd excuse us? We've a preparation to finish for
the Guild Master."

"I
see." Iasen gave an abbreviated bow in Nicia's direction,
stiffness transmuting to warm grace. "Please forgive my
intrusion, Miss Greenhands. I hope my brother doesn't keep you
closeted away from the sky overmuch."

"Ah,
thank you for your concern, Master Iasen. Good day to you."
Nicia bobbed slightly.

"And
you." He turned and went around the table and out the door.
Shortly, his boots sounded on the steps up and out of the basement.

Nicia
moved to close the door. Kessa grabbed her by the sleeve and shook
her head, tugging her closer instead.

"Are
you all right?" Nicia asked. "The door was closed, when I'd
left it open, and I heard voices . . ."

"He
didn't touch me," Kessa whispered. "How much did you hear?"

Nicia
dropped her voice as well. "Something . . . about
someone feeding you something potent. And he was so
rude
! He
wasn't so rude at the hospice."

"He
doesn't like me." Kessa wondered if he
hoped
to inherit,
or merely detested the thought of a dark nephew. Her hand shook as
she made herself release Nicia's sleeve, and clamp her fingers around
the smooth table instead. No splinters there, no reason not to hold
it as tightly as she could. "Leave the door open. No one can
listen unseen that way."

"Just
because you're not blonde doesn't mean he should be so rude,"
Nicia insisted, though she kept her voice low. "It's not your
fault. Why was he . . . ?"

Nicia
was a bright girl, probably smarter than Kessa – if more
naive. And she knew more about alchemy and immunities. Kessa sighed.
"Blight him."

"What?
Wait, Kessa, did . . . Did he mean testing your
tolerances?"

Kessa
leaned so her head was nearly on Nicia's shoulder. "I
think . . . he thinks . . .
Kymus
thinks . . ."

Nicia
breathed, ". . . you're immune."

"Yes."
Kessa imagined the apprentice's wide eyes.

"But
that's . . .
Are
you?"

What
use a lie, when Herbmaster Keli already knew? It'd come out
eventually, and the girl'd be less a possible ally. Kessa bowed her
head over the table and fought for her voice.

"Earth
and Rain," Nicia whispered. "Does Lord Kymus know?"

Lies
and truth were a tangle. "I wish it were you," Kessa
managed. "You're the better alchemist. I'm but an herb-witch."
And half-breed dog.

Nicia
wrapped her arms around Kessa's shoulders. "But . . .
but this could be wonderful!"

"With
a marriage-brother like that?" Kessa tried not to lean on the
girl. "And what if he's telling the truth about Kymus?"

"Oh."
Her arms tightened around Kessa. "Oh, that's horrible. What will
we do?"

Kessa
took a deep breath. "First . . . We'll finish
this potion. Cad or sadist, we can learn from him. Just . . .
don't go too far . . ."

"Right."
Nicia let go of her, picking up the recipe book. She frowned out the
door. "He was much nicer at the hospice."

"You're
the Herbmaster's fair-skinned daughter, Nicia. You've pretty eyes."
Kessa held a hand up, a dark form against the shining geometry
analyzer. "And you'll have to pour the mixes in. I'm shaking."

Chapter
XXXI

I
athor
compared the heights of his "look at" stack and "looked
at" pile. Perhaps another half-hour before he rescued the
workroom from his students.

He
was, overall, pleased. Between them, they were the equal of a slow
but educated journeyman, and they worked well together. The trick
would be keeping Kessa from relying on Nicia to do the forms, and
keeping Nicia from leaving the drawing and
fitting
of forms to
Kessa.

Kessa
was right. The geometry analyzer wasn't so accurate as a trained nose
and tongue. But with so few immune alchemists, unless she agreed to a
dozen children . . .

The
door slammed open, Dayn's protest echoing the noise. Iasen stalked
into Iathor's office, slamming the door in the dramsman's face.
Iathor stood while Iasen slapped his hands on the desk.

"What,"
his brother demanded, "do you think you're
doing?!
"

"My
work. What do
you
think I'm doing?" Iathor signaled Dayn,
who reluctantly subsided to lurk in the doorway. Beyond him, Iathor
caught sight of Iasen's bodyguard, Teck, fretting in the hallway.

Iasen
snapped, "That
half-blood's
in the
basement!
"

Iathor
narrowed his eyes. "You've not accosted her, have you?"

"Of
course not! What's she
doing
here?"

"Attempting
a smoking dud, with Herbmaster Keli's girl. And?"

"Iathor,
she's a half-breed! Incompetent by her very nature! Isn't she some
criminal?"

Iathor
hoped Thioso hadn't been talking to his brother. "She's a
spottily-trained herb-witch, quite good at what she knows."

Through
his teeth, Iasen growled, "She's trying to sell you dragon-oil.
Pretend she's a
possibility
for your money."

He
couldn't help spluttering. Kessa? After his
money
? His hide,
mayhap . . . "I've hardly gotten that impression.
I nearly had to insist on lessons."

His
brother's temper cooled; he straightened. "Then why did you?"

"Because,"
Iathor said tiredly, "she could be good. Training herb-witches
in alchemy will please Herbmaster Keli. If her tolerances
are
sufficient, then
I'll
be pleased."

"Brother,
she's
half savage
. Haven't you seen her eyes?"

"Several
times. I instructed her to stop looking down while I was teaching."
If he could keep her from constantly hiding them, perhaps he'd get
used to them.

The
snarling might take a bit longer to acclimate to.

It
was far better than fawning submission.

Iasen
said, "You can't possibly . . . Immune or not,
she's an ugly half-breed. How could you bear to touch her?"

Perplexed,
Iathor said, "If she's immune, it's my duty to convince her to
cooperate.
You
don't want to be stuck with the job, and
haven't provided heirs of your own."

"Because
I want my wife to
love
me. That creature doesn't even
like
you."

Iathor
frowned. "Iasen,
did
you accost her?"

"No!
But a-a mongrel like that? She's no more capable of love than the
dirty savages who sell their children when the hunting's bad. She's
leading you on, playing hard to catch! How could some barbarian carry
the bloodlines of immunity?"

I've
already sent a letter to Cym, to have Master Jobaenen investigate
tolerances among the local barbarian groups.
No, that would upset
Iasen further. "That's a puzzle to be solved
if
she's
immune, and if she'll wed me. I suppose testing with the draught
could precede the wedding ceremony, if you fear she'd feign
immunity."

"You
already think she's immune." Iasen's fists and voice shook.
"You're nerving yourself to bed that mongrel."

"Bah,
she's no theater empress from the Emerald Cat. And," Iathor
added, reminding himself to keep Kessa's poor, ragged secret, "I
hope
for immunities. She's reasonably healthy, unwed, and
young. As is Keli's daughter; politically, a better match. It depends
on if either have the alchemist's immunity."

"Iathor . . ."

With
forced cheer, Iathor said, "Just think: if they're both immune,
you can court Keli's girl. Miss Nicia seems young enough to believe
in love-matches." As opposed to Kessa, who'd . . .
not said.

"You're
disgusting
."

"I
only chopped up worms for 'alchemy' the once, and I didn't
really
drink it. I fed it to the cat when you weren't looking."

"If
you . . . If you try to
pollute
the Kymus
bloodline with that dog-eyed vixen, I'll take it to the Princeps and
have it annulled."

"You're
overreacting, Iasen, and it's like you. When's the last time you ate?
Your cook must be worried sick."