Herb-Witch (Lord Alchemist Duology) (44 page)

Despite
the shock, as hints came together like a potion quickening and
speculations exploded from it, Iathor managed to say, "Then by
all means, Miss Laita, I'd be honored to have you at my table
tonight. I pray you'll forgive the odoriferous and semi-conscious
guest sharing the carriage."

Her
eyes danced, as a wind-spirit's might. "I think I can do that."

Chapter
XLVI

T
ych
told Kessa where her sister'd gone, after gloating that they'd
tracked down Lairn, warned off the small, shadowy sharks nibbling
around him, and laid a honey-trail for the missing journeyman to
follow. At first, Kessa'd assumed they'd gotten Burk's Isera to help;
she'd gone to the Emerald Cat, after all.

Then
the roof-rat'd said
Laita'd
gone with the Lord Alchemist, with
a gay wave of "plan proceeding" to Burk.

Bad
enough that Burk'd been seen. But
Laita
as the honey-trail?
Going
with
Kymus?

Half-way
to the rich side of town, Kessa remembered she'd
hoped
Kymus'd
be a suitable patron. But Laita'd not seemed interested, and
Kymus
 . . .

Kessa
gave even odds between him being intrigued by her sister's beauty,
and him pouncing on some too-revealing comment – and kept up
her hip-twisting stride, that gave her a thumb-length's more distance
in each pace without running.

Even
so, she was footsore and winded by the time she got to her Guild
Master's home.

The
front door, though closer, wasn't an option. She'd no reason to barge
in, if Laita was securing a patron. Kessa leaned against the
decorative outer wall, catching her breath – and her wits. The
truth: days ago, Kymus'd informed
all
the masters that he
wanted Lairn Ronan. Master Rom'd notified the herb-witches and
alchemists in his area, including Kessa. Mix in the lie: she'd spoken
to some apprentice, heard the missing journeyman was found, was
curious about what Lairn'd made in his teacher's basement.

Three
days wasn't enough time to find someone staying in
obvious
inns, with tabs being run up – and run out on, in the night.
It'd taken closer to two fivedays for Tag's sizable crèche to find
the trail. (Tych'd been justifiably proud.) But Kessa supposed one
could call it luck, so long as no missteps of the tongue were
made . . .

She
pushed off the wall and didn't stagger. It was just a matter of
willpower. She'd done nothing but walking, after all. In the late
afternoon, already shading into evening, the gate to the carriage
path wasn't yet shut. The kitchen door would suffice. Brague and
Tania'd both offered invitations. She was just saving someone the
chore of delivering her basket, and looking for gossip.

The
door opened before she could knock, upon collarbones covered in a
dark gray tabard embroidered with lighter gray, earth-brown, and
herb-green. "And I'm entirely on time," Kymus gloated. He
stepped backwards. "Please come in where it's warm, Kessa."

Her
bones were cold, she realized, hands shaking under the cloak. "In
time for what?" It came out as a rasp.

"To
get to the door before you. Tania, send an urchin with another plate?
I'm sure Kessa's not eaten. Am I right?" he asked, putting his
arm around her shoulders.

She
slithered away, though in the direction he was herding her.
"Why . . . I was . . ." She
took a breath and collected her scattered thoughts, modifying the
recipe of words for his ears. "I was stopping by to visit your
staff and spare someone the trouble of going to my shop. I thought
you'd be at the offices."

"Really."
He sounded smugly amused. "I think this is the closest I've
caught you in an outright lie. Come sit. Your sister's fine. Also a
vixen of the first water, which shouldn't surprise me."

Kessa
didn't stumble, but the shock made her too slow to avoid his hand on
her back, steering her through the kitchen. He knew? Laita told him?
Why
? How could admitting foster-kinship be a
good
thing?

The
dining nook had curtained glass windows in one wall, a curtained
archway to her left, the door to the kitchen behind them, another
archway in that same wall, and a table with four chairs and room for
at least two more on the longer sides.

Sitting
before the windows . . . Laita, in her least-tawdry
working dress, stitched tight at the sides and laced to enhance her
cleavage. A mostly-empty bowl of cut fruit was in front of her. She
half-stood. "Kessa!"

Kessa
darted to her sister, wrapping an arm around her in a sideways hug,
other hand clutching Laita's chair-back so they didn't fall. Kessa
hissed, "What's going on? Why didn't you tell–"

In
a perfectly conversational tone, Laita said, "I got four silver
leaves and a meal. If we'd told you we'd found the little rabbit,
you'd have given him over for nothing. Am I right?"

"Duty . . .
to the guild," Kessa grated out. "I'd have–"

"Well,
you didn't have to pay us yourself. I got lucky, sold the information
for a shiny coin indeed, and got a lovely meal. Kessa, why're you
here
?"

Curled
against Laita's shoulder, Kessa whisper-growled, "He's a
horrible bully."

"He's
been a gentleman," Laita chided, voice dropped enough to
indicate listeners should pretend they didn't hear. She sat back
down.

"Didn't
barge in the front door." Kessa shifted both hands to the chair,
glancing around to check . . . she wasn't sure what.
Perhaps that they weren't surrounded. Didn't seem to be, though she'd
wager Brague, Dayn, or both were in the next room over. If worst came
to worst, the windows looked to be frames with glass panes in them.
Easy enough to unlatch . . .

The
curtains
were open, but not entirely. Outside, she'd thought
they'd been closed. Had he set someone to watch for her, or glimpsed
her himself?

A
young girl brought in Kessa's plate: strips of meat covered with some
translucent glaze, and winter squash drenched in a creamy sauce.

Kymus
took it, shifted his own bowl from the head of table, and set the
plate there. "Kessa . . ." He sighed. "Miss
Laita, can
you
convince her to eat?"

Laita
looked up; Kessa shifted her gaze. "Kessacat, do sit, please?"

She
didn't
want
to. But Laita'd used the nickname of safety, and
whatever Laita was scheming, Kessa didn't want to accidentally ruin
it. Deliberate sabotage . . . perhaps, depending on
the plot. Or was she just bluffing, discovered and making the best of
it?

Slowly,
finding her knees wobbled, Kessa moved to the other chair. She eyed
Kymus openly as he approached.

He
stopped an acceptably safe distance away, if too close for comfort.
"May I take your cloak, Tradeswoman Kessa?"

Her
dagger was beneath her skirt, not at her belt. She'd left her
defensive preparation at her shop, half from forgetting and half
because it had no use
here
. The only reason to keep the cloak
would be if she assumed they'd have to flee, and Laita'd need the
warmth.

"Kessacat,
it's
all right
," Laita insisted.

Slowly,
Kessa unfastened the cloak and handed it to him.

While
he took it to the archway, probably to give it into someone's care,
Kessa half-fell into the seat. She eyed the glasses on the table and
took Laita's, sniffing the wine suspiciously.

Laita
put her face into her hands, belatedly flicking open her best fan to
shield the undignified position.

Kymus
turned back before Kessa'd quite returned the glass. He sighed again.
"The only alchemy deployed in this room is your sister's
perfume – which is carefully on the safe side of acceptable by
guild standards."

But
how would she know?
Were he in the habit of dosing women, he'd
have tried it on me . . . No, blight it, only his word
that potion was truth and not loyalty . . .
Kessa
gave up on good manners and glared, pleased to see his eyes tighten.

"Why
are you always so paranoid around me?" he complained, sitting
across from Laita, at Kessa's left. He rummaged in his robe's inner
pockets and took out two vials. One was only partly-full: the Tryth
elixir he'd used on the two "gray watch" captives. The
other was thick, clear glass, securely sealed with wax and ribbon,
filled with something as red as fresh-spilled blood. "Very well.
Taste whichever you like."

Blight
him. He's guessed again where he could grip my life and lead me
wherever he wants.
Just as when he'd convinced her to become his
student.

Kessa
touched the first vial. "This one's Tryth elixir.
What's . . . ?"

"My
only prepared dose of the dramsman's draught. Unused. Unopened. It's
brewed in this size, making it more finicky than most potions. The
equipment is kept in a locked cabinet, its key held by a certain
official in the palace. The entire process is watched by a selection
of masters in turn, each knowing a piece of the recipe. Once bottled,
the vial is sealed in the presence of guild officers and the
city-prince's representative – usually a mere judge. It's only
supposed to be used with a judge present, but I'll endure the legal
scolding if you wish to settle the question unequivocally." He
set his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his interlaced
fingers.

The
possibility was unexpectedly fascinating. Slowly, she moved her hand
to the second vial. It was heavy and smooth, still warm from his
pocket. The ribbon was a little worn, but sealed down tightly; it was
threaded through a metal loop, so it could pull the stopper out. The
seal upon the wax was smoothed and faded, though still present.
Somehow, she'd raised it to her nose. Bittersweet smells of the
preparations it shared pocket-space with. The owner's own scent.
There might've been something else, hints of sweetness like honeyvine
or honey itself dripping from the comb, but that could be her
imagination.

It
would be easy to lift the ribbon, break the seal, pull the stopper
free, and taste the crimson fluid within.

It
would be supremely stupid.

She
set it back and took the other vial, resolutely prying it open and
tipping a bit of pale amber into a spoon. That, she tasted.

Too
sweet. Too bitter. Hints of roses. A strong tinge of mint. And the
metal-salts, of course; the tea'd muffled them in the prison cell,
but they were clear now, though unfamiliar. The Tryth elixir's vial
was the one she'd seen during the gray watch's questioning, and the
liquid inside was the same color.

She
sat back and felt her throat's pulse. A bit rushed, perhaps, as she
recovered from her long fast-walk, but slowing.

Only
his word that the
one
tiny bottle was the stuff of her
nightmares, but . . . it sounded likely. No one'd want
much of the draught about, but better to schedule the brewing before
actual need.

So
he'd not dosed her with anything save what he'd said, in the cell.
And with that wax unbroken, he'd not dosed Laita. She'd have to ask
Nicia to confirm what the draught looked like, after she got her
sister away.

"What
does that one do?" Laita asked, pointing with folded fan.

"A
truth-potion, essentially," Kymus replied.

"Does
it work on you, Kessa?"

Kessa
smiled a little, eyes closed. "Shall I say 'no'?"

"Immune."
Kymus' satisfaction was plain as the Tryth's mint.

Kessa
shivered. Her secret'd been her place of strength, hers alone, and
now it seemed he'd been there first – and every step she took,
exploring it, led to him.

"Kessacat,
eat your food before it gets cold. It's excellent."

She
sighed, taking up fork and knife. The meat's glaze was sweet (with no
alchemical bitter) and as excellent as her sister claimed. The squash
in creamy, herby, white sauce was likewise delicious.

The
two vials'd vanished before she opened her eyes.

"How
do you
do
that?" Kymus asked.

"I'm
her big sister. Have you been
trying
to give her orders,
Master Kymus?"

Before
he answered, Kessa swallowed and said, "The Guild Master's
entitled to give some orders, Laita."

"But
not others," she retorted.

Kymus
drawled, "I
try
not to overstep my authority. Certain
matters . . . are muddy, neither earth nor rain alone.
My duty to the guild is not hers, precisely."

Bad
topic to continue. Kessa said, "Speaking of duty . . .
Master Kymus, my sister found the correct man, then?"

"Quite.
Unfortunately, he's not regained enough consciousness for a
Purgatorie. I'd rather he didn't choke.

Innocently,
Laita said, "He was
very
tired when I found him."
While Kessa translated that to
dosed with an emergency sleeping
preparation,
Laita added, "But sleep is the cure for many
ills."