Herb-Witch (Lord Alchemist Duology) (45 page)

Definitely
playing the vixen.
Kessa wondered why Laita was being so very
provoking.

"In
any case, while he's been bathed and put in a guest bedroom, I've
been unable to question him. I've sent a letter to my brother's
office; whether or not I co-opt Lairn for my own teaching, I
will
have him evaluated for tutoring by Herbmaster Keli."

Kessa
tensed again. "So your brother'll be here . . ."

"Tomorrow.
I've no reason to think he'd be at the offices tonight. Besides, he
rarely bothers to read anything sufficiently official-looking."
Kymus poured a glass of wine and set it in front of Kessa.

She
sipped. Nothing but wine, and itself passing good, from what little
she knew.

Laita
said, "To return to our previous conversation, Master Kymus, how
much
would
you be willing to part with?"

Kessa
twitched her head up enough to see Kymus pondering her before turning
to Laita. "Willing is one thing. Able is another. My personal
budget's been stretched, hosting my brother's household. While the
matter is, as I said, muddy . . . It'd be
inappropriate to tap guild resources."

Laita,
what are you doing?
And would Kessa want to strangle her only
sister? She cut meat warily, knowing it would seem a savage,
dangerous thing if anyone saw her face.

Laita
knew better than to glance. Instead, she used her fan as magicians
used cloaks to conceal tricks of hand and tools. "A silver
flower a month would be adequate. Meals would be optional, but
appreciated."

"While
I cannot deny my need, I'm torn. I mistrust an arrangement it's in
someone's interest to extend indefinitely, and have equal misgivings
that the activity would be . . . misinterpreted."

"Mm,
you've a point." The fan fluttered. "Of course, there are
other options . . ."

"I
doubt she'd permit it, if you're considering what would be a tidy
arrangement in other households. This one . . . I
already stretch tradition and safety by temporarily employing my cook
and steward's numerous cousins."

"Safety?"
Laita leaned forward, gracefully resting her chin on her elegantly
held hand.

"The
employer's safety issues are obvious, but it goes both ways. In older
days – and occasionally modern ones – dramsmen are
considered useless to attempt to suborn, and therefore off-limits in
certain styles of politics. There are legal protections, as well, for
dramsmen who've been ordered to criminal behavior by their master."

Kessa
shuddered, nudging her empty plate away.
Not strangle, yet.
Lecture. Definitely lecture. With intensity. And volume.
And
possibly ankle-kicking. She slouched to look under the tablecloth.

Laita
swung her feet out of range, casually shifting position. "If you
care about someone already, what's the difference?"

Kymus
interlaced his fingers on the table. "I've been seeking an
immune woman for decades because I saw what the uncertainty did to my
mother. She was highly tolerant. I think my parents cared deeply for
each other, but it was a political marriage; she never knew if she'd
grown to love him, or if it was the draught. They fought . . .
frequently. Further . . . There's not been an immune
wife in the Kymus family since my great, great, great-grandfather's
time. Indeed, I've not found any woman with even my mother's
tolerances; hers was a stronger, more emotion-affecting draught, but
she defeated it enough to castigate my father when he irked her."
He sounded proud.

Kessa
considered the wisdom of yelling at the man, as she'd done after Wolf
escaped, and slouched lower. She might as well've been courting him,
if he thought that
admirable
.

Kymus
went on. "Without an immune wife, there's a risk I'll not have
an immune heir. By the customs and laws of guild and country, the
Lord Alchemist
must
be immune. Traditionally, the father gives
his son the draught. If the child's vulnerable . . ."

His
voice trailed off. Kessa wanted to hide under the table. Instead, she
sat straighter, head down.

He
might've had me, if he'd told me that in the prison.
But he'd
not. He'd tried to take over her life, and not even truly asked.
"That's a proposal."

She'd
fought to stay free . . . too long, to throw it away
for someone else's need.

The
silence was deep. She could hear the murmur of voices from the
kitchen. The crackle of the fireplace in the next room.

The
clatter of hooves and wheels on the carriage-path outside.

She
jerked her head up, looking towards the window. "What was that?"

Kymus
stood. "It'd better be Thioso or Tob."

"Who?"
Laita asked.

"A
watchman or the Watch Commander," Kessa said. "Laita,
you're leaving."

"But
I've not finished dessert!"

One
of the kitchen boys peeked in. "M'lord! It's your brother's
carriage!"

Kymus
groaned. "He actually
read his mail
?"

"Apparently,"
Kessa snapped. "Laita, we're leaving."

Her
sister already stood. "My cloak's in the kitchen, beside Master
Kymus'."

Kymus
said, "Yours is in the hallway, Kessa. I'll have it fetched."
He went through the arch.

It's
cold. The stables are in back. Iasen grew up in this house.
Kessa
grabbed Laita's hand, shoving her shop-key into it, and whispered,
"He'll come through the kitchen. Take my cloak. Take the direct
path to my shop. I'll catch up."

Laita
nodded and hugged her fast before sweeping out the archway,
white-blonde hair like curling smoke behind her.

Kessa
took Laita's dessert bowl and set it on her own empty plate. She
poured her sister's wine into her own glass, took a drink (indeed, no
alchemy in it) set it beside Kymus' water-tumbler, and walked into
the kitchen with the empty glass. There, she handed it to the first
youngster she saw, nodded politely to a frowning Tania and a woman
who was likely Loria, and continued to the coats hanging beside the
door.

That
door opened before she got there, and she contemplated an expensive,
gray over-coat very briefly before skipping to the side.

Iasen,
calling for his brother, didn't notice her until two paces after he'd
passed by. She'd gotten Laita's cloak and was about to slip out when
Iasen slammed the door shut before her nose, leaning on his stiffened
arm. "Why," he said with a far-too-mild voice, "are
you here, half-breed?"

"I
was invited to dinner by your brother's servants, Master Iasen,"
she murmured, meek and timid. She pulled Laita's cloak around her
shoulders and fumbled with the catch.

"I
see. And your presence has nothing to do with my journeyman's
kidnapping?"

No
doubt Iasen'd be furious at whoever'd helped him lose the race, and
thus his student.

She
glanced to the side, to see who witnessed the conversation. Tania and
her sister were hesitating, but edging closer. Iasen's two servants –
one dark-haired, one light brunet – were pretending not to
watch. The kitchen urchins stood, not sure which adults to heed.

And
the elder Kymus stood in the doorway, frowning.

Kessa
said, clearly, "I found Lairn Ronan, while making some
deliveries down Kelp Street way. It was kind of Master Kymus' staff
to repay me with dinner. I'd best be going now, before the night gets
too cold." She curtseyed, and looked at his hand, still holding
the back door closed. "If I may, Master Iasen?"

He
didn't move. "You ran to my brother and not–"

Kessa
turned her head and curtseyed again, deeply, as if she'd only just
noticed the Guild Master.

Iasen
straightened, moving his hand, and Kessa pulled open the door.

In
at least a Guild Master's voice, if not a full Lord Alchemist's, the
elder Kymus said, "Tradeswoman Kessa. Please ask my driver to
take you home. As you say, it's cold. I'd not want you to catch
chill."

"Thank
you, Master Kymus," she said, and meant it.

Then
she slipped into the night and ran for the stable.

Chapter
XLVII

I
asen
didn't bother to watch Kessa go. Instead, he snapped, "Iathor,
what's the meaning of kidnapping my journeyman?!"

"He's
not kidnapped. He's sleeping something off: fatigue, too much
alcohol . . ."
Mysterious potions.
Iathor
shrugged, and cursed himself for trusting Iasen would ignore
official-looking mail after having his house invaded. "I'll
question him tomorrow."

"That
little mongrel dosed him! It could be poisonous. Iathor, give him
over so I can feed him Purgatorie and put him to bed in his own
quarters."

Iathor
leaned on the doorframe, arms folded. "He's been put to bed
here. Nothing on his breath suggests poison. We can discuss his
residence tomorrow afternoon, once he's answered certain questions.
Besides, after what he did to your house? If you take him, I'd expect
to find him drowned in that noxious cauldron."

"I'd
not kill a dragon when I could get its oil for the petting, brother.
That little herb-witch might not've been so careful." Iasen
walked forward, gesturing earnestly.

"The
man's of no use to anyone, dead. Especially not her." Iathor
refused to budge. "The discussion's over, Iasen."

His
brother grimaced. "Look, I'm cold and not talking straight. Why
don't we have a light dinner and talk about it after?" He headed
into the dining nook – and stopped short.

Iathor
followed, wondering if Iasen was noticing three recently-used
places . . . No. Only two.

Iasen
stepped into the room and turned. "I thought she was invited by
your staff, to eat in the kitchen."

That's
what she implied.
The invitation part was likely true, knowing
Tania and Loria. "I'd some things to say to her." Also
true. That he'd not gotten to the last, most important one . . .
rankled.
Help me. Please.

His
brother leaned on the chair where Kessa'd sat. "I hope you told
her to get her tree-digging hands out of your pockets. Cym's
much
nicer than Aeston, in the winter. I'd like to show Lairn around."

"As
far as I can tell, she's no interest in my trees, nor flowers, nor
leaves." Laita was the mercenary one.

"She's
subtle, then! Iathor, she's of no good family. You can't trust her.
She'll walk off with your silverware." He picked up the spoon
Kessa'd used to test the Tryth elixir.

A
horrible, paranoid thought, that Iathor might've bound her beloved
and loving foster-sister. He'd seen when she'd sniffed Laita's glass;
looking, briefly, as if she were once again alone with only him and
his dramsmen, her shoulders hunched as they'd been at the Crimson
Birch.

Days
of bland porridge had taught him
that
lesson, at least.

Iasen
was saying something about counting stolen spoons, but his pause
returned Iathor's attention to his brother.

Iasen
had the spoon close to his face. Voice tight, he asked, "Iathor . . .
Brother, is this Tryth I smell?"

Iathor
took the spoon back and sniffed it. Faint, but present. "Yes."
He set it on the plate, to make it easier for the servant children to
tidy.

"You're . . .
you're already testing her with it. And . . . she's
tolerant enough, you didn't need Purgatorie." It seemed his
brother's words were struggling to get free of his throat.

There
was no plausible way to feign otherwise. "She tasted only a
small amount, not a full dose."

"But
enough for you to
know
. Blight it, Iathor, I'll not let you do
this."

Of
a sudden, Iathor was beyond irritated. He smacked his hand on the
table, making the dishes and silverware clink. "For the guild,
for the country . . . and for
me
, Iasen –
if she's immune, nothing and no one shall stop me from courting her.
You don't care about the guild's well-being, but I do, and I. Will
have. My heir."

In
a near-whisper, Iasen said, "She's a dirty criminal, Iathor.
I'll not let you pollute the line with her tainted blood."

Iathor
shouted, "You don't even
want
to be Guild Master! Why
should you care if my son has blond hair or black? Go play with your
string of nobles' daughters and leave me to my duty!"

"I
care
about the family name!" Iasen shouted back, though
he'd retreated a step. "I care about what the nobles'll do, when
they see some ugly half-breed as your named heir! I thought you
wanted a
strong
guild, not one led by the ill-gotten whelp of
a poisoning savage!"

"You
think she poisons people just because she's half barbarian? If
bloodlines made personality,
you'd
pay your guild dues on
time!"