Herb-Witch (Lord Alchemist Duology) (54 page)

Her
thoughts whirled. She'd expected
Kymus
to bargain with her
sister's health, not for Herbmaster Keli to offer – and with
enough reason that it might barely be linked to the "guild
matters" Kessa didn't want to think about.

The
fish was better than fish had any right to be. The wine was far above
even good beer. The company was . . . terrifying.
I'd
wanted to keep my head down!

Kymus
asked, "Keli, how are your apprentices, anyway?"

Kessa
was nearly grateful to him for changing the topic. Then she wanted to
kick his ankles for telling someone about her family. She craned her
neck to look for those soft indoor boots . . . He'd
slid them away, both irritating and amusing. So she listened to
Keli's bewailing of lazy apprentices, or overly ambitious ones, and a
story about five-year-old Nicia and the spice cabinet. That last,
Kessa was sure, would mortify her fellow student.

Perhaps
people talked about their families in casual conversation, normally.

An
odd idea.

The
dessert was chilled fruit in honeyed cream, with mulled red wine. It
was very nearly good enough to dissolve her resolutions; it took
effort not to tell Kymus,
If you'd brought me from that cell, and
fed me this, you might've gotten an answer.

He
asked, "Does the dessert meet with your approval?"

Almost,
she said
yes!
But that felt ambiguous, so she looked at him
through the sweep of her hair and pulled the bowl closer. "Anyone
trying to take this loses a finger."

It
sent Keli (and when'd the Herbmaster lost her title in Kessa's mind?)
into giggles again. Kymus raised his hands in surrender. "I'll
not risk it. I've need of fingers."

Keli
nearly choked on her laughter; Kymus cleared his throat and ignored
the Herbmaster pointedly. Baffling, both of them. Safer to enjoy
dessert and let Kymus hastily speak of other masters, other students,
and promising journeymen's projects; Kessa recognized some names. It
was more comfortable to be the mouse in the corner, listening and
picking up crumbs of interest.

After
a while her glass was empty and she drowsed. It was a good chair,
comfortable, but not high-backed enough to let her nod off.

She
opened her eyes as Keli pushed her chair back. "Mmm, if I don't
get home, Iathor, my daughter'll come looking for me."

"It's
a cold night. I've guest rooms . . ." He stood as
well.

"I've
a warm house, too. Kessa?"

She
tilted her head up. "Mm?"

Kymus
said, "I've rooms enough for both."

"Or,"
Keli offered, "I could drop you off on my way home."

Kessa
started to rise and found Kymus politely helping with her chair, then
providing a hand up. It put her closer than arm's length to him.
"I . . . should go home." Before she
foolishly said,
You smell nice.
Other people could blame heady
wines for softening their hearts; she wasn't sure what to blame for
her head's softening.

His
tiny sigh seemed defeated, or amused. Possibly both. "Very well.
I'll have Keli's carriage readied." He went into the kitchen.

At
her shoulder, Keli murmured, "He is in the palm of your hand."

Kessa
whispered back, "I don't know that I want him there."

"Why
not?"

His
brother hates me. That's scary. It's harder to think of running away
when someone might care. He drowns me.
She shook her head,
silently. She wanted to say
He only does this for duty
. She
wondered if she believed it.

"He
never thought he'd make a love-match, you know," Keli said,
quiet as any guiding spirit behind a theater actor's neck. "Not
like Iasen, who insists he'll
only
marry for love."

"They're
very different, I suppose."

"And
yet similar. Iathor wants to love his wife, I think."

Instead,
he must pin his hopes on an ugly, vile-tempered half-breed who'd
normally die unwed.
She'd accepted that long ago. She had her
family. She provided dry tea for Laita. That was enough.

Keli
might've said more, but Kymus returned. "Dayn and Jeck are
helping your driver. A cup of wine in the sitting room?"

"Mulled
soft cider, mayhap?" the older woman asked. "It wouldn't do
to get the chaperone tipsy when neither of you are."

"For
us all, then." Kymus lifted his voice a little. "I know
there's someone listening, so three mulled soft ciders, please."

The
giggle behind the door was audible, though brief. It sparked another
could have been
: growing up a kitchen urchin, her siblings
around her . . . If she'd known her worth, gone to
bargain it before her moon-flows started, she might've bought
childhood luxury for them all.

She
let him steer her into the sitting room beyond the dining nook, and
curled herself into a chair near the hearth. She thought someone'd
stoked the fire just before they entered.
Mayhap if I'd grown up
here, it'd be home, and not– not what land is for a fish.
Perhaps playing at lady of the manor, perhaps presuming concubinage,
as Laita'd known what she'd be trained for once her moon-flows
started.

Perhaps
being truly grateful: never hungry and always having a warm, dry
place to sleep.

"Kessa?"
Kymus asked.

She'd
missed some question, so lost in
perhaps
that she barely
remembered taking the warm mug. "Mm?"

"You've
been quiet. I hope we're not boring you."

"No.
I was just thinking. It's not important." She sipped. The cider
warmed her throat. Mayhap heat was what melted her brains into
dreaming goo. Kymus' house was comfortable as a summer night.

"If
you say so . . ." He paused, and Kessa closed her
eyes. If he asked her now, she might weep.

He
didn't. Instead, he said, "The price for accepting few
invitations to noble events is that I can escape early only for true
emergencies. As it's the season for harvest festivals, we'll have few
night patrollers tomorrow anyway. But the fiveday after, I should be
able to attend – or, if I sleep too soundly, Jeck and Brague
will go."

Kessa
nodded. "I'll likely be there. If my shop's still being watched,
it's safer in patrol than alone at home."

"I've
guest rooms." That was a pointed hint.

"I'm
no savage to dread a boiled mouse skull." She made a face into
her mug. "I'll just be wary."

He
sighed. "As you will. I suppose that's sufficient comfort."

He
likely meant her usual "paranoia" around him. "Thank
you," she said, letting a bit of smugness into it.

"You're
welcome," he replied, sour enough that she knew she'd guessed
right.

Keli
was silent; when Kessa glanced through her hair, she thought the
Herbmaster was stifling a smile of her own behind her drink.

To
forestall the alleged chaperone slipping off and leaving them alone
together, Kessa asked, "Those other two 'gray watch' that the
true watch caught, what happened to them? Work gangs?"

"Yes,
though the one who worried about his family will finish sooner. He's
a widower, with a small girl, and cunning enough to have the child
show up. Hard to sentence a man to months of labor when he's holding
his adorable daughter, or so Thioso wrote."

"Tell
me when they're out, please. I'd like to know when I've more to be
wary of." She drained her mug, and wondered vaguely if Kymus'
house had a water-closet.

"I
will. I asked the Watch Commander to remind them of little-used laws
that sentence assassins to become dramsmen to the victim or victim's
heirs. Thank my brother for recounting
that
little drama in
Cym."

Kessa
shuddered. "I hope it had an effect on them."

From
the archway, Dayn asked, "M'lord, Tialo asks if he should bring
Herbmaster Keli's carriage around front, or if she'll be coming into
the carriage house."

Keli
asked, "Is it still raining?"

"Less
than earlier, Herbmaster, but yes."

"Then
back halls are dryer. If that's all right with you, Iathor?"

He
chuckled. "Better to ask if it's all right with Loria, but I
doubt she'll fret."

"Then
let's not keep my driver and horse waiting. I hear it's bad for the
beasts."

Kessa
uncurled and stood, looking as meek as possible by the time Kymus was
on his own feet. He folded his arms at her, briefly, before Dayn led
the way – down the house's main hallway and through a plain
door, rather than through the kitchen – into the servants'
corridor. Kymus followed behind them all.

She
stayed demure. Head down. Hands clasped loosely in front of her hips.
Little, quick steps. Back straight and shoulders held just so.

Oddly,
though the nape of her neck prickled, she didn't feel over-vulnerable
with him at her back. Perhaps it was because of the night patrols.

The
dimly lit carriage house held Keli's light vehicle; it was almost
short enough to be a two-wheeler, but the compartment was enclosed.
The driver's seat in front had leg-guards, a door, and a fabric
canopy overhead, much like a buggy.

The
man who held the door was nearly as white a blond as Laita, but more
tanned. As Keli got in, she said, "Tialo, we're taking my
herb-witch home first. The little shop near Lesser Broadstreet. Look
for anyone outside it, though. There've been issues lately, and if
there's anyone troubling, we drive on by."

"As
you say, mistress."

Just
before Kessa stepped towards the carriage (mild, demure, proper),
Kymus murmured, "You're not fooling me."

She
paused to murmur back, "Not trying to."

His
snort, she fancied, tickled her ear. "Good evening to you both.
And be careful."

"We
will!" Keli called from within her carriage.

"Always,"
Kessa said, and got inside.

It
was a two-seater, both facing forwards. Before the door closed, Kessa
saw a folding third seat opposite. The windows were covered with thin
sheets of painted wood for the winter: dark inside, but better than
being rained on.

The
carriage shook as the driver took his place. There was a pause while
the carriage house doors were opened, then they were moving. When
they cleared the building, the rain drummed softly on the roof, and
the compartment was nearly black.

"Now,"
Keli said, "what's this about Nicia, immunities, and
mindbright?"

Kessa
tipped her head back, since she needn't hide her eyes. "The
mindbright wasn't finished, but . . . had odd effects
when I tasted it. It seemed . . . a very bad idea for
her to ever pretend to be immune. I don't remember all the reasons."
Except the utter certainty (like lightning, magic runes etched inside
her skull and ribs) it would break the man's heart.

Keli
leaned forward, probably resting her elbows on her knees.
"Reconsidering your own reluctance, then?"

"I
don't know." Part of her yearned for the bear prince's rescue.
Part of her . . . rebelled. "But if you surprise
him, do it with a bastard heir and not a dramswife."

"What,
personally?"

"Um.
If you wanted, I suppose." There were youth-restoring potions;
even if the older woman's moon-flows had stopped, barren fields could
be revived. "You could spike his tea with one of Lairn's
wretched brews, perhaps. Or . . . His brother has a
similar candle. Enough of a continuing dose, and even immunity won't
damp
everything
. Though you'd have to worry about men's tea.
If he drinks it. If it even works on him."

Keli
interrupted her musings with laughter. "You plot to dose the
Guild Master
often
?"

"No!
I was just thinking out loud!"

"Sound
plans, for 'just thinking.' An interesting point about the tea. I
wonder if the potions for sons affect him."

"Aren't
there any for the woman to take?" Kessa asked. Chiftia'd never
bothered to dose the sows, mares, or cows; only the boars, studs, and
bulls. Maila'd not been interested in anything beyond contraceptive
teas.

"Oh,
to assure a pregnancy, yes – barring men's tea, as you say.
But the brews to choose gender . . . The conceptions
don't always
last
. Those that grow are the sons or daughters
chosen, but I think when the woman takes it, it makes the field
reject the unwanted boy or girl. When the man takes it, the potion
winnows the seeds to be planted, and there are fewer losses of the
conception."

"His
parents . . . They only had two, heir and spare?"

"Yes,
so that suggests the immunities allow winnowing, and perhaps men's
tea. Odd."

"There
was a book you lent . . ." Kessa remembered the
name of
Assus Kymus
on the cover. "About immunities."