Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (16 page)

She
looked up at him, eyes wide, and only flinched inside at his own
twitch. Then she closed her eyes and tipped the vial into her mouth,
tilting her head back to get it all.

It
was sweeter than anything she'd ever tasted. Sweeter than honeyvine,
than crystal honey, than pure honey flowing across her tongue. It
coated her mouth like satin, thick and smooth. She had to force
herself to swallow it, and grimaced.

And
there was silence. Dark behind her eyelids. Heartbeats. How long had
it been, before she'd entirely beaten the Tryth elixir? Some few
sentences. She took the vial in one hand and, with street flair of
her own, turned it upside down to show its emptiness.

She
didn't feel dizzy. The heat of his hands on her face was more than
the heat of her own skin.

"Kessa,"
Iathor whispered. "Will you open your eyes?"

Perhaps
it's been long enough.
And perhaps not. "Got anything to
take the taste out of my mouth?" she asked in return, stalling.

"Perhaps,"
he said, with breathless, nervous laughter behind the words. "A
trade?"

"All
right." She opened her eyes, trying not to hurt when he had to
force himself to meet them. She added, as clearly as she could, "I'm
not dizzy. I don't feel flushed. You owe me for the way this stuff
tastes."

"I
suppose I do," he said, with a small, wondering voice that was
intensely private, entirely opposite of his Lord Alchemist tone. Then
he leaned close, and put his lips on hers.

She
stiffened, held her breath, and didn't flinch – even when he
delicately licked her lower lip. He did it again, and she realized
there was one very obvious way for him to at least share the
oversweetness of the draught.

Kissing
wasn't something Kessa'd done before. Purity of body was required,
for maiden's blood to be used in the dry tea recipe. The more pure
the body, the more potent the blood. Maila's words had lashed that
lesson into Kessa even before her moon-flows started; knowing her
sister Laita would be trained as a courtesan . . .
She'd need dry tea. And no one'd ever want to kiss Kessa anyway, save
perhaps the light nuzzles of family.

Iathor
licked her
teeth
. Tilted his head, tipped hers with his
fingers splayed along her jaw and cheeks. Moved his tongue to stroke
the tip of hers. Somehow, her hands were fisted in his sleeves,
pressed against his upper arms. There were silver minnows in her
belly, or perhaps lightning danced there instead. He lapped the
alchemical sweetness from her teeth, tongue, the roof of her mouth,
and she realized she'd whimpered against him.

"Are
we allowed to talk now?" Iasen asked.

Iathor
straightened, and Kessa opened her eyes to see him staring avidly at
her, his pupils briefly huge. Not taking his gaze from her, he said,
"Everyone but you may talk, Iasen."

Nervous
laughter broke out, along with snorts and scattered applause. Iasen
called over the growing murmur, "Is she flushed?"

"After
that?" Keli said. "I should hope so!"

Kessa's
stomach still felt odd, disconnected; her heart pounded so hard she
felt it in her gums as well as her chest. She wasn't sure she wanted
more kissing. Or sure she wanted to stop. Starting again where there
weren't so many people . . . terrifying thought. She
looked down to catch her balance, and remembered to stand on her own,
letting go of Iathor's sleeves.

He
didn't let go of her shoulders, though he didn't pull her close
again, either. His grip shifted; warning enough to remind herself
meek, mild, mouse
before another hand grabbed her upper arm.

She
didn't fake her gasp and wide-eyed stare at Iasen. His grip faltered
at her eyes, and the only good way to pull away from him was to cling
to Iathor, face pressed against his chest. She couldn't tell where
Dayn was; he had to be close.

"Blight
it, Iathor. Her eyes should still be reacting. Make her look at me."

The
chest against her moved with his sigh. "Kessa, it's all right.
Just look at him."

What?
For a moment, outraged he'd kiss her like that and still let her be
grabbed at, she thought she might obey him. It'd do more than annoy
him, after all; it would eat at him with uncertainty.

But
then it'd eat at her, too, and she'd second-guess what she felt for
the rest of her life. She clung harder. Better to make Iasen unsure
she'd gotten away. Let him wonder if he needed do aught further, or
just wait for his brother to find his wife as barren as a dry field.

"Kessa . . ."
Iathor sounded annoyed. He dropped his hands. "Look at him."

"No,"
she said, even though it sounded like a child's sulky protest.

He
used his
Master Kymus
voice next. "You're being
embarrassingly stubborn. Look at him."

She
put a hint of desperation into her "
No.
"

"Tradeswoman
Kessa," said the Lord Alchemist, "he has the right to see
if your eyes are reacting. Look at him."

Kessa
looked up into her betrothed's face. He looked down, his expression
cold and set enough that he didn't even flinch at her glare. Clearly,
through bared teeth, she said, "No. I. Will. Not." The
rough edge of alarm was far too easy to add.

Off
to the side, Thioso asked, "So, this means
no one
can
order her around?"

Iasen
snapped, "She could be reacting from the conflict! She knows he
wants her immune!"

Master
Mathus appeared at Iathor and Kessa's elbows, flinching when she
glared, but squinting at her anyway. "No, she just looks as
angry as a plains-fox in a trap, I'd say. Her pupils aren't flaring
at all."

The
Lord Alchemist said, "Kessa, just look at him. Once."

Knowing
Mathus was watching, Kessa shook her hair from her face as she looked
up again. "Ask nicely," she said, throat tight.

For
a moment, she believed the shock and outrage in Iathor's expression
was real. It seemed his body was stiff against hers. Then he
grinned
at her. One of his eyeteeth was a little crooked, lapping over the
tooth next to it. "Please?"

She
took a steadying breath, as if nerving herself – and did have
to remind herself to be meek, not dizzy that she'd snapped at the
eagle whose talons held her.
Mouse. Battered, hurt mouse.
Frightened mouse.
Then she looked up at Iasen, shrinking against
his elder brother's chest.

Iasen's
face was as cold a mask as Iathor's had been. He stared at her for
several heartbeats, then turned on his heel and wove through the
packed room, heading for the door.

Chapter
X

T
wo
days later, Iathor pondered the two letters on his desk, and
reflected that at least Kessa'd seemed less oppressed after the
ceremony. Not that she'd let herself be anywhere they might've
discussed intimacies in theory or practice, but she
had
let
him lean over her shoulder while she was in the workroom with her
mysterious brew. She'd given him a sample. Coppery-red, it'd tasted,
despite the potion's greenish hue. The bittersweet of alchemy, of
course. A sharp-sweet edge that reminded him of instructive
debauchery as a young man, which he
didn't
mention. The firmly
ignored urge to test that instruction had been entirely his own.

Not
an aphrodisiac. Something body-affecting or enhancing. Something
female
, perhaps – or perhaps that was a false clue. At
the least, it was no potion he'd ever sampled before.

And
a far more interesting puzzle than that on his desk.

Matching
letters from both of Aeston's earls, Dhaenoc and Irilye, offering
their estates for the Lord Alchemist's wedding ceremony. Short of
Prince Tegar himself, the most powerful nobles in the city. Irilye'd
already hosted his harvest ball, and Dhaenoc never bothered with such
things, so "conflicting schedules" couldn't be arranged.

He'd
consider simply acquiring a priest of Earth or Wind (plenty of the
latter around the docks) but a high marriage required priests pledged
to all four elements
and
a judge. A low marriage, aside from
the scandal, would leave an heir only half legitimate, requiring more
political dancing when the boy was of age.

He
sipped his tea, making a face. Far more bitter than sweet, this
formula, but the more he drank, the more likely it'd work. And the
more likely they were to get a son.

Soon,
Kessa'd said. As soon as possible.

A
month, then, to let the barons and counts sort out their fetes, and
decide if their daughters and wives would need new dresses. More
importantly, he'd need to inform the city-prince . . .
There was a thought. The palace had halls large enough for a full
high marriage with half the city invited. Not that it was appropriate
to
request
the city-prince host the wedding, but if he
inquired when would be convenient for Prince Tegar to attend, he
could mention his conundrum.

Licking
quill-nibs while thinking was a bad habit, even if the ink did taste
better than the tea; when Brague knocked on the door to announce
Thioso, Iathor had to not only take a gulp of bitter tea, but hold it
in his mouth lest his tongue be black. Rather than a polite greeting,
Thioso stared bleakly at him, draped into the extra chair.

Iathor
clasped his hands on the desk. "Good day, watchman. May I be of
assistance?"

"I
don't suppose you've an arsonist tied in your basement, being bled
for ingredients?"

"No.
I'd have informed you if we'd taken any of the criminals I want. The
Earth priest who treated the attackers came in yesterday, but I
believe we sent his descriptions to you already." Iathor'd read
the report several times. Four of them, hair colors ranging from an
oak brown to average blond, and eyes of blue and green. Two with
their faces swollen and puffy, skin burned and blistered. A third's
hand and wrist had been bloated to near the size of his thigh. The
fourth'd had a shallow cut to his belly, and a few blistered patches
at his neck.

For
some reason, the priest had thought it relevant that one of the
face-poisoned ones'd complained of burning when he passed urine the
next day, though there'd been no blisters on the man's privates. (It
made Iathor ill to think disease might've added to the mortal insult
they'd planned.)

"Mm,
yes, I read that. Had a chat with the priest, too, though he didn't
have much else. The least-wounded one didn't hang around, though he
did pick up his friends before the priest heard about your little
reward." Thioso continued to slouch . . . warily.

Iathor
narrowed his eyes. "You've information you think I'll not like?"

"Tangled
matters. Could be your herb-witch's right, and the men'd just grabbed
a girl walking alone." He pulled at his beard, scowling. "Be
easier if that weren't the case, so's we could find them
and
the arsonist."

"Thioso,"
Iathor said, "I'm living in the same house as someone who views
secrets as personal pets, to be fed, cosseted, and possibly bred to
produce litters of little secrets. Kindly don't add new ones to the
kennel."

That
won a chuckle. "Mayhap I'll geld one, then." He shifted
again. "I found, while back, who took the buggy."

Iathor
leaned forward, a cold rage growing in his stomach. "Tell me."

Thioso
cleared his throat. "Seems a servant went looking for a buggy
reserved in the name of Kymus, since their master's carriage had a
bad wheel and he'd a party to attend."

The
rage became numbness. "What?"

The
watchman spread his hands. "Driver admitted to it. The other
drivers who were there gave me the same story. I've been tracking
them all down, betwixt looking for the arsonist. Master Iasen Kymus
took the buggy reserved in the name of Kymus, and left his men to
repair his carriage. Your offices' carriage house staff say he yelled
right loudly about the damage, and that he'd better not be stuck
going to the earl's harvest ball in a hired buggy. The driver said he
was paid to linger at your brother's house, till his own carriage
arrived. An' by then, he'd enough of standing out in the cold, and
went home."

Iathor
realized he was gripping his hands together enough that his knuckles
had gone white. "Have you spoken to my brother about this?"

"Well.
I've tried." Thioso cleared his throat again. "Man won't
see me. Shouts that he knows I'm your hired dog, an' won't be
harassed."

Iathor
closed his eyes and focused on breathing. "It's entirely
probable he sought that buggy from spite, or because he didn't wish
to pay for his transport. The attackers might've been prepared to
stop the buggy."

"That
dark, stopping the right buggy'd be a bit of a trick, sir."

"They
needn't have known she didn't normally walk. It could've been bad
luck."

"And
the lot of 'em might've been looking for just any girl, aye. Just
coincidence her shop was burned."