Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (24 page)

Beside
them, Prince Tegar called out, "By law and life and little gold
rings, this man and women are bound in marriage from this day forth –
and whosoever would gainsay their vows speaks against myself and the
Princeps." In a more normal voice that still carried, he added,
"You can kiss her now."

Iathor
put his hand under her chin to lift her face, and she shivered, ear
aching and knees feeling fragile. She felt his warmth . . .
And he kissed her forehead once, then slid down (his breath against
her skin) to lightly brush his lips against hers before he simply
pulled her against him.

Unseen,
the city-prince raised his voice. "And now, we celebrate!"

Amid
the babble of the seemingly-huge crowd, Kessa was unhappily grateful
for her . . . husband's reassuring embrace. She was
even more grateful when he steered her towards a private nook. Once
there, he leaned down to ask, "Does your ear hurt?"

"A
bit." A lot, though not so bad as having her arm bitten by a
guard dog before her powders sent it to sleep; it'd been easier to
send Jeck's hounds to a quiet nap. "I'll live."

"Mine
aches horribly. I've a potion for that, I think, but we should try it
on me first."

"All
right." She started to smile, but his potion reminded her of the
one she'd brewed, waiting in his bedroom. Conception, ensuring the
duty of a woman's fields would be taken care of.

Except,
in all the visits Nicia, Laita, and Keli'd paid . . .
the Herbmaster'd not reported finding a potion that would render an
immune insensible to pain, as the bonesetters required when they cut
open a living being to try to heal unseen injuries, or take a child
too big for its mother.

Cradle
the life? If I can. If I live.
She put her shoulders square, and
stiffened her back.
I'm going to die for this revenge, like as
not. Rain's justice sweeps us all away.

Chapter
XIV

I
athor's
charcoal-gray boots were too new to be comfortable, still stiff at
the knees despite repeated practices of the proper obeisance for the
city-prince. They were, however, in fashion; at least half the men in
the throng were wearing them, and Prince Tegar himself certainly was.
(They looked good on the city-prince. Iathor doubted that was the
case for him.)

The
sleeves of his tunic were the menace he'd thought they'd be, with
their long fins of dangling fabric. The thigh-length cape was just
another thing to worry about sitting on or smacking into someone. His
earlobe hurt from the piercing.

None
of it was more than a minor irritation, now that he'd a bride upon
his arm.

There
were chairs and a few stools in the nook where Prince Tegar'd
waited – far too many people were around for his dramsmen to
feel secure with him out in the open, beneath the various leftover
windows. As Kessa's outfit was even more complicated and awkward than
Iathor's own, he helped her onto a stool as Dayn appeared with the
over-robe both Tania and Loria'd insisted was too informal.

The
sisters were why he was wearing everything beyond the tabard and
hose. He'd tried to find presentable formal wear, deep in his chests,
but only the tabard was accepted. (He thought it might've been his
father's, for
his
wedding, from the other garments packed
around it.) And neither tunic nor tabard had pockets for
potion-vials.

Dayn
held the robe while Iathor counted the lids and pulled out the
Brado's elixir. The potion was best for internal damage, but
hopefully a slower healing would keep his ear from having to be
attacked by a needle again. He wet a fingertip to rub at the new
hole, and on the earring itself, and gritted his teeth against the
potion's burn. Pulling the loosely twisted wire through his ear, till
the tied-off twist bumped painfully, wasn't
pleasant
after the
potion's heat faded, but it seemed an improvement. "I think
that's better, though it's still sore. Burns while it works, of
course."

"If
it's not sealed up the flesh around the wire . . ."
She tilted her head and pushed hair and metal veil a little further
from her ear, eyes closed. "Get it over with."

He
repeated the process – a dampened fingertip against the skin,
and along the wire itself, before drawing the wetted wire gently
through the hole. She clenched her jaw and held her breath, nearly
snorting once the potion'd had time to fade. "Yes, that's
better."

Iathor
put the vial away. "I should've thought to make something
soothing for this, as well."

"I
saw you'd been in the workroom now and again, the past month,"
Kessa said. "I didn't taste anything, though."

"Mm.
Good. Thank you." In a fit of paranoia, he'd concocted a common
aphrodisiac. It wouldn't last more than a few minutes, for him, and
was purely a physical reaction – and he doubted he'd
need
the thing – but his pride felt a little easier with backup
should an attack of nerves geld him.

Or
if they quarreled first. Or she needed comforting rather than
seducing. Or any number of things that might irk her if, afterward,
she wanted him more . . . attentive than with just
hands and mouth.

Dayn
drifted off with the robe, folding it back to crisp lines. Iathor
suspected he'd found some safe niche for it, and would be
unencumbered when trailing them. It would, however, be polite to stay
put till both dramsmen were ready to follow.

Iathor
said, "I wish you could've brought more of your family than just
Laita. I'd like to meet
everyone
some day."

For
some reason, that made Kessa's mouth twist in a wry half-smile,
though she kept her eyes closed. "Burk didn't want to get
dressed up. Laita says he's sure he'd bawl like a child, and been
embarrassed."

She
didn't say,
And it's safer they stay away.
She'd said it
already when he'd brought it up while her sister was visiting. It'd
been the closest thing to a fight he'd seen between them: Laita
insisting family'd a right to attend her wedding, Kessa snarling she
was just trying to keep them from being targets.

"I'd
still like to meet them. Properly." As opposed to an indistinct
figure in the stables, and who knew how many might've been
hidden . . . Though Brague'd only heard three voices.

Kessa
still had that half-smile. "It's not just
my
choice, you
know."

He
sighed. "I suppose not." There were a number of reasons why
someone raised by a criminal might want to avoid his attention. "You
win."

That
didn't make her smirk as he'd hoped. She seemed to wilt, turning her
head away. The gold wire in her earlobe glimmered against her skin.
The white of her collar was stark against her coppery neck.

He'd
seen necklaces and belts made of wide rectangles of gilt wood, in the
Birch and Cat, and wondered how the real-metal equivalent might look
against his new wife's skin instead of the cream-hued courtesans. Or,
if such blocky adornments didn't suit her, perhaps numerous thin and
delicate links, with catseye and amber. Feeling daring, he lifted his
hand to brush the backs of his fingers against her neck, above the
collar of her dress.

She
held very still, as he thought a wild creature might. He slipped his
fingers around, to the back of her neck. The lace veil was rough on
the back of his hand. Her hair was entirely braided up, smooth
against his fingertips.

Kessa
shivered, a convulsive twitch. He stilled his hand. "I'm sorry."

"It . . .
just tickled."

"Mm."
He took her hands, tugging gently.

She
paused a moment, looking at her hands in his, before standing. The
stool, caught in folds of fabric, fell quietly onto the carpet. "Oh,"
she said, looking down.

"Leave
it," he suggested, and carefully pulled her against him, glad
the most cumbersome parts of her dress were not in front. The stiff
lace puffs at her shoulders and upper arms were scratchy, slightly
crushed by his embrace.

She
looked at her hands, laid flat against his chest, and he caught a
glimpse of her eyes. Iathor refused to give a shudder of his own,
though the shadows in the nook weren't enough to mute the
strangeness, or dim the color.

He
had to free a hand to smooth her veils back so he could nuzzle her
forehead. He worried, tipping her chin up, that he was being too
forward. Frightening her. That she'd lied about how much harm she'd
suffered from the attack.

But
she let him kiss her lightly, lips upon lips. And when he put his
tongue against her teeth – she let him in. Passive permission,
as she'd given before, but not pulling away. He wasn't surprised by
her stillness, as he hadn't been when he first kissed her; the
maiden's blood that dry tea required was not designated by the
technicalities of physical virginity. Deep kissing alone could leech
much potency from the blood.

So
he went slowly, exploring without the cloying taste of the draught
between them. And the reward, of her fingers curling to hook his
tabard and tunic beneath, of her shifting her weight to lean against
him . . . of her tongue moving against his in
uncertain response . . .

. . . was
all interrupted by a gay, blithe woman's voice. "So this is
where you've gone off to, Iathor!"

Nearly
anyone else, possibly including the city-prince, he would've snarled,
Yes. Go away.
However, such things were impolitic with
other
people, which was undoubtedly why Dayn and Brague'd let her get so
far. So he strove to be mild as he replied, "Indeed, Miss
Irilye. Thank you for attending my wedding."

"I'd
not have missed it for anything. But really, you used to call me
Talien."

He
didn't let his sigh become audible, though he was sure Kessa felt it,
with her cheek pressed against his chest. He half-turned. "Miss
Talien Irilye, may I introduce Kessa . . . Kymus, my
wife." That made him smile again, despite irritation.

Talien
Irilye wore a blue gown without sleeves at all – it was held
up by a delicate silver chain and, Iathor thought, sheer contrariness
to the wishes of most onlookers. The sides of her breasts would've
shown most scandalously, save for the paler blue, lace over-dress
draped around her, robe-like. She curtseyed. "Mistress Kymus,"
she purred.

Iathor
narrowed his eyes. Suitable enough for the wife of a
new
baron, perhaps, but . . .

Kessa
stepped away to drop a curtsey no lower than Talien's. "Miss
Talien," she returned, even more pleasantly.

The
youngest daughter of Earl Irilye had a fixed smile on her face as she
straightened. "A pleasure to meet you. Iathor, will you and
your . . . wife . . . be opening the
dancing soon?"

Iathor
looked over her shoulder. The elemental priests had cleared
themselves away, save for Wind's disciple – who was already
dancing with a widowed matron in a black-fringed, ash-gray shawl.
Iathor said, "I suspect Prince Tegar and Princess Ceren will be
willing to open the dancing in my stead, and be far better at it."

Talien
pouted prettily at him. "Oh. So your . . .
wife . . . doesn't dance, either?"

Kessa,
eyes downcast and shoulders less straight than a moment before, said,
"I dance even more poorly than I read."

An
odd turn of phrase. "And, Miss Talien," Iathor said, "you
should remember how wretched my dancing is." He'd been obliged
to attend spring blossoming balls, including the one introducing
Talien to noble society, and unable to avoid the dance floor.

"I
suppose . . . But you do owe everyone
some
appearance, rather than hiding yourself away at your own wedding."
Talien put her gloved hands on her waist. "How else will I and
the other young ladies bid you our farewells?"

"I
rather doubt anyone is heart-rent to lose her chance at becoming my
dramswife, Miss Talien."

The
pout became sultry. "I'm sure you could've thought of something
else."

He
declined to answer that. "A moment of privacy, please. I fear
I've wrinkled my wife's dress." He turned away to pluck at
Kessa's upper sleeves.

After
a bit, Kessa said, "She's gone."

"Mm."
He tugged a fold of the puffed out lace and glanced over his shoulder
to be positive the young woman was out of earshot. "That was the
youngest daughter of Earl Irilye. She's a menace. She should also
call you Lady Kymus in public, or at
least
Lady Kessa. What's
this about reading?"

Kessa
smoothed her hair and the gold wire that went over it. "Someone
sent me a letter, before the attendants came. It wasn't from you, nor
Prince Tegar, nor Herbmaster Keli, and I thought it'd be nothing
good. I said, take it back, for I couldn't read."

"But
that could've . . ."
. . . been
a threat, or a blackmail attempt.
And now he'd no proof.

Slowly,
as if thinking over each word, Kessa said, "If someone sends a
letter, rather than silently do whatever he wanted, then he'll be
confused if I don't read it. I can't
know
some bad thing's his
doing, that way. It's not satisfying. He's not controlling me."