Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (32 page)

From
the other side of the door, he said, "
I'm
impossible?
Kessa, you're
baffling!
"

"Good!"
she yelled, her back against the door.

For
a moment, there was silence. Then he burst out laughing, and she
heard the floorboards creak as he went to the hallway door. The
stairs shifted under his footfalls.

Kessa
slid down against the door before she thought, winced, and sniffled,
blinking away wet blurriness.
Crying, blight it? Why?

She
honestly couldn't think of an answer.

Chapter
XVIII

T
hough
his steward and cook reminded Iathor
some
people took
light-work days – or entire rest days – for a fiveday
after marriage, his secretary's polite arrival the next day included
reports of yet more conflict with the Weavers' Guild, between
individual masters who'd clashed when flax and cotton prices were a
matter of guild dispute. Of course some of the alchemists were older,
temperamental men who'd accept no authority save Iathor himself, and
of course he needed to quell matters quickly, before the Weavers'
touchy Guild Master got
his
temper to a boil.

At
least with three of Kessa's attackers accounted for, the reports of
them could be cut through quickly. In all, there was enough work that
Iathor wound up sending a spare apprentice over to Keli's office with
his invitation to dinner, two nights hence.

Iasen
made no appearance at all. Once, out of duty, Iathor'd taken up paper
and graphite and considered what he might say, but
While I assured
Watchman Thioso you usurped Kessa's buggy out of expediency and not
collaboration, your behavior will not reassure those who do not know
you . . .
The paper'd returned to its drawer,
unmarked, and he'd returned to less troubling matters, such as
reviewing bids on re-roofing the guild offices, and starting the
process of replenishing his vial of the dramsman's draught.

On
the appointed evening, the Herbmaster arrived with her daughter and
Kessa's sister. After greetings and familial hugs, Keli held up a
basket. "As promised, my research's fruits."

Kessa's
slight hesitation was odd, but she took the basket. "My thanks,
Herbmaster."

"You
really can call me
Keli
, you know. Or should I call you Lady
Kymus?"

"I
don't know if I'll ever get used to that." Kessa turned to
Iathor. "Is the workroom open? I could store these there."

Keli
said, "I hope you
try
them . . . Master
Kymus, there's time before dinner. I'd like to know if any of the
brews work."

"Brews?"
he asked, lifting an eyebrow and wondering what Kessa'd gotten
Keli
making for her. "I trust none are likely to disrupt a
conception."

Keli
said, startled, "Already?"

"Should
be," Kessa replied, quietly. "Brewed it myself."

"Dear
me," the Herbmaster murmured. To Iathor, she said, "Ointments,
mostly. Nothing likely to disrupt even a new conception. Hopefully
something that'll ease matters in three seasons, when that planting's
ripe."

"Ah,"
Iathor said, and might've asked more, save that Kessa's shoulders
were hunched.

Keli
said, "Why don't you three run along to the basement? I've
boring guild matters to discuss."

Kessa
recovered enough to shoot him a warning glare as the three young
women left, and Iathor affected innocence as he waved Keli into the
sitting room. "Mm. My thanks for the ointments."

Keli
sighed and rubbed at her hip as she sat. "Thank me when I find
if any work. At least I've nearly a year to keep researching . . .

He
frowned at her, trying to be stern. "Though I do appreciate your
aid in this matter . . . From what Kessa's said, you
were previously helping my suit in ways I cannot condone."

Keli's
eyebrows went up. "Dear me. How?"

"Holding
your own daughter hostage to Kessa's decision."

The
Herbmaster tilted her head. "In those words?"

"No,"
he admitted. "But that you'd thought to fake immunities for
Nicia."

"Ah.
Actually, Kessa'd talked me out of that. Suggested a much less chancy
ploy, not involving Nicia at all." Keli leaned her elbow on the
table and propped her chin in a hand. "Did your wife mention
that?"

"I
begin to think she mentions nothing to me unless pressed," he
muttered, wondering what Kessa'd been concealing behind the
distraction.

"I
suppose she might not've realized I found her idea plausible. Tell
me,
did
you drink men's tea?"

"What?"
He eyed Keli, in mild shock at her highly improper question.

"Humor
me, Iathor. It's moot now."

He
coughed. "Rarely as a matter of course. It seemed unlikely I'd
find myself, er, swept away." And, he supposed, such an accident
would've been a secret relief; the child might be immune, and if
not . . . no political pressure to test anyway.

"And
that answers that." Keli smiled at him. "You've a clever
wife."

He
blinked. "Wait.
Who
were you going to have seduce me?"

That
smile gave him an inkling of why a journeyman alchemist had wed an
herb-witch, changing his name for hers. Keli said, "Well, while
another child while I'm a widow would be scandalous, I'd hope you'd
not've stripped me of my position for it."

"Considering
I've always quashed abuses of power between alchemists and
herb-witches, trying to strip you of your guild title would be . ..
 political mayhem." He didn't question she might've been
successful – especially if Kessa'd rejected him outright. Nor
did he object that she was past her moon-flows; Vigeur potions
restored fertility as well as youth. "I'm surprised you'd not
thought of the idea yourself."

Keli
shrugged. "I'd been too conscious of the implications I'd not
earned
my guild position. The need for a proper heir . . .
I only realized how intense it was when I found you'd discovered a
possible bride. The pressure's been building slowly, over the years."

"I
should thank Kessa for saving me, then." Iathor snorted. "I'd
thought I'd be lecturing you, Herbmaster."

"I
likely deserve it, though I'd changed my mind." Her sigh was
heavy. "But exposing the deception would've been easy. You'd
have done some test even if you'd not wanted to believe. I can't
think Kessa'd feel she had to marry you to save Nicia."

He
sighed as well. "If she decided it was
duty
, I can hardly
condemn that." It didn't fit, quite . . .

"No,
you can't." Keli tilted her head. "Are you going to scold
me more, Master Kymus?"

"Have
you been doing aught else that I should?"

"I
hope not! I'd like to check on the girls and see if any of the
preparations are viable."

He
nodded. "Go. I'll sit and brood . . . No, wait.
Ask Laita if she'd talk a moment? While you're all busy with
herb-witchery?"

Keli
rolled her eyes as she stood. "You'll make everyone think you're
taking a concubine before your ear's even healed."

"
Kessa
knows better," he said as Keli headed for the basement workroom,
but ruefully fingered his earlobe. Another day or two, and the flesh
should be healed enough for the earring's weight. A good thing; the
white ribbon was beginning to wear.

One
of the serving boys brought tea, just before Laita arrived. Her head
was tilted and her chin lifted, in a fine display of arch puzzlement.
Her dress didn't match, though; it was a simple, olive thing, perhaps
made from an unfortunate apprentice's dye job.

Iathor
wondered if that was deliberate, as he held her chair. "Tea?"

"All
right, Master Kymus. They'll be up soon."

He
sat and poured. "As her sister, you're entitled to less formal
address."

"A
bad habit while feigning I've only recently met her – unless
you
want
people to think you're seeking my bed? Honey,
please."

He
handed her the sweetened cup. "Indeed. Though giving her the
secret that I'm
not
, to keep from the rest of the world, might
amuse her."

Laita
blew lightly on her tea. "In exchange for the reason she married
you? She's not vouchsafed it, even now."

"Mm.
And that." He poured tea for himself.

"Oh?
What secret do you think she's keeping now?"

"Why
she was so insistent on conceiving, even before she knew if Keli's
preparations would work."

The
former courtesan frowned briefly before smoothing her face by habit.
Her voice was still irked. "I yelled at her for that,
downstairs. 'Better to've gotten it over with quickly,' she said."

Words
to evoke guilt. "Did she say
why
?"

"No,
though that may've been to spare Nicia's innocent ears." Laita
paused, then leveled a chilly stare at him. "Master Kymus, if
you've given my sister cause to think she's not welcome in her
husband's bed, I'll be
wroth
."

"More
likely she's decided she doesn–" He broke off. Inappropriate
gossip.

Delicately,
Laita set down the cup. She stood, one hand on the table, and leaned
over him. "Did you
hurt
her?"

He
was abruptly reminded of when he'd met with Laita after a night
patrol, "Kellisan" standing behind her like a foreign
bodyguard. Laita's tone was that of a woman with friends who'd be
delighted to take action against anyone who crossed her.

In
passing, he wondered that he'd never heard a similar note in Talien's
voice.

Level
and quiet, he said, "I did only what she bid me."

That
crystal glare, more gray than blue in the light of the hearth and
Incandescens Stones, had just a hint of Kessa's ferocity. (Even, he
realized, as Kessa's poise held pieces of Laita's grace.) Then the
blonde woman sat again. "Blight it, why didn't you refuse? Don't
you know how to be
nice
to a girl?"

"My
reputation for seeking companions isn't so current as rumor might
claim, but there's enough truth from my younger days." Very
inappropriate for polite conversation, but his pride was stung.

"Then
why not do it
right
?"

"I
lost the argument."

"Lost
the–! Master Kymus, I know my sister's as willful and bad-tempered
as a vixen with her tail in a trap, but I doubt she'd hold a knife to
your throat or tie you to the bed."

If
those'd intrigue her . . .
He pushed the thoughts
away. "She was very insistent."

"She's
a girl less than half your age who doesn't always know what's best
for her," Laita said, through her teeth. "You've got to
ignore her when she's being a sacrifice."

"
Sacrifice
?"

"She
found a book–" Laita stopped.

Iathor
guessed the reason. "She told me about Maila. The name, at
least."

Laita
was silent, irritation startled into blankness. She put her hand to
her cheek. "Earth and Rain." She glared at him again.
"Don't you dare break my little sister's heart."

"I'm . . .
not sure I understand."

Elegant,
pale fingers tapped on the table. "Maila collected books of
recipes, as such people do. Kessa found one full of healing brews.
She hoped one might keep me from getting sick, but later said none
quickened. I don't read so well as she does, but when I'd looked, I'd
been worried how many needed blood . . ." Laita
clenched a fist, though her face stayed nearly smooth. "She'll
cut her own heart out for someone she loves. And blight it, Kymus, if
you let her do that for
you
 . . ."

Iathor
was less sure Kessa's determination had been from caring. "I'll
not let her kill herself in some misguided sacrifice. I want her to
be content. I hope . . . she'll be happy."

"She
likes roof-tops." Laita's voice was small with memories.
"Roof-tops and summer nights, when there's enough wind that the
bugs don't bite much. We'd find a good roof, flat enough to lie on
and watch the stars, and sleep where it wasn't stifling."

He
tapped his fingertips together, counting months. In high summer,
Kessa'd be awkward with pregnancy – but perhaps he could have
stairs built, beside the stables. "I'll remember," he said,
as he heard the voices of the others, coming back from the workroom.

Dinner
was full of undercurrents beneath the lighter talk. Outnumbered by
women, Iathor was silent when the conversation turned to pregnancy
and birthing. He wondered if Keli was deliberately telling lighter
stories, to reassure Kessa – then wondered if Kessa thought
the same.

Nicia
made flustered protests when Keli started using her as an example of
children's mischief. Laita nearly told something of her own, but from
the look she shot Kessa, failed to get her ankle out of the way
before Kessa's foot found it.