Herb-Witch (Lord Alchemist Duology) (60 page)

That's
my shop burning,
Kessa realized. Not the weaver's next door, nor
the apartments on the other side, though those'd catch if the bucket
brigade ran short of water from the public well. Her shutters slid
off; her window seemed a giant fireplace.

Her
preparations . . . Her spare coin, hidden in the
rafters. The cloak Brague'd given her, with its little pockets for
vials.

The
Purgatorie.

She
stepped forward, the world a bittergreen, flaming whirl. The poison
stung her lips, burning between her legs and in her nose, anywhere
the body expelled its fluids. Scrapes, bruises, a fingernail torn to
the quick . . . The damp place where one of them had
put his fingers.

She
took another step. People ran and shouted around her.

Noise
behind . . . A carriage, with unhappy horses, so close
they stamped and shied in the corner of her vision. She turned,
seeing someone jump from the footman's perch, and a familiar crest
upon the door before it opened. Kymus spilled out, nearly tripping in
his pale gray finery.

She
looked up at him, not caring if it put horror on his face, and held
her dress closed with one hand. The other dangled at her side. Her
voice was a rough croak. "Was this your doing?"

"No,"
he said, and mayhap the horror in his eyes wasn't for the color of
hers. He drew a vial from his robe, left-handed. "Purgatorie?"

Kessa
took it, pausing for him to pull the stopper. Then she tilted her
head back and drank it all. Cold and heat chased through her body and
she nearly doubled over as a cramping spasm hit. She stumbled to the
side of the carriage and braced a hand on it. Her other hand held her
dress closed. Her hair hung about her face.

Another
cramp hit; she closed her eyes against it, trying to hold down the
Purgatorie long enough to cleanse all the poison. When she looked
again . . . The cobbles were clearer. She realized
Kymus was holding her hair back.

Then
she couldn't fight the wracking spasms any longer, and retched out
what was left of lunch, amid what seemed like cupfuls of green bile.
She spat, and heaved, and cramped, coughing in between, eyes
watering.

Only
after she was done did he lay her hair against her back. She turned,
worn out, and took the handkerchief he offered, wiping at her mouth.

Kymus
stood a moment, then turned and half-climbed into the carriage. He
pulled out a large box and set it on the ground. He turned to her,
holding the door open.

"I'll
bleed soon," she rasped. Purgatorie purged everything that could
purge itself, even as it fought and overpowered the alchemy inside
the body.

"I'll
have the cushions replaced."

Numb
and aching at the same time, she took a step, another. He helped her
inside. The facing cushion was disarrayed, a pile of fabric on it.

Outside,
Kymus said, "I'll give the healing kit to Dayn and be right
back."

All
right.
Too much effort to speak. She closed her eyes, not
thinking, not hearing. When the door opened again she snapped into
alertness, mostly relaxing when she recognized Kymus. He said, "Dayn
and Brague will stay. The watch and water-cart are coming. Let's get
you . . . somewhere safe."

Not
somewhere warm
. Not
home
. She tried to say something
agreeable, but it came out a cough. The carriage was moving anyway.

Kymus
sat beside her and she twitched reflexively. He only put a cloak over
her: a chilly weight on her chest and legs. When she felt a hand on
her forehead, she first wondered what Burk was doing there. But it
was Kymus who said, "You're chilled. Here, lean this way . . ."

Her
head against his shoulder, his arm around her. She supposed it might
be warmer.

A
cramp in her gut warned of coming pain, and the necessity of a
chamberpot soon. From the wetness between her legs, she was already
bleeding. She let out a long, shuddering sigh. It was almost
surprising when she kept breathing.

"Kessa?"
His voice rumbled through his body. When'd her head slipped to his
chest?

She
moved her head, since her attempt at
Mm?
came out as a hiss.

"Can
you say what happened?"

She
forced her voice out. "Buggy gone. Walked. Four men. Cart."
Jar. "Give me the jar."
She frowned. "Escaped.
Got here. Burning."

"Earth
and Rain," he whispered, and held her close.

She
might've drowsed, despite the more-frequent cramps. She might've just
forgotten the passing of time until there was more shouting and Jeck
pulled open the door. Kymus helped her to the kitchen door, handed
her off to Tania or Loria (she wasn't sure which pale, blonde sister
it was) cutting over startled questions with, "She was attacked.
Her shop's burning. She's taken Purgatorie."

Kessa
wound up in someone's quarters, with a water-closet instead of a
chamberpot. She leaned against the wall and tried not to faint while
her body emptied itself. The world seemed to change in jumps and
jerks. Somehow, she was undressed, in warm water, hair smelling of
flowers. Helped out of the bath. Wrapped in a towel. Then wrapped in
someone's too-big robe. Finally, she opened her eyes and found
herself in bed, a towel beneath her still-damp hair, and warm stones
set beside her. There was a belt around her waist; she shifted and
felt a cotton-and-cloth pad between her legs, and another towel
beneath her.

Kymus
was beside the bed, gently shaking her shoulder. "Kessa. Kessa,
can you take this? It should help."

She
caught his wrist and focused on the spoon. The painkilling paste, it
looked like. Smelled like. Tasted like. It eased the building cramps.

Her
hand lay upon the blankets, too heavy to move. Kymus was watching
that, not her face.

If
her throat hadn't been raw from the poison, she'd have said,
I
watched you sleep once. It's only fair.

Too
much effort. She closed her eyes.

When
she woke, it was dim. Her belly cramped. She looked around, confused
by the large room and bed, the curtains and shielded Incandescens
Stone in the lamp. A little pot was on the bedside table, a spoon
beside it.

Kessa
rolled over and snagged the pot, finding the painkilling paste
inside. She ate a spoonful before sitting up.

She
wore someone's old, short-sleeved under-tunic. An empty chair sat
next to the bed, with several cotton-filled cloth bags on it. Beside
it was both a basin with some water and a normal, clae-dusted
chamberpot. A robe was draped over the chair-back.

The
cotton squelched between her legs. She got up and undid the ties,
used the chamberpot, and tied a new cloth to the moon-flows belt. The
basin got the used cotton. A waste of blood and pain, but
Purgatorie-brought blood was useless for alchemy.

The
towel that'd been under her was only lightly blood-spotted; she
nearly crawled back into bed. What stopped her was the shouting.

Eavesdropping
is important.
She'd told Nicia so.

Kessa
pulled on the robe and opened the door. The shouting resolved into
Iasen's voice. Kessa padded barefoot along the hallway's cool wood
and warmer rugs, clutching the robe closed. She stopped at the turn
to what she thought was the house's main cross-hall.

"How
can you!" No question, just outrage with words. "She's a
half-breed, Iathor. Inappropriate."

She
couldn't hear the elder Kymus' reply, but the younger shouted, "You
say she's immune, but that's worse! Can't trust her whelps even if
they
have it. Mayhap she's already–"

"Get
out," she heard the Lord Alchemist say.

"Listen
to me, brother!"

"Now,"
came the low, carrying tone. "Or Brague shall throw you out."

A
pause. Iasen snarled, "She's no maiden! You'll always wonder!"
A door slammed. Feet stamped. Kessa drew back until another door
slammed and left silence.

Why's
he so sure I'm not?
He'd smelled the blood in her shop. Little
point to collect it, save for dry tea.

He
couldn't know the man'd put his hand . . .

Could
he?

He
took my hired buggy.

She'd
walked from the guild offices: an obvious, straight path home.

Wolf
shouldn't have been able to hire people who'd go to that part of
town.

They'd
spoken of a jar
.
Not trusting it.

They
were hired. Given alchemy.

Fury
was ice in her blood and bones, making her tremble. She wanted to
scream, or weep. She wanted to kill Iasen Kymus and rot whatever
happened after.

No.
If I do, he wins.
Nor any guarantee she could, with his dramsman
protectors. She couldn't poison him, couldn't break in with dagger
and rage, couldn't destroy him . . .

A
son would destroy his status as Lord Alchemist's heir. Without that
status, could Iasen continue to irritate the Guild Master? Wouldn't
he try, until Master Kymus broke him from the guild?

Her
teeth were poison-sharp. She didn't need the elder Kymus . . .
didn't need Iathor to rescue her. Guild dues bought the rent of a new
shop, replacements for her materials. And if not, she could find
welcoming shadows.

But
there could be no pure and perfect vengeance, slipped between Iasen's
ribs, without Iathor.

She
stepped from the corridor, and stood in the greater hall. Eventually,
Iathor appeared at the other end, glancing her way and back sharply
when he saw her. She remembered to drop her eyes as he came to her.

"Kessa?
Did you . . . Did something wake you?"

"Yes."
Her voice rasped. She had to speak Kellisan-low to speak at all. She
put a hand on her belly. "I found the paste."

"I
made it, while you were in the bath." His hand lifted a little,
as if he wanted to touch her.

"Thank
you." Her breath was thin in her chest. "Iathor . . .
Your proposal?"

He
was perfectly still for several heartbeats, then whispered, "Still
exists."

She
swallowed.
Cowardice or cunning. Victim or predator. Choose,
half-breed.
"Yes."

Iathor
was frozen, it seemed. He only slowly raised his hand, touching the
ends of her free-hanging hair. "No . . .
conditions?"

"None."
Laita'd be all right, with Keli.

"
Kessa,
"
he whispered, and gathered her close as if she were some fragile,
new-bloomed flower.

She
leaned upon him, as he stroked her hair.
I'm doing this for me,
not you,
she thought.

But
even so, she lifted her free arm and set it at his back. Against the
solitary chill of her fury, he was warm.

~~~~~

To
Be Continued

in
Book II of the Lord Alchemist Duology

Herb-Wife

~~~~~

Cast
and Glossary

In
alphabetical order. Characters are listed by first names when known.

Here
Abide Spoilers

Aelyta
"Lettie" Urnbury
: Second-youngest of Count Urnbury's
children, Lettie is Herbmaster Keli's youngest apprentice.

alchemist's
immunity
: the complete resistance to nearly all poisons and
mind-affecting alchemical preparations. Specifically, immunity to the
dramsman's draught. The term is misleading; most alchemists are
not
immune, though they are often tolerant, requiring stronger doses to
be affected.

alchemy
:
pedantically, any preparation, or the process of making a
preparation, that includes metal-salts. In general usage, any potion,
elixir, ointment, etc., that has a magical effect,
including
those made with herb-witchery.

alembic
:
a special container used in alchemy, looking something like a
distorted teapot, that forms a small distilling apparatus.
(Technically, the word refers to the lid alone, with its funnel-like
tube, while the flask-part is a
cucurbit
, but only the most
pedantic alchemists insist on this usage.)

Aleran
Kimath
: a master alchemist and guild officer in Aeston. Master
Regeth's cousin.

Ancha
:
the hired maid who worked for Darul Reus.

Assus
Kymus
: Iathor and Iasen's great-grandfather, and the first Kymus
to become Lord Alchemist. Long deceased.

Balyn's
Curative
: a disease-curing potion.

Brague
:
Iathor's dramsman bodyguard and valet.

Burk
:
one of Kessa's foster brothers; a part-time bodyguard and dock-worker
who is not above helping smugglers or engaging in minor pilferage.