Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) Read Free

understand."
    She
forced a laugh, shaky and rough, then forced herself not to keep on
or cry. Perhaps it was her lack of dinner or breakfast. "It was
becoming inevitable," she said, instead. "Why make the
guild pay for a new shop?"
    "Still . . ."
    If
Kessa'd been her beautiful crèche-sister, courtesan-trained and
elegant, she'd have turned and put her head against Iathor's chest.
But she wasn't. So she stood miserably silent, biting her lower lip
so she'd not snap at him. If he'd somehow changed his
mind . . . Kessa didn't know what she'd do, but it
wouldn't be good.
    From
the kitchen door behind, a voice not quite like Loria's said,
"M'lord, are you badgering her before she's had food?"
    He
straightened. "Ah. Tania. Ah . . ."
    "If
I'd not made up this lunch, and you skipping breakfast, m'lord . . ."
The cook let the threat trail off. "Well, here's food for you
both. Let the poor girl eat!"
    "Yes,
of course." He actually sounded abashed as he went to pull out
the chair next to his own at the head of the table.

     
     
    Chapter
II
     
    I t
must be lack of sleep. I should know better. Iathor'd arrived in
time to save Kessa from her poison because he'd forgotten to
send the food basket that evening.
    At
the time, he'd been ill with guilt at forgetting in the rush.
Admittedly, it'd been a good excuse to leave Earl Irilye's harvest
ball. The evening's festivities had included dodging the earl's
predatory youngest daughter, avoiding Iathor's irritated brother, and
hearing the city-prince's private mandate that Iathor find a wife in
a year or have one found for him. That last, he'd wondered if
he should tell Kessa; it'd given him sympathy for her startled,
indignant ignoring of his proposal, but to know of Prince
Tegar's attention might've sent her into hiding.
    Seeing
the orange light of a building on fire, through the carriage's
imported glass windowpane . . . He'd known it was
Kessa's shop. He'd felt it in his bones, though he'd tried to dismiss
it as paranoia. Then he'd seen her , staring into the fire,
clothing torn. He'd nearly tripped over his robe, scrambling out of
the carriage as his dramsmen jumped to help with the bucket-line.
She'd turned to him, froth upon her lips, and her breath – her
entire body – smelling of acrid, green poison.
    He'd
given her Purgatorie and held her hair as she retched beside his
carriage. (He'd covered his own face as well; a sensitive nose helped
in the workroom, but . . .) He'd brought her home,
gotten her tended to, and started sending messages to the city watch,
the guild offices, and his own night patrollers.
    Iathor
still felt cold, sick, burning fury. That one of his guild's
members had been attacked, her shop torched . . . It
would not happen again. It would not . He'd find those
responsible, and perhaps he'd offer the choice of the dramsman's
draught, binding them to the woman they'd wronged.
    The
herb-witch in question sat meekly. Her straight, black hair hung
loose, hiding her eyes even more than usual. Sitting in his own
chair, Iathor could barely make out her sharp features.
    He
restrained the impulse to reach out and tuck one shining screen
behind her ear. He well knew Kessa's mottled eyes could make the
least frown of annoyance seem a stare of deadly threat.
    Tania
herself served lunch, rather than sending one of her apprenticed
cousins. It was egg-crepes with meat and cheese, and fresh, buttered
rolls alongside pots of jam.
    Iathor
mistrusted Kessa's mouse-like thanks, and her initial nibbles at the
food. When the girl was eating more enthusiastically, he felt
slightly better. Perhaps she's trying to spare her voice. I
should've done this to begin with: brought her home, fed her, and
proposed in comfort rather than blurting it out in that dark cell.
    Of
course, if he'd done that, they'd have run into his brother's
ill-timed arrival from the capital, Cym, and matters would've become
unexpectedly unpleasant. Bad enough Iasen'd shown up last night,