Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) Read Free Page A

to
commiserate about the city-prince's involvement in their private
lives (for Iasen'd also been bid to marry or produce immune
bastards), and exploded to find Iathor'd given sanctuary to his
"barbarian dog."
    Iathor
brooded. He'd managed to order his brother out before throwing him
out, but it'd been a near thing after Iasen's barely-coherent
insults. Even if she'd been a courtesan, all that matters is the
heir's immunity. A veritable procession of lovers would be
acceptable, so long as some discretion were maintained, and all
children properly fathered.
    "Is
the food to your liking?" he asked Kessa, hoping to distract
himself.
    She
nodded quietly, not looking up. Her form of politeness; those eyes
were quite startling.
    "Would
you prefer anything else to drink?"
    She
shook her head.
    There'd
been times when Iathor's parents had eaten meals in near-icy silence,
only speaking to chide two rowdy boys. Sometimes, after the adults
left the table, there'd been slammed doors in the suite. Sometimes
tearful embraces. Sometimes quieter arguments, or apologies, or going
on as if nothing'd been the matter after all.
    She
said yes. Churlishly, he wished it'd been attended by
significantly less peril, conspiracy, and arson. Perhaps she's
just hungry, and when she's eaten and feels better, she'll give me
answers I can understand.
    And
just perhaps, if he closed his eyes and picked random ingredients off
his shelf, he could brew a potion to turn himself into a dragon.
    Plaintively,
he asked, "Is there anything I could say that qualifies as
suitable for meals?"
    Kessa
hesitated. Her voice, normally deep for her size, seemed a raspy
mirror of his own. "I don't know."
    "Mm."
Iathor kept himself from nudging her remaining bit of roll. At least
she'd finished the egg-crepes. "The . . . weather
continues fair, if cooler."
    Her
dark hand crept up to take the last bit of jam-laden roll. "I'd
thought it might go bitter," she creaked, voice cutting out on
the higher notes.
    I
was going to teach Fervefax Stones, for warmth. "It may yet,
by tonight."
    "Good
night to . . . have somewhere . . .
warm." She nearly dropped the roll on her plate, gripping both
hands in her lap.
    Her
home in flames . . . Iathor tried not to wince.
Perhaps the weather wasn't innocuous. He turned his mug about in his
hands. "I hope the tea's helping your throat," he said, and
belatedly thought better of it. Truth-compelling Tryth elixir, in
tea, had uncovered her immunities in that prison cell, and led to his
shock-numb proposal.
    For
once, her chancy temper didn't seem to flare. "A bit. It'll
heal."
    "I . . .
expect Herbmaster Keli to visit. If I've nothing suitable prepared,
mayhap she can suggest a healing brew." Anything to do with
herb-witches was of interest to the Herbmaster of the Alchemists'
Guild. Further, Iathor'd sent her a message last night, in case the
attack on Kessa had been a general move against herb-witches.
    Perhaps
Keli could uncover how quickly Kessa'd escaped.
    Kessa
creaked an acknowledgment, then quickly ate that last bite of roll.
    Iathor
sighed and pushed back his chair. "We should go into the sitting
room." He sounded reluctant even to himself.
    She
wrapped her hands around her tea mug. "I . . . I
might bleed through . . ."
    "I'll
buy new cushions. I'll buy a new couch."
    Her
lips twitched slightly. In her cracked rasp, she said, "Cheaper
to buy a new towel."
    He
paused, about to pull her chair out for her. "You're right. I'll
have one fetched."
    Before
he turned, he couldn't stop himself from lightly touching Kessa's
hair again, just enough to feel the cool strands on his fingertips.
Then he drew back, worried at how still she went at even that
contact, and went through the door between breakfast nook and
kitchen.
    He
didn't quite have his entire household listening at the door.
His cook, Tania, fussed with leftovers, turning them into snacks with
a pair of her cousin-apprentices helping. Brague, his first dramsman,
bodyguard