Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (50 page)

"Thank
you," Iathor said automatically as he went and accepted the
letter.

It
was double-sealed; an outer envelope, with folded edges on all sides,
bore wax with the imprint of a palace secretary's seal. Inside, the
multicolored wax was shot with flecks of gold and bore the Princeps'
own seal: a large, intricate design with
Cymeli
woven into
elemental symbols for Rain, Wind, Earth, and Fire. Iathor held it up
to an Incandescens Stone and snorted. "Someone must've practiced
years to make that come out clearly." He cracked the seal open,
trying to pretend it was no more important than any other letter he'd
ever received.

The
top was the formal
from the hand
titles of the Princeps. Next
came the shorter
to the eye
list of Iathor's own titles and
name. Both looked scribe-written. The clear scratch of the text was
quite possibly the Princeps' own hand, though.

It
was signed merely
Cymeli
, without title.

He
looked to where Kessa stood, hands folded at her hips. She wasn't
looking at anything. She didn't say,
Well?

"The
Princeps apparently wants me to pack up my brother, too. He's still
not said either way regarding the marriage."

Kessa's
shoulders shifted, not truly relaxed. "So we're still betwixt
and between."

"Apparently.
Blight, I must call upon my brother and 'contain' him, now that I've
been given a royal suggestion." He'd rather walk in the winter
garden, perhaps making snowballs with his wife, perhaps talking . . .

"Take
Brague and Dayn both," Kessa said. "I'll be fine."

And
you think I won't be?
He bit back words until he found the right
ones, and walked over to kiss her forehead. "I'll trust your
judgment, my lady wife."

Just
as he was turning away, Kessa wrapped her arms around him. The
embrace was tight and brief; then she stepped away as if she hadn't
done it. "I'm going to take a bath."

"Rain
spirit," he said fondly. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Safe
travel," Kessa said, and slipped into the bathroom.

Iathor
turned and saw Bynae in the sitting room, waiting by the servants'
door. "Bynae, could you find Jonie and ask if I might borrow her
driver again?"

"Yes,
m'lord." She bobbed a curtsey before trotting out.

After
she'd gone, he poked his head into the servants' room, and found
Brague. "We're off to irritate my brother," Iathor said.
"You and Dayn both."

The
dramsman raised his eyebrows, but only grunted acknowledgment as he
headed for his coat. "I'll tell Dayn, m'lord."

It
was a cold trip without Kessa beside him. He recounted the text of
the letter to his dramsmen along the way, ending with, "Hopefully,
the Princeps will refuse to annul and wishes me to thwart whatever
political pressure Iasen's trying to acquire. Or perhaps it's simply
tacit approval of dragging him off to face guild trial."

At
least Iasen was neither dance-friend to Cymeli daughters, nor
hunt-friend to Cymeli sons, with social power to match Iathor's
title. Count Fairfield, who could commission work from the
Chemstones, might influence other nobles . . . Perhaps
Iasen wished for a broader law, such as the one proposed to Prince
Tegar in Aeston, so
none
could marry a barbarian – and
Iathor's annulled marriage would be a lost detail.

Iathor
missed having Kessa to lecture to; she'd listen to appropriate
information, or prod him if she already knew it, and perhaps
together, they could've found some hidden recipe to calm the whole
overflowing, foaming, smoking mess.

Brague
grunted and stretched a leg across the buggy. "I wonder how many
of his own men your brother brought, m'lord."

"If
it looks to come to blows," Iathor said, grimly, "we
withdraw and I hunt down Thioso. My brother can't know there's an
Aeston watchman here, nor that he's Prince Tegar's agent. If we can't
get the Cym watch to cooperate, I'll be surprised." He sighed
and put his forehead into his hands, elbows braced on his knees. He
wished he truly believed in elemental spirits, so he could pray his
brother wouldn't try the adult form of
try'n make me!
When
they'd been children, a parent had always intervened in such
tantrums, carting one or both boys off to their rooms.

The
logistics of carting Iasen to his room, now, were daunting.

Iathor
tried to make plans – both for the worst cases he could
imagine, and for better ones – until finally the buggy halted
at a block of expensive row-houses, once a single, huge estate in
some long-ago time and divided up piecemeal after the owners sold it.

The
stone had been washed white, though the windows were shuttered with
alchemist gray wood at Iasen's corner of the building. Other shutters
along the row were blue, rust-red, and a rich brown, likely
proclaiming personal taste rather than guild affiliations.

Iasen's
windows were still closed, though Iathor was sure there were glass
panes beyond those wooden shutters. Undoubtedly a mews was around
back, but Iathor decided against seeking it. Instead, he waited for
Brague to disembark first, climbed down himself with his bodyguard
ready to catch him if he slipped, and headed for the door as Dayn
followed.

A
short flight of stairs led up to that door – probably it'd
once been a high-arched window – with a small landing at the
top. Both were swept quite clear of accumulated snow. Iathor set
himself to the hinge-side as Brague rapped on the door. Dayn stayed
on the stairs behind Iathor, holding fast to the ironwork railing
even though the steps were not treacherously slick.

It
took another two knocks, and one pull on the bell-rope, before a
servant answered. It took Iathor a moment to recognize the face; the
man's dark red hair was bleached to strawberry blond. Brague said,
"Kelen?"

The
man looked dismayed. "Brague . . . Master Kymus.
Ah . . ."

Iathor
said, "I want to talk to my brother. I'll wait here." A
cold wait, but better than giving Iasen the chance to throw him out.

"I . . .
I . . ." Kelen bobbed a short servant's bow and
shut the door. Iathor couldn't hear if he was running for Iasen or
not.

Dayn
said, behind them, "Kelen's usually the groom. Viam's here, too,
for he visited Bynae. Noreus would've driven the carriage."

Brague
said quietly, "Teck will be here."

That
name was most familiar: footman and bodyguard, who'd been with Iasen
only a decade less than Brague's service. Iathor tried not to brood
that Teck clearly took the Vigeur elixirs Brague refused. Out loud,
he said, "Four, leaving his other three?"

Dayn
said, "Teck will be very busy if they left the valet." He
sounded more cool than sympathetic, and Iathor wondered what servant
clashes might've happened while Iasen's household had been quartered
in Iathor's home.

When
the door opened again, it was Viam, the thin, dark-haired cook.
Nervously, he stammered, "I-if you'd come in . . ."

Iathor
shook his head. "I'll wait here for my brother. Thank you."

"But . . .
tea . . . There's no . . ." The cook
looked around as if table and chairs might appear on the stone
landing. "I was told . . ."

"You've
offered," Iathor said. "I'll wait."

After
that dramsman left, Dayn murmured, "Poor Viam." It was a
slightly warmer pity.

"Bynae's
suitor, you said?" Two days ago, now.

"Apparently.
He visited, after we got her new cloak."

"Loria
married . . ." His steward had even moved out of
the house before her widowing, raising children with her husband.
"It's only the older draught that . . ." He
amended his words, for Brague had taken that draught. ". . . makes
it hard to have marriages outside the household."

"Relationships
can still be forbidden," Dayn said, voice low. "Many nobles
don't want their servants distracted by families, and dismiss someone
who seeks a secret marriage, or flirts too much."

"But
those servants can also choose to leave." Iathor shifted,
uneasily watching the mostly closed door.

"M'lord."
Dayn took a breath. "M'lord, if all that's said of Bynae's story
is true, and I've heard matching tales from the other servants, Viam
was to seek permission to wed after she came up pregnant. But
instead, m'lord, she miscarried around the time Master Iasen's
household returned to Aeston."

The
railing was very cold beneath Iathor's gloved hand. He looked at his
youngest dramsman, a sick feeling in his gut. "Surely that
was . . . mischance. She's a thin girl, younger than
Kessa, perhaps Nicia's age."

"Mayhap,
m'lord. But Viam seemed only a trace regretful, not shocked, to find
she'd lost it. Perhaps he hid it with me there, true. But I asked the
other servants of the timing of the girl's miscarriage. Could be it
was the stress of her man leaving town, with her pregnant and unwed.
Could be it was something she . . . sought herself.
Could be it was someone else's solution."

You
didn't tell me that before,
Iathor wanted to say. But he'd been
with Kessa, and speaking of miscarriages – accidental or
planned – around a pregnant woman was bad luck at worst and
callous at best. And if Dayn'd wanted to confirm the suspicion, it
would've taken longer. "Blight and rot."

Naturally,
the door swung open then, so Iasen – hair and beard rumpled
from sleep – could lean in the doorway. He wore a mix of
clothing and house-robe, all of them as wrinkled as if they'd been
grabbed from the floor. His blue eyes were sleep-muzzy. His
expression and voice were surly. "What do
you
want?"

"I
wish this were a social call, and I'm sorry to have woken you after
your late night." Iathor could read those signs well enough.
"Unfortunately, I've a note from the Princeps. You're to stop
joggling his elbow."

"What?"
Some of the fog lifted from Iasen's expression. "What do you
mean? If the Princeps had something to say, why not send word to
me
?"

"Likely
some part of it is remembering when heads of families had as much
power over their households and heirs as nobles have over their
servants. The man's over a hundred, after all."

"And
other parts?" Iasen'd gotten through the alchemical academy
through wit and luck, not hard work, Iathor remembered. Even
fatigued, he caught details.

"I'm
not sure. But he's displeased and suggested I should do something
about 'containing your speech.'"

"I've
said nothing the Princeps might be troubled by. Perhaps you've a
forgery."

"It
seems unlikely. And from what Daleus said this morning at breakfast,
that he heard from Count Fairfield, you've been speaking against me."
Iathor kept his voice mild. "No doubt suggesting I've taken a
brainfever and should have my life's decisions reversed till I
sober."

The
expression of shock on Iasen was . . . unpleasant. And
brief; his fatigue was enough to thin his social faces, not break
them. He smoothed his short beard. "Daleus doesn't like me,
brother. He thought I flirted with his wife overmuch when they were
new-wed, and has never gotten over it. I'd expect slander at
breakfast."

"And
the Princeps takes notice? Iasen, leave off whatever tales you're
telling. The matter is in the Princeps' hands, and out of ours."

"What
matter?" That was the light, questioning tone Iathor expected.

"The
matter of whether or not my marriage will be annulled," Iathor
said, suddenly unable to make his own voice anything but grim and
angry. Over Iasen's slight hesitation, he continued in a growl, "Yes,
I told him of your threat. And you with your
groom
answering
doors? What haste did you come in, that you left your footmen behind?
But it doesn't matter. The Princeps gave a fiveday before he'd
answer, and the time comes due tomorrow. Then, wed or not, you and I
return to Aeston where we can discuss your behavior toward the
guild's rules, in front of the guild's officers. So curb your tongue
lest you displease the Princeps further, and begin packing. Your
dramsmen can return your carriage alone."

Iasen's
face went pink with chilled rage. It took him a moment to say
anything. Then he grated out, "Get. Off. My. Steps."
Surprisingly, he did not slam the door.

With
the snow around him feeling warm compared to the bitter chill in his
gut, Iathor said, "I am the Lord Alchemist. You are summoned to
trial, Master Iasen. I'll send formal notice later today." Then
he made his way down the stairs, gripping the railing tightly. Dayn
moved out of the way.

The
door slammed behind them.

As
he climbed into the buggy, he said, "The Alchemists' Guild
offices, if you would? I'll have need of their seals."