Read Chantress Alchemy for Free Online

forward. How could I meet with the Council and pretend that nothing was wrong? How could I ignore what they had done to Nat—and to me?
    “Lucy?”
    Dr. Cornelius Penebrygg came toward me, his silver beard streaming over his loose coat, his velvet cap askew. “My dear girl,how wonderful to see you again.” His eyes twinkled above his drooping spectacles as he folded my hands in his.
    I smiled back at him. As a member of the Invisible College, Penebrygg had been a key ally in the fight against Scargrave. But more than that, he’d been my good friend. “I’m very glad to see you, too. How is your head?” The last time I’d seen him, he’d still been recovering from a blow Scargrave’s men had dealt him.
    Penebrygg dismissed the injury with a wave of his hand. “Oh, that’s been healed for many months now. I’m fit as a fiddle.”
    “That’s what Nat said in his letters.” The few letters, that is, that had reached me before they’d been cut off.
    Penebrygg took my arm and ushered me toward a quiet corner, well away from the doors and the guards. “My dear, you seem upset. Is something wrong?”
    “I—I just saw Nat.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. Penebrygg was as close as family to Nat, so surely it was all right to confide in him, but I didn’t want anyone else to overhear. “We didn’t have long to talk, but he said certain things . . .”
    Penebrygg adjusted his velvet cap. “I see.”
    “He warned me to be on my guard. He said the entire court had gone mad.”
    “Did he?” Penebrygg shook his head.
    “You don’t agree?”
    “He’s a good lad,” Penebrygg said. “But no, I don’t.”
    “But they wouldn’t let him visit me—”
    “Yes, that was a bad business,” Penebrygg said. “A very bad business indeed. And you should know that I argued against it,and so did several others on the Council. Do not fret, however: they cannot possibly hold to such a ridiculous policy, not in the long run.” He pushed his spectacles into place and regarded me owlishly through them. “But, my dear, that isn’t why he considers us mad.”
    “Us?” I echoed in surprise. “You mean he includes you?”
    Penebrygg nodded.
    Nat thought Penebrygg was mad? The mentor who’d rescued and raised him? I took a sharp breath. Perhaps I’d been too quick to accept Nat’s views as the truth. Perhaps there was another side to the story.
    Whatever it was, I had no chance to hear it, for a pair of footmen started shepherding us into the Crimson Chamber.
    “Come, my dear.” Penebrygg offered me his arm. “We must take our seats.”
    We were not the last to enter. Through another set of doors, more councillors were hurrying into the room, which was as crimson as its name. Against the bloodred walls, gilt frames and sconces gleamed. Scores of candles lighted the room, and a fire burned bright in the onyx fireplace. In the center of the room, on a thick rush mat, stood a heavily carved table that looked as though it had hulked there since Plantagenet times.
    Penebrygg walked up to it and pulled out a chair. “Here, my dear.”
    The seat he offered me was at the right hand of what was obviously—from its size and position—the King’s own chair.
    “I shouldn’t be sitting here,” I said.
    “I think you will find that the King wishes it. He has been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
    After helping me into my chair, Penebrygg rushed away to his own seat farther down the table. Nat entered and sat beside him, his face set and grim. He did not so much as glance in my direction.
    In my worry about him, I only half took in what was happening around me, so I was startled when another old friend from the Invisible College, Samuel Deeps, greeted me.
    “My lady Chantress, how delightful to meet with you again.” A dandy by nature, he fingered the ruff of lace at his throat as he sat down on my right.
    “How are you, Mr. Deeps?” I said, my mind still half on Nat.
    He beamed. “Actually, it’s Sir Samuel