Read Herb-Witch (Lord Alchemist Duology) for Free Online Page B

Rhaus, begging off
the dinner visit he wishes."
    "Oh,
let me take care of Rhaus. He's got decent stories." Iasen
shoved himself straighter in the chair. "It's the least I can do
after arriving so unexpectedly. You closet yourself with tea and
headache and a tray of dinner from your fine, fine cook. I'll wine and dine Rhaus."
    His
brother did enjoy social matters . . . Iathor
relented. "All right, but make no promises in my name, lest I
disinherit you and have you thrown in the River Eath."
    "'Pon
my honor, brother." Iasen put his hand upon his chest, looking
fair and innocent of all malice.
    "I'll
tell Loria you've volunteered." Iathor gave a casual wave, and
went to find his steward.

     
     
    Chapter
VII
     
    A s
usual, Kessa woke to the hopeful pre-dawn calls of the nightsoil
cart, seeking chamberpot leavings for tanning or manure. As usual,
she pulled the blanket over her head. Dump enough clae in the pot and
one could sell the rest oneself.
    Still,
soon there'd be light in the sky; time to chop and measure and simmer
her herbs into brews to sell. Tomorrow, one of the better
herb-farmers was likely to be at the market. Today . . .
She didn't feel like braving suspicious watchmen, and no one needed
deliveries. Perhaps she'd go out after the sun was high.
    Kessa
dragged herself from under the blanket and shook the clae dusting
from her second shirt before donning it and her only smock. Dressed,
she darted outside to open her shutters, rolled up her sleeves, and
got to work.
    Halfway
to noon, a carriage rolled up in front of her shop. Even through the
distortion of the glass, she could tell the colors on the door. Gray.
Brown. Green.
    She
groaned to herself and focused on the nearly-dried river-root in her
mortar. Grind too late, and get a choking powder. Grind too early,
and get mush. She had a good rhythm going. Grind, circle, push,
circle, mash a little, grind again . . .
    How
long can I ignore him tapping on my door? Not long; the decorous
rap became a sharper knock.
    Pretending
she didn't see his carriage, she called, "Just a moment!"
    If
she'd been Laita, she'd have put a smile of surprised pleasure on her
face. She wasn't. She twisted the inside key and returned to her
counter. "Door's open!"
    It
was worth a glance through her drape of hair: the Lord Alchemist,
reduced to opening his own doors, had his brows furrowed in
annoyance. He also had another basket in the crook of his far arm.
    With
feigned distraction, Kessa said, "Can I help–? Oh. Master
Kymus." She set down her tools and dipped a curtsey, careful as
if she balanced the mortar atop her head.
    "Tradeswoman
Kessa. I'm glad to see you well, this morning." His hands and
arms weren't expressive, showing only the stiffness of consternation.
    "Nearly
noon, Master Kymus," she said, taking up the pestle again.
    "This
nearly-noon, then. I trust you are well?"
    "I'm
not frozen to death. Nor taken back to prison." Her rhythm
faltered.
    Her
Guild Master set his basket on the counter's edge. "Both good
things," he said mildly. "I think I dreamt that second one,
last night."
    She
shot him a glance. If that was a threat, he deserved it.
    He
was quick to flinch from her direct gaze. But his expression'd been
more intent than cold, she thought. She looked down again, lips
thinned, and set the mortar aside. Her grinding had become over-light
anyway.
    He
put his hands on her counter, careful to avoid the herbs, saucers,
and cups there. "Are you . . . Have you eaten
yet?"
    That's
no business of yours! she wanted to snap. Old memories, of
showing gratitude, kept her from it.
    She
mirrored him across the counter, hands flat against the wood, placed
so the herbs were undisturbed – though she couldn't match his
long-fingered span. She forced her voice to cool courtesy. "Thank
you for getting me out of prison," she said, and lifted her eyes
to meet his blue ones.
    He'd
been looking at her hands, only glancing up at her movement; he
covered his revulsion well, looking