The Alchemist's Touch (2 page)

“Keep it,” said Tamen. “I have coin enough for these drinks, and you will need your purse.”

Ebon swallowed hard. As he walked for the tavern’s front door, his hand paused for a moment on Tamen’s shoulder, and he gripped it tightly while passing. The tavern’s denizens turned quickly aside as he passed into the night.

two

THE DOOR’S LATCH LIFTED LIKE a feather, and it swung inward on well-oiled hinges that gave no sound. A heady fragrance rushed out to greet Ebon, and it nearly stopped him in his tracks: fine, exotic perfumes from Calentin, and more familiar ones from his homeland of Idris; the unmistakable scent of Wadeland tea mingling with the cinnamon wine of Hedgemond. And under it all there was something sweeter, pungent but light, something that stirred his heart.
 

His knees had begun to shake. He forced them to move again, and stepped across the threshold quickly before closing the door behind him.

Here the lights were dim, even dimmer than they had been in the tavern. But the darkness seemed warm and comforting, mysterious rather than ominous. Partly that was thanks to the fine music that floated on the air, the steady plucking of a harp teasing his ears like a whisper at midnight.
 

He turned towards the sound and saw a harpist in the corner. One of the room’s few lamps sat just beside her on a table, so that it looked as if it were there only for her illumination. As he saw her clothes and the shape of her face, he realized with a start that she was a woman of Idris. But the light brown in her long braid was rare in his homeland, as were her hazel eyes glowing in the lantern’s light.
 

Those eyes captured him for a moment as she met his gaze, though her fingers never faltered where they plucked at the strings. Ebon gulped, looking away before she thought he was staring, but he could not entirely remove his gaze from her. Instead it moved down, taking in her clothing, and though it was of a familiar cut he thought he had never seen anyone at home wear it quite so well. Her feet were bare upon the floor, resting against the harp’s wooden base. He looked upon them and blushed before finally looking away.

It was not until then that he realized there were many other figures in the room, men and women, all of them draped across chairs and couches that ran along the walls. Some studied him with curious little smiles, while others let their attention wander. Some wore veils while others’ heads were bare. Ebon gripped his pant legs tightly as he realized some were shirtless. Suddenly he did not know where to look, and his eyes darted wildly back and forth. But he was rescued as the house’s matron arrived, smiling gently as she came to him.

“Good evening, young sir. How may the house ease you this evening?”

Ebon’s tongue refused to work. He tried to force the words out, fumbling at his coin purse before finally producing a gold weight. “I have coin.”

The matron’s smile widened in amusement, but she was quick to take the coin from his trembling fingers. “Thank you. Is there any sort of girl you would prefer?”

He knew his face was the color of a beet. He looked down at his fine shoes and then around the room. He could scarcely make out the many figures in the dimness, a fact not helped by the stars now dancing in his eyes. He thought he might faint. He thought he saw the harpist grinning in the lantern’s light.

The matron seemed to misunderstand. “My apologies if I have made an assumption. Of course we have many fine men as well. I only meant to ask if you preferred a certain type of companion.”

Ebon nearly choked. He shook his head quickly, but words would not come.

Her head tilted back slightly, and her eyes softened. “Ah. Is this your first time, young sir?” At his shaky nod, she went on. “Your first time at a house of lovers, or…?”

“I have not—that is, I have never—”

“Forgive me for not realizing this at once.” She stilled him with a hand on his arm. “Worry not. We have some experience with such things, after all. But it is important that you know there are rules—very strict rules indeed, and behind them lies the full weight of the King’s law.”

“I have heard something of them,” mumbled Ebon.

She patted his hand. “Somehow I do not worry that you will break them. But I shall tell you the most important one regardless: always you must obey the words of your lover. Only if you gainsay them, or act against their command, will you have anything to fear. Now, then. Would you prefer a recommendation? Sometimes that makes it easier.”

Ebon hesitated, for in truth he had no idea how to answer. His gaze wandered again and fell upon the harpist. Her eyes were now demurely on the floor.

“Adara,” called the matron.

The girl’s fingers ceased on the harp at once, and she rose from her chair. One of the boys sitting in the shadows took her place, and soon the sweet chords rang out again. Yet Ebon thought they had lost some of their sweetness, and he wondered if that were only his imagination.

Adara approached him, and it seemed that her beauty was magnified many times over. The sway of her walk stirred him in ways he was not familiar with, and she never broke his gaze, so that Ebon found he could not look away. She said nothing as she reached him, simply taking his hand and drawing him towards the back of the room, where a blue silk curtain hung across a small doorway.

Beyond was a hallway that stretched in both directions. She took him left, then around a bend that turned right, finally coming to a halt before a wide door. Ebon was thankful it was wooden, and looked thick—he had feared it might be open, or covered only by gossamer. Adara lifted the latch, drew him inside, and then closed it behind them both with a soft
click.

The room was well-lit, far better than the entry. Fine crafts sat upon shelves as well as chests of drawers, pots and urns worked in fine clay with handles wrapped in gold. But of course, Ebon’s eyes were drawn to the bed. Its coverings looked even finer than those in his room back home, though Ebon’s family had immeasurable coin. And this bed’s legs looked far, far sturdier.

“You may sit.” Adara waved a hand towards the bed. He stared for a moment before hastening to do as she said, perching upon the edge of the bed and trying to find something sensible to do with his hands.

She studied him, smiling as she shook her head. Her braid swayed back and forth, and Ebon found himself captivated by her hair. “That was no command. You will know a command if you hear it, though I do not suspect I shall have that need.”

“Ah. Yes, I…thank you,” said Ebon, immediately thinking that that was a stupid thing to say.

“Would you like some wine? It can bolster the nerves.”

“Please,” said Ebon, never wanting anything so badly.
 

A fine golden pitcher sat next to goblets of silver, and Adara filled them both—though Ebon noted she filled one to the brim, and that was the one she placed in his hand. He drank greedily, and immediately recognized the taste of cinnamon. He did not often care for cinnamon wine, but just now it seemed the finest thing he had ever swallowed.

Soon his cup was empty. Adara took it gently and set it on one of the tables beside the bed. Then she sat beside him, gently shifting the mattress. He fought a sudden urge to move away from her, wondering where it came from. Another part of him wanted nothing more than to inch closer.

He realized she had not taken her eyes from his face, and he forced himself to meet her gaze. She was not smiling, but neither did she look displeased. She looked only curious, as though she longed to know what he was thinking. Sure enough, she spoke at last. “Why have you come here tonight?”

Ebon gave a quick chuckle. “I should think that would be obvious. Why do most step within the blue door?”

“You know I mean more than that.”

He looked at Adara askance, for his mind had gone to his words with Tamen. Yet she could not possibly know of that, or where he came from, or what drove him here.

He changed the subject. “Wouldn’t you like to know my name first, at least?”

“If you wish me to know it.”

“It would not displease me.”

“Then?”

“I am Ebon.”

“Ebon. And have you a family, Ebon? Or are you a bastard?”

His nostrils flared, but if Adara saw his offense she made no mention. “I am a trueborn son.”

Adara arched an eyebrow. “You speak as if it were some great shame to be a bastard. I take it you are from Idris, then?”

“And are you from elsewhere? You have the look of the women from my kingdom.”

“My parents fled from there when I was very young. I was raised in Dorsea, where it is no great thing to be a trueborn child. Indeed, I think only Idris clings to that ancient tradition.”

Ebon blew out a slow breath through his nose. “I am sorry. I did not mean to seem so…prickly.”

That made her smile, and his heart warmed to see it. “Worry not. But also answer my question. You seem to think I shall forget it, but I will not. What drove you to open the blue door tonight, Ebon?”

You came here to forget you were a Drayden, at least for a while,
he thought. He found himself wanting to answer Adara with the truth, but what if she told others? It would not do for word to reach his father—no matter how long or winding the path—that he had visited a house of lovers. His wrath would be terrible.

Darkness take my father.

“I am here because I do not wish to be anywhere else. Wherever I go, I am my father’s son. None will let me forget it—him least of all. He has brought me here to the Seat, where I have long wished to go, and yet what can I do? I remain in my room all day, only slipping out into the city when my mother tells me to do so and orders my retainer to silence. Yet I cannot visit the Academy as I wish, for then he would hear. Nor can I go to a tavern without the patrons refusing to drink with me, speak with me, or sit in arm’s reach. It is as though I walk shrouded in the curse of being a Drayden—”

Ebon stopped short, looking at Adara in fear. But she shook her head gently and took his hand. “I had guessed it already—anyone in the front room would have known it at a glance. You need not trouble yourself. There are laws you must follow while here, but we have our own laws that cannot be broken. No one will speak of your presence.”

A great breath rushed from him, and in his relief it took a long moment to realize that Adara still held his hand. Now she had turned it over, palm facing up towards her face, and traced a nail across its lines. A pleasant prickling crawled up Ebon’s arm and into his chest, where it mingled with the comfortable warmth of his wine.

“You said you wish to visit the Academy,” she said softly. “Why?”

“I have wished it since I was a child, and they discovered I had the gift.”

Her eyes rose sharply, and he saw a spark of excitement within them. “Are you a wizard?”

“An alchemist,” he mumbled, blushing now for a new reason. She looked at him as though he were some great champion of war. “But only by virtue of my gift. I have no training, and can do nothing.”

She pouted. “You cannot show me even some simple spell? I should greatly love to see it.”

He looked around. “Have you any water? I know but one spell—the one with which they test children, to see if they have the gift.”

“I have no water. Only wine.”

“I can do nothing with wine. I am sorry.”

She smiled. “Then the next time you come, I will be certain to have water ready for you.”

He looked down at his lap. “I shall not return here. My family returns to Idris soon, and they will take me with them. But I would come if I could.”

Her hand met his cheek, and she lifted his head until he was again looking into her eyes. Time seemed to slow, and he could hear his heartbeat like thunder in his chest. “Nothing is certain. If you have come to forget what lies outside, then let us dream together: you, that you can stay upon the Seat; and I, that you will visit me again.”

He forced himself to laugh. “Those are pretty words indeed. I thank you for them, though I know you must be bound to say what I wish to hear.”

She caught his meaning, and her eyes took on a wry twist. “You think I mean to flatter you? No, Ebon. Some lovers would do anything to please their partners. I am not one such. If I tell you something, for good or for ill, I mean it. That is one promise I will make you now, and keep for always.”

A voice at the back of his mind told him that those words were a lie, and yet still Ebon believed her. And now she was so close that her breath washed sweetly across her face, and he drank it in, even as his hands rose of their own accord and she pulled him closer to kiss him.

A short time later, they lay together beneath the satin sheets, Ebon fighting to reclaim his breath. Adara was curled up under his arm, her head resting above his heart, braid now undone to spill her hair across his meager chest.

“You must tell me,” he said between heaving breaths. “Was I any good?”

“Not at all,” she said, stretching up to kiss him. “But that is all right, for we have our dream. And in it, you will keep coming to see me—and perhaps, one day, practice will see you perfect.”

three

EBON WOKE WITH A TERRIBLE headache and the urge to vomit. The need soon grew enough to send him from bed and crawling to the chamber pot. His retch came thick and red, full of the wine from the night before.

He finished and looked around, realizing almost with surprise that he was back in his room in the Drayden manor. He remembered Adara—remembered her in vivid, lurid detail that even now made his stomach turn itself in knots—and then he remembered leaving the house of lovers. He remembered returning to the tavern and ordering another flagon of wine. There the memory faded.

The door opened without a knock, and Ebon knew it was Tamen before seeing him. The retainer came quickly with a towel dipped in warm water, and scrubbed flecks of vomit from his lips.

“I am fine, Tamen.” Ebon put the lie to his words by clutching his forehead, where a spike seemed to be seeking escape.
 

“Of course you are,” said Tamen evenly. He helped Ebon up and back to his bed, covering him with a sheet for decency. “I shall fetch some tea and empty your chamber pot, before the whole floor smells of your insides.”