Alchemy

by Camille Oster

  Blood covered Amethyst's hand when she stepped away, looking pleased with herself in a maniacal way. Out of nowhere, guards appeared, dragging the woman away. Amethyst struggled, screaming. Raufasger was on his feet and there was disbelieving shock from the crowd—sharp cries and appalled gasps.

  She'd just stabbed him. The truth of it was just sinking into Ashra’s consciousness.

  With his back straight, Lorcan wavered slightly on his feet. His expression was stoic, cold even as if he refused to relent to emotions even in this most extreme of circumstance. The handle of the knife was sticking straight up so the knife had to be lodged deeply into his chest cavity. It had to pierce his lung, but he was still standing. It could not have pierced his heart, Ashra considered. He would be dead already. Surely, it could not have pierced his heart. She tried to determine the lay of the blade, but it was hard to tell.

  Ashra rushed to him, taking him by the elbows to steady him. His eyes shifted to hers for a moment and then he sank down to his knees. He coughed and blood looked ruby red on his pale lips. He was almost white, even translucent. She could see blue veins at the bottom of his jaw and now she could hear his ragged and labored breath.

  "Get the medics," Raufasger ordered. "Take him to his chambers."

  The guards came forward and claimed him, carried him away so it seemed he floated away from her. His eyes remained on her until the crowd enveloped him as he was carried through the hall. People closed in, blocking his retreat out of view.

  There was blood on one of Ashra's hands, too, bright and warm. Her clean hand was covering her mouth and all she could do was stare at her hand and the pools of blood on the floor, which had spread to stain the skirt of her dress as she kneeled. He'd bled profusely. It was a grave wound and he probably wouldn't survive it.

  She was still too stunned to move. It was Ackerle who came to collect her, suggesting that perhaps she should retreat to her rooms. Uncomprehendingly, Ashra followed his lead. This horrible thing had happened and it seemed ludicrous that they simply return to their rooms. "Is he alive?"

  "We don't know," Ackerle said, his voice tight and strained. "They have taken him to the medics."

  There was nothing in his voice that sounded encouraging. He didn't believe Lorcan would live. On some level, it occurred to her that Lorcan was the father of her child. She'd been so focused on protecting the child from him that she hadn't considered the fact that there was a real and solid link between this child and him. And Amethyst had killed him. Her child would never get to meet its father.

  It had been a vicious and vindictive action. With an heir, she would no longer be needed, and the awful woman would rather destroy everything than allow someone else to gain at her expense.

  The woman might come for the child, Ashra realized and hurried as Ackerle led her. She had to get to safety. Surely, they couldn't let her roam around. She was a murderess. Everyone had just seen her attempt to murder her husband, but then she was Raufasger's favorite.

  Chapter 4

  There was no real news at court, only rumors. Rumors about Lorcan and how he was faring, rumors about Amethyst and what would happen to her. The gossips said that she was holed up in her apartments, but surely, they would not have put Lorcan and Amethyst in the same place. So where was Lorcan, and was he still alive?

  Nothing seemed to happen. There was no news, even as the invitation for a garden luncheon came, as if nothing had happened at all. Things were just continuing as normal. The murder of one of the members didn’t stop the pageant. Or maybe Raufasger just swept these inconveniences under the carpet, like he had with Torunn's murder.

  Ashra didn't know what to do. She still felt Lorcan's blood on her hands, even as she tried to tell herself she wasn't responsible. Could she really say that, though? It was her pregnancy, her sleeping with him and getting herself pregnant, that had been the cause of Amethyst's rage. Technically, it was him claiming the child as his heir that had enraged her. Truthfully, Ashra didn't think Amethyst would care a whit about the child if he hadn't tried to claim it.

  She just wanted to know if Lorcan was alive, but no one seemed to be able to tell her. Maybe when she went to the luncheon, she would receive more news. Surely someone had to know what was going on. The pages revealed nothing when she queried them, and none of the clerks seemed available at the moment.

  It felt wrong to dress in a summery gown for the garden luncheon, but it was what was expected. The charade went on endlessly, no matter what happened, it seemed. But then for many, this was just another juicy turn of the court antics. The juicier, the better. Perhaps this would be the most notorious ever—when Lorcan's wife turned on him and stabbed him in front of the entire court. It was a storyline for the troubadours, and Ashra suspected they would recount it all over the land.

  Wearing white muslin, she prepared herself for the luncheon. Her eyes had dark circles underneath from lack of sleep. During the night, she had tossed and turned, seeing the glinting of that knife in slow motion and the otherworldly sight of it lodge into Lorcan's flesh, the look in his eyes as he'd struggled to breathe. These sights would not leave her alone, and all the time, she didn't know if he yet lived. He could be dead right now and they simply didn't know.

  The thought made her need to move, as if uncomfortable in her own skin. She needed to take some responsibility in this, even if she hadn't foreseen the extreme consequences. And Amethyst; she really was beyond the pale. This couldn't be forgiven. Surely, she wouldn't be. Even if Raufasger didn't see fit to punish her, the court would, or would the people here gladly sweep such despicable behavior aside and pretend all was well? Ashra couldn't.

  Not to mention that Ashra felt she needed to watch her back every moment in case the woman came flying with a knife. A shiver worked down Ashra’s spine. Every moment here had turned fearful. The truth was that she wasn’t sure she would trust any of these people to defend her. Who wouldn’t want the spectacle of seeing her murdered by her lover’s enraged wife? It would only make the scandal more spectacular.

  This was all so awful. A part of her wanted to pack up and leave, but she couldn't. Firstly, there was Lorcan's petition. There would be nowhere in the land to hide from Raufasger's edicts. She had to stay and fight her corner, or they would effectively end up becoming Lorcan's slaves if she gave up her title—or even worse, Amethyst's slaves. With Lorcan's move on the Verchose family, her family legacy was now his chattel, and that would include her and her children if she gave up her position and title. Secondly, she wasn't willing to let Amethyst go unpunished, even if she was the only one who sought to undo her. If not for Lorcan, then for Torunn. The woman clearly had a penchant for removing her enemies through violent means. This meant that she would continually be a threat every single day.

  Ashra hadn’t thought her time here at court could become more untenable, but clearly, she had been wrong.

  The garden was set up beautifully. Everything was white, from the tables and chairs, and the gently swaying lights caught the cool breeze, to the waiters serving. It was a scene so removed from the hectic panic in her mind, it seemed almost ludicrous. Tables were set with white plates and crystal glasses, ample flowers adorning each table. All courtiers were milling around, lightly dressed in white and pastels. On the surface, it looked picture perfect, but then everything was about the surface here. Underneath the beautiful veneer, there was bloody deeds and gross injustices.

  "Lady Greve," Wierstoke said, appearing at her side. A pale yellow waistcoat draped around his round belly, gold rings on his fingers. "Have you recovered from last night's events?"

  "Has there been any news about Lorcan?" Ashra asked.

  "Not as of yet."

  Ashra bit her lips together. Were they ever going to be told? Why was Raufasger sitting on this information?

  "It is likely," Wierstoke continued, "that he still lives. Otherwise, they would have said so. You are worried for him?"

  "Are you not? Are people getting murdered par for the
course for you?" Perhaps her tone was a bit harsh, but she didn't care right now, or for the insinuation he was making.

  "No, of course not," he said, looking hurt, which she knew he didn't feel. "What has happened is an utmost tragedy. I had not been aware that you had such an involved relationship, I have to say."

  Ashra realized that he had to feel as if he'd been lied to, which wasn't true. He was her main alliance partner and she'd had this relationship with their supposed common enemy. Her behavior could be seen as very bad faith, and she did owe him an explanation. "Not a relationship," she admitted, "an unforeseen complication to a passing… interaction."

  "Some interaction."

  "Yes, I know all has been less than ideal, maybe even regrettable."

  "And now you have provided the heir he so desperately needs." She knew through Wierstoke’s calculating mind, he was thinking she had done it on purpose.

  "Believe me, that was not my intention and I was doing everything in my power to fight that fact. This entanglement means nothing good for me and my family. It was entirely unplanned and poses nothing but risk for my family. This child will not be the Lorcan heir."

  "But then he has claimed the child and if in mid petition he dies, things get very complicated. If Lord Lorcan dies, your child is his heir apparent, provided Raufasger grants his petition. This would mean you take control of the Lorcan estates completely unencumbered. Some would say that’s an enviable position." Ashra turned to him, perhaps not shocked that he would overlook the horror of all that had happened and search for a means to benefit from the situation. His success in this court was not the result of him being swayed by emotion, or distracted by setbacks. She couldn't hold it against him for being a creature that thrived in this court, when she had survived here by that very propensity. Although she existed here with less glee, she suspected.

  "You would be the most powerful woman in the land," he continued.

  Ashra had been too distracted by the horror to realize this implication. Everything rested on Raufasger's decision. He could either grant the petition or deny it. Lorcan's death might make the petition more meaningful and urgent. Him granting it would make her and her child more powerful than Raufasger would be comfortable with. It could put her at risk of Raufasger simply eliminating the problem of an imbalance at court. And even if he didn't grant the petition, the claim would persist and she, and her child, would forever be a threat to whoever did inherit the Lorcan estate. Raufasger could change his mind at any time, and Lorcan had claimed that her child was his true heir.

  She itched to sink her face into her hands, but everyone was watching her. Danger lay ahead for her and her family if Lorcan died. Danger lay ahead if he lived as well.

  Turning, she looked at Wierstoke and she could see the greed and amusement shining in his eyes. He only saw the power.

  "It would be dangerous to have too much power here," Ashra stated and he considered her for a moment, then sighed.

  "It would be a perilous situation, one that would have to be carefully managed."

  "As you say, Lorcan has not been declared dead, so let's hope for his swift recovery." It would perhaps be the best thing, but it presented a fresh set of problems. Raufasger would either grant his request, which meant a world of problems, or he would deny it, which was the best of all outcomes. Then again, Lorcan might not stop even if his petition was rejected.

  Raufasger appeared, wearing pale silk clothes. His features were sharp and serious and he waved away a couple approaching him to continue his progress to the elevated platform where his chair was. With heaviness, he sat down and guardedly studied the scene in front of him. He clearly wasn't allowing any interactions today. Some days he was like that, only wanted to observe them. It made Ashra feel like she was a part of a zoo, his personal menagerie.

  But perhaps he wasn't willing to answer any awkward questions today. Or did his sullenness mean Lorcan had succumbed to his wounds? While Amethyst had his favor, Raufasger did enjoy Lorcan's strength, ruthlessness and willingness to smite his enemies. Ashra looked down as she felt Raufasger's attention turn to her. If Lorcan lives, she had to find some way of asking him not to grant his request. If Lorcan didn't, she would have to tread very carefully indeed. Amethyst would be enraged, as would the alternate heirs to Lorcan's estate. Who that might be was an issue she needed to establish fairly quickly.

  "Lord Wierstoke, do you know who the current heir of the Lorcan estate is if Lorcan dies, and his petition is not granted?"

  "Well, that gets complicated. There isn't an explicit heir, but the next in line would probably be Shiran Loensee, however, I'm not sure he can inherit due to his incarceration for madness. I don't actually know if he lives. The Rier family is probably next in line, but I couldn't say for certain. Would you like me to find out?"

  Did she? Did she trust the answer he gave her? Trust was something that destroyed one in this place. "I would appreciate that very much," she said. She would also be doing her own investigation and it would prove telling and interesting how their results compared. It wouldn't surprise her if Wierstoke presented results that would favor him and his intentions.

  In the meantime, she would be praying that Lorcan lived. For a moment, she smiled, thinking how Lorcan made absolutely everything complicated and she was tangled up in every breath he took.

  Chapter 5

  Still, there was no news and Ashra's anxiety refused to relent. Many thought no news was good news and most of the time, she could convince herself they were right. But some confirmation would be nice, was desperately needed, actually. Were they purposefully being kept in the dark, for amusement left to wonder and worry?

  Another area where she felt at a complete loss was what she needed to do. It felt as if every ball was in someone else's court and she was tied down by it. Surely there had to be some punishment for this, but then the last punishment Raufasger had meted out to Amethyst for a serious crime was to send her back to her estate for a while. Was that what would happen this time? A slap on the hand for murdering a husband? Trying to murder, she reminded herself. So far, no news had come, and Wierstoke firmly believed no news was good news.

  Ashra wandered and paced, even sought the peace of the garden, but it only reminded her of Lorcan. Some of their most intense conversations had happened in this garden. It also made her heart ache for Tabain, who had loved this garden. They had come here every day. With these chasing thoughts, it was no longer the sanctuary it used to be.

  On her return back, once the fresh air had chilled her enough that she had to return, Mr. Liesdal's open door caught her attention. It had been a while since she'd seen the old man and she made her way over. He rarely gave her straight answers, but she could try to see if he knew anything. Or else she could just check that he was alive. By the look of it, the pages were not allowed anywhere near his place.

  "Mr. Liesdal?" she called as she walked into the messy hallway of his apartments. His chambers always had a peculiar smell, but then he seemed to always be brewing some potions.

  "Who is calling me?" he demanded from some nook or cranny.

  "It is Lady Greve."

  "Ah, the troublesome Lady Greve."

  Ashra’s mouth drew tight. Was that how she was referred to now? And obviously, she was blamed for the entire incident, which was unfair. She was not the one who decided to draw out a blade and kill someone. Taking a breath, she steeled herself. "Mr. Liesdal, I was hoping you would have some news."

  "News about what?" he said, appearing from behind a mound of mess, his clothes messy and stained. It was clear he was not taken care of by anyone.

  "About Lord Lorcan, whether he lives."

  "Oh," the man said, looking disappointed.

  Ashra's heart clenched. He knew something.

  "Yes, yes, he still lives," he said, distracted again. "For now. One never knows with these things. He is strong, but sometimes that is not enough."

  Relief washed over her. It felt like she had gone forever wi
thout this simple piece of information. He lived. "Surely if he has survived so far, it is likely that he will."

  "He has survived the wound, but will he survive the infection? That is the question. It is always the question with anything. There is the deed and then the impact of the deed. They are two different things, always remember that."

  "I'm sure the impact hasn't even played out yet," Ashra muttered quietly. If no one else, no doubt Lorcan would exact his punishment on Amethyst if he lived. His own attempted murder was surely where Lorcan drew the line with his wayward wife.

  With this news, a great deal of the uncertainty was laid to rest. She knew what was going on. There was still a risk Lorcan would succumb, but he was strong; he knew how to fight. Knowing what his state was made it so much easier to deal with. He was alive. Maybe now, she could lay aside some of the debilitating guilt she felt.

  It was perhaps interesting to note how relieved she was at hearing that. Was that relief simply because she felt responsible, she wondered. Or was that relief because she really didn't want to see him dead? Most cynically, it could be relief because it would harm her position if he died.

  No, she was not that kind of person. This court was not changing the fundamentals of her soul. She did not hope for anyone’s death, ever. Even with Amethyst the horrible, Ashra refused to wish the woman’s death. Beside recent events, the typical sick machinations of this court were superficial; they weren't life or death, even if it sucked you in to seem like it. A knife in the back was real. Everything else was dramatics and pretense.

  Now that she had her answer, she didn't need anything more from Mr. Liesdal. She looked around the pervasive mess that seemed to have no rhyme or reason, but she knew Mr. Liesdal guarded it like treasure. "Would you like to have tea with me, Mr. Liesdal?"