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.”
He was gone in a moment, closing the door behind him a little too hard. Ebon winced at the sharp sound. Then he could do nothing but wait, until the door opened again at last and Tamen came to sit by his bedside.
“Here.” With small brass tongs he held out a lump of sugar, which Ebon put on his tongue. Then from a saucer he served the green tea, not too hot, and Ebon groaned as its warmth filled him.
“Thank you,” Ebon croaked, relaxing back into his pillows.
“You are only half-way to a cure. Now you must eat.”
“Food is the last thing my stomach desires just now.”
“And the first thing it needs.”
“Leave me be, just a moment, I beg you.” Ebon threw his head under the pillow to shield it from the sun coming through the window, then covered himself with a sheet for good measure.
“I will not force you to rise, but neither can I leave. You might retch again. So while we wait for you to vomit, or eat, perhaps you can tell me how you enjoyed your evening.”
Ebon lifted a single corner of his pillow, peering out as though from the mouth of a cave. He could not keep a small smile from playing across his lips. “You cannot tell me I said nothing when I returned to the tavern.”
Tamen, too, was smiling. “You could barely speak. I do not know that I have ever seen you so drunk. It was all I could do to get you home.”
Ebon’s heart froze. “Tell me that my parents were not awake to witness that.”
“You are fortunate. They stayed at the palace late last night, and left before you rose. Already they have been waiting at the palace for some time. You slept through their presence here.”
Ebon sat up suddenly from under the pillow, and regretted it immediately. His hand went to his forehead as he gave a sharp groan. “How long did you say they have been waiting? They must have risen early.”
“Hardly. It is nearly time for midday’s meal. You have slept long.”
Ebon slumped in his bed. “Still I do not know why they have brought me here. They hardly see me. We scarcely eat together. Why bring me just so I can stay in the manor all day? I might not have enjoyed being left at home, but then at least I would have been free of Father for a time. And Albi must be lonely.”
“I imagine she is,” said Tamen quietly.
“I should write her.”
“What would be the point? You will return soon, and then she will be alone no longer. Your letter would barely reach her a day before you yourself appeared on the doorstep. And do not regret your journey here too strongly. Just think: if you had been left home, a certain…opportunity would never have presented itself.”
Ebon felt himself flush. When he returned home and told Albi of the High King’s Seat, the blue door would not enter into his stories. Out loud, he said only, “I wish I were not going to be dragged off home again.”
This time Tamen could not stop himself from a wide smile. “Still thinking of the blue door? Goodness. You must have had quite the time.”
Ebon felt a mighty need to steer the conversation in another direction. “I should get dressed. Fetch me some clothes.”
“With pleasure.” But Tamen did not stop smirking as he went to the cabinet beside the window. From it he produced a suit of fine yellow wool, tailored like all of Ebon’s clothes to hug his thin frame.
“Tamen, tell me. One day, when I am head of the household, do you think I could go to the Academy then?”
His retainer snorted. “Forgive me if I am blunt, but that is a ridiculous thought. Children are expected to begin in their twelfth year. If fate is kind, you will not be head of your household until you have nearly reached your fortieth.”
“Yet I shall have no one to gainsay me. I could do whatever I wished.”
Tamen turned sharply and tossed the outfit upon the bed. “No, Ebon, you could not. You are not so foolish as to believe that in earnest. You will have responsibilities then, to your sister and to the rest of the family. Would you abandon that responsibility? I know you have no great love for your kin, but you should think at least of Albi.”
“She could take charge in my stead. Indeed, I would welcome the shedding of that burden.”
“Albi is not being groomed for the position. You are.”
Ebon spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “What grooming has my father given me, Tamen? I am forbidden from our trade meetings. I am forbidden from even speaking to any members of the other merchant families. I have never even seen a member of the royal family. How does he expect me to step full-formed into his shoes when I do not have the faintest idea of the leagues they have walked already?”
“And Albi? Could she manage better than you? I imagine she could do a fine job of directing a caravan, if pressed, and if she were surrounded by a staff of those who knew most of her business for her. But she wishes to be a healer, and has spent many years learning that craft. You at least know something of the family’s trade routes, our goods and services, and the relationships your aunt has worked hard to build across the nine kingdoms.”
Ebon turned away—not in disagreement, but because in his heart he knew Tamen spoke the truth. And the man’s words were carefully chosen, for they reminded Ebon of his aunt Halab. Where Ebon’s father was cruel at every opportunity, Halab had always treated Ebon with courtesy and respect, and mayhap even affection. In her presence, even Ebon’s father seemed less cruel, as though he did not wish to shame himself with ill conduct before his sister.
Yet still Ebon shied away at the thought of one day replacing his father. “Never do I wish to be involved in our family’s trade,” he muttered.
“But the world does not exist to grant our wishes, Ebon,” said Tamen gently.
There was a knock at the door. Ebon looked to Tamen, but the man only shrugged. “Come,” said Ebon.
It opened to reveal Mako. Ebon tensed where he sat on the bed, and Tamen grew very still.
Tall and broad, Mako was clad in a tunic of light grey, over which he wore a short jerkin of black leather. His trousers, too, were black, clasped at the waist by a belt with a silver buckle, and upon that belt hung a long and wicked dagger. His hair was thick and full, swept back from his forehead with animal fat, and drawn back far on both sides of his forehead. Though his eyes often twinkled as though at some hidden joke, they were hard as steel, and couched in a face painted by many scars. Mako was in the family’s service, though Ebon had never learned just whom he served. He seemed to go from household to household, bringing messages and doing whatever might be required, and yet if he reported to a single master, Ebon never learned who it was.
Now he strode into Ebon’s room with a smile, and the smile widened as he hooked both thumbs through his belt. Though Ebon was still covered by a sheet, he felt utterly naked before Mako’s keen gaze. The bodyguard sniffed deeply at the room’s cool air.
“A good morrow—or midday, as it were. And how fares this day, for the family Drayden’s newest man grown?”
Ebon’s eyes widened, panic seizing his throat. He shot a fearful look at Tamen, but the retainer looked back with wide eyes and shook his head.
“I said nothing, Ebon. I swear it.”
Mako burst into laughter, a high, ringing laugh that surely thundered through the manor’s many halls. He bent partway over, slapping a hand against the leather pants that tightly gripped his legs, and the sound made Ebon flinch.
&
nbsp; “Sky above, the looks upon your faces are priceless. Fear not, little Ebon. Tamen kept his lips well sealed. But I do not need his words to smell the scent of your lovemaking. It is so strong that, were I given enough time, I could find the woman herself.”
“I…you are wrong,” said Ebon, aware of just how frail his voice sounded.
Mako’s chuckles died away, but left behind his wide, toothy grin. “Save your terrified looks, little goldbag. If you fear I will tell your father of your—shall we call it an indiscretion?—then worry not. I have no interest in petty scandals. Unless, of course, you were to displease me. Then word might find its way to Shay’s ears, and who knows what might happen? It is some time since he used a switch on you, is it not?”
“I say again, you are—”
Mako chopped a hand through the air, and Ebon’s words died upon his lips. “As I have said, I will say nothing of this. Nor did I come to sniff between your legs. Your mother and father require you for midday’s meal.”
Ebon looked to Tamen, but the retainer looked just as confused. “They sent you to summon me for a meal?”
Mako shrugged, his smile never leaving. “And why not? I was at hand. I do not hold myself so highly that I cannot deliver a message.”
So saying, he turned and left as quickly as he had come. Tamen went to the door and closed it, throwing the latch in place.
“Come, Ebon. You must ready for yourself for the meal. And whatever else you can say about that man, he is right—we must wash that smell off you before you get within ten paces of your parents.”
four
TAMEN HAD A STEWARD FETCH water for a bath as quickly as it could be brought, but they had no time to heat it. Ebon shivered in the water, cold and brackish, drawn from the Great Bay. He spit it out quickly whenever it touched his tongue, despising the salty taste.
The Alchemist's Touch Page 2