The Lady Alchemist

by Samantha Vitale

His head jerked up and down.

  “You don’t have to smile, you know,” she said, after a short pause.

  The smile faded from the homunculus’s lips, leaving him looking rather grim.

  Sepha studied him for a moment and then said, just to fill the silence, “They didn’t tell me your name. Then again, they called you a spare, so they probably never even gave you one. They don’t think homunculi are people.”

  The homunculus, of course, didn’t react.

  Without particularly knowing why she did so, Sepha went on. “But I met a homunculus who could talk. He was being controlled by something else, but still, he could talk. That must mean that you physically can do it, even if you don’t.”

  He still didn’t move. She hadn’t told him to.

  “I think I’ll give you a name,” Sepha continued, “because I don’t want to just point at you, or whatever I’m supposed to do. It doesn’t seem right.” She thought for a few moments, then said, because it did feel right, “Fio. I’ll name you Fio.”

  She knelt down, trying to catch the homunculus’s eye. “Is that all right?”

  His head jerked up and down. Good enough.

  “Well, Fio,” she said, “you are dismissed for now. Thank you for helping with the luggage.”

  He left, and Sepha was alone with her view.

  She’d made it to the Institute. The Institute! And tomorrow, she could finally begin solving her problems.

  The following morning, Sepha rushed out of her room as soon as she’d gotten dressed. Her footsteps echoed against the tiles as she flew down the hallway and took the stairs as fast as she could.

  The magician’s attack on the train had complicated things. No matter how many times she thought it through, it didn’t make sense for him to attack her. She was missing something important. What she could be missing, she had no idea, but she felt a breathless urgency, a strange and sharp focus.

  She had a year, but she didn’t have a year. She had to get the magician out of her life as quickly as possible.

  The blue-and-white staircase spiraled down ahead of her, and she forced herself to keep her gaze level as she hurried toward the ground floor. The last thing she needed was to tumble down the stairs and injure herself on her first day. She could practically see Henric’s smirk and Destry’s raised brow.

  Footsteps echoed up to her, giving her a moment’s warning before Ruhen appeared, moving with smooth quickness up the stairs. He stopped when he saw Sepha. At the sight of him, something frantic inside her stopped, too. “There you are,” he said, smiling up at her. “I’ve been waiting in the lobby for ages.”

  Sepha stopped two steps above him and anchored her hand on the smooth bannister. “You were waiting for me?” she asked. “You didn’t have to do that,” she added, although she was glad he had.

  “I know I didn’t.” Ruhen paused, then continued, almost apologetically, “I didn’t want to go to breakfast by myself. All those Military Alchemists.”

  Sepha tipped her head to the side. “I thought you were joking about being afraid of them.”

  Ruhen grimaced. “Wish I was.”

  Sepha blinked. “Oh. Well, there’s only one Military Alchemist currently interested in murdering you, and that’s Henric. And that might have something to do with the fact that you kept rattling him on purpose yesterday.”

  Ruhen’s mouth stretched into an impish smile. “I couldn’t help it,” he said, and she laughed. He tipped his head down the stairs, and they began walking together.

  “I wonder why, though,” she said.

  “Why what?”

  “Why Henric dislikes you so much. He seemed to hate you before you even started bothering him.”

  Ruhen paused for a fraction of a second before answering, “I have no idea what it could be. Hopefully, it’s just how he is, and not an alchemist thing.”

  “Well, it can’t be an alchemist thing,” Sepha said, “because I’m an alchemist, and I like you.” She stopped, her feet on separate steps. “I mean,” she said, blushing furiously, “I don’t—I mean—I think you seem all right.”

  Ruhen laughed. “Just ‘all right?’” he asked. “I guess I have my work cut out for me.”

  Sepha looked away, biting her lips together. What did that mean?

  Just then, Henric rounded the curve, bounding up three steps at a time. He stopped short when he saw Ruhen and Sepha.

  “Oh. There you are, Sepha,” Henric said, casually ignoring Ruhen. “I’ve been waiting for you in the mess hall all morning. I meant to show you around some more.”

  “Oh,” Sepha said. “I thought you’d shown us everything last night.”

  “Well, the library can be confusing,” he said, and turned to continue down the stairs with them. “I thought I’d show you the different sections.” He glanced curiously from Ruhen to Sepha, as if wondering exactly how they came to be descending the stairs together. Before breakfast.

  Sepha couldn’t prevent herself from rolling her eyes. Honestly.

  “Did you like your room?” Henric asked, after a short pause.

  “I did! Thanks for asking,” Ruhen said before Sepha could answer, and Henric scowled. Sepha elbowed Ruhen, and he grinned.

  They reached the lobby, and Henric banged through the door into the courtyard, not bothering to keep it open for Sepha and Ruhen. They exchanged raised eyebrows and followed him.

  When Sepha caught sight of the alchemists in the courtyard, her jaw dropped.

  Standing in a series of concentric circles, the men and women were engaged in a rhythmic conditioning exercise. They moved in unison with sweeping, exaggerated motions, contorting their bodies into shapes much too small, and then, quickly, much too large. It was like watching a hundred identical flames flicker in the wind.

  Sepha hurried to catch up to Henric. “What are they doing?” Sepha whispered as they skirted the perimeter of the courtyard. It was a difficult task, because a crowd of homunculi lined the walls, holding their masters’ jackets and holsters while they exercised. Her eyes snagged on Fio, and she mouthed, “Come with me.” Obediently, Fio shuffled out from amongst the homunculi to walk beside Sepha. She smiled down at him, but he didn’t notice.

  “They’re doing the morning evolution. The Military Alchemists have to be trained in combat. Destry is over there,” Henric said, pointing toward the very center of the circles, where she was leading the Military Alchemists.

  “This is combat training?” Ruhen asked. “Where are their weapons?”

  Henric looked up in annoyance and answered, “This is only the morning evolution. There are different evolutions for each weapon, and different speeds for practice and combat. Obviously.”

  Sepha turned around and mouthed “Stop” to Ruhen, but ruined her affected seriousness by smiling as she said it. Ruhen’s lips quirked again, but he didn’t say anything else.

  Henric ushered them into the mess hall, showed them where to pick up their plates, and left them to their breakfast. Sepha watched as Henric wandered around the room, greeting a few people with a smile and a nod. Most of the time, his smile was returned with something like a bow.

  After a few moments, Sepha realized Ruhen was watching her as studiously as she was watching Henric. She tipped her head toward Henric and said, “People are bowing to him.”

  “They are?” Ruhen asked, craning his neck to look. He watched for long enough to see someone bow, then turned back around. “Huh.”

  Sepha glanced at Fio. She’d directed him to sit in the chair on her other side, and his feet dangled several inches above the ground. “Should we have bowed to him, do you think?”

  “No. Definitely not.”

  Just then, the Military Alchemists, identically uniformed and famished from the morning evolution, swarmed the mess hall. The crowd of homunculi followed them in and attached themselves to their owners. Looking smaller than ever, the homunculi carried the alchemists’ trays for them and stood beside th
eir tables as they ate.

  The Military Alchemists seemed mostly to be above greeting, or even looking at, anyone else. But when they sat down at their tables, they all spent several seconds staring first at Ruhen, then at Sepha. Sizing them up. Then, with sideways smiles, they looked away, just as Henric had done, dismissing them as non-threats.

  Sepha glanced at Ruhen, whose reaction to the Military Alchemists was the opposite of hers. Rather than shrinking down in his chair, he pulled himself up straight, sat very still, and looked each observer in the eyes, neither challenging nor submitting—merely assessing.

  The largest Military Alchemist of them all came in and sat beside Henric, who’d settled into a table full of brutes. He was huge and scarred, with icy eyes and golden hair pulled into a long braid. The ingots in his holster were formidably large. Beside him stood a black-haired homunculus who looked much the worse for wear.

  This man, not Destry, was what came to mind when Sepha thought Military Alchemist: violent, strong, brutal. Viciously so.

  Ruhen had gone still beside Sepha. He’d locked eyes with the brutish Military Alchemist, and it looked as if he’d stopped breathing. Sepha slid her leg to the side until her knee pressed against Ruhen’s. A reassuring you’re not alone touch. A for the love of After, don’t make any sudden movements touch. Ruhen inhaled a ragged breath.

  The Military Alchemist’s gaze shifted from Ruhen to Sepha, and he grinned. He leaned closer to Henric and muttered something Sepha couldn’t hear. Henric’s expression went thoughtful as he shot Sepha an appraising glance. Then he shrugged, stood up, and approached Sepha and Ruhen’s table.

  The mess hall went silent.

  Beneath the table, Ruhen nudged Sepha’s knee with his own. The heavy feel of the alchemists’ stares made her feel brittler, thinner every second. Taut as a stretched spring.

  A tray plunked down on the opposite side of Sepha’s table.

  “Morning, Henric,” Destry said, sliding into the empty chair.

  “Morning,” he said. His eyes flicked from Destry to Sepha, and he said, loudly enough that everyone in the mess hall could hear, “I forgot to ask you earlier, Lady Alchemist. How did you transmute the straw to gold? We’ve been dying to know.”

  Sepha’s stomach swooped and twisted, and her cheeks went crimson. The mess hall, already silent, had gone attentive. For a moment, that howling panic nearly overtook her; but then the lie surfaced. “There was copper in the straw from the soil,” she said, and thank all the good in the After, her voice didn’t shake. “The copper is what I transmuted to gold.”

  There was a moment of silence as Henric and Destry tipped their heads to the side and looked into the middle distance, weighing her claim. Ruhen’s eyes flicked over to meet Sepha’s, then flicked away. As if he was trying to figure out if she’d lied to Henric or to him. Or if, maybe, she’d lied to them both. Gods.

  “That sounds well enough,” Henric soon said, and something in Sepha’s chest loosened with relief, “except that you produced so very much gold. There couldn’t’ve been that much copper, not even by the longest stretch of the imagination.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” Sepha said, gripping the edge of the table. “That’s how I did it. Is there something else you need?”

  Henric’s smile was a shifting thing, at once friendly and sly. “No, that’ll do for now.”

  Ruhen made a low noise in his throat and edged closer to her. Her contract thrummed with approval.

  “Can’t blame me for being curious,” Henric said, still smiling. “Let me know when you’re ready for the rest of your tour.”

  With a two-fingered wave, Henric returned to his table of brutes. Destry watched him go, a disapproving frown on her face. When Henric had sat down and the noise level in the mess hall reached its normal volume, Ruhen finally eased away. Sepha was glad he did—the contract’s gleeful thrumming was not helping the situation. Not one bit.

  But the alchemists’ stares had been too direct, Henric’s manner too strange. There was an undercurrent of meaning that Sepha didn’t understand. She sent Destry a questioning glance.

  Destry shifted uncomfortably. “The alchemists have taken your appointment as an offense. They worked hard for years to earn their places, and you were handed your title overnight.” She grimaced with annoyance and leaned closer. “Be wary of them, Court and Military Alchemists alike. Don’t rise to their challenges. They’ll make sure you lose. Just focus on your research and forget everything else.”

  Sepha picked at her food. Something like shame settled in the pit of her stomach. “Wouldn’t it be better if I showed them what I can do? Then at least they’d know—”

  “Absolutely not,” Destry interrupted. Sepha looked up, surprised. Destry’s voice was low and fast as she continued, “It’s better this way, you’ll just have to believe me. In fact, I forbid you from doing any alchemical experiments whatsoever unless you’re alone or with me.” Destry eyed Ruhen, and he raised his eyebrows at her. “Or with Ruhen, I suppose.” She shifted her gaze to meet Sepha’s. “Understood?”

  Sepha bit back the “No” that rose to her lips—she’d never met a skeptic she couldn’t win over by doing a quick demonstration. But … Destry worked for the Magistrate, and she seemed to be important here. And maybe Destry had a point. The last thing Sepha needed was to draw attention to herself.

  “Fine,” she said.

  Destry gave her a grim smile. “Welcome to the Institute,” she said, and picked up her fork and began to eat.

  It was a few moments before Sepha could bring herself to look at Ruhen. She didn’t want to see his expression. Didn’t want to see suspicion replacing that open friendliness. It would make everything that much worse.

  “You ready?” she asked at last, mustering the willpower to give him half a glance.

  Ruhen nodded, his face blessedly blank. With a goodbye to Destry, they rose from their seats. At a word from Sepha, Fio slid off his chair and followed.

  Instead of approaching Henric’s table, Sepha locked eyes with him and jerked her head toward the exit.

  Luckily, Henric was inclined to cooperate and met them by the door. As soon as they emerged into the courtyard, Ruhen exploded. “What was that for?”

  Henric looked sidelong at Ruhen. “Am I not allowed to ask questions?”

  “You know what you did, Henric,” Sepha said, shoving her fists into her pockets.

  “Yes, I do know what I did,” Henric said, arching his eyebrow. Sepha wanted to slap him. “I asked you the question everyone else wanted to ask, and I did it when they could all hear your answer. So instead of having the same conversation two hundred times, I helped you get it over with first thing in the morning. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  He did have a point. But still. “You didn’t have to do it like that.”

  “You didn’t have to be an ass about it, is what she means,” Ruhen added. She shot him a look, and he shot her a look back.

  Henric waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. Be thankless. It’s not my problem.”

  “Apparently not,” Sepha grumbled, crossing her arms. “And why were people bowing to you?”

  Again with the eyebrow. “Destry didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell us what?” Ruhen asked.

  Henric looked annoyed. “She would leave it for me to tell you,” he muttered. He squared his shoulders and said, “People are bowing because the Magistrate is my mother.”

  There was a shocked silence. Henric looked blandly from Sepha to Ruhen, waiting for them to adjust to this news.

  “Of course she is,” Ruhen grumbled, quietly enough to be ignored.

  “Your mother?” Sepha repeated. “And Destry’s, too?”

  A nod.

  “What does that make you? A prince?”

  “The term is frowned upon because it implies that our government is a monarchy,” Henric said, but then his lips quirked sardonically. “But, in all but name, y
es. Pretty much.” He paused. “Library?”

  Sepha and Ruhen followed Henric—Prince Henric, sort of—as he led them through the library, which was a massive, multi-tiered room, dense with silence. It smelled of must and dust, of aged leather and polished wood. Worst of all, it was lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves, each one laden with more books than it had any business carrying.

  The sight of it made Sepha a bit sick.

  So many books! Even if she managed to find some that might help, who knew how long it would take for her to read even one of them? How many millions of words were in this building, each of which would scramble around as soon as she tried to read it? How would she ever learn anything if she had to learn it by reading?

  Henric led them past row after relentless row of shelves. “These are all histories … this section here is mainly math … chemistry … physics … alchemical philosophy … the Secret section is over there, even I can’t read some of those …”

  Sepha longed to retreat into one of the private study nooks that lined the room so she could, just for a moment, scream. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but the sight of the books, the sheer number of them, had sent her reeling.

  At last, Henric said, “Well, I think that’s everything. If you need me, I’ll be at the combat proving grounds. They need me to teach the new Military Alchemist recruits.”

  He misinterpreted Sepha’s blank expression, and said, “That way,” pointing toward the back of the library.

  And then he just … left.

  Sepha stared after him. She felt the onset of that howling panic, felt her thoughts slipping through the cracks in the wasteland of her mind. Ruhen was looking around curiously, and she could not let him see her panic.

  “Um,” she said, pressing her lips together. Think. Think. “Do you want to find a book and then meet back up?”

  “Sure,” he said, and wandered off toward the histories.

  Sepha sped away in the opposite direction. She turned the first corner, leaned against a shelf-end, and buried her face in her hands. Fio lagged a few steps behind and stood quiet and impassive, waiting for her next directive.