The Lady Alchemist

by Samantha Vitale

  One deep breath. Two. A dozen.

  They were only books. She did not need to panic. She did not! need! to panic!

  It wasn’t impossible for her to read, after all. Only very, very difficult. She was not mind-bogglingly stupid. She could do it. She would read. Because she had to.

  When her thoughts were mostly in order, she jerked her head at Fio and pushed herself off the shelf. She walked aimlessly down row after row until she stumbled upon an information booth. A bored-looking attendant sat inside, riffling through books and muttering something about dogs’ ears under his breath.

  “Excuse me,” Sepha said.

  The attendant looked up, and Sepha forced herself to smile. She raised a hand to hook a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and the attendant gave her a startlingly wide smile.

  “Oh, so you’re the infamous Lady Alchemist, are you?” he asked.

  Sepha glanced at the L ring on her finger and nodded. “Yes. I, um, need some help locating some books.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place,” he said. “What’re you looking for?”

  “Well,” Sepha said, “I guess just a book of alchemy basics to start. To brush up,” she added quickly.

  “Very wise, very wise.” The man seemed all elbows and knees as he stood. “Follow me.”

  “I don’t suppose you know,” Sepha said, trying to ask her question without asking her question, “about how—how alchemical processes interact with biological ones? For example, whether one could alchemically produce a living organism, even a complex one—like a person?”

  The attendant stopped and stared at her. His mouth hung open for a second, then he closed it and gave her a wry grin. “You’re lucky you asked me that, and not someone else!” he said. “Even talking about human transmutation can get you kicked out of here. Or,” he continued, savoring each word, “did you not know it was illegal?”

  Sepha paled. “Oh! I—I had no idea—”

  “Don’t worry. It’ll be our secret.” After giving Sepha a thoroughly unsettling wink, he pulled a thick, worn book from a shelf and said, “I think this should get you started. If you need more help, you know where to find me.”

  Illegal? Sepha thought wildly as she hurried away from the distasteful man. Alchemically creating a human was illegal?

  But then she smiled.

  If it was illegal, that meant it was possible.

  Sepha found Ruhen in a small, glass-doored study room a few minutes later, reading a ponderously thick book. He barely glanced up when she set her book on the table and sat down beside him. Fio, who seemed to have caught on that he ought to sit when Sepha sat, scuffed toward an empty chair and clambered onto it.

  “Interesting book?” Sepha asked.

  “Not very,” Ruhen said, “but I think I’d better pass the rest of my exams fast, before Henric finds a way to kick me out.”

  Sepha let out a hemph of laughter. “Good thinking.”

  She flipped open her book to the first chapter and was trying to work out the first sentence when Ruhen said, “Hey. About earlier—”

  “I’m fine,” Sepha lied. Her gaze shifted up to his face. “You?”

  “I’m fine, too,” he said, with a small smile. He paused. “You can’t let him push you around. Them, I mean. If they think you’re weak, they’ll make your life impossible.”

  Sepha picked at the frayed binding of her book. “I know.” She chewed her lip. “I just … didn’t expect it to be like this.”

  “I did.”

  There was something new and dark in his voice, and Sepha looked up again. There was something dark in her own voice when she asked, “Why are you afraid of Military Alchemists?”

  Ruhen chewed on his lip. “My brother,” he said at last. “He got into it with a Military Alchemist once.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Ruhen lifted one shoulder. “Don’t know. I never saw him again.”

  “Oh.” Sepha opened her mouth and closed it again. “Did you see the Military Alchemist your brother fought with? In the mess hall?”

  Ruhen shook his head. “No, thank all the good in the After. I don’t know what I’d’ve done.”

  “Well, if you need a second in a fight,” Sepha said, letting the sentence die.

  Ruhen cast her a sideways glance and gave her a soft smile. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “Luckily for us, though, most of my brothers stuck around long enough to teach me a few things.”

  “Such as?”

  Ruhen’s smile went hard. “Such as some people will take any advantage they can get. You have to learn how to spot those people. Then you have to make yourself look like too much trouble to mess with.”

  A sudden suspicion, then comprehension. “Your brothers hurt you.”

  A nod. A shrug. Then, grimly, “Once I got strong enough, I taught them not to.”

  “Good,” Sepha said fiercely. Ruhen smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his dark gray eyes. She paused. “Why didn’t you leave before now?”

  “I didn’t have anywhere to go,” he said. “Not until I passed that exam. And I wasn’t ready for it until a few weeks ago.”

  Silence welled up between them, a new, heavy kind. Ruhen’s eyes dropped to his hands on the table, then to his book.

  Ruhen had lost a brother to a Military Alchemist and had still come here to fulfill his dream. He’d lived with not one, but eleven family members who’d hurt him and not only survived, but earned a place here with distinction. And Sepha had never met anyone so … so …

  She swallowed.

  Contract be damned.

  Sepha lifted her left hand and rested it on Ruhen’s right. He went very still. Then, almost experimentally, he twisted his hand and curled his fingers around hers.

  Sepha’s hand, and face, and everything went hot. A thrill of something—a restless wind, a churning wave—shot up her arm, then around and through her in a juddering current, and it was magic, it was inexplicable, it had to stop!

  Sepha wrenched her hand away and hid it under the table. So did Ruhen.

  There was that strange tingling feeling, just like on the train, as if someone invisible were dragging a fingertip along her palm—

  “What was that?” Ruhen asked, sounding alarmed.

  Her contract thrummed with amusement. It had just done something, worked some sort of magic—but what?

  “You shocked me!” Sepha cried, a wild and obvious fabrication.

  “I didn’t! Did I?” Ruhen sounded confused now.

  “Yes!” Sepha said, rubbing her hand for effect. “That hurt!”

  Now Ruhen seemed mortified. “Oh! I’m sorry, I—are you all right?”

  Either you’re an excellent liar, said the snide voice, or he’s as stupid as you are.

  “I’m fine,” Sepha said. Her cheeks were hot from guilt, or maybe from humiliation. “It’s—I’m fine.” She struggled to remember what they’d been talking about before this most recent disaster. “I’m glad you got out,” she said, rather desperately. “And I’m glad you’re here.” Then, because Ruhen’s thunderhead-gray gaze was still too mortified, because her heart was thrumming in time with the godsdamned contract in her chest, she added, “If only because you and Henric are so entertaining.”

  “The least I can do,” Ruhen muttered, but the worst of it seemed to have passed. “And—sorry, again.” He paused, and his eyes flicked back to his book. “Well, exams wait for no one.”

  Sepha’s returning smile was yet another fabrication. “And neither does the Magistrate.”

  And with that, the two of them began their studies. Or at least pretended to.

  The light outside Sepha’s window was still dim and bluish when someone pounded on her door the next morning. She wrenched open her eyes, half in a panic, and stumbled to the door. “What?” she croaked through the door.

  “Get dressed,” came Destry’s voice. “We’re going to the proving grou
nds.”

  Sepha blinked. Her eyelids were heavy, and she had a dull headache around the base of her skull. “Why?”

  “Because you need to learn to defend yourself,” Destry said, and Sepha could practically hear her crossing her arms. “And now is the best time of day to exercise. Get dressed. I’ll wait.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No.”

  Sepha shook her head and immediately regretted it as the pain in her head redoubled. She felt strange, sort of stretched, as if during the night her mind had tried to be in two places at once and had ended up being everywhere instead.

  With a huff, Sepha shuffled to the dresser and pulled out her clothes. She shrugged into them, pulled on her boots, and opened the door.

  “Ready?” Destry asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

  Sepha grunted, and Destry smirked.

  They’d already walked down two flights of stairs before Sepha remembered she ought to be angry at Destry. “Why didn’t you tell me who you are?” she asked, cutting a sharp look at the blond woman beside her.

  Destry smiled, not the least bit apologetic. “I like to get the measure of people before I tell them. And they usually treat me differently after I do,” she added with a grimace.

  “I won’t,” Sepha said.

  “I’d expect nothing less.”

  By the time they reached the courtyard, Sepha was awake enough to notice Destry’s eyelids were puffy, her blue eyes rimmed with pink. “Did you sleep at all?” she asked, concerned.

  Destry blinked, seeming surprised that Sepha would notice anything about her, and said, “I’ve been quite busy since we got back. As it turns out, our train wasn’t the only one that’s been attacked. A freight train was blown up, over in the southeast. The Detenian rebels must be acting up again. No word of a magician leading that attack, though. At least we can be grateful for that.”

  Detenia took up the eastern third of the island of Tirenia. A few centuries ago, it had been its own country; but Tirenia had annexed it in a quick, devastating war, and now it was only a province. Every few years, the Detenians would muster into ill-fated, short-lived rebellions. They were bloody affairs, but Sepha had always been grateful for them. Without Detenia’s rebels, Tirenia’s army would have no need for tanks and guns. Without Detenia’s rebels, Tirenia would have no need for Three Mills.

  “What happens next?” Sepha asked as she and Destry skirted the far edge of the mess hall, where a series of archways framed the path to the combat proving grounds. Surrounded by high stone walls, the stone-paved proving grounds only had two accesses: the one through which they were walking, and a doorway that led directly into the clinic.

  Which might be a bad sign.

  “I’ll dispatch some Military Alchemists,” Destry said. “They’ll find the rebels, deal with them, and report back with information.”

  Sepha started at Destry’s nonchalant tone. She’d said, “Deal with them,” but she’d undoubtedly meant, “Kill them.” Would Destry sound so calm ordering the Military Alchemists to deal with Sepha once she found out what Sepha had done? Or rather, what Sepha hadn’t done?

  Maybe. Probably. All the more reason to keep her mouth shut.

  Sepha followed Destry to the far corner of the proving grounds, where a large transformation alchem was etched into a stone slab. The morning was cool and dim, and the Institute was quiet. Outside the Institute’s walls and a hundred yards below, the ocean’s waves crashed against the base of the cliff.

  “All right,” Destry said, striding past a stack of ingots and a line of wooden staves along the wall. She stopped near the transformation alchem and said, “We train under the assumption that you won’t always be armed, but you will always be carrying metal. Every weapon we train with is something that can be made in one go, with one alchem. You can learn to shoot a gun anywhere. The Institute is where you learn to duel.

  “For today, we’ll start with the basics: self-defense, no weapons,” she said, squaring up to Sepha. “We can work up to the weapons later.”

  Sepha nodded, winced at the throbbing pain in her head, and walked over to Destry. She listened closely as Destry told her how to position her feet, bend her legs, and hold her arms. She tried not to think about Father and what he would’ve done if she’d ever tried to defend herself.

  “All right,” Destry said, returning to her own starting position. “I’m going to attack you. Try to block me.”

  “All right,” Sepha said, and the words came out thick and quiet.

  There was a breath.

  Then Destry moved, liquid and lightning and danger, and Destry’s gloved hand—or was it Father’s—was swinging toward her. Sepha’s eyes widened as her mind flickered between there and here, then and now, and something greater than panic spiked through her.

  She froze.

  And so did Destry’s hand, a hair’s breadth from Sepha’s face.

  There was an empty moment, then Destry flicked Sepha’s nose. “Why did you freeze?” she asked, straightening and stepping away.

  Sepha let her hands drop to her side. There was nothing inside her mind, not even that howling panic. Just a windblown emptiness, a profound smallness. Gods, her head ached. “I just,” she began, and stopped.

  Destry frowned at Sepha, then comprehension blazed in her blue eyes. “Is it because of your father?”

  Sepha nodded. Destry’s eyes narrowed.

  “You couldn’t fight back,” Destry guessed again, and Sepha shook her head.

  Something between anger and pity rippled across Destry’s face. Sepha had seen that look before, at the mill when she’d been unable to hide the bruises, and she hated it. Hated it as much as Father, or more.

  Humiliation and anger blazed through Sepha, fast and hot. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t,” she said, lifting a single finger. “And don’t you dare go easy on me.”

  She met Destry’s gaze. A grin spread across Destry’s face. “Well, at least you’ll make friends with the medics,” she said.

  Then they fought.

  Thirty minutes later, Sepha was sweaty and sore, and had become well acquainted with the proving grounds’ paving stones. She was fairly certain she’d added impressive new bruises to the dozen faded ones.

  But they were bruises she’d chosen. They were bruises she’d earned. They were bruises that would keep her from ever being hurt again.

  Sepha rolled her shoulders, listening to Destry list the reasons why she’d been able to land that most recent hit. Her headache was getting worse—the sparring surely hadn’t helped—and that stretched feeling hadn’t gone away. Destry finished her explanation, and they both sank into a low starting stance.

  Then Sepha felt a lurch behind her ribs, as if something had fastened a tether to her bones. Then a tug, as if something was on the other end, reeling in the line as it approached.

  The contract flickered, and it felt like a cackle.

  A flurry of movement, and Destry swept Sepha’s leg out from under her. Sepha fell hard onto her back, and the air escaped her lungs in a whoosh. Distantly, she heard Destry’s voice, saw Destry’s outstretched hand waiting to help her up.

  But her mind, through that stretched and tethered feeling, was focused on the something, which was now approaching. Fast.

  She let Destry help her up and took an uncertain step toward the proving grounds’ entrance.

  Something was coming. Something was very close. Something was—

  Here.

  Ruhen sprinted into the proving grounds, feet bare, dark curls disheveled, and only skidded to a stop when there was a clunking sound of metal on stone. As one, Ruhen and Sepha jerked their heads to look at Destry, who’d grabbed an ingot from the stack by the wall and thrown it into the transformation alchem. Her hands were already just so, and she was glaring at Ruhen, watching, waiting.

  As if she thought Ruhen was going to attack. As if those hours on the train, that hard-e
arned familiarity, had never happened. And she hadn’t hesitated for even a fraction of a second.

  Panting, Ruhen raised his hands and took a few steps backward. After a tense moment, Destry eased her hands away from the alchem’s edge.

  Sepha took a shaky breath, and the moment broke.

  Ruhen shifted his eyes from Destry to Sepha and dropped his hands. He scanned her with one sweeping look, as if making sure she was all there.

  It was as if—

  It was as if he’d somehow felt that same tethered feeling and had come running. Just as she’d felt it and had known he was on his way.

  Ruhen opened his mouth, probably to ask her the same question she was asking herself in a panicked refrain. But then he seemed to change his mind. Still out of breath from his sprint, Ruhen closed his mouth and braced both hands on top of his head. He took a deep breath. “Sorry for interrupting. I was just …” he sucked in another breath, “going for a morning run.”

  Sepha blinked. He’d said it so convincingly that she could almost believe she’d imagined the whole thing.

  “Barefoot?” Destry asked. She was still kneeling beside the alchem, but her gloved hands were resting on her legs.

  Ruhen shrugged. Took another deep breath. “Works out different muscles.” He pivoted on the spot, looking around the proving grounds. “Didn’t know this was a dead end.”

  His eyes flicked to Sepha, and he took a few steps toward her.

  Somewhere in a new space that was carving itself into her mind, she felt him come closer, felt the tether between them cinch tighter, so as not to leave any slack in the line.

  She hadn’t imagined a damned thing. The godsdamned magician and his horrible contract were up to a new trick, and she had not signed up for this. More importantly, Ruhen hadn’t signed up for this. If he was feeling what she was feeling—if he really had a sense of her, like he seemed to—then what in Darkest After would she say if he asked her about it?

  He looked halfway as if he was going to ask her something right now. Which she could not allow.

  “Destry was teaching me self-defense,” Sepha said, throwing out a distraction. “That’s why we’re out here.”