17. Alchemy
Alchemy
This wing had been locked during all my previous explorations of the castle. Now, as I followed Xül through the arched passage, I wondered why he'd finally decided to grant me access to whatever lay beyond those heavy doors.
But then we entered the chamber, and my heart skipped.
It was enormous and perfectly circular, dominated by tables covered in glass equipment I'd never seen before. Strange beakers connected by twisting tubes, scales that looked far more delicate than anything we'd used for weighing oysters, and rows of vials filled with various liquids.
But it was the domed ceiling that truly captivated me—intricate panels that looked almost like they could...
"Can you open that?" I asked, my voice betraying my awe.
"This room doubles as an observatory." Xül moved to a lever embedded in the wall, and with a soft grinding of gears, the panels began to retract.
The night sky revealed itself in all its glory—stars scattered, low-hanging clouds drifting past the moon.
I was still staring upward when something soft hit my chest. Leather gloves.
"Have to protect that delicate mortal skin," Xül said, already moving through the room with purposeful strides, collecting supplies.
I slipped on the gloves and moved to stand beside the table. His movements were fluid, confident—utterly different from the bored Aesymar who’d been conducting my combat training. No, he was interested in this, and experienced, if his expression was any indication.
"Are we performing a ritual?" I asked, watching him measure out crystalline powder.
"We're doing alchemy, Thais. Keep up." His tone carried an edge, but there was something else there too. Enthusiasm, maybe. Like he was finally doing something he actually wanted to do.
I remained wary—everything with him was a trap or a test or both—but curiosity won out over caution. It always did with me, unfortunately. "What exactly are we setting up here?"
"I thought we'd start small." He gestured to the array of ingredients spread across the table. "Tonight, we're making a repulsion ward."
"Well, that sounds fun."
Impatience flickered across his features, but he continued organizing his supplies.
"Alchemy is based on three fundamental principles," he said.
“Sympathetic resonance—like attracts like. Harmonic frequency—all materials vibrate at specific levels that must be matched or complemented for stable reactions. And a living binding agent—a catalyst that creates permanent fusion between ingredients and their user.”
I picked up one of the vials, watching the silver liquid inside swirl. "So it's not just following a recipe."
"Hardly. Any fool can mix ingredients together. True alchemy requires understanding the nature of what you're working with." He took the vial from my hands, our fingers brushing briefly. "Every ingredient serves a purpose."
"Like how different types of bait catch different fish," I said, before really thinking about it.
Xül paused, looking genuinely surprised. "That's... actually quite accurate."
"I'm not completely hopeless, you know." I picked up another vial, this one filled with something that looked like crushed pearls.
"We might not have had fancy equipment in Saltcrest, but we understood how things worked together.
Which tides brought which fish, how moon phases affected the oyster beds, why certain combinations of salt and smoke preserved meat better than others. "
"I hadn't considered that." He studied me with new interest. "Your understanding of natural processes would translate well to alchemical work."
The approval in his voice sent an unexpected warmth through my chest. "So what makes this different from what mortals do?"
"Scale and permanence, mostly. Along with access to magical materials that simply don't exist in Elaren.
A mortal might create a healing salve that works for a few days.
With proper alchemical techniques, you can create something that lasts indefinitely.
" He began arranging ingredients. "The more powerful the alchemist, the more dramatic the results. "
"You seem to know a lot about this."
"I do." No false modesty there. "I've been studying alchemy since I was a child. My father has extensive texts on the subject."
His tone made me curious. "You sound like you spent a lot of time in those libraries."
"More than was probably healthy." A shadow crossed his face. "But books don't share the judgement of the living."
I remembered what Aelix had told me. "I'd imagine it was difficult for you growing up in Voldaris. Half mortal, half Aesymar."
Xül was quiet for a long moment, his hands stilling over the ingredients. "Too powerful for one world, not powerful enough for the other."
"That sounds lonely," I finally said.
He resumed his preparations. "Knowledge was the one thing I could control."
I wanted to ask more, to understand this glimpse of vulnerability he was showing me. But his rigid stance warned me not to push. Instead, I watched as he began measuring out ingredients into small glass plates.
"Measurement is crucial," he said, apparently deciding we'd shared enough personal history for one moment.
"Too little of an ingredient and the reaction won't complete.
Too much and you risk blowing yourself up.
Let's try and avoid that." He handed me a set of scales that looked far more complex than anything I'd ever used.
"The base of any ward is the combination of salt and metal. For this, you should use four parts iron shavings to one part salt.”
I measured carefully, hyper aware of his presence as he guided me through each step.
"This specific iron comes from weapons forged in the Primordial age," Xül explained as I worked. "It holds traces of the energy that flowed through it back then. That's what makes it such an effective conductor."
"And the salt?"
"Each domain has its own variant." He held up a vial of small iridescent crystals. “These are tears. distilled and dried over centuries."
I paused in my measuring. "You're serious?"
"Grief is one of the purest emotions. When crystallized properly, it creates an exceptionally strong alchemical component." He noticed my expression and amusement flickered across his features. "Don't look so disturbed."
"Do you collect them yourself?" I quipped. "I'm sure you're an expert at making people cry. "
"I'm not above getting my hands dirty when I need to." He flashed me that wicked grin.
"Noted." I turned around, hiding the smile tugging at my lips. No. I was not doing this again—letting his sharp wit and that infuriating grin chip away at my better judgment. I took a steadying breath and turned back to him.
He reached for two more vials. "The second part of creating a ward is deciding what its purpose is. Natural ingredients—herbs, roots, oils, resins—they all hold certain properties that mirror your intent.” He sat them down in front of me. “These are greystone moss and blackroot."
The first contained what looked like silvery threads, almost metallic in appearance.
"The moss grows on cliff faces where birds nest. It feeds on the decay that seeps into the rock.
Even approaching it is nauseating. The stench alone keeps most creatures away, which is why it's the strongest repulsion agent in the region.
"And the blackroot?" I asked, examining the second vial filled with dark powder.
"Grows deep in the mountain caves, where the roots can reach the domain's core." He measured out a small portion. "Takes decades to mature properly. The powder acts as a stabilizer—keeps the other components from reacting too violently with each other."
"So it keeps things stable," I said, measuring out my own portion. "Maybe I should sprinkle some on you."
"I'm perfectly stable, thank you. It's everyone else who seems to have issues with volatility."
"Right. Do you practice being this insufferable, or does it come naturally?"
"Natural talent." He moved closer, ostensibly to check my measurements. "And it serves me well. I find you far more entertaining when you're irritated."
"Entertaining," I repeated dryly. "Every girl's dream."
"I could think of other words." His voice dropped lower as he reached around me for another vial, arm brushing against my waist, but then he paused, as if he were waiting, or listening.
He didn't step back. Instead, he turned to face me fully, close enough that I had to tilt my head up to meet his eyes.
"You know what I think?" His voice was soft, dangerous. "I think you enjoy this more than you let on."
"The alchemy?"
"You're drawn to the darkness, starling." His gaze swept down, then back up. "Your body always reacts when I get too close."
"That's quite an imagination of yours, princeling." I knew I was blushing, and that made it worse.
"Is it?" He placed his hands down on either side of me, trapping me against the table. "Your pulse says otherwise."
"Perhaps it's responding to being in the presence of a complete jackass." I smiled sweetly, trying to push out of his restraint. He was too close. Far too close.
But he didn't budge, he simply looked down at me with satisfaction.
"Perhaps," he echoed, eyes boring into mine for a beat longer before he moved, returning to his measurements. I let out a quiet, low exhale, trying to cool my flushed cheeks.
“You know, most mortals would cower being that close to me,” he said. “I find your indifference intriguing.”
I opened my mouth to speak but caught myself. Was all of this some kind of test I couldn’t comprehend? Was he baiting me?
Xül picked up the crucible, and I remembered where we were—what we were doing. "Now we heat this." His voice had drifted back to that calculated tone, as if the last few minutes were already forgotten.
“For how long?” I managed, still shaking off nerves.
He gestured to what looked like a miniature forge, its flames burning without any visible fuel. "Until it reaches exactly the right color."