Chapter 11
In sharp contrast to the cold gray and white marble and stark lines of the Conservatory atrium, its ceiling was a graceful wonderland of curves and colors.
Above the staircase, the marble bricks narrowed as they spiraled inward, forming a dramatic shape like the shell of a nautilus.
Set into that spiraling marble framework were a series of brightly colored stained glass scenes, framed by thin strips of lead.
It was stunning. The contrast of cold white planes with boldly pigmented scenes…Of straight lines with elegant curves…It was a feast of divergent colors and textures, none of it visible from the outside or obvious from the first floor. Until one looked up.
In fact, when I’d come to and from the infirmary, the day I’d awoken with amnesia, I hadn’t even glanced at the ceiling.
I turned a slow circle, my mouth agape, my satchel hanging forgotten against my right hip.
Sun shone through the panels at an angle, casting colors upon the curved staircase walls with extravagant, exaggerated proportions, as if the images had been both blurred and stretched by the slant of the light.
The sight lit a fire deep in my soul. An appreciation for beauty beyond what I could express or explain.
I recognized several of the scenes depicted.
The young emperor Eldon courting his beloved Lady Avalona.
Their wedding, with the officiant at the center, the royal couple facing him and the royal witnesses on the edges of the scene.
Lord Calyx, the venerable father of alchemy, stood to his emperor’s left, but the identity of the woman to the new queen’s right had been lost to history long ago.
One panel showed the royal couple on their matching thrones. Another the presentation of their ill-fated only child. And another the tragic queen on her deathbed, mere days after her son’s death.
The spiral-shaped series of images was a timeline of the legendary royal romance, brief though it had been. The choice, like that of the central statue in the quadrangle, might have seemed odd, if not for the fact that it was Emperor Eldon who had commissioned the construction of the Alchemary.
Why not dedicate such a beautiful work of art to his first marriage and fabled love?
“One of the less utilitarian uses of alchemy, to be sure,” a voice said from behind me, and I whirled to find Dr. Winhoof standing in front of the wooden doors, having just emerged from the Panacea wing.
I’d been so caught up in the beauty overhead that I’d heard neither footsteps nor the squeal of hinges.
“But visitors seem to appreciate it,” he continued, casting a fleeting glance upward before his gaze settled on me again.
“Uses of alchemy…?” I pondered softly. But then I understood. “The colors.”
He nodded. “Leaded glass. Though that’s a misnomer, at best. It took more than one hundred different alchemical compounds to create those colors, most either refined or harvested right here on the island, from the forest, from the menagerie, or in a laboratory.
” He made a sad little tsk sound. “It’s beyond me that the project ever found funding, considering that it performs no function. And yet…people still stare.”
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, my gaze straying to the glass again. But then I dragged my attention back to him.
Dr. Winhoof studied me. “How are you feeling? Have you come for a checkup? You aren’t scheduled, but I could probably—”
“Oh, no, thank you, I’m—”
A familiar name caught my eye as I scanned the plaque set into the wall beside the base of the staircase, grasping desperately for an excuse to avoid another examination.
Desmond Gregory, Tier 1 Staff Researcher Apotheosis Division, room 208
“I’m here to see Desmond. Gregory. The researcher,” I added, gesturing aimlessly at the plaque, which was in the shape of a scroll, half rolled on top and bottom. “We’re old friends.”
“Indeed.” Something flickered behind Dr. Winhoof’s professional smile, but it was gone before I could interpret it. “I believe he’s on the second floor.”
“Yes. Thank you,” I said, though amnesia had rendered me forgetful, not illiterate.
I started up the stairs, one hand trailing the stone banister, and I didn’t exhale until I heard the wooden door close again one floor below. Would Dr. Winhoof hear my steps if I went back downstairs and out the front door?
I had dozens of questions about classwork and my research, and Desmond was the person most likely to be able to help me. But he was also the least likely to be willing. And the last thing I wanted was to give him another chance to tell me I didn’t belong at the Alchemary.
Still…maybe I could prey upon his sympathies.
No.
I needed his help, not his sympathy, and the Desmond Gregory I knew—at least the young man he’d once been—could be reasoned with. After all, we respected each other as rational individuals. Or so I’d heard.
Determined, now that I was just steps from his office, I marched down the hall, my heels echoing on yet more marble, my satchel thumping against my hip.
The entire second floor, it turned out, was the Apotheosis division.
I wandered quietly past door after door, reading the names written on slates mounted to the right of each one, but Desmond’s was not on any of them.
Of course, the titles indicated that these lab spaces belonged to senior researchers.
Desmond was a junior researcher, just beginning his second year.
I found his name around a corner at the back of the building.
It was the only one written on its framed slate, though there was space for several more.
I pushed open the heavy wooden door without knocking, bracing myself to see him…
maybe standing at a lab table, wearing goggles and a lab coat.
Maybe seated behind a desk, scribbling notes in a journal.
Instead, I found only an empty outer office, connecting a small suite of workspaces. On one end, the door to a private lab stood open. It appeared, at a glance, to be fully furnished and rather spacious, but empty.
Two other doors also stood open, but those rooms were both empty and sparsely furnished, as if they were not just unoccupied for the moment but entirely vacant. Unassigned.
The last door was closed, and from beyond it, two voices rose in heated conversation. I tiptoed toward the door, drawn, somewhat shamelessly, by the intensity of the discussion.
Desmond was angry with someone.
Shocking.
“—but she wouldn’t listen. She’s insisted on staying. On trying either to ‘jog loose’ her memories, as she calls it, or to relearn alchemy entirely. And the truth is that I wouldn’t put either of them past her. But it isn’t safe for her here.”
My jaw clenched as I pressed my ear to the door, trying to hear more clearly, even as anger burned behind my cheeks.
“This place isn’t safe for anyone,” the second voice said, and I gasped.
Sudden silence echoed from beyond the door, and I took a step back.
Then, fueled by a burst of adrenaline, I threw the door open.
Both men turned to stare at me. Desmond stood at the left side of an empty lab table, jaw firmly set.
The other man ran one hand through his thick silver waves before scruffing it over a neatly trimmed darker gray beard.
His brown eyes found me from the other end of the table, and his patient smile triggered a bolt of irritation deep in my gut.
“Hello, Father.”
“Amber.” If Desmond was surprised to see me, he recovered quickly. “Have a seat.”
“I certainly will not,” I snapped, my hand clenching around the strap of my satchel.
My father chuckled and pulled me into a warm hug, and it took every bit of effort I possessed to resist returning the gesture. When I only stood stiffly in his embrace, he finally let me go and stepped back to study my face.
“Perhaps you can imagine the jolt of fear a father feels when he gets an official correspondence from the institute to which he’s entrusted his daughter, saying that she’s ill, and he should come for her immediately. And perhaps that will cool your temper, just for a moment?”
I rolled my eyes. “You entrusted me to the Alchemary? I’ll admit I cannot remember the circumstances, yet I find that difficult to believe.”
My father blinked, and when he glanced at Desmond, I understood that my response was confirmation of whatever he’d been told.
“I suppose I’m recalling your departure in terms that are a bit generous to my part in everything. But I was hoping, given that we haven’t seen each other in two years, that you might be in an indulgent—perhaps even a nostalgic—mood.”
I could only frown at him, wrapping my arms tighter around my torso until my angry gesture probably looked like I was giving myself a hug. “I haven’t been home in two years?”
“You’ve spent every break here at the Alchemary,” Desmond confirmed, even though I had not been speaking to him. “Studying. Working.”
“Oh!” My father turned toward the table and lifted his bag, a leather satchel he’d been carrying since I was a child. He pulled a wrapped bundle from it. “Martyn sends his love. And a currant loaf.”
At the scent, my mouth betrayed me by watering.
“He remembered how you used to forget to eat while you were studying.”
Desmond made a strange, soft sound at the back of his throat. “She still does that.”
Not that he would know!
“What’s going on here?” I demanded, accepting the wrapped loaf but willing to bend no more.
None of this was Martyn’s fault, and if I could remember being away from him, I’d probably miss him terribly.
My father pulled a folded sheet of parchment from his bag. “I got—”
“A correspondence. So you said. But if you’ve come to take me home, why are you in Desmond Gregory’s office instead of my Dormitory chamber?”
“We were about to go find you,” Desmond said, though—again—I’d not been speaking to him.
“I’m not leaving,” I insisted, my focus still glued to my father.
“As I was just telling him,” Desmond said, and finally I turned on him, exasperated.
“Could you possibly be so kind as to quit this exchange? It does not involve you.”
Desmond’s brow lowered, his copper-brown eyes flashing with irritation. “We’re standing in my private laboratory.”
“I can remedy that.” I tucked the currant loaf under my arm and snatched my father’s bag from the table. “If you wouldn’t mind?” I gestured at the door with his satchel.
My father turned back to Desmond. “It was good to see you again, despite the circumstances. I do hope you’ll keep in touch.”
“Of course. Good day, Mr. Fallbrook.” Desmond took up a position behind a table holding a complicated array of beakers, burners, and piping. “Amber.”
I led my father out of the room and closed the door harder than was truly necessary.
As I marched us toward the stairs, I glared at him. “Why on earth were you wasting your time with Desmond Gregory?”
He chuckled. “My dear, I can only answer that question by returning it to you.”