Chapter 24
My Dearest Amber,
I lack adequate words to express my disappointment at being unable to see you this weekend, and I can only hope that Martyn’s attendance in my place is a comfort.
I suspect, given your fondness for each other, that you might even find his company preferable to mine.
I hope with this correspondence to convey all of the heartfelt platitudes I am not there to deliver in person. And in that endeavor…
I keep thinking about how lovely your hair looked in plaits when I visited, not only for its beauty but also because I’m certain your mother would be delighted by your traditional Lysean braids.
I imagine your bedchamber is neatly kept, to your credit, and I hope that you remember to eat at least twice a day.
I trust that you’re enjoying the company of your friends, unless they are foolish enough to decline, in which case the loss is entirely theirs, and I trust that they will eventually come to that conclusion on their own.
The other day, as I was leaving work for the evening, a crowd had gathered on the edge of the construction site to admire our work.
There was among their number a small child sitting in the dirt, drawing with his finger in the sand, and I was reminded of the child you were many years ago.
You spent one spring dedicated to tracing various shapes in the dirt of your mother’s garden, quite heedless, on occasion, of seeds she’d sown.
I remember thinking, as I watched you, that several of your forms resembled notation you’d seen in my masonry sketches.
I had hoped, for a while, that you might follow in my footsteps.
But I will admit to a different kind of nostalgic pleasure in knowing that a bit of your mother lives on in you instead.
She would be just as proud of you as I am.
Love always,
Your father, Cornelius Fallbrook
Alchemary Island was quiet in the absence of visitors. The quadrangle felt virtually barren, without all the booths and stalls. Without the vendors and alchemy-themed diversions.
It had taken two days to clean up from the festival, but Mastery students had been exempt from the effort; we were expected to turn our attention to the Black Trial, now that it loomed just days away. The tension—the fear—was palpable.
Martyn hadn’t said a word about it before he’d left, but he had squeezed my hands, then my shoulders, and he’d whispered into my ear a plea to make wise choices. Not to put myself into unnecessary danger.
But danger, I was coming to understand, was usually necessary.
The incident at the festival hadn’t helped.
The woman who’d become an aurum was being well cared for in the infirmary, in isolation, according to reports from Alchemary administration.
But the fact that someone had come down with the mysterious malady on our campus, during the family festival, less than a week from the first trial…
The research staff in particular seemed bowed beneath the expectation.
The pressure from the public—from the Crown—to identify the illness and develop a cure was intense.
And since no one on our campus had any real faith in the Alkahest Institute—our rival alchemy academy—that duty seemed to rest primarily on the Alchemary’s collective shoulders.
For my Mastery cohort, the appearance of an aurum on campus drove home the importance of the career we’d chosen, as well as the slim chances any one of us had of being selected to practice alchemy at the highest level.
The Black Trial represented the first step in winnowing down our cohort, and we each had a different way of dealing with that pressure.
Yoslyn Savva had taken to burning astringent-smelling incense in her room. Clouds of it occasionally wafted up the stairs to my landing, and oddly, I found that if I stepped out and inhaled them…I often felt better, at least for a bit.
Keryth and Lennox practically moved into the student lab, working through most of the night, much to Wilder’s irritation, and even taking naps on the floor, bundled in blankets brought from their rooms.
Petyr, Adria, and Gavin studied in the student library, their heads ducked low over books of various poisons and remedies. Pryce and Cressa ignored everyone and everything, including the general sense of tension, as far as I could tell. And Wilder…
I caught him looking at me several times during class, and twice his arm appeared to intentionally brush mine at our shared table. But he seemed loathe to break my concentration by addressing our interpersonal concerns, so close to the first trial.
I found myself both relieved and frustrated by that development. I desperately needed the time to study. And yet, given everything that was going on, I certainly could have used a hug from a true friend.
“How long have Wilder and I been a couple?” I asked as I dipped my quill into an inkpot set into a divot at the corner of my workstation.
Desmond made a sound as if something had caught in his throat, and I looked up to find him staring at me from a table across the room, brows furrowed severely. “Pardon?”
I drew a tick mark beside the last task on my list, confirming that I’d performed the entire experiment and had recorded my findings.
They were going faster now that I’d gained a modicum of experience, and my familiarity with both the laboratory and the equipment had developed very quickly. “I said, how long have—”
“I understood the question,” Desmond snapped. “What I do not understand is why you posed it.”
I tilted my head, displaying my confusion. “You said I could ask you about anything I don’t yet understand. In fact, you encouraged that very process.”
Desmond scowled at the journal open in front of him, where I knew there would be a meticulous record of his own accomplishments for the evening. “I meant that you could ask me about alchemy.”
“Well then, you should have been more specific. The reality is that you made an open-ended offer, and I am availing myself of it.”
He looked up again, and I could feel his gaze as I carried my equipment to the cleaning station. “Semantics,” he mumbled.
“Precision,” I corrected. “You’ve taught me that precise expression is crucial in alchemy, for accurate recordkeeping, and—”
“This is not alchemy. This is literally semantics.” His grip on his quill was tight enough to strain the very structure of the tool. “You’re asking about your private life, and—”
“Alchemy is life. You taught me that as well. And that, in a literal if esoteric way, life is alchemy.”
He set his quill on the work surface and crossed his arms over the front of his laboratory apron. “Would you like it if I held you to the very letter of every word you said?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “I think I should quite enjoy that. Of course, I’m generally more specific in my word choice than you are, but even in cases where an excited utterance fails me, being held to my word would no doubt teach me to be more careful the next time.”
His dyspeptic gaze felt like glowing coals deposited directly into my bare hands. “I cannot tell whether or not you jest.”
The truth was that I couldn’t either. Needling him had become a rather amusing diversion from tidying up my workstations, independent of my original question.
“Why?” I struggled not to smile at his consternation. “Is that an activity we engaged in before? Did we jest with each other? Or was it terribly austere, all those hours alone together in your lab?”
Desmond turned away from me and began gathering his used supplies. “I do not care for this line of questioning.”
I laughed, and I could swear he flinched. Which only made me laugh harder.
“Then I shall have mercy on you,” I finally relented. “If you answer my original question. How long have Wilder and I been a couple?”
He sighed, copper-eyed focus burning into me. “Why do you ask?”
I had no interest in answering his question, but turnabout, evidently, was fair play. “Your brother and I have been embroiled in a lovers’ spat for the better part of a week.”
Desmond’s expression soured. “I sincerely doubt that, considering the two of you are not lovers.”
Fire blazed behind my cheeks. The more confused I felt, the faster I talked.
“First of all, ‘lovers’ spat’ is merely an artful turn of phrase, and thus exempt from the precise language stipulation.
Second…it’s none of your business whether or not your brother and I are literally lovers.
Though we are not, given that I cannot remember the onset or development of our affair, and that he would never pursue something I could not—”
“He most certainly would,” Desmond grumbled softly, and a private little shiver slithered up my spine.
“Just answer the question. How long have Wilder and I been a couple?”
Desmond turned to face me, and for a second, I worried for the beakers he held in each hand because of how fiercely he was gripping them.
“It is my understanding that you and Wilder are not now, nor have you ever been, a couple. Defined as ‘in a committed—or at least acknowledged—amorous relationship.’ ”
“I—” I gave my head a little shake, as if that would jar loose the proper words. “But he said…”
Had he, though? Had Wilder actually said we were together? I’d certainly asked, but he was just as skilled at avoiding the question as his brother was.
“Why on earth would he have been in my bed if we are not a couple?” I demanded softly, unsure whether I was asking Desmond or myself.
His grip on the beakers finally loosened. “I would also be interested in the answer to that question.”
“You would—” Aggravation burned along my veins. “Could you possibly, just this once, give me a straight answer? Or tell me what you know, at least?”