Locking the door behind him, he headed to his workbench, already stained from just a couple days’ work. He began to crush faerie moth wings in preparation for his next creation, laboring efficiently and humming softy with no one to complain about it. The amulet around his neck swayed across his chest with every thump of the pestle. When thoroughly ground, he divided the bounty into tiny piles. Using a funnel, he carefully poured an equal amount of base fluid into each vial before adding the glittering dust. With the help of a small pipette, he added a drop of tree toad blood and a pinch of desiccated cliff root before capping each vessel. Once all the small bottles were sealed, he shook each one vigorously, the new Agility potion swirling within. The small flecks of pulverized moth wings disintegrated, coalescing into a shimmering green solution. Depositing them into a canister, he set them on the hearth. Sitting near the heat of the dwindling overnight fire would strengthen the chemicals and render them complete, ready for sale.
Stifling a yawn, Ryris winced as he stretched his back, muscles protesting the movement. As he poured a glass of water, he reminded himself to keep from hunching so much. Leafing through his journal as he slowly drank, he located the next recipe he would need. He decided it was time for some fun. The sun had set, shrouding the store in darkness. Ryris turned the flame on his lamp all the way up, bathing the work area in glaring brilliance.
Lighting a small burner under a ceramic crucible, he waited for the intense flame to warm the underside of the bowl. He grabbed a cloth bandanna from the workbench and fastened it tightly around his nose and mouth, knowing better than to breathe in what he was about to create. As soon as he was satisfied the vessel was sufficiently hot, he poured in his base fluid and thick, black bitter nettle syrup. The liquids immediately bubbled up in a furious boil. Even with the filtering mask over his face, he still coughed at the pungent aroma. Ryris then added his pre-measured archer crab chitin and shimmerwort, and the tincture thinned out with a glorious fan of sparks crackling above the bowl. When the mist hovering over the pot dissipated, Ryris stirred the mixture for a moment before dropping in three slimy slinker worms, which were immediately consumed in a froth of corrosive bubbles. He knew his father would have lost his mind at the stench, and more than likely lecture him about proper ventilation. Fanning his hands in front of his body, he gagged and waited patiently for the excited boiling to subside. After a long moment, the bubbling stopped and he turned off the burner.
He let the mixture cool while he prepped his small, custom-made vials. Hand-blown from frosted blue glass, he took a moment to admire their beauty. His father had never splurged for such fancy containers back in Blackthorne, but Ryris decided this potion—his very own Night Vision creation—deserved a vessel that would make it stand out on the shelves. This was Keld. Nobility would be shopping here, and they certainly didn’t want anything ordinary.
Noticing a thin, oily film floating on top of the liquid, Ryris carefully dabbed a clean cloth into the solution, sopping up the offending substance. Satisfied it was gone; he dipped a small spoon into the red tincture to sample his creation. The potion tingled on his tongue, a bitter taste lingering for a few seconds after he swallowed.
Even from just a fraction of the estimated dose of the mixture, his vision immediately changed. Everything in the room became illuminated by a blue glow, and he had to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness of his lantern. Smiling with pride, he hurriedly turned down his lamp and doused the flames on the hearth, leaving the shop bathed only in the dim lights from the street.
Wanting to test his potion further, he moved toward the cellar door. He traversed the small corridor with ease, not once fumbling in what would otherwise be total darkness. The door to the cellar was old and the young alchemist had to yank quite hard to get it to budge. Tonight that fact didn’t bother him in the least—because he could see without the aid of a candle. The rickety stairs leading to the basement flashed in front of his eyes, burning bright as if he had a lantern in his hands. When he reached the bottom, he marveled at his accomplishment. He could see every shelf, every item clear as day. He smiled broadly in the complete darkness of the windowless cellar, allowing himself an astounded chuckle of pride as he glanced around the room.
“Hot damn!” Ryris’ voice echoed off of the old brick walls.
Moving with ease around the inventory, he picked up a jar of pickled bird’s eggs and read the label with absolutely no difficulty. A ring of blue enveloped every letter on the bottle, the eggs illuminated by a haunting azure glow. Knowing his father had never even attempted a potion for night vision, a wave of unexpected confidence washed over him—he suddenly felt he had no limits.
Unsure of how long the small dose would last, he climbed the stairs two at a time with exuberance he hadn’t felt since he was a child. Not bothering to turn the oil lamp back up, he carefully filled each vial with the liquid, capping the bottles tightly. After he set them all in a sturdy rack to sit overnight, he cleaned his workstation in darkness, the potion assisting him. He scowled when a gloppy blob of leftover ooze from the crucible stuck to his thumb, and he wiped it on his apron with an irritated grumble. Even in the pitch-black, he could see it had already stained his skin. “The life of an alchemist,” he thought. “Stained hands and a filthy apron.”
Suddenly having to squint to see clearly, Ryris realized the potion was beginning to wear off. He begrudgingly lit his lamp again, but left it at the lowest light possible. As he tossed his used equipment into a portable washbasin, he reminded himself to do a proper time test on a full dose before he completed the instruction labels.
Just as he was about to head into the small workshop behind the storefront, he heard a rapping at the front window. He briefly contemplated ignoring it—he was tired and dirty, and probably smelled like burnt emperor’s garlic. But, he had only been in Keld a short time, and didn’t want to gain the unfavorable reputation of being unaccommodating. Ryris grabbed a lamp, even though his vision was still affected by the tincture he had ingested. He figured it would have been strange to answer the door at night without a light to greet his guest.
A small smile crept over his lips as he saw the wrinkled, kind face of the woman from across the street, enveloped in a fading blue glow. She and her wife owned a small flower shop on the corner, but Ryris knew her real talent was baking. The old woman had already spoiled him rotten with daily deliveries of sweet treats and flowers for his kitchen table. She had insisted on the blossoms and even supplied him with a simple vase in which to display them. According to her, even a young bachelor needed flowers to brighten up his home.
He waved to her through the window, and she raised a covered basket into his view. Ryris set his lamp down on a waist-high oak shelf already cluttered with bottles, and unlocked the double bolts holding the door closed. As he opened it, a rush of warm night air blew in, ruffling his shaggy brown hair. The flame within his lamp danced on the air current.
“Good evening, Mrs. Briarheart.”
She placed the basket in his hands and uncovered the contents. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you, Mr. Bren. Too busy to take a lunch break, are we?”
Ryris looked down at the bounty she had presented to him. Fresh biscuits—still warm—and a small jar of honey to slather on top. Nestled beside them were a crock of chowder, a rosy apple, and a generous serving of sugar cookies. She had even included an embroidered linen napkin. It definitely felt nice to be looked after by a doting elderly lady.
“Now, don’t you go eating those cookies first, you hear me?” She pinched his arm lovingly. “And make sure you finish everything, you could use a little more meat on those bones.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He motioned into the dimly lit shop. “Would you like to come in? I can make some tea.”
She dismissively waved her hands in front of her body. “No…you go on ahead and enjoy your meal in peace. It’s getting late, and even a handsome young man such as yourself needs a good night’s rest.”
The old woman
was right—he did just want to eat and go to sleep. He had been going non-stop since dawn, and didn’t really want to admit he had no idea what time it was. He smiled wanly and sighed. “I am tired.”
She leaned forward and scrutinized his face in the low light of the lamp. “Your eyes don’t look right, son. I think you need sleep more than you realize.”
Ryris furrowed his brows confusedly, then wondered if his potion did more than just give him night vision. Suddenly in a hurry to inspect his eyes for himself, he politely thanked his guest for the meal and bid her farewell. She patted his arm and tottered back across the street. He made sure she was safely inside her business before closing and locking his own door.
Forgetting about the dirty equipment in the washbasin, he cast his apron haphazardly on the counter. He rushed upstairs, relying more and more on the light of the lamp. He set his goodie basket and journal down on his old wooden kitchen table and ran into the small washroom. Turning the light of the lamp up as high as it would go, he leaned close into the mirror and pulled down on his right eye, exposing the white and iris completely. Mrs. Briarheart had most certainly been correct—his eyes didn’t look right. He was thankful she wasn’t able to see clearly in the darkness, because she would have very well shrieked at their appearance.
“You idiot…” The young alchemist’s voice was low and irritated as he berated himself. “How could you have been so stupid?”
The whites of Ryris’ eyes were stained a pale blue, the brown irises cloudy. He blinked rapidly several times, in an attempt to dissipate the effect. He scowled when there was no change in their appearance. Suddenly very nervous his eyes would remain like this forever, he found himself thankful Maxx was nowhere in sight. Surely the older man would scold him for carelessness. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and blew it out as calmly as he could while he tried to figure out his next course of action. Without knowing what his eyes looked like in the first minutes of exposure, there was no way to compare it to his current situation. He left his eyes closed for a long moment while he thought. Leaning back against the wall, he tried to convince himself that it might not be bad to have stained eyes for the rest of his life—it would be a fantastic icebreaker in conversations.
When he opened his eyes again, the glass bell of the lamp had just a small trace of the blue halo around it, and it made Ryris feel more at ease. The potion was definitely wearing off. Cautiously leaning forward once again, he peered at himself in the warped mirror. He didn’t know if he was imagining it, but it seemed as if the color was fading and his irises were clearing once again.
Deciding to return to the kitchen and eat his meal, he assured himself that it was a minor setback with temporary side effects. He briefly contemplated putting on a kettle for tea, but when he caught a glimpse of the cuckoo clock on the wall, he realized that such a beverage at half-past nine wouldn’t be the smartest. Then again, he obviously wasn’t big on intelligent ideas that evening, since his eyes were currently tinted blue. Settling on a glass of cool water, he unpacked the basket his friend had prepared.
On her orders, he ate the chowder and biscuits first, setting one aside along with the apple for his breakfast. He scribbled in his journal as he ate, making note of the incident with his eyes. Halfway through the meal, he jogged back to the tiny bathroom to check on the progress of his unexpected symptoms—and was relieved to see that the effects had faded completely.
Finishing the last bit of the incredible chowder, he quickly scratched down the rest of his notes before washing up. He grabbed two cookies from the basket and headed to his humble bedroom with a huge yawn.
Ryris sat down on his bed with a tired sigh and kicked off his boots. They clattered to the floor as he stretched his arms over his head. Shoving one cookie in his mouth, he began to unbutton his shirt with tired, stained fingers. His fingertips ghosted over the silver chain of his amulet, then instinctively went to the bauble, running across the smooth surface of the inlaid cabochon. Throwing his shirt haphazardly to the floor, he suddenly felt too tired to finish changing into his nightclothes.
A warm breeze blew in through the open window, fluttering the simple, thin curtains. The faint aroma of the sea air from the harbor tickled his nostrils. Taking one last look at the palace in the distance before retiring, Ryris blew out the lamp and flopped down onto his bed in an exhausted heap. Light from the moon high above filtered in, illuminating the now dark room.
As he allowed his eyes to flutter closed, Ryris’ thoughts went to his father and Blackthorne. In several hours’ time, dawn would break in the village. The lumberjacks would be heading out into the forests, ready to harvest the sought-after tandlewood contained within. He could almost hear the babble of the stream that ran through town—the beginnings of what would become the powerful Whispering River further south—and smiled as he wondered if Grildi had thrown anyone in lately.
Sighing contentedly in the darkness, he let sleep blissfully overtake him.
CHAPTER FIVE
His and Her Royal Highness joyously announce the birth of their son and heir to the throne, Prince Roann Artol Welland Vrelin, on the 62nd day of the Summer Season, in the year of the Goddess 724.
--Royal birth announcement sent to the people of Keld
“Pardon me, Your Highness, but the Dean of Whitehaven is here to see you. He said it’s urgent.”
The regal young man looked up from his desk, littered with papers and books. He knew what his visitor wanted, and he wasn’t particularly in the mood to squabble. But, he had a duty to his people as their prince to listen to their pleas, whether they arrived announced or not. Setting aside his quill pen to pinch the bridge of his nose in irritation, he motioned toward the door with a tired smile.
“Send him in.”
His attendant bowed and went to fetch the guest. Moments later, the grand door opened again, producing a short, portly man. He huffed as he walked, obviously exhausted by the climb to the prince’s office. His cheeks were flushed red, beads of sweat dripping down his face and into his black beard. He held a large leather briefcase in his hand, embroidered with the crest of the university. His shoulders slumped and the tote dragged on the ground as he approached.
The prince stood out of respect, and extended a hand toward a chair in front of his desk. “Please sit, Dean Ebbersley. Would you like a glass of water?”
“No thank you, Your Highness. Just a moment to catch my breath.” He coughed into his hand, then wiped it on his pants. The prince furrowed his brows with a wince and sat once again.
“Prince Roann, thank you for taking the time out of your very busy schedule to meet with me.” The man dropped his satchel in front of the massive tandlewood desk as he sat, blowing out a huge relieved bellow of air. He wiped his forehead with a lace handkerchief as he spoke. “How is your father these days?”
“As well as can be expected for a man in his condition, Josef. Thank you for asking.”
“It’s so wonderful that we have such a caring prince, who is willing to devote his life to the affairs of state while his father recovers. You are truly a saint.”
“Far from it, Dean Ebbersley. Now, what is it you wish to speak to me about?” Roann tried not to grumble with irritation at the man’s obvious attempt to suck up to him.
“Straight to the point, that’s what I like about you, Sire.” He reached for his briefcase, and removed several rolls of papers. The parchment shimmered in the bright sunlight beaming in through the grand fifteen-foot windows behind the prince. “I’ve come to discuss the university expansion—again.”
The prince sighed. He thought as much when his attendant had announced Ebbersley. “Dean, with all due respect, we’ve already had this conversation.”
“Yes, I know, Your Grace. But…” He stood and unrolled one of the documents, raising his eyebrows hopefully at the prince as he motioned to the desktop. Roann begrudgingly cleared a space. “…you see here that we’ve drawn up new plans that we hope will work for everyone involv
ed. We have found a new site that may solve our housing conundrum. It is much smaller than the original parcel we were hoping to use.” He pointed to a spot on the layout.
Prince Roann leaned forward in his chair to get a better look, a loose strand of his long blonde hair not pulled back falling into his eyes. He brushed it aside. After a long moment studying the plans, he sat back with a frown. “This would still displace dozens of people and businesses.”
“Yes, Your Highness, but please hear me out.” Ebbersley sat down again, the chair creaking under his weight. “Fewer citizens would be inconvenienced with this new construction plan than with our previous proposal.”
“Inconvenienced? If even one of my subjects loses their home or their livelihood due to your venture, it’s unacceptable.” Roann twirled his signet ring around on his finger with his thumb. The sunlight glinted off the central stone with every revolution, reflecting onto the walls and ceiling.
Ebbersley scowled as he shifted his body uncomfortably in his seat. “Our enrollment numbers are falling because we do not have adequate housing for new arrivals. More and more students are choosing to reside at the university well into their graduate work. If we don’t have new enrollees, we have far less income.”
“Your campus is sprawling, you have plenty of open space. Repurpose some of it. Build up, not out.”
Ebbersley scoffed. “Our gardens and common areas are the pride of our university. We couldn’t possibly tarnish the beauty of our land with more buildings.”
“And so you propose to ‘tarnish’ Keld instead? The area you want to destroy is filled with historic buildings. One even dates back to the Old War.” The prince was growing increasingly irritated. He had actual official state business to take care of, and didn’t have the time to scold the persistent dean. Roann sighed exasperatedly. “There have to be other options that don’t involve razing subdivisions. What about encouraging the older students to move on? Give them some sort of incentive to relocate off-campus.” The prince stared his visitor down. “I will not put my people out on the street.”
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