Alchemy

by Camille Oster

  “He knows exactly where I stand. I am no threat to him.”

  “He is not willing to bank on your assurances. Don’t you understand that he is serious about taking the crown? He needs to be stopped, or he will be just as bad as Raufasger.”

  “But you won’t?”

  He looked disappointed with her lack of faith in him. But his assurances had confirmed that he was still pitting himself against Wierstoke. He wanted the throne just as badly, and now he was getting her out of the way.

  Chapter 31

  Lorcan Manor was quite far away and they had ridden for hours in silence. At no point did they stop, and fighting him to jump out of a moving carriage was out of the question. If she didn’t have a child inside her, it might be a different story, but his highhandedness was not worth losing her child over.

  Still, she refused to take his hand when they pulled up at the entrance of his large, stone manor. They were miles from anywhere, and she wouldn’t have the energy to run anywhere. He had her at a weakened state—a state he was essentially responsible for.

  “I hate you,” she said, knowing it was utterly childish, but she hated him all the same. All she saw around her was acres and acres of fields. It was miles to any road that was traveled by anyone, and she hadn’t seen another vehicle on the roads for long before that. There was nowhere for her to go—unless she stole a horse. Sadly, she wasn’t really in a fit state to ride. Still, she would find a way. This was not something she would stand for.

  He led her up the steps to the main entrance, walking them into a high-ceilinged hall. A sweeping staircase led upstairs, but he took her through to a parlor, ordering tea from a servant. A warm fire burned in the grate and Ashra moved to it. Even with her coat, the journey had chilled her.

  The room was fine, with heavy, mahogany furniture and rich tapestries. As much as she objected to being here, she couldn’t fight her curiosity. In some way, he looked right at home amongst the sumptuous décor. Everything was old and used, not the new, ever-changing décor at the citadel.

  Aged paintings hung on the walls, of scenery and ancestors. She’d always known his family was old. They had highlighted that enough in the old days.

  A servant entered with a silver tea service. “Come, warm yourself,” he said, sitting down.

  She wanted to argue just for the sake of it, but she would be spiting herself in order to spite him. There was a limit to how childish she was willing to be.

  “It is completely wrong what you are doing,” she said as she sat down.

  “Yes, probably, but necessary. You are too much of an idealist.”

  Perhaps she couldn’t argue the accusation. “If we don’t have ideals, we never get anywhere.”

  “And maybe your ideas are right, the best thought out of all of them, but we are in a position of retrenchment. It is time for survival, not ideals. And I am not willing to sacrifice you.”

  She couldn’t look him in the eye as he sought hers. There was something very uncomfortable in what he was saying. “You don’t trust me.”

  “I don’t trust others, and perhaps not your judgment.”

  “So you intend to keep me prisoner here.”

  “You will have free use of the house and grounds,” he said, preparing a cup for her. “The house is well guarded, placing you out of reach of anyone who wishes to harm you.”

  “And keeping me inside.”

  “I want you to understand that I think this is necessary. There is no pulling back from where we’ve gotten to.”

  “Again, you don’t have the right to make decisions for me.”

  “We can change that. You could make it my right.” He was basically asking her to marry him. As if she would under point of duress, while he had her captive in his manor. Really? How could he think this would persuade her to accept?

  “Absolutely not.”

  He sighed and placed her cup on her side of the table, continuing to prepare his own. She had never seen him do something so menial as prepare a cup of tea before.

  “Did Amethyst ever live here?” she asked.

  “Only when she was banished. She hated it here. Country life never suited her, but it did you, at one point.”

  She couldn’t argue that. She had been very happy. The world and all its troubles had seemed so far away, but she had been deluding herself. Torunn had been complicit, keeping everything away from her. Just because you ignored all the problems in the world, didn’t mean they didn’t exist. And she had done nothing to help, had even been selfish to think they could lock themselves away and not think about it.

  “There was a certain selfishness in that happiness,” she said, giving into the teacup enticing her. It was warm and flavorful as she put it to her mouth.

  “You will not allow yourself happiness. Why is it that you must take on the problems of the world?”

  “Because I am in the position to.”

  “You accused me once of refusing to be happy,” he said. “Being too occupied to allow myself happiness. The same could be said for you.”

  Ashra didn’t have a response. “Kidnapping is usually not a part of the equation of happiness.”

  “It is an enormous weight off my mind having you here. Like it or not, I must protect you.”

  “Not your role.”

  “You are carrying my child. There is little you can say to convince me it is not. You may not like the fact that the child in your belly is mine, but that doesn’t change the fact that it is. And if I must fight you to protect it, then I will—and that includes you.”

  “You have so little faith in me.”

  He sighed and leaned back. “I can’t afford to take chances with this.”

  With his heir.

  “Things are going to get worse,” he said with all seriousness, seeking her eyes again. “I know you want rationality to override, but it won’t. We are not the rational creatures you wish us to be.”

  This conversation and all this anger at what he’d just done were draining her of energy. It had been a long journey and physically, it had taken a toll. For now, the fight was seeping out of her.

  “You are tired,” he said.

  What was the point of arguing? “Yes.”

  “Then I will show you to your room. The maid will bring you something to eat.”

  He rose and waited for her to join him. Her feet ached and she didn’t want to stand, nor be away from the fire, but she couldn’t very well sleep down here. Tiredness was taking over more and more of her consciousness, leaving her anger and irritation impotent.

  They walked up the beautiful staircase. Lorcan Manor was a dark house, torches in sconces along the hallways. This was obviously a house that they had owned before the invasion. Ashra wasn’t exactly sure what part of the country they were in, but it had to be traditional Naufren lands.

  “Your room is next to mine,” he said as they reached a door. It opened to a lit room that had obviously been prepared for her. A fire had warmed it and it smelled fresh as if it had been thoroughly aired.

  “How long have you planned this?”

  “Exactly from when Fronsac lay bloodied and dead on the ground.”

  “Do you know who killed him?”

  “It wasn’t me,” he said, giving her a pointed look as if he expected she’d suspected him. Ashra blushed, wondering at the lack of faith he must think she had in him. Then again, her lack of faith was justified. He was still an ambitious schemer, who had kidnapped her to stow away in his lair.

  “I am right next door if you need anything,” he said, leaning on the doorjamb. “There are clothes in the wardrobe.”

  “Amethyst’s?”

  “Frankly, I don’t know. This wasn’t her room. We both preferred more distance between us. Her room was in the east wing somewhere.”

  “You really did negotiate yourself the most horrendous marriage.”

  “Yes, well, live and learn. I might not get a lot right, in that regard, but I have learned a valuable lesson and seek
to be much smarter with the next one.” A smile tugged at his lips and then he sobered as his eyes traveled down to her belly. “I never thanked you.”

  “For what?”

  “For seducing me.”

  “I didn’t seduce you. You seduced me.”

  “We seduced each other.” His eyes were back to hers. “Sparring with you has been the most fun I have ever had.”

  Ashra frowned. She hated it when he talked like this, because it did tug on her heart, something she couldn’t afford. Was he manipulating her? He had been working to figure out how from the moment she’d met him.

  “Goodnight, Ashra Trien,” he said and closed the door. He used her birth name. Somehow that felt like a deeper level of familiarity, as if he wanted to learn who she’d been before Torunn.

  She listened for the slide of a lock, but didn’t hear it. He wasn’t locking her in. As she had noted before, there was nowhere for her to go. The horses were probably well guarded if her door wasn’t. And if she left, he would hear her, being right next door, as he was.

  Ashra turned and stared at the room for a moment. She certainly hadn’t expected to end up here when she’d woken that morning. Lorcan had come in and appropriated her life and will. But she couldn’t think about it anymore; she needed sleep and started to undress. Practical matters outweighed emotional ones.

  A brick had been placed in the bed, making it warm as she slipped under the covers. When she was rested in the morning, she would be back on the attack. For now, she just had to let things go, because her body needed sleep.

  Chapter 32

  Ashra slept and slept, well beyond what she normally would. Tiredness still had claim on her body and it wasn’t until now, when there was no immediate threat or issues to deal with that she realized just how exhausted she was. The baby moved inside her belly, sometimes waking her. It made her smile. With all the awfulness going on, there was still new life in her belly. How could that be anything other than sheer joy?

  In the space of this guest room, she could let the outside world fade away for a while. There had been too much happening, too many distractions, and she felt guilty because there had been times when she’d forgotten the baby growing in her belly. What a terrible thing to consider. But fundamentally, everything she’d done was to create a better future for her children. At no point did she want them to bow down to some all-powerful ruler who made them dance to his tune at the point of harm. That was worth fighting for, even if it didn’t allow her to revel in this pregnancy like she had the first.

  With a soft hand, she stroked her bump. Considering its father, this child was going to be a handful. These children had to be protected—all children had to be protected. It broke her heart to think there were hungry children out there, malnourished for lack of food. How could Raufasger have been so cruel and heartless? She would never understand.

  Rising from the bed, she made her way to the window and looked out. The weather made the morning dark, the relentless clouds like a thick blanket. It would rain later, and she would be warm and safe inside this room. Wood burned in the grate, crackling every once in a while. There was enough stored next to the fireplace to keep her warm for two days.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lorcan appear down in the yard, walking toward one of the outhouses, probably used to store farm equipment. A man met him, a farm manager if she would guess. Lorcan had been away from his estate for quite a while, and she could imagine there were a million things needing his attention.

  Two horses were led out by a groom, and Lorcan and his companion mounted. They were off somewhere to survey or repair, or whatever he was needed for. These were things she should be doing for her own estate, not languishing in a warm room.

  With a sigh, Ashra drew away from the window. For now, they would not be continuing their battle. In the meantime, she would indulge in these stolen moments between her and her baby. It felt stolen, as if she didn’t have the right to simply be here doing nothing.

  What she needed to do was actually deal with this situation, with Lorcan. This had to stop. She couldn’t afford to hide away at this point. They couldn’t just give up, pack up and leave the citadel. This very moment, the whole nation was in crisis. Lorcan was being the selfish one, even if he was right that the citadel was becoming more dangerous.

  His rooms were right next door, he had said—where he undressed and slept. She had seen him in that state before, when he’d been injured and bedridden—vulnerable. How was it she had learned so much about him, and still knew so little?

  Her door wasn’t locked when she tested it. He hadn’t come along while she’d slept and locked her in. Walking down the hall, she tested the next door and it turned in her hand. It seemed he didn’t lock his either. For a man of calculation and mystery, he didn’t seem to protect his secrets so well when at home.

  The door swung open to a large room, decorated in dark colors. It was colder than hers, the fire dying in the grate. The bed was unmade, the white sheets rumpled. A rush of something flowed through her at the thought—him lost in sleep, those very searching and intense eyes closed.

  Looking around, she saw things strewn across a table and a desk. These things all had some meaning or use to him, the artifacts of his life. Was he different here at his estate from what he was at the citadel? She was fairly certain Torunn had been. The Torunn she had known would not have been at all like he’d been at the citadel, where he would have been harder, more assertive—maybe even ruthless. She had never seen that part of him.

  She shouldn’t be here. It was an invasion of Roisen’s privacy, a place she didn’t belong. Silently, she slipped out and closed the door, as if the room might note her presence and inform on her. For some reason, she didn’t want him to know about her curiosity. She shouldn’t be curious about him. He’d just kidnapped her and was keeping her prisoner in his house, like some fairytale ogre.

  Dressed properly, she went downstairs, exploring the large house. It spoke of longstanding traditions. The lack of an heir took on a new quality here, where he wasn’t simply Lorcan, but the steward of a long and proud family history. He wanted the child to carry that mantle.

  The things in this house showed that they had consistently come from wealth. There were no farm hands making up parts of this family. None of the women in these portraits would ever have had the rough hands she’d had when she’d met Torunn Greve. Probably like Roisen, the Lorcans married for advantage, not because they fell in love with some inappropriate farm girl.

  *

  The sun set and darkness grew outside. Ashra hadn’t bothered lighting a candle and the fire cast shadows across the walls. She heard Lorcan arrive home, heard his voice carried on the wind as he handed out orders.

  She heard his footsteps in the hall outside her room, then quietened as he retreated into his own room.

  Ashra lay on the bed with a book resting beside her. The weight of her belly was now too uncomfortable for lying on her back. These last few months were going to be uncomfortable.

  A knock on the door pierced through her room and she pushed herself off the bed, still wearing the only dress in the wardrobe that would accommodate her shape.

  He stood leaning on the door frame as she opened the door, his hair wet. He’d washed quickly, maybe even bathed. “Supper is about to be served.” Holding his arm for her, he waited.

  She didn’t want to take it. “I am still here under protest.”

  “Duly noted,” he said and followed as she walked ahead. As annoyed as she was, she couldn’t escape the fact that she was famished. Being pregnant didn’t lend itself toward skipping meals, no matter how justified the reason.

  In her exploration, she knew where the dining hall was. It was a large room with dark mahogany furniture. A fire kept the room warm, though. Their place settings were on opposite sides of the table, hers placed where the lady of the house should sit. What was he trying to say, she wondered.

  Service began the moment they sat down
and the first course was presented. Ashra said no to the claret. The baby had ruined her taste for wine.

  “How long are you planning on keeping me here?” she said, looking down the table at him pointedly.

  “As long as I must.”

  “You will, of course, at some point, be held to account for your actions.”

  “Probably, but you will be alive and so will the child. I will suffer whatever I must to ensure that. Hopefully, in time, you will come to see that I have your best intentions at heart.”

  “You keep saying that. Or is it an excuse to get me out of the way?”

  “Whatever you think of me, and your opinion isn’t necessarily out of line, because I am not a saint and I never will be, but you are in danger. When it comes down to it, Wierstoke will sooner or later decide that he is better off without you, and that I am better off without an heir.”

  “Why do men assume that I will fold and give over the prospects of my family, my children, as the inevitable conclusion? It seems my opinion on this topic has no bearing whatsoever.”

  “Because the fact that this child in my heir is inevitable, even if you will deny it with your dying breath. Even if I cannot bestow my estate to my son, he can still claim it. You seem to overlook that it is in the boy’s best interest to claim the estate. Self-interest does prevail in everything. A mistake you make too often.”

  He did have a point, once the child became of age, the estate was there to claim without her consent if Lorcan set it up that way. It was a significant risk, though. He would be dead and have no certainty that the child would claim, or could even be prevented to claim. “It could be a girl.”

  Lorcan smiled and held the glass of claret to his lips. “Then our firstborn is a girl. A son would be better, of course. There is greater chance his petition would be favored if you insist not to make the claim solid and irrefutable. It is an issue we could keep working on.”