(eng) Liz Williams by The Poison Master

Author:The Poison Master [Master, The Poison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“She’d box your ears and send you to your room,” Ghairen said, rising. He took his daughter by the arm and marched her through the door. Alivet could hear her protests as they receded down the hallway.

Iraguila Ust leaned across the table and spoke quickly, the words tumbling over one another.

“You must not think poorly of her, it is all feigned to give us a moment alone. I know about the work that you are doing. We must take you to someone who can help you—it is vital that Ghairen should lose his hold over you.”

“I don’t want to help Ghairen any more than I can,” Alivet hissed. “Look, we have to talk. Can you come and see me later? In the alchematorium, or my room?”

“The doors are self-keyed, I—” Iraguila began, but at that point Ghairen stepped into the room, looking ruffled.

“I must apologize,” he said to Alivet, ignoring the governess. “Celana has been a troubled child ever since her mother’s death, and I’m afraid I do not have the time to discipline her myself. That is a task for Semilay.” He glanced at the governess, who once more sat with head bowed, the picture of dreary compliance.

Alivet wanted to ask more about the two younger girls and their mothers, but decided that this, too, was a question for Iraguila Ust. She muttered something noncommittal and turned her attention back to her neglected food. Ust, murmuring an excuse, slipped from the room. Ghairen watched her go without expression. Then he said, as if nothing had happened, “I’m sure you’re eager to return to the alchematorium, Alivet. Shall we go?”

After the meal the dim, vaporous atmosphere of the alchematorium came as a relief. Ghairen perched himself on a high stool by the workbench, the folds of his robes settling around him like dark wings. She could feel him staring at her. Deciding that the best thing to do would be to pretend he wasn’t there, Alivet ignored him and devoted herself instead to a thorough investigation of elemental preparations.

Nothing worked. Whatever she tried, the tabernanthe still fractured and shattered, exploding into wafts of noxious smoke.

By the end of the afternoon, Alivet’s hands were covered with a dozen tiny burns and scratches, but even under the strained circumstances, it was good to be doing what she knew best. Eventually she ran out of ideas and turned to the Poison Master.

“I can’t get a result with this,” she told him impatiently, running her hand over her hair. Her fingers were smudged with ash and there was a burn on the side of her thumb, but these were familiar nuisances.

“You need a break,” Ghairen said at once, all solicitude. “Perhaps you’d like to see the garden?”

“I thought I couldn’t go outside.”

“In this world our gardens are covered, as you saw in the case of the parc-verticale.” Alivet started at this, as though he had somehow managed to penetrate her dreams. Ghairen went on, “My own garden is not nearly so extensive, naturally, but it has attracted much favorable comment.

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