Serpent and the Throne (Fedosian Wars #1)

6. Basic Alchemy

six

Basic Alchemy

Aleksei tore a strip of fabric from her underskirt to wrap her ankle. It felt better. Or it was never that injured in the first place. The weather eased up and Sofia returned his cloak, aware she couldn’t be seen wearing it. The scent of him lingered, though, and she couldn’t help imagining what he might look like without all that fabric, leather, and gear on him.

She didn’t deny it was a terrible idea all around, but she wanted to know what it might feel like to be with someone like him, if only once.

By the time they returned to Raven most of the guests had left, but a livid Lev had returned. He’d finally remembered he hadn’t been alone.

Blue eyes burned as he marched toward her halfway sober and grabbed her by the elbow. “He didn’t hurt you?” he demanded. He’d been outside on the carriageway when Aleksei and she walked out of the garden together.

“No, I was looking for you and I got lost,” Sofia mumbled, being dragged toward Papa’s coach. “Can you slow down? I hurt my ankle.”

“What were you doing?” he berated, though she just told him.

Aleksei was some paces away from them, speaking to a redhead with a white feather fan, opening and closing as she laughed at something he’d said. Her dress had an open back and a long train. Sofia wanted beautiful attire like that, but the count would never let her wear such an exposing thing. Aleksei's scarlet gaze flicked to Sofia, and he smiled.

“Baroness Katarina,” Lev hollered, and as the redhead looked over her shoulder, Sofia saw she was an older lady. “Twelve silver coins and he’ll kneel for you. You don’t have to pretend to listen to him.”

They both ignored Lev, but Sofia, even from the distance, saw Aleksei’s jugular pulsing when he clenched his jaw.

“Come on, Soful. Let’s go home, eat something, and pass out like drunks till evening.” Lev pushed her into the coach and got in after her.

“You don’t always have to be so crude,” Sofia said as the carriage pulled away. They passed right by Aleksei and the baroness, and she saw he was visibly upset.

“Truth is crude,” Lev said, yawning. “When I told you to stay clear of sentinels, did you not hear me? Or was that in my head only?”

“Where were you? I looked for you.”

“Woke up at Erik Vietinghoff’s house. Sorry, I must have forgotten I was with you,” he said. “I came as soon as I remembered, though.”

“Thank the saints for that.”

“Come on. You don’t have to be upset. I said I was sorry.” He pouted. “If Papa asks, can we agree we were together all night?”

Sofia wouldn’t challenge that. The price of twelve silver coins was cheaper than she imagined—not that it was a bad thing. She mentally weighed the alchemy trinket she couldn’t use and figured that was five ounces of gold.

Gold wasn’t traded as common currency but in alchemy, one ounce of gold equaled twelve silver coins. She didn’t care what Aleksei was or wasn’t, and only wanted to live a little. If she could get someone to do the alchemy for her, she had about sixty silver coins. That was her entire wealth, which she didn’t mind splurging on the queen's nephew, down to the last coin.

Sofia’s fingertips and face tingled with anticipation. She could call it nerves, but it wasn’t bad energy. She got up before Lev and snooped around for information, making friendly talk with the maids. They were always caught up in court affairs.

It appeared to be common knowledge the sentinels entertained married courtiers for silver, some liaisons gaining notoriety. The latest gossip entailed a tale of a baroness who bankrupted her husband’s estate paying for her companions—plural. The baron asked for a divorce and was denied by the archmage because the baroness was also generous with her husband’s gold when the collection plate came around.

Red Manor, or the former Burkhard Estate, was confiscated by the throne after the duke passed because his only son, Aleksei, was a sentinel and as such couldn’t own property, get married, or hold any title or position other than his rank as a soldier. The prevailing theory on why the queen made her nephew a sentinel was so he wouldn’t compete with the prince for the throne—that, Sofia believed, they must have heard Papa or one of his guests discuss.

She learned a great deal by hanging around the washroom and badmouthing the Illeivich girls for whom the maids had already taken a dislike. Their garments were ‘ghastly’, meaning cheap, and no one had tipped any copper. One silver coin equaled twelve copper, both in alchemy and economy.

Sofia had ‘borrowed’ some copper from Lev’s pouch for the coach fare, and she shared the coins with the maids as she asked where Red Manor was. An hour’s worth of ride from the city, they knew because since the manor belonged to the throne, some courtiers used it to host events. Beautiful place, the maids had heard, though they hadn’t been there. It was popular enough of a location for common drivers to know—good news.

Next, she sought out Papa. During the long ride to Krakova, Lev had discussed family matters with her, including Papa’s grief. He never healed from Auntie’s passing and battled his sadness with herbal remedies and took it a day at a time. She found him at the back of the house amongst some herbs he was growing in wooden tubs. Sunlight flooded through the large windows and the room smelled of the batch of drying tarragon.

“Papa.” Sofia stood by the door.

He’d been humming a waltz and looked up from watering a potted lemongrass. “Yes, Sofia.”

“I need a few silver coins.” She flashed a smile.

“Oh.” He patted his apron. “I don’t believe I have any. Why not ask your husband?”

“I have gold, and I need you to make them into silver coins.”

“Make gold?” He busied himself with his plants, his attention slipping from Sofia. “The first rule of alchemy is magic can’t create magic. I can’t make gold, dear girl. If I could, I’d be the tsar.”

“No, Papa.” Sofia went to him and crouched by him. “I have the gold.” She took his hand and placed her gold trinket on his palm. “Can you turn it into silver coins?”

He inspected her expensive gadget. “This is useless, dear girl. The placement of the dver is off and this equation you have is…” He held it up to the light and squinted. “It’s nonsensical.”

“I know that, Papa. Coins?”

“Where did you get such a silly thing? Is this Gavril’s attempt at alchemy?” He chuckled.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d melted her mother’s jewelry. The hope with the coins was to avoid appearing so desperate if she had to pay Aleksei—ladies traded with coins and sad, broke women bargained with their jewelry—but asking Papa was turning out to be a bad idea.

“What do you need money for?” He pocketed her gold. “And don’t steal from your husband. Your aunt would—”

“It’s mine.” Sofia snatched her trinket out of his pocket. “I didn’t take it from anyone.”

She stormed out, marched upstairs, and shook Lev.

“What the fuck?” He opened a single eye. “Ah fuck, I keep forgetting you’re here. I thought it was one of the maids.” He laughed. “What time is it?”

“Noon, brother.” Sofia fetched Lev’s alchemy bracelet, tossed it on him, and sat down on the bed. “Can you make this into silver coins?” She brandished her gold.

“I don’t know how, Soful.” He tossed his alchemy bracelet aside. “I was having a good dream too. A certain someone had their mouth around my piece, let’s just leave it at that.”

“She’s not a nice girl,” Sofia said, referring to Zoya. “I lost her necklace, by the way.” She shook him again when he rolled to his side and turned his back to her. “Exchange of equals, it’s the most basic alchemy. Please?”

“I forgot how, Soful!” He pulled the cover over his head. “I’d have to break out the codex and figure the shit out from the start, and I don’t want to do that. Sorry.”

“Never you mind.” She got up.

“What do you need coins for?”

“It’s Day Solis in two days. I want to donate to the church.”

“It’s Day Solis every seventh day, who cares? Besides, Uncle accepts jewelry,” he muttered.

Oh, forget it. She stepped behind the divider and changed into a simple green dress with white lacing she’d been thinking about. The plan was to wear white stockings to match the lacing, and she was doing that when she heard Lev get up.

“I’m starving.” Buckles jingled as he pulled up his trousers under his sleeping gown. “Where are you going?” he asked, shifting through a pile of clothes, cursing out the maids.

“I… Um, I met some ladies yesterday and they invited me to an afternoon tea.”

“Is it at Red Manor?” he asked, nearly giving her a stroke, but continued with, “Baroness Katarina is hosting tea there. I told the count I’d chaperone the girls. Do you just want to go with us? Or is someone supposed to pick you up?”

It would be far easier if she went with Lev. She’d been worried about hiring a coach because she didn’t know how.

“Is that the former Burkhard Estate?” she asked casually.

“That would be it.” He came around the divider to see what she was wearing. “Gloves, Soful. Forgot to tell you yesterday, put on some gloves. You don’t want men touching your skin when they kiss your hand.”

Yes, that would be horrible. Kissing… how terrible.

“What are you thinking about?” He grinned. “You’re blushing.”

After dirtying the water at the washing table brewing a hangover cure, Lev hopped and skipped out of the room, leaving Sofia fanning the sulfur smell out the window. Guard alchemy included herbology and potion making because of the relationship between light and plants, and some acolytes specialized in it. In the case of Lev, he learned spells he found interesting without any order or reason. Dragon’s Breath, one of the master spells of fire, he’d learned when he was six years old, but couldn’t make silver coins out of gold, something any jeweler or smith could do.

If Sofia tried selling the gold trinket they’d think it was jewelry, and she’d have to present a letter from the count that it wasn’t stolen, so she’d just give it to Aleksei the way it was, as pathetic as that was. Oh well. She checked her hair in the mirror again, gathered her things into a velvet reticule, draped a green and silver brocade mantle over her shoulders, took a long breath, and headed for the door.

Downstairs, the Illeivich girls were crammed in front of a single mirror by the front door, checking their hair and dress, ready to go, but she didn’t see Lev.

The count sounded in the drawing room, laughing, which was a rarity, and Sofia would have liked to avoid him, but Lev was probably there as well. Besides, she had to tell the count she was leaving, so she headed there.

Lev stood in the middle of the room, dashing with his saber at his hip, and the gold and white brocade cloak was draped over his arm, ready to head out. Papa sat on a maroon velvet settee to the right, the tobacco pipe hanging from his mouth like a tusk. The count lounged on the settee facing the door, halfway turned and his arm propped on the backrest. He shot Sofia a look when she entered but dismissed her immediately.

It didn’t occur to her that the count’s back was turned to Papa, and it would have been an odd pose had no one been on the left settee till she heard, “For all the saints, how much like your mother you look.”

Sofia twirled with childish giddiness. “Uncle!”

The archmage had wild blond curls that seemed to grow up defying gravity, and he’d managed it with a gold headband. He wore a gold embroidered robe with matching silk slippers, and his amber eyes had a way of catching glimmer in the dimmest of rooms.

He got up and opened his arms and Sofia flung herself into his embrace. “There, there, my girl.” He patted her back. “I’ve missed you terribly as well. Sit, little darling. Have tea and tell this old man how life has been.”

“Old? You age backward, Uncle.” In disbelief, she touched his face. He’d looked older ten years ago. “Wow! You’re so handsome.” She smiled.

“Bring my girl a cup of tea, darling,” he told the servant and gestured at the settee the count was lounging upon. “Sit, my little songbird. Have some biscuits. You look awfully thin. You can’t bear children with hips like that.” He frowned and nodded at the count. “Is she barren? Why aren’t the Illeivich multiplying?”

“Uncle!” Sofia gasped. The archmage had always been a bit crude and had grown more so since his magic began troubling his private life. Everyone dealt with duress differently, she supposed.

“Sofia, I can’t see my brother. Will you sit down?” The archmage gestured.

“Oh, I was on my way out,” Sofia said, taking Lev’s arm. “I’m going to an afternoon tea with Lev and the girls.”

“Your daughters. The Illeivich girls are your daughters,” said the archmage, then looked at Lev. “What tea? Where are you going?”

“Red Manor, Uncle,” Lev said. “Baroness Kat—”

“No.” The archmage changed the cross of his legs. “Absolutely not.”

“Uncle, Aleksei’s in the Royal Cup,” Lev explained. “I want to take a look at his horse. I’ve never seen it race.”

“Very well then. Smart boy.” The archmage took sugar from the table, and the alchemy etched in gold on the skin of his palm glowed. He closed his fist and opened it, having turned the sugar into a perfect cube. “For the beast,” he said.

“Poison?” Lev frowned. “I can beat him fair, Uncle. I’m better than him. I’m a Guard.”

“That you are,” said the archmage. “And you will win.” He continued to hold out the cube.

Sofia tried to control her expression, but she found it distasteful as well.

“I’m not poisoning a racehorse, Uncle. It doesn’t matter who it belongs to. It’s dishonorable. I am better. Rhytsar is faster. We will win.”

“A boy speaks to me about honor.” The archmage looked at the count, who tutted, disapproving of Lev as well. “You’re a good boy, Lev. A kind boy. But when you grow up and become a man, you’ll be a great one. In the meantime, do what I say because I fucken said so.”

Lev’s fair face turned bright red with anger, but he snatched the sugar and stormed out.

“Attaboy.” The archmage smirked.

Sofia turned on her heels and followed Lev, but she heard, “Not you, songbird. You have no business at Red Manor, nor anywhere near Burkhard’s boy.”

“Why?” Sofia turned. “Baroness Katarina is—”

“Fuck that shriveled, old, pompous hag. Her mind is simple. She has nothing to say worth hearing. Pyotr, you still have Yeliza’s piano?”

“It’s in the music room,” said Papa.

“We’re moving to the music room, then.” The archmage rose, and the count tripped over his legs to get up. “Play something for us, songbird. It’s been a while since you sang for your uncle,” the archmage said.

Sofia heard Lev and the Illeivich girls leave, the door shutting behind them. She tried not to be upset because she was terrible at hiding it, but as she banged on the piano keys she wanted to cry for the first time in a long time. The trouble with excitement, she was learning, was that one could get awfully disappointed.