The Alchemical Child

Chapter Fourteen

Oriana spoke so with such a stark suddenness that for a moment, Sage believed she couldn't possibly be referring to her. It sounded like too brutal and cold an action for her to have ever performed. But then her mind shifted to the darkness of the stacks, the streams of wax and the ashes of burnt bones. She had watched it all, and it had appeared again and again in her nightmares.

Perhaps what Sage had taken to be rudeness was rather Oriana's initial attempts to punish Sage for her macabre voyeurism. She couldn't blame her for that. But the thought that this was only the beginning—that she had been summoned to the palace for the very purpose of punishment—made her blood run cold. It would explain why the Chamberlain had refused to tell Sage the details of her placement. If he had, she may never have returned.

"I never meant," Sage began, the excuse fading on her lips. "I'm so sorry. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I shouldn't have watched once I realised it was a ritual."

Oriana hummed around a spoonful of berries, juice staining the corners of her mouth a darker crimson. She stared at Sage for a further minute, then said, "You apologize an obscene amount."

"Excuse me?"

"I shan't excuse you." Oriana fetched a silver pitcher of water and poured herself a goblet. She didn't offer one to Sage, even though the scone was stuck down her throat. "The instinct to apologize for every facet of your existence is a personal failing."

"It's not a failing to care about other people's emotions," Sage said.

"Not until they take advantage of you." Oriana's eyes glistened with a familiar flame, and it was then that Sage realised the fae was perversely enjoying this struggle of theirs. She didn't think that Oriana was used to regular company up in the confines of her cold, lofty chamber—at least, not since the death of Prince Nicholas—and, for the first time in months, she thought she might not be the only lonely person in the city.

"I was in the Alchemical Library that night because I'd forgotten a book," Sage said. It wasn't an apology or an excuse, but an explanation. "I saw the candles through the window. I didn't know it was a ritual, but then I saw it and... I couldn't look away."

Oriana stared at Sage with an expression that she could only identify as tedium. Or was it disappointment? Then she shrugged. "It doesn't affect me either way, though I'd pity any soul who seeks out a library so late."

Sage frowned. "I'm a Magister Student, of course I'm going to spend my time in a library."

"Books." Oriana sat up abruptly, tugging off her silk gloves as if they were smothering her. "Writing and diagrams. They must entertain you a great deal, as I doubt Alchemical Library is of any use otherwise."

"They're the basis of every Scholar's work in this entire city." Sage knew her mouth was gaping, but she couldn't stop. "The University is built around the Alchemical Library. It has been for centuries."

"The University is built around a hawthorn tree." Oriana's voice had lowered, like she was confiding a secret. "If Scholars have believed for centuries that they'll find an answer to their endless questioning in the writing of long-dead Alchemists who were equally as clueless, then they'll never accomplish a thing for centuries more."

It was a dangerous turn for their conversation to have taken. Sage was having difficulty swallowing. "The University has founded thousands of accomplishments. My own professor has—"

Oriana cut her off. "Their shared scholarly objective, I mean. The all-ruling tyrant of your earth."

Sage couldn't look her in the eye. She couldn't form any words. As airy as the room had first appeared, it now felt suffocating.

The fae gasped sweetly. "But how thoughtless of me, I should've offered you water. Here, I have another goblet, pass me that pitcher."

Sage was glad for their exchange to be over, but was more thankful to have a glass of water and a moment to organise her mind. She approached the chaise cautiously, then bent to pick up the pitcher. It was light and exquisitely crafted, with silver petals sculpted beneath its short spout. Oriana beckoned her closer, reaching out to take the pitcher. She unfurled her fingers, long and straight and graceful, and their tips skimmed silver. Immediately, gold bloomed out from beneath her skin. It spread across the pitcher like sunlight, warming the petals and streaming up the spout, towards the handle.

Sage dropped the pitcher with a cry. Water drenched the floorboards.

"Oh dear," murmured Oriana. She leant down to retrieve the pitcher and it glistened in the light. Pure gold. "Those floorboards are ancient. The water will soak in and then they'll rot right through."

Sage could scarcely breathe. She forced air in, then out. In, then out. She lost count and had to start over. A fae had never transmuted a base metal so close to her before. Of course, she had seen a demonstration during her second-year, but it had been from the clinical distance afforded by a laboratory. Aside from those rare opportunities where they were provided money and a transmutation license, the fae kept their power to themselves. They had to when inside the city. Although, Sage supposed that rule wouldn't apply to the fae bride.

She refocused her mind and pointed to the easel—anything to keep her eyes from the gold pitcher. "Can I borrow a paintbrush?"

Oriana blinked. "You may."

Sage grabbed a brush with a glossed, wooden handle, then dropped her shaking knees beside the puddle of water. She had Oriana's full attention, but anchored her thoughts on the tip of the brush as it dipped into the water. Beside the puddle, she painted the triangular sigil for fire, then bisected only one side with a line, half-forming the sigil for air.

"What are you drawing?"

"It's a sigil," replied Sage, circling the triangle and then setting down the brush. "It will warm the air and cause the water to evaporate before it can soak into the wood."

She touched her fingers to the circle and felt the tingle of energy move from skin to sigil. The air above the damp floorboards warmed, and Sage shuffled back as steam started to rise. Her shivering eased a little.

Oriana watched as the wood dried and the sigil faded. Watched until there was nothing there at all. "Explain it to me."

A/N A little later than usual, but I hope you enjoy this chapter and its first fae transmutation!