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ARIANA BROKE YET ANOTHER of the fragile glass vials in which she was trying to capture a vapor, and with an exasperated syllable she flung her instruments down and took a few percussive steps from the workbench. Clearly, this was not a day for careful work, and she would have to find another, less painstaking task.
She had been growing aware of Shianan’s feelings, and they pleased her, but she had been trying to keep a check on her own. Shianan did not have many friends; it was possible he was confusing friendship with romance. And she did not know if the bastard was even free to marry.
But when he had promised to speak to the king and return to her—that suggested he thought he could. And he had said he would come to her this afternoon or evening, with a tone quite unlike a friend’s casual promise to meet again.
A hint of guilt corroded the edges of her flattered excitement. She wasn’t certain yet of her own feelings. That is, she was fond of him and she admired him, but did she love him? Enough to marry him? Enough to face all that would come with marriage to the bastard?
She needed the vapor before her present project could proceed, and she was too agitated to handle the equipment safely. She was finished for today. She extinguished the athanor and began to clean and put away her equipment. She hummed a little; Shianan might not be to Bethia’s refined taste, but Ariana liked him, anyway.
The surviving glass vials went on the high shelf, the glass and ceramic jars of ingredients on the lower. She left the athanor on the table, but the reference texts belonged in the cabinet in the corner.
As she replaced the books, she noted the small cloth bag she’d left there, not exactly hidden but out of the way of a casual glance. This was the remainder of her Ryuven medicine, a medley of dried herbs and other plant bits. Mage Parma had suggested that she examine the Ryuven herbs, but Ariana had suspected it was a ploy to occupy her anxious mind. Well, she needed something to occupy her now. She took down the bag and emptied it upon her work surface.
Some of the dried leaves looked familiar. This one was nearly ruegrass, and this one looked like a close cousin of wolf nettle. She began to sort them into piles. The sand sprig went here, and the trident-shaped leaves over there. Was this redleaf? She hadn’t seen it often, but she thought that was its name. She brought a dusty book from the shelf and began scanning the sketches. She hadn’t realized so many of the Ryuven plants had cousins in the human world. Mudvein, and lacy nettle—but wasn’t that toxic?—and yellowroot...
There were a few that were too unfamiliar to place, but the fact that so many were recognizable prompted her to wonder if the rest might be included in a more complete herbal. Her father had a much larger volume. What if the Ryuven world did in fact share plants with hers? She didn’t know what that might mean, but one could never discount new knowledge. And it was a far safer activity than handling glassware.
She folded several specimens into a sheet of paper and went to her father’s office. He greeted her cheerfully, his eyes bright. “Hello, darling. Have you brought any news?”
“What do you mean?” The wretched man knew everything. She shook her head. “I came to borrow your herbal. Mine doesn’t include these.”
“Well, let me help you look. I can easily step away from this for a few moments. What are these? I don’t recognize them, either.”
“I brought them with me, from—over there. They were part of my medicine when I was ill.”
“Interesting.” He brought down a great book.
“The others look like plants I know, so I thought perhaps these could be here, too. But how could we share flora with the Ryuven world?”
“How can we share a language? Let’s look.” He flipped pages and began noting aspects of the dried leaf. “Three lobes, all pointed together... I wish I knew the color when fresh... A bit of woody stem...”
Ariana peered over his shoulder. “What’s that one?”
He tapped the illustration with a finger. “Dall sweetbud.”
Ariana made a face. “Dall sweetbud? It sounds like a whore’s name.”
“Ariana, darling, try to act the part of a lady, especially in front of your dear old father. Dall sweetbud was a precious herb, but it’s not been harvested here for, oh, a couple of generations, at least.”
“And this is it?”
“I don’t—well, I wonder... I’ve never seen it, of course. It’s very difficult to cultivate, and most of the wild plots were gathered too aggressively and exterminated.”
“So this is valuable?”
“If it is dall sweetbud, it’s quite valuable indeed. But I’m not sure that it is dall sweetbud.” He set the trident leaf aside and picked another. “There can’t be too many with this shape... Cliff bristle! This is also rare, though not like the dall sweetbud. It can be rendered a poison, though not one of the more efficient varieties. It affects the mind, dulling the senses and slowly killing the control of one’s limbs. This was in your medicine?”
“It did blunt sensations...”
He shrugged. “Perhaps the dall sweetbud counteracted the greater damage.”
“Then you think it is dall sweetbud?”
“I don’t know.” Ewan Hazelrig looked absorbed in thought, rubbing at his chin with a forefinger. “You could ask Tamaryl and Maru. I don’t know that they’d know herbs, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.”
Ariana nodded. “All right. I’ll make some sketches of all the different leaves, too, just in case.”
Could that unusual specimen really be dall sweetbud? If it were, she mused, that could make it a valuable trading commodity, and with something to trade for crops, the Ryuven would have no need to raid and the long war might end.
And if their worlds shared plants, what else might they share? Could human crops end the Ryuven famine? Had the ancients drawn Ryuven when they painted wings on men? Her thoughts ran wild in uncontrolled speculation as her pencil moved, faithfully recording the specimen’s details.
An hour passed, and then another. Ariana was absorbed in drawing the strange herbs, recording each specimen and annotating the sketch with remarks on color, consistency, the tiny cilia on the underside of a leaf, the way the veins came together. It was not difficult work, but it demanded concentration, and at last she realized it was late afternoon and Shianan had not yet come.
Had he forgotten her? Had he gone to her home instead of her office? Had he changed his mind? No, surely he would come. He had many duties and it was not yet evening. He would yet come.
But when she had finished documenting all of the Ryuven samples, he still had not appeared.
She would go to him, then. She wrapped herself in her cloak against the winter chill and left the Wheel. But when she knocked at the commander’s door, there was no answer.
She knocked again, not knowing what else to do. Surely she had not imagined it all? But still there was no response from within. She tested the door; it was locked.
“The commander’s not there, my lady mage,” offered a voice behind her.
Ariana spun, startled, and swallowed her surprise. “Do you know where I could find him?” she asked the soldier.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but he’s not in Alham. He left this afternoon, we heard.”
Left! Without speaking to her? “Did something happen? An emergency, something he had to see to?”
The soldier gave her an apologetic shrug. “I don’t know. We were only told we wouldn’t have evening training with him. If there’s been a raid or something like, we didn’t hear of it. He didn’t take a company.”
He left alone—left Alham, left her, left without saying a word. He had gone without soldiers, so it was not a military crisis. He was gone. It stuck her harder than she would have thought.
The soldier looked concerned at her distress. “Is there anything I can do for you, my lady mage?”
She shook her head. “No, I—no, thank you. I shall manage.”
He nodded respectfully before moving on. Ariana swallowed against a tightening throat and began walking in the opposite direction. She drew up her hood as tears stung her eyes, surprising her further. She had only wondered, hadn’t she? She hadn’t counted upon his courtship, had she?
What had happened? Where had he gone?