Five

After five days, Sophia had made more progress than she’d expected at first. She could find her way around the castle by herself.

Fergus’s blood was coming along nicely too. She’d set half of what she’d taken aside in a tightly stoppered glass jar—no point in cutting the poor boy open more than she had to—and the calcination stage had gone well. Now seven smaller vessels stood in the room off the western tower, each over heat appropriate to the metal it contained, and she carefully watched as the fluid within bubbled gently.

Colors had not appeared yet, but—she glanced down at the hourglass—it wasn’t time.

She had no doubts about her technique, at least. She’d taken more care than she ever had with an experiment before, and nobody could ever have called her haphazard or flighty to begin with. The laboratory helped as well. The room was spacious and well lit, and the heat steadier and more reliable than she would have expected, particularly on short notice. As dearly as she would have loved to work with any of the furnaces she had back home, she’d known she’d have to do without them. The castle’s hearth and the various braziers were better than she’d hoped for.

She’d mentioned as much to Cathal the day before. They sat together for meals, as befit the castle’s current lord and an apparent gentlewoman, and Sophia was glad of the opportunity to speak a friendly word. For a woman out in the world, her uncle had said, kindness would be better armor than steel, and plain words were their own sort of magic.

Also, she’d wanted to see Cathal smile again, the way he had when she joked about Valerius. The memory made him loom a touch less when Sophia encountered him about the castle. If she was going to stay as long as she might, she’d need more such perspective.

Alas, she’d chosen a poor moment to speak. She hadn’t seen the man-at-arms approaching the high table—even in her time there, that happened often—and looking, Alice said later, like a stormy day. Cathal had heard her thanks, but whatever he might have replied had been lost in the storm of Gaelic that came next, and the moment to repeat herself had never come around again.

If that was her greatest disappointment at Loch Arach, Sophia would count herself far luckier than she deserved. She had reminded herself of that later.

Meals often went in such a fashion—or Cathal was simply absent. There was no reason for Sophia to be sorry when that happened, perfunctory and distracted as his conversation often was, and yet she felt the absence, noticed the empty place on the bench, and from time to time wondered where—or what—he was.

Once, she’d paused in her unpacking and gone to look out the tower window, thinking to stretch her back and ease her eyes. In that moment, she’d thought she’d seen a great winged shape far away, and perhaps a glint of blue in the sunlight. She’d leaned her elbows on the windowsill and peered through the hazy, greenish glass, but the shape had vanished, and she hadn’t yet gotten up the courage to ask Cathal about it.

If thanking him for the room and its comforts hadn’t gotten his attention, maybe I thought I saw you flying the other day would. On the other hand, what she’d had of his attention hadn’t been entirely comfortable.

On the other other hand, if she’d sought comfort, she wouldn’t have been spending the winter on a mountain in Scotland.

Sophia eyed the bubbling vials closely, checked the flames under each, and went still when she heard a knock at the door.

“Will anything explode if I come in?” Alice called from the other side.

“I think not.”

“You’re not quite a comfort in times of uncertainty, you know.” When Alice pushed the door open, Sophia saw that she was carrying a small tray with bread, cheese, what looked like eel pie, and a small flask of wine. “You also missed the noon meal.”

“I did?” Sophia glanced toward the window, but afternoon light in Scotland wasn’t what it had been in Paris, and the glass didn’t help. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to bring me anything.”

“No. I’m a very generous woman and will doubtless receive a just reward one of these days. But it wasn’t my idea. Is this all right,” Alice asked, jerking her chin at a clear space on one of the tables lining the room, “or will you turn into a rat?”

“I’ll be no more likely to than usual. Not your idea?”

Alice pulled one of the two stools up and broke off a piece of cheese. “Whatever else I can say about Sir Cathal, he’s not a blind man. He asked me where you were. I said you came and went without leave from me, but if I knew you, you were probably up in this tower messing about with fire and silver and turning your hair green—”

“My hair’s never turned green.”

“—and he had one of the pages fetch this. He was going to take it up himself, but I thought there was less chance of disaster if I did it, since I’d remember to knock first and not go about poking the fire or drinking potions to see what they do.”

“I doubt he’d do that,” said Sophia, a chunk of bread and cheese halfway to her mouth. “Any of that.”

Alice shrugged. “Well, I’ll let him come next time, then.” She nibbled the cheese, looked up, and grinned. “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Sophia, and she truly wasn’t disappointed, or not mostly. She was too surprised. Pleased too: the thought had been a kind one, and it was flattering to know that she’d been on his mind at all. “I’m no good to him if I starve,” she said, as much to herself as to Alice, “and I’m sure he knows that hunger clouds judgment. Besides, he was probably looking for a chance to see how the experiment was coming along.”

“He doesn’t seem like the sort who’d need an excuse for that,” said Alice. “How is this going? You still have your eyebrows, I note, which is a pleasant change.”

“I’ve only lost them once.”

“Yet.”

“And I was sixteen, and the crucible was faulty.” This was an old dance, and Sophia quickly moved on, breaking the bread and cheese into smaller portions as she talked. “I think… I think…it’s going well, but this is only the first part. Finding out what’s wrong.”

“Other than ‘extremely sinister evil magic,’ you mean. Ugh.” Alice shuddered. “Perhaps we did well to spend a dozen years away from England, if this is the sort of thing they get up to.”

“I don’t get the impression that it’s common.”

“A little goes a long way.”

“Well, that’s true,” Sophia said. Despite the fatigue of the journey, she’d taken long enough to get to sleep the night after Cathal had told her his story. “But you know there could have been such men in France, and we just never crossed their paths.”

“Oh yes,” said Alice, rolling her eyes, “you’re very comforting.” She sighed and shook her head. “I did want to see the world, didn’t I?”

“So you said back home.” Sophia chewed a bite of pie and studied the face before her: light where hers was dark, angular where hers was heart-shaped, and more familiar than her own, especially since their months of travel when mirrors had not figured heavily in their lives. “Though I admit you cannot have had this in mind. If you do want to leave—”

“Do not,” said Alice, blue eyes narrowing, “be foolish.”

“I’ll not lose sleep trying to figure out a way then,” Sophia said and smiled.

“Don’t. You kick when you’re restless.” Alice picked up the flask of wine, took a drink, and passed it back to Sophia. “Besides, I’d never find anywhere nearly as pleasant to stay the winter. I’ve just about fit myself into the kitchens, and one of the girls here knows a little French. We’re swapping songs. You know we’ve not heard most of those here.”

“I do,” Sophia said, although in truth, the minstrel’s songs had all blended together into pleasant incomprehensibility for her. Without words, music had never quite caught her attention, but she knew what it meant to Alice. “By spring, we might even speak some of the local language ourselves.”

“Oh, if we can make our throats work with it,” said Alice, shaking her head good-naturedly. “Maybe you can brew a potion for that while you’re up here. Or we could just put small rocks under our tongues. Speaking of which—brewing potions, not rocks—have you had any word about this midwife? The one who knows her herbs?”

“No,” said Sophia, “but she wouldn’t be very useful just now. Everything I’ve been able to find says that the first step with a spell is determining which planetary influence it primarily falls under. Herbs won’t be of any use until I can do that.”

“I’ll believe you,” said Alice, “since I really have very little idea what you’re talking about. Finish your pie.”

Sophia did as she was told. Eating the bread and cheese had reminded her body of its physical nature, and her hunger was greater than she’d thought. Such was often the case; it was why many magicians had apprentices. Alice wasn’t her apprentice, nor did Sophia travel with her for those reasons, and yet Alice filled that place, a role which, Sophia was discovering, was rather essential.

“Thank you,” she said, when the mouthful of pie was gone and she could speak.

“You’d be dead without me, I know,” Alice said. “Or in a horrible mood all the time. Stalking the halls and trying to gnaw on people’s shoulders when you forgot to eat.”

“I think I’d try the kitchens first, even in that state.”

“I’d advise it. Nobody here looks the sort who’d tamely submit to you biting hunks out of their arms. I do, of course, but then I’m not nearly as mild and proper as you might think, so I wouldn’t try that either.” Alice rose from the stool, brushed her skirts into place, and reached for the tray, which now held only crumbs and the empty flask of wine.

Laughing, Sophia waved Alice’s hand away. “Leave it. I’ll bring it back.”

“The aura of cheese won’t contaminate your experiments?”

“I shouldn’t think so.” When Alice still looked dubious, Sophia added, “It truly is the least I can do, since you climbed all this way.”

“And you’ll remember it?”

“I swear”—Sophia put a hand over her heart—“I’ll bring it with me when I come down. Which I also swear to do, and in good time for the evening meal.”

“Do,” Alice said, “or I’ll have one of the men-at-arms come and carry you down. Not in any dignified fashion either, but over one shoulder. Like a sack of grain or a recalcitrant pig.”

“Hark at the lady. You don’t even know their language, and you’d command them to start carrying off strange women?”

Alice shrugged. “Very well… I’ll get Sir Cathal to do it,” she said and was out the door before Sophia could take the last word from her.

No magician, Alice had nonetheless conjured up a very vivid image. Even under tunic and surcoat, the lines of Cathal’s body were clear, and clearly strong. Sophia doubted he would have any trouble throwing her over a shoulder, or in keeping her there.

After another glance at the flasks, she rose quickly and went to the window, pressing her hands against the cold glass. The fires, she thought, were working a little too well.