The Alchemical Child

Chapter Eighteen

Councilor Abbott was tall and broad-shouldered. He almost entirely obscured the wiry body of Councilor Mathias, who had followed him into the Games Room, furiously muttering, "They're living far more freely and boldly in other parts of the country, Abbot. With Nicholas gone, the Council is all that's left to hold bastion against increasingly heretical ideologies from the East."

He stopped to suck in a breath at the sight of Sage, though Abbott's face was impenetrable while Mathias blustered, "What's this? Stewards aren't allowed in here without express permission."

Before Sage could answer, Abbot said cooly, "She's a Student, Mathias. Not a Steward."

Mathias's eyes dropped to Sage's white coat. "Oh yes, of course."

"A Student who's quite a long way from the University, are you not?" Abbot's question was directed at Sage, sharp blue eyes piercing across the dark shades of the room. Sage felt her handful of papers crumple between her fingers as every muscle in her body tensed. The Councilor's stare flickered down, seeing the notes before Sage could whip them behind her back.

"I work here," Sage blurted before Abbott could speak again.

The corner of his mouth twitched at the realisation that she was the Student he had been discussing within the Council Chamber only minutes ago. It was his turn to take in her old coat and plain boots, the barbs of his teeth flashing before he schooled his features back into a smooth impassiveness.

"A Magister Student, no less," Abbott said tightly. "You must know my son."

Sage gave a single mute nod, watching the familiar, cruel smile emerge on the face of Lawrence's father.

"But I'm afraid that even Magister Students aren't allowed in this room. So I must ask you how and why you ferreted your way in here." He spoke more lightly now, but Sage didn't miss his careful choice of wording. In his eyes, she was little better than vermin.

"I..." Sage's mind whirled for an excuse, leaping from Oriana to the papers to her placement in the palace. "I was looking for Walter. I finish my first week here today, and the Chamberlain said Walter would keep a note of my hours, so I thought I should go over them with him."

She waved her papers around quickly enough that even Abbot's sharp eyes wouldn't be able to settle on the writing.

"Which one's Walter?" Mathias muttered, hobbling to the drinks cart and pouring a glass of brandy for himself and Abbott, who remained in the doorway, blocking Sage's only exit. She was sure she could feel the sweat trickling down her neck.

"And you thought you would find him in here?" Abbot mused. "Then you closed the door after you saw the room was empty?"

Sage faltered, and Abbott watched her eyes as they darted to the chessboard.

"I was interested in the clockwork," Sage said, and her tongue moved more easily now that she was speaking truthfully.

"It is quite a piece of craftsmanship," Mathias piped up, more affable now that he had a drink in his hand. He came over to pat the board, catching Sage's eye as his pale tongue darted across his lips.

Sage suppressed a shudder and hurried on, "It is, but I think it's faulty. The central cog on the right-hand side is larger than the one on the right, so when you're timing your moves, the player on the right will have a false advantage."

"Is that so?" Mathias cried, glaring at the clockwork and then at the battling queens. "Know a lot about this sort of thing, do you?"

"A little." Sage retreated several steps, almost forgetting that Abbott still blocked the door until she was facing him.

He was expressionless as Mathias griped on behind them about having to restart their game, either finding the clockwork revelation uninteresting or unsurprising.

"I'd better get back," Sage said.

Abbott didn't move. "Her Highness knows where you are, I assume?"

The noise of her papers crumpling further seemed deafening to Sage. "She knows I went to find Walter."

He stared unblinkingly a moment longer, then stepped aside. Sage scuttled immediately through the doorway, knowing only that she wanted to be as far away from Abbott and his games as possible. But halfway down the corridor, Abbott called after her, "Remember not to open any more closed doors in the future. It would be a shame to see you reprimanded."

Sage didn't look back. She took corridor after corridor, passing a dozen Stewards until, at last, she found the hall with silk-draped pillars and white arches. The rest of the day passed in relative silence. While Oriana read through the minutes of the Council meeting, she set Sage on menial tasks around the room that she could accomplish with simple Sigilism. When her day was finished, Sage walked back to the white hall with Walter and went over her hours. She told herself that it was to indeed confirm her work and payment, but all the way home, Abbott's warning loitered on the edges of her thoughts.

When Sage arrived home, a cold draft was whistling over the kitchen floorboards. She dumped her satchel in the workshop and climbed up to the attic, where Hermes had wrenched loose the window latch. He was perched on the roof, copper wings ruffled in the wind and beak clipping through the icy air. The incoming draft had pulled down the painting Sage had found at Valerie's supposed address from the wall. She had stuck it beneath her father's sketch, dandelions over dandelions, a bright yellow sea washing towards two little girls.

Sage stooped to pick up the picture, her fingertips finding the torn edge of the paper, stiffened with paint. She turned it over in her hand, seeing the tear on the reverse and a faint tracing of graphite. Rushing to her bedside for a candle and match, she called Hermes to come down and lit the candle wick with shaking fingers. Hermes fluttered inside, huffing when Sage closed the window and held up the candle.

The tip of the first letter was cramped against the tear, making it difficult to read in the flickering candlelight. But Sage recognised the swooping tilt of her older sister's handwriting, a perfect match to the message still locked in her downstairs drawer. Only here, Valerie had written a single word—her.