Page 25

Story: A Forbidden Alchemy

“Have you made any new friends?” Aunt Francis asked, and her eyes tightened.

“A few,” I lied.

“And… Mr. Shop?”

“Is one of them.”

She shook her head slightly with a deep breath. “I see his father often, you know. In the papers. Most believe he will be next in line if Lord Tanner ever relinquishes his position.”

I nodded. Swallowed. I had a sudden ridiculous fear that she might forbid me from speaking with Theodore anymore. “He doesn’t know anything,” I told her. “I swear it.”

Aunt Francis blanched. We usually obeyed an unspoken rule that we would not mention the ruse, even to each other, as though Lord Tanner himself were pressing his ears to the windows. “In any case, it seems the House of Lords needs an earth Charmer more than it needs to right the order of things,” she said.

“Then it shouldn’t matter who my friends are.”

Aunt Francis’s cheeks flushed. She stood abruptly. For one wild moment I imagined her launching across the table and grabbing me by the collar, and my body curled in on itself.

But she did neither.

“Listen to me, Nina,” she said, her voice still low, if tremulous. “Theodore seems like a nice boy. I know he has been… kind to you. But it remains that his father is a man in a very powerful position, and men like that don’t take kindly to frauds. Particularly when they are found consorting with their children.”

A fraud, I thought. Was that what I was? The word needled. “If I am a fraud, then aren’t we all? I only siphoned what the rest of you did.”

Silence, and this time, Aunt Francis was the one to avert her eyes.

We waded in dangerous waters. But I took my chances. “We are taught that all have the right to consume idium, but that only some are capable of truly siphoning its magic into their bodies. I know now it wasn’t true. But wasallof it a lie?”

Aunt Francis’s chest had begun to heave, her eyes flitting to the windows and doors.

“Please,” I said. “I only want to understand, and then I won’t ever ask another thing.” I scooted so close to the edge of my chair that it teetered.

She clenched her fists, closed her eyes, then finally sat. She seemed older.

“I don’t know the answers, Nina,” she said. “And in truth, I do not wish to. I only know what they told us when I took that position.” She sighed. “The rest, I put together of my own accord. I think once, perhaps long ago, out of memory, every citizen was permitted the chance to consume idium… and it went very badly.”

I frowned. “How?”

Aunt Francis shook her head. “You are very young. Perhaps too young to imagine what happens when the means for destruction is placed in the wrong hands. But I believe it once led our nation to war.”

I frowned. “The Battle of Belavere is the only war in our history,” I said. “And it was fought against invaders. Outside nations.”

Aunt Francis shrugged. “We only know of history what is recorded. And records are easily lost or rewritten. I can’t know for sure. But the fact remains that at some point, our leaders thought it better that power be meted out only to those who could be trusted with it.”

I wondered how they decided who that should be. By what criteria were we judged? What lord had ever ventured east to Scurry, for instance, to scout these paragons of moral virtue?

Then, I thought of what they might find—a horde of vitriolic miners. What would a person like that do with the power to charm fire, for instance?

Aunt Francis continued. “Most children of Artisans become Artisans as well, as we all know. The lie is in letting the population believe this is the fault of bloodlines, much in the way a child of brown-haired parents will likely be born the same, but might also be blond. Genealogy is difficult to predict. It provides a reliable loophole, you see? When highborn parents have committed a crime or some other disgrace, their child tends to become a Crafter, despite generations of supposed Artisan breeding. The reverse happens for those Crafters whose families serve the House of Lords well. Their children are deemed Artisan, even if they are the first of their family to possess magic ability. If the intake of Artisan children runs low one year, then the next will see an upswing of brink children miraculously turned Artisan.”

“Do you think it’s right?” I asked her, something burning the sides of my throat. “That only the lucky few, the trusted few, should get to live this life?” I wondered if she’d ever stepped foot in the brink. I wondered if she had any inkling at all as to the streets and houses she’d find in Scurry.

Aunt Francis wavered. Her answer seemed to weigh on her chest.

“No,” she finally said in a quiet voice. “I am sure it isn’t fair. But…” She looked at me earnestly. “The House of Lords is charged with protecting this Nation, from outside adversaries and from itself. I wonder if that isn’t of higher import than what is right and fair.”

I felt us at opposite edges of a chasm; I dithered on the edge, wishing to cross it, but couldn’t.

I held up the newspaper still tightly rolled in my hand and unfurled it on the table. “Theo gave me this,” I said, pointing to the front-page article.

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