My sweet Dusty,
How are you, darling? I can hardly believe so much time has passed, since I've last seen you. The house is too quiet without you.
I smiled as I thumbed mum's thin, delicate words across parchment, catching the sweet whiff of mint from the leaf she always left in the envelope. The day was quiet - my training as a Scholar had just finished, and I had been given a day off. Mum's voice echoed as I read, sending a pang of longing through me.
This old mansion seems so empty - all my little birds have flown the nest, I suppose. Anya is having her third child, and you, my sweet, are moving up in the world! I was so delighted to hear about your progress. Three years, and already you're a Scholar, a teacher. Perhaps you'll find work, now, with one of the guilds.
Work. I frowned, crinkling the paper and sighing as I glanced around the empty archives. But I'm happy here. This is my work. Even if it didn't always feel like it - sometimes spending the day in the archives with Tar-Meena, sorting books and giggling over nothing, others wandering the grounds with both Bolor and her, soaking in sunshine and reminiscing as we watched the Apprentices. Not to mention the nights. I flushed, uncrossing my legs that still pleasantly ached. But she doesn't need to know about that.
Speaking of work, I believe it's about time you began working on finding a husband. I won't force you, darling, you know that, but I hate the idea of you in the Imperial City, all alone. I grimaced, scoffing in my throat as I read on. Not that you can't manage alone, I'm sure. Ah, Dust, I know I'm mothering you. If all my little birds have flown the nest, I suppose I should let them spread their wings. Write back soon!
With love - Maman
"Oh, mum." I smiled crookedly, fingering her letters once more before folding it neatly away. Her letters always made me ache for her, for home, even knowing I would never leave the University if I had my way. Seeing the wide-eyed students gape at the sight of my more volatile potions, or at Bolor's increasingly controversial work - I frowned, sweeping my desk clear of scattered papers and neatly arranging my alchemical tools. Teaching them, passing on what I'd learned. I knew it was my calling, as it was Bolor's. I knew we were meant to share that, together.
The door cracked open, and I grinned. Speak of the demon. "Come in, Bolor. I'm just cleaning up to get back to work."
"How did you know it was me?" Bolor miffed, his nose wrinkled, eyes glittering. I snickered, giving a cautionary glance at the door to make sure it was closed before laying a peck on his cheek. "And why are you working now, my dear? It's your day off. You should be celebrating."
"I did celebrate."
"You had one drink of watery ale with the students at lunch." Bolor chuckled, long fingers resting on my shoulders. "I'd hardly call that a celebration. I had something rather more fun in mind."
"That's all you have on your mind." I smirked even as I rolled dried redwort between my fingers, my newest potion idea swimming in mind. "Which means you can help me. Draw some water, would you? I need to get this boiling."
"Redwort?" He raised a brow, taking a pinch for himself. "An aphrodisiac? How industrious of you."
"It is industrious! Finding ways to fund the university is an admirable pursuit." I thanked him as he handed me water, slowly tipping it into my cauldron and watching it begin to simmer. "And I enjoy doing this."
"Oh?" I shivered pleasantly at the subtle want in his voice. "And what about tonight?"
"Well." I giggled helplessly as he kissed beneath my ear, tickling. "That will be enjoyable, too."
"Good. I'll leave you to this, for now." I nearly purred as he dragged his fingers over the nape of my neck before rising, smiling wryly. " You should use some monkshood, as well. I'll see you tonight, Scholar."
I released my breath slowly as the door closed, a flush creeping up my cheeks. Well. I grinned, stirring the water as it boiled and slowly tilting redwort in to soften. If that isn't good inspiration, I don't know what is.
I hardly paid attention to the passing time, to the sun setting just beyond me as I pored over my work. It was soothing, somehow - the smells, the heat, even as sweat beaded on my brow when I watched my potion thicken. Distantly, I thought of my childhood, my father. I remembered ripping apart leaves for him, churning poultices, smelling the old, musty jars as he administered them...
"Dust?"
I jerked awake, my head fogged. Something smelled sweet, arousing, and I - my potion! I jerked fully awake from my desk, shrieking at the sight of the brew nearly boiling over. I swallowed a lump in my throat as I flung a desperate frost spell, freezing the cauldron solid.
"Dust!"
"Tar-Meena!" I turned from my work, still flushed and panting. "Sorry! I must have dozed off while it simmered, I didn't even - "
"It's fine." Tar-Meena smiled softly, but a glimmer of concern lay hidden in her gaze. I rubbed sleep from my eyes, frowning.
"What's wrong?"
"The Arch Mage wants to see you. Now," she stressed as I turned my back. "So don't dawdle, or take another nap."
"Hey!" I grinned, letting a fire spell barely heat the potion back to liquid. "It was an accident. Do you think it's about my potion for funds?"
Tar-Meena sighed. "I... don't know, for sure. You'd better hurry, in any case."
"I will. Once I get back, why don't we have something to eat?" I paused as I corked a sample of the potion, meeting her eye. "You look awful."
"I'm alright." Again, that sad smile. "Go on."
I raced outside under the warm blanket of a spring evening, holding my brew close as I dashed upstairs. I didn't have a clue if it would work, or if boiling it for so long had killed it, but at least it smelled nice. And it was better than going empty handed. I slowed before the Arch Mage's door, mustering up my courage before rapping against it.
"Yes, come in."
"Thank you." I whispered, more meekly than I meant. He probably didn't even hear me through the door. I pushed inside, poking my head through and going pale.
Not just the Arch Mage, but three men, old and wise and none particularly pleased looking.
"Miss Dust." Ocato stood, casting a mild gaze on me. His voice was frosty, and I felt little more warmth from the men seated behind him. "Please, have a seat. I'm afraid we have something to discuss."