He looked at Jasmin, his eyes sparkling with purpose again. "Rosemary, Jasmin. That's what we need. The estate gardens have several large bushes near the northern wall, don't they? Hardy, aromatic rosemary. Perfect for distilling a clean, invigorating essential oil to scent future batches, both solid and liquid."
He started walking again, turning towards the direction of the main gardens, gesturing for her to follow. "Come along, Jasmin my dear! Our alchemical adventures continue! We need to gather rosemary before the light fails completely! Snip the freshest sprigs, the ones rich with oil! Enough for a decent distillation! Chop chop!"
Jasmin stared after him for a moment, her mind reeling. Liquid soap? Different types of hidden fire from ash? Distilling fragrance from rosemary? She felt like she'd fallen into one of the fantastical stories her mother used to tell her, tales of clever wizards and impossible inventions. But this wasn't a story. This was Young Lord Ferrum, the supposedly mediocre heir, radiating genius and bizarre enthusiasm, leading her on a twilight herb-gathering expedition after spending a day making caustic liquids and nascent soap.
She shook her head slightly, a bewildered smile touching her lips despite herself. He might be baffling, perhaps even slightly mad in his intensity, but he was undeniably brilliant. And he was keeping his promise about her mother.
"Yes, my lord!" she called out, hurrying to catch up, grabbing the empty bucket again instinctively. "Rosemary! Right away!"
As they walked briskly through the deepening twilight towards the distant scent of herbs, Jasmin found herself looking at Lloyd Ferrum not just with awe, but with a fierce, protective loyalty. He was strange, yes. His methods were unconventional. But he possessed a spark, a vision, that felt utterly unique. And she, Jasmin, the quiet butcher girl, was somehow part of it. Whatever strange paths his knowledge led them down – be it tallow rendering, lye leaching, or midnight herb gathering – she would follow. He was, after all, her genius but weird alchemist Young Lord. And she wouldn't let him down.
-----
A few hours ago.
The late afternoon sun cast long, distorted shadows across the secluded clearing by the pond as Lloyd carefully decanted the last of the precious, correctly concentrated lye solution into a sturdy, stoppered ceramic jug. The air, usually peaceful and smelling of damp earth and willow leaves, now carried a faint, sharp, almost metallic tang – the signature scent of the potent alkali they had painstakingly extracted from simple wood ash. Jasmin stood beside him, wiping her brow with the back of a gloved hand, her dark eyes wide with a mixture of fatigue, lingering apprehension, and undeniable fascination. They had done it. They had created the 'burning water', the hidden fire.
Unseen by either Lloyd or Jasmin, another figure observed the scene from a distance, partially concealed by the thick trunk of an ancient, gnarled oak tree situated on a slight rise overlooking the pond area. Rosa Siddik stood perfectly still, a statue carved from ice and emerald silk. Beside her, a step behind and utterly silent, stood her personal attendant, a stern-faced older woman named Lyra, who had served the Siddik family for decades and accompanied Rosa to the Ferrum estate as part of her dowry agreement.
Rosa had sought the relative solitude of the outer gardens, needing space away from the stifling opulence of the main estate and the lingering, perplexing enigma that was her husband. His performance during the confrontation with Viscount Rubel had been… illogical. His confidence, his knowledge of hidden family secrets (like engagement attempt), his easy dismantling of Rubel's plot – it didn't align with any previous data. It was a deviation requiring analysis, and analysis required distance, quiet contemplation.
Her walk had led her, purely by chance, towards this secluded pond, a corner of the vast estate she hadn't explored before. And then she saw them. Lloyd. And a servant girl she didn't immediately recognize. Engaged in… something peculiar.
From her vantage point, Rosa couldn't discern the exact nature of their activity, only the broad strokes. Buckets. Ash. Water being poured, filtered, collected. Lloyd gesturing, explaining intently. The girl listening, rapt, occasionally assisting. They worked with a strange, focused intensity, an air of shared purpose that seemed incongruous given their respective stations. Lloyd, the Arch Duke's heir, covered in smudges of grey ash, patiently demonstrating some mundane filtering process to a servant girl. It was… odd.