Callahan was seven the first time someone tried to take his life. It was by poisoning his lunch with a lethal and fast-acting toxin. He would have died that day if it wasn't for the palace healer rushing to him instantly and his link to the Nether that had tempered down the effects of the poison in his body. To the kid he was then, it was traumatizing, but not surprising. As the heir to the throne, it was hardly a wonder that people wanted to replace him.
Investigations were made; maids and cooks were executed. It wasn't until he was fifteen and sitting by his mother's deathbed that he found, it was his father that had tried to kill him. Then, and on several occasions thereafter.
Caution had been drilled into him by his tutors from a young age, but it was his will to survive in a home that had traps laid out for him everywhere that had hardened him. Before, as a kid who was still learning things about his world while dealing with the overpowering curse that ran down the royal lineage, Callahan had started to categorize every person in his life as harmless or threatening.
Isabella, who visited the palace every week to visit her ailing sister and look after the young prince had been harmless.
Her husband, who had always tried to flatter Callahan excessively, was a disguised threat.
As he grew up, started to grasp the reigns of his life, of his curse, of his title, that category had metamorphized — expanded. He wasn't the prey anymore. Instead, he had become something far worse than a hunter. The same people who had felt like a threat before, had become actors in a recurring play — predictable little dolls.
Push them in the corner, bolt all exits, give them an illusion of a choice and they show their true colors. Choices define people. Through them, their actions become clear, their behavior more predictable.
Throw them a golden bone and all the self-righteousness and magnanimity washes away.
The apothecary would be no different.
The vision on the canvas he kept secured in his chambers was too far in the future. He had enough time to mold her the way he wanted her to. But it was necessary to understand one's true nature to do that.
I only save lives, what they do with their lives is not my concern. She had said to him back in the forest.
My fear shall never take precedence over saving a life. He remembered her words well.
Callahan wasn't someone to fuss over passing statements, but principles were a different thing. They were the code of ethics that shaped the person's very own foundation. Breaking them, unravels the self, makes the person vulnerable to ruin. On the other hand, standing true to them, despite everything else, makes one predictable, prone to manipulation through moral leverage.
Walking away and letting the duke die would be breaking her principle.
But saving him — a mass murderer — would bind her in her own self-made shackles.
Callahan wasn't sure what her choice would be. It was the only breathing space that he allowed her to fill on her own. But the outcome would be the same either way: she would be playing right into his margin of error.
He watched in silence as she stared through the open doorway. It was empty. The loud voices previously ringing through the corridors had faded to distant murmurs. The people running out of the inn hadn't witnessed the whole spectacle. It was quick, Callahan had been extremely meticulous with those details. But he let them witness the duke fighting for his life. Speculate over it.
'Is he really dead?' asked the apothecary at last, shifting her gaze back to him.
'He will be if you let him,' he answered, casually — truthfully. He had made sure the inn healer was out on a leave. And the one being fetched from the palace at the moment was hardly going to make it on time.
She didn't act immediately. Instead, she stared back — rather, glared — at him with sharp emerald eyes. A furrow marred her forehead. She was trying hard to maintain her composure, but the uneasiness in her demeanor, the uncertainty of her future action and the paranoia about his motives were not lost on him. She was conflicted he could tell, but she was fighting to keep her cool. Callahan appreciated the ability; not many could do that when put under pressure.
'I don't understand,' she said. Anger was starting to taint the fringes of her tone. However, her voice was breathy and low. 'All of this was for a stupid test? I walk away, let him die, and gain your favour? I save him and become your enemy?'
Callahan shrugged. 'Simple isn't it?' Her assumption was lacking foresight, but he didn't correct her. She didn't need to — should not — know about his true motives.
Her gaze didn't falter away from him when a soldier appeared at the open doorway. Callahan raised a hand to stop him before he could interrupt. He had come to fetch the apothecary for help.
'So what will it be? You're running out of time,' Callahan said to her. Her hesitation was obvious. She was weighing her options. Neither was an ideal one. But choosing to not act instantly would take even that choice away from her.
Then, something shifted in her eyes. A firm resolve took hold.
'I don't want to be either,' she stated flatly.
Callahan raised a mocking, curious brow, but she was already halfway across the room. Without missing a beat, she grabbed the toppled down bottle of ale from the table and shook it. When satisfied with the amount of liquid still present in it, the apothecary turned around.
She walked back to him, chin up, her eyes defiant with a severe lack of previously present hesitation. 'I won't be your marionette,' she stated with conviction, looking him right in the eye. 'You make your own choice for your own mess.'
Then, she walked through the door. The soldier bowed to him, and followed her out.
Callahan was not completely sure what she had meant to imply by her words, but it was futile to dwell over it when the meaning would soon become clear. He watched the soldier clear the crowd at the inn's entrance for the apothecary to get to the duke, and himself climbed up the stairs to the upper floor to join Arthur on the balcony.