The crowd was restricted to the left side of the street watching Duke Winslow as he sat leaning on the wheel of his carriage, heaving as blood poured down his open mouth to his drenched clothes to the cobblestoned road below. The soldiers — still a little dazed — were not doing their best job, but they could hardly be blamed for it. Callahan had tried to be merciful, making it brief, keeping them from becoming the wraiths' prey like the duke had been, but they had gotten a peek of what it was like in the Nether. And it was hardly something one can look past, and move on easily. Callahan would know.
'What happened to the duchess?' Arthur asked, looking away from the scene to him.
'She's safe.'
'And the apothecary?' He hesitated for a moment, then asked. 'Is she the one from the queen's vision?'
Callahan didn't need to reply to that. It was a rhetorical question. His silence was an additional confirmation.
The crowd split as the soldier effectively cleared the way for the apothecary to reach the duke faster. Callahan traced the movement of her green cloak distinct among the people's heads. Her walk was confident even as she kept her head lowered, her face hiding behind the hood of her cloak.
'How do you wish to deal with her, Your Highness?' inquired Arthur.
Callahan waited for the apothecary to make her way to Duke Winslow. She stopped in front of him, her fingers curled around the neck of the bottle she held. He watched with growing curiosity as she stood there, looking down on him with no urgency in her manners. It was a stark contrast to how she had reacted back in the forest.
'Inform the physician to clear a post for her in the royal infirmary if she saves him,' he told Arthur. 'However, if she decides to walk away, alert the spies to find out, in who, and where her loyalties lie. We will need to keep her close and in check. One way or the other.'
Arthur didn't question him more. He simply nodded.
Duke Winslow raised his head to look at the apothecary. His sunken eyes against his pale face looked almost ghostlike. When he opened his mouth to ask for her help, more blood poured out of his mouth. It didn't faze her. She simply lowered herself to a crouch in front of him. Her hands moved to his neck, then his eyes. Checking his pulse, his pupils, his breathing.
Callahan scoffed. All that talk only to end up choosing the easy way out.
He placed a steady hand on Arthur's shoulder. 'Now you know what to-' Callahan stopped halfway when instead of administering a cure for the duke's condition, the apothecary stood up, the bottle still in hand.
She took a step back. Then, forwarded her hand, bringing the bottle of ale to the duke's eye level. 'Drink it,' she said to him. Her voice lacked empathy, the resentment still present at its periphery. 'It's your own produce. The concoction of your drugs will surely have long term effects, quite severe effects actually, considering your condition right now, but the initial rush will keep you alive till help gets here. That is all I can do for you.'
Lies. He'd seen it first hand. She could do so much more. The concoction wasn't the only option, even Callahan with his limited medicinal knowledge knew that.
He frowned as she brought the ale closer to the duke's face. Winslow didn't have the strength to push her hand away so he turned his head to the side, avoiding it.
'You wouldn't even drink it to save your life,' she said, taking another step back. 'And yet you never batted an eye from pouring its venom to others.'
She placed the bottle on the ground, not away from Duke Winslow's reach, but enough so that he would have to strain himself to get a hold of it. 'Make your own choice,' the apothecary said.
Then, she turned around and spotted Callahan on the balcony of the inn. She didn't say anything, but her eyes told him all he needed to know.
I won't be your marionette. Make your own choice.
Callahan let out a chuckle — humourless and dry as old bone. Nonetheless, he held her gaze with the same fierce intensity, for the brief moment she glared back at him. When she broke the contact — not out of fear, but as a deliberate act — she had her eyes only for the empty street ahead. The apothecary didn't turn to look at the duke, didn't wait for the choice he — or rather Callahan — made. She didn't care about the soldiers standing around, dazed and puzzled. Nor did she take notice of Arthur, beside him, almost leaning over the balcony to not miss a scene.
She simply turned around, and walked away.
A soldier rushed to the heaving duke's side. 'Please drink it, Your Grace. The palace healer might not make it on time,' he begged, the fear of losing the duke, and hence the consequence, weighing over his voice like a sharp sword.
Duke Winslow made an attempt to nod. Just as the soldier reached for the bottle, Callahan curled his fingers. The shadows around the ale stirred inconspicuously. The glass shattered to pieces. The little ale that it contained, spilt over the cobblestones, startling the soldier and earning a gasp from the crowd watching.
Arthur turned to him, but Callahan kept staring at the splashed liquid on the ground. Duke Winslow didn't last long. He breathed his last moments before the palace healer arrived.
Arthur couldn't help himself any longer. 'What now, Your Highness?' he asked. The question wasn't about the king, or the duke, or the chaos that his death was going to bring about. The arrangements for that were made much before, the plan of action formed and waiting to be executed. What Arthur wished to know was his instructions regarding the apothecary. The next move. The next step.
Scarcely a moment ago, Callahan had thought he had figured her out, that she had fallen inside his curve of influence. People were hardly ever unpredictable. He was hardly ever surprised.
And yet, for once, he found himself at a loss of words.