Duke Winslow stared at the liquid in his hand like it was poison served to him on a golden chalice.
Eleonora noticed his hesitation, saw Prince Callahan keeping his eyes on the duke, and to satiate her own curiosity, raised the glass to her eye level. There were four simple steps to identify most poisons.
Sight, odor, touch and taste.
Eleonora gave the liquid in the glass a soft swirl. There was no shimmer dancing atop the ale; there was no unnatural colour marking its edges. She eliminated almost one-fifth of drug options that could have caused such a reaction from her mind's directory.
Then she lowered the glass to her nose, took a sniff. The sweet, herbally aroma that blessed her nostrils was so characteristic to usual ales she found in the village, but it was the smoky scent of woodsmoke that set this one apart — making it exotic. It must be expensive, crafted specifically to interest and impress the noble palate. It was different, but not suspicious. She eliminated more options.
'Is there a problem with the ale, Winslow?' Prince Callahan asked, even as he leaned back onto the couch and crossed his legs, his fingers entwined and resting on the top of his knees.
Eleonora wondered what he was trying to do. There was something wrong with the ale, she understood that much. That he had drunk it first despite knowing about the potential poison in it, was also clear in his demeanor. She wouldn't let his lack of reaction to it blur her judgement this time around. After all, she had seen him blabber effortlessly while being infected with Bloodwake. Whatever was in the ale, it could not be a more potent poison.
But the duke's hands shivered around the glass. His eyes lifted to look at the prince then dropped back to his ale with visible conflict. It piqued Eleonora's curiosity, and she brought the glass to her mouth and tipped it for a drink. Ever the cautious self, she didn't take a sip, just let the ale touch the top of her lips. She gave it a second, then another. When she didn't feel an itch or a burn marking the presence of a strange substance, she ran her tongue on her upper lip, tasting it at last.
The ale was an exquisite brew indeed. Eleonora had never tasted an alcohol as refined as the one presently in her hands. She understood why it would sell well. But as the initial few notes of honey and herbs gave way to the underlying notes of woodsmoke and charred malt, Eleonora detected the sharp tinge — barely noticeable to someone who was not versed in drugs — at the back of her throat. It lasted for a fraction of a second. So brief and so discreet that its presence would never be recognized by the reveler.
However, Eleonora could not think of any drug or poison which had such inconspicuous properties. The few that did either had a striking aroma to go with it or a mild reaction to the skin.
'Ah, of course,' said Prince Callahan, bored of waiting for the duke to make a move. 'Is it your burned breweries and the imminent threat to your life that puts you to worry?'
Hope returned to Duke Winslow's eyes. 'Yes,' he said in a hurry and placed his glass back on the table with a relieved sigh. 'Yes, indeed, Your Highness. It has strained my daily life, which is why I hurried over here when I heard Isabella was called upon for a meeting with you. She's sick and the danger looms. Forgive me for spoiling the mood of the room, Your Highness, but my fear is hindering all my actions.'
Eleonora saw the side of Prince Callahan's lip rise ever so slightly and it sent a chill run down her spine. With the tense air in the room, and the weight of power clearly on the prince's side, Eleonora had known he was playing the duke like a puppet master does to its marionettes. The lack of context kept her eluded from the reasons of his actions, but the ease with which the prince maneuvered the conversations, changed tactics, pulling just the right strings to bring about the reaction he wanted, leaving enough space for the duke to thing he was making the choices voluntarily without him noticing the threads bound around his fingers, the words being fed to him at every moment, it alarmed Eleonora. It made her apprehensive of her own role in this puppet theatre. Was she a marionette as well?
She thought back to the letter, to the unassuming words in it, thought back to the way the prince had invited her to this particular inn for treating a wounded friend and not having the said wounded friend anywhere near this room, to the way he had insisted her on having this drink. Of course, all of it could not be meaningful. Accidents happen, coincidences occur, plans change, improvisations save the day. But even as Eleonora struggled with denial of herself being only an actor in the prince's staged play, she remembered the meticulously calculated injury on his shoulder, and realised she shouldn't put it past him.
Then as if he could read her mind, Prince Callahan turned to look at her, a charming smile adorning his face. 'And how do you like the ale, Eleonora?'
Her breath caught in her throat. Nevertheless, she tried to maintain an ignorant pretense. 'It's excellent, Your Highness.'
'Is that all? I hoped you would have more to say.' He tched under his breath. Eleonora was starting to detest the way he looked at her — like he could see through every facade she was trying to put as a defense. It made her feel vulnerable, exposed. It made her want to run away from whatever weird royal powerplay the prince was trying to trap her into.
'Do you know what happens when you combine Vineroot, Crowthorn and Dust of Nym in a certain specific proportion, Apothecary?'
Eleonora didn't. She had never heard of a concoction that would require those three to be fused together. Moreover, they were exotic medicinal ingredients — hard to find and expensive to buy. She knew of other, more easily available herbs that when combined together in the right proportions would give out similar medicinal properties, so she had never had to work much with them.
But even as she shook her head for her lack of knowledge, Eleonora broke down the properties of the herbs and the additives mentioned by the prince, combining them in her head to produce different possible outcomes. With an expertise that had developed over years of practice, Eleonora filtered the common, obvious side-effects that it could cause to the human body and focused on the more subtle, deeper rooted reactions. Vineroot, Crowthorn and Dust of Nym were all medicinal ingredients, used to elevate the mood, enhance the nerves and bring ease to a troubled mind. However, they were always used in small quantities and never mixed together. Eleonora looked at the ale in her glass, recalled the old duchess stumbling on her feet, thought back to the way Albert had laid on the ground almost lifeless, but with no evident malady, and realised why the ingredients had never been mixed together before.
'It causes a fatal addiction.' The words passed her lips in a whisper as the realisation dawned. 'It would create an euphoric buzz at the start: enhancing the senses, clearing the mind. People would want to buy it again and again, wanting to experience it one more time, having no idea they were consuming a slow poison. By the time they come to realise what it was doing to them, it would be too late to stop, and even when they do,' Eleonora said, looking at the duke who was glaring back at her with hatred, 'they'll end up like the duchess: unable to cope, easing towards their untimely end.'
Prince Callahan smiled, his raised eyebrows expressing his admiration. Eleonora knew she had dived head first into a fire pit, playing right into the prince's bait. But as of this moment, she had stopped caring about it. People can be immensely cruel, she knew that. She had always been on the unfortunate side of their kindness spectrum so it was hardly a shock. She had also heard and read enough about nobles to know they treated everyone beneath their own social standing like slaves at their command. But to witness one who would go so far as to cause such a tragedy into the lives of so many without any remorse, when she had seen first hand the pain, the hardship one loss of life causes, the struggle and precision it required to keep a dying man to succumb to his death, the suffering it brings about to the victim... and all for what?
To more profits, the prince had toasted. The duke sickened Eleonora. She had been judging Prince Callahan for playing him like a puppet, but she could hardly bring herself to sympathize with such a man now.
'Now that we know about the malady, I'm hoping you could assist the Duchess with what she requires,' said Prince Callahan, unfazed.
'I shall try, Your Highness,' Eleonora bowed, respectfully.
She had only started to walk out of the room when Duke Winslow jumped out of his seat, intending to block her path. 'Isabella doesn't require her assistance. My wife is my problem. I don't need a peasant like that anywhere near her.' He was looking at Eleonora, daring her to defy him, his voice rising above the music emanating from the other rooms, but it was the prince his words were directed at.
'Arthur,' Prince Callahan called out to his friend like a pleasant greeting, as if they weren't in a contentious situation. The general appeared through the open door almost immediately. 'Could you please guide the apothecary to the duchess? The duke and I have much to talk about.'
General Redmond nodded, without giving as much as a glance to Duke Winslow. Eleonora, realising the safer choice, stepped around the nauseating duke and followed the general out of the room. The duke didn't attempt to stop her this time.
Several other doors in the corridor that were left open, now had people looking outside with interest, curious about the duke's outburst. Eleonora tried to keep her eyes straight ahead, but even as she walked, out of the corner of her eyes, she could see several royal guards sitting inside those rooms at full attention. They were in their uniform, hardly making an attempt to conceal their identities.
Any other time she would have ignored it as not a cause of concern. But after witnessing whatever was going on with the duke and the prince, it made Eleonora wonder.
Which side were they on?