Chapter 19 - Have a Drink

'I hope your journey to Ilyndor was safe and without much trouble,' Callahan said, sitting down on the couch and eying the injury on Eleonora's arm. It was the first thing he had noticed when he saw her standing at the end of the stairs. It was the last thing Arthur had mentioned about the chaos Winslow had caused in the market district.

With her other, uninjured hand, Eleonora tried to cover the cloth around her palm that was starting to show a small red spot of blood. 'Perfectly well,' she said. Then, like an afterthought, added, 'Your Highness.'

She didn't sit beside him instantly, but she stayed at his side of the room, keeping her careful distance from the duke. Callahan could feel her uneasiness at the lack of context, of her unfamiliar surroundings. She was looking at him with a question in her eyes, asking him what purpose she was called upon to serve here.

He had to commend her courage. He hadn't expected her to follow through his letter that easily, much less arrive early than the required time. Even in the moment, where others would be too absorbed in fawning over the titles present in the room, all she seemed to care about was her sense of purpose, the job she was called upon to serve, and of course, to disappear after that as quickly as possible — he could read that on her face with barely an effort.

'Have a seat. Allow me to pour you a drink,' said Callahan.

Eleonora looked at the vast space on the lengthy couch he sat on, then on the single chair kept at the end. Following her better judgement, she reached for the chair.

'You wouldn't want me to walk all the way there to pour you a drink, now would you?' he said, making her reconsider her decision.

She frowned skeptically. 'I'm not much familiar with the royal protocol, but I believe that will be quite inappropriate, Your Highness,' she said with a polite smile and a curt bow.

'And if I insist?' Callahan kept his gaze steady on her and mimicked her polite smile.

'The girl is right, Your Highness,' the duke chimed in. 'It is beyond her status to be near someone of as noble a birth as yours. She would be pleased enough already to be invited by your kind self, offering her more would only make her walk with her nose in the air.'

Callahan didn't look at the duke, his eyes remained on the apothecary. 'What do you think, Eleonora?'

He saw the hesitation that had been at the forefront until the duke spoke take a step back, and the defiance and spark that he remembered from their meeting in the Spirit Forest — something that had been missing until now — take its place. And yet, she only pressed her lips together in irritation, without letting her emotions overpower her rationality.

'It would be my privilege to have you pour me a drink,' she smiled at him, her voice velvety and soft. 'But I shall never take His Highness's generosity for permission.'

Duke Winslow scoffed, disdainfully.

Callahan simply smiled. He could notice, in her demeanour, the hurry to leave the inn. She wanted to run away from him. He could also read the suspicions in her eyes. She suspected he was up to no good. People often fall for his charms and forget that they were being played like a subpar game, but the apothecary looked like she was dreading his plot to unravel.

'You have saved my life, Apothecary. My generosity is but a small thing compared to the weight of such a favour,' Callahan retorted.

'You're indeed very kind, Your Highness. But how can I claim praise for saving your life when it was never in danger?' Eleonora was still smiling at him, but her eyes were telling a different story — challenging him.

'What stirs in the heart matters as much as what moves the hand. I put intentions on par with actions, my dear apothecary.'

'What a noble thought, Your Highness,' the duke said and was overtly ignored.

'Then your intention of showing your gratitude is enough to make my visit to Ilyndor fruitful, Your Highness. I see the friend you mentioned,' she looked over at the Duke with the same forcefully polite smile, 'is healthy and well. So I shall not disturb you further and take my leave.' Eleonora bowed.

'Ah, but the duke and I aren't much of an acquaintance,' Callahan said, making the duke squirm. 'You have been called upon to nurse someone else.'

'And who shall that be, Your Highness? I see no other friend,' she asked, getting vary of his overflowing appreciations.

'I believe you have already met her outside. The woman you saved from falling. Duchess Winslow,' Callahan leaned back on the couch, comfortably placing his right arm on the armrest of the couch.

Duke Winslow, who was happily pouring a glass of ale for the prince, froze in his place. 'Isabella? My wife, Your Highness?' he said, looking at him with surprise. The surprise, however, was short lived. Callahan credited it to the imperial protection shielding the duke. It had given him the incautious courage that Callahan had never seen in him before.

Duke Winslow cleared his throat as he sat straight, maintaining the polite facade, while also trying to assert dominance in a conversation that was taking an unlikely turn. 'Isabella's health is beyond saving, Your Highness. I had the best of healers of Valon try and treat her deteriorating condition. They have done nothing but bring her more disappointment,' Duke Winslow said. He then raised his eyes to the apothecary that the prince had brought along, 'the best have tried and failed, Your Highness. I would rather let my heart cry in agony over losing my dear Isabella than have the dirty hands of a nobody touch her.'

'Now, Winslow,' Callahan said, picking up the glass filled with golden ale and offering it to Eleonora. She had decided to remain standing despite his insistence. Callahan wondered if he should take offence or be impressed by her resolve. 'It is poor manners to judge someone without proof. Miss Eleonora might not be able to save the Duchess, but I assure you her talents might come in handy in easing her terrible aches.'

Eleonora nodded to herself, agreeing to his words, and forwarded both her hands to take the glass of ale, making sure as to not make any physical contact with his fingers.

'Forgive me for speaking against your better judgement, Your Highness,' the duke spoke with visible irritation, 'but a peasant like that should not be allowed to stand on the same ground that we walk on. They're fit to serve us and to pleasure us, but putting our life and health in the hands of their likes would not only be putting a huge responsibility on their puny shoulders, but would also lead them to think that they might be worth something.'

Callahan smiled as he leaned forward to pour a glass of ale for himself. 'If talents were tied to titles, you'd be a maestro by birthright, don't you think?' he said, then titled his head to look at the duke. 'And yet here you sit, proof that nobility and merit hardly ever share a bed.'

The duke smoldered under Callahan's stolid gaze. Then, taking control of his slipping emotions, he laughed — with bared teeth and a loud sound. It was like blunt daggers trying to pierce ears. 'Your Highness does wound with such grace that I'm honoured to be your target. But I must stay true to my beliefs. It's your kind heart and your lack of experience — owing to your age — that puts worth to their existence. But compassion can often be mistaken for weakness, and when one is too old to be reckless, it's the power that one holds over others that gives him security and respect.'

'Ah, of course,' said Callahan, picking up the glass of ale but not tasting it yet. He glanced at the apothecary, who was waiting for him to drink — it was etiquette to have the highest authority in the room go first — then turned back to the duke. 'Life is but a long lesson. So why don't you teach me, Duke Winslow, on how you managed to put the most powerful man in Valon under your control?'

'I would never dare to even think about putting His Majesty under my control, Your Highness,' Duke Winslow spoke fast, alerted by the sudden change of subject and embarrassed by the unexpected pleasant words. 'I live only to serve the crown. It must only be the profits from the investments in my breweries that earned my space in His Majesty's good graces.'

'Ah, your breweries,' Callahan swirled the liquid in his glass, and inhaled the sweet herbally aroma of the ale. 'I heard that some were destroyed in a fire incident. A sorrowful affair, indeed.' He felt the green eyes of the apothecary fall on him with the statement.

'Truly a terrible incident, Your Highness. So many batches of ales, all turned to ashes,' said the duke, shaking his head as if the fires had hurt him physically. In a way, they had. 'His Majesty has assured me that the bastard will be caught very soon and put on trial before the royal court.'

Callahan took note of the lack of resentment directed towards him. So his brother hadn't bothered to share his intel with the duke? A pity, truly.

'I'm certain all will come to light one day,' Callahan nodded, remorsefully. 'But for now, I have some news that might bring you some comfort.'

The Duke shifted in his seat, but his eyes lit up, curious for the news. Callahan gave a last swirl to the golden liquid in his glass.

'My sources informed me of a barrel from that batch that remained untouched by fire, quite miraculously,' said Callahan. He omitted the detail of being both the source and the miracle himself. 'So, naturally, I had to get a hold of it and bring it all the way to The Velvet Pearl to offer it as a gift to my aunt Isabella, your Duchess. I heard she had turned into quite an avid drinker ever since your business bloomed. It broke my heart when she refused to accept it, but then you showed up — like a bandage to my wounded heart. I'm pleased to have you as my drinking mate for today.' He, then, looked at Eleonora as he raised his glass in toast, 'and the apothecary, of course.'

Callahan hadn't expected the duke to go into a frenzy, so it was surprising when the man jumped to his feet and snatched the bottle of ale kept on the table. His plum face had gone pale, the colour drained away completely. His hands shook as he turned the bottle over, reading the batch numbers while spilling half the liquid on the table and the inn's wooden flooring.

'Winslow,' Callahan said in a quiet command that had bent knees in courts before. He trained his eyes on the duke until he let go of the bottle of ale and sunk back in his chair — fearful and defeated. With heavy hands, the duke raised the glass in the air. Eleonora followed suit.

'To more profits!' said Callahan, and drank the poisoned liquid in the glass. Every last drop of it.