Chapter 11
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Within the borders of Dalkatir, three individuals were said to be plagued by curses. Yet, according to the local witch, only Yuls Woodpecker carried a genuine affliction.
Yuls had once expressed a desire to seek out the others who shared his burden, but the witch had merely looked at him with a sense of bewilderment. She had questioned if the others were even cursed at all.
This meant Adi Grimaldi was free of any such hex. The death of her twin sister had likely been nothing more than a stroke of terrible luck. While Adrian himself had been a sickly child, he had grown into a man of perfect health. Logically, if a curse were meant to claim a life, it should have taken the son rather than the daughter.
“Have things been well with you?” she asked.
“As always,” he replied flatly.
“So, not well at all. I, on the other hand, have been wonderful.”
He didn’t care in the least about the witch’s personal state.
“Care for some tea?”
“I’ll pass.”
Yuls gave his rejection, and the witch took a sip from her own cup as if she had anticipated his answer. She hadn’t bothered to set out a second cup to begin with.
“I assume you’re here for the usual question?”
“Correct.”
“Why not just accept it by now? It isn’t exactly a transformative nightmare, is it?”
He met her gaze in silence. The witch, who appeared as youthful as he did, seemed genuinely confused by his persistence. She began to explain that commoners held many false beliefs about her kind, but he cut her off.
“Dorothy.”
“Alright, I get it. You want a cure. Perhaps a kiss from a royal on a pale stallion—”
He mentally dismissed the suggestion immediately. Even if the kingdom had plenty of princes and the royal stables were full of white horses, he would never agree to such nonsense. The idea of a kiss breaking a spell was a fairy tale she used to tease him with when they were children.
Despite her unchanging face, she had clearly matured, yet her personality remained as irritatingly playful as ever. He wondered briefly if witches aged internally while their skin remained frozen in time.
“Three gold pieces,” the witch demanded.
“One.”
“I need three. The components for this are getting expensive.”
“You buy them yourself; they can’t cost that much.”
“There are import taxes to consider. Why hasn’t a Duke like you negotiated a trade deal with the North yet? What do you actually do in that office of yours?”
“My jurisdiction is strictly southern.”
“A Duke is still a Duke.”
“And you just admitted you travel to get them yourself.”
She paused. “True. But when you factor in the ship’s passage, the road tolls, and my lost time, three coins is actually a bargain.”
“One. Your visions always boil down to telling me to be patient.”
“Maybe today will be different.”
“If it is, I’ll pay the three.”
“It’s a promise.”
She moved to the back of the room and returned with a massive glass bowl. She seemed to share his skepticism about the outcome. As water began to fill the vessel, she pulled a crimson vial from her sleeve, uncapped it, and allowed the dark pigment to swirl into the liquid.
“Magnolia of blue, plum of the hidden.”
The ink drifted through the water.
“A girl’s iron key, the ocean’s salt spray.”
Her words carried a rhythmic, melodic quality, reminiscent of a religious chant. He found it ironic, given that witches were known to be godless.
“The sharp, bitter shadow of a midsummer night.”
Yuls watched the bowl but saw nothing but murky clouds. Perhaps the sight was reserved for those with her sight.
“Your Grace, the thing you hunt for…”
She stopped mid-sentence. The sudden silence drew his attention, and he saw a flicker of genuine shock on her features.
Was there finally a change? He watched her with a spark of hope, and she offered him a small smile.
“It arrives shortly.”
“That prediction is worth exactly one coin,” Yuls said, tossing a gold piece onto the wood.
“No, this time you owe me three.”
She had already swiped the first coin. She held out her hand, gesturing for more. “You’ll see the truth within seven days.”
“A week?”
“What you want is already standing beside you. It will simply take a week for you to recognize it.”
Yuls produced two more coins and set them down.
“Mind you, it will take far longer to comprehend the ‘how’ and the ‘why,’” she added, tucking the money away. “My congratulations, Your Grace.”
The prospect of finally obtaining what he had spent years searching for felt heavy.
“I imagine this is our final meeting. I can finally quit Dalkatir with a clear conscience.”
“You’re actually leaving?”
“I never speak untruths, as you well know.”
“To where?”
“The Northern Continent.”
“Specifically?”
“I think I’ll try Ramels.”
“Dorothy of Ramels. That isn’t a common name there; I’ll be able to track you down.”
“I doubt it. Names can be changed, after all.”
“I thought a name was sacred to your kind.”
“It is. The first one, at least.”
He realized then that ‘Dorothy’ was likely a mask. It didn’t matter. If her prophecy held, his cure was within reach. As he stood to depart, she spoke one last time.
“I’ll be packed and gone in four days.”
He looked at her, surprised by the haste.
“If things go sideways, find me before the fourth day.”
She sounded certain that trouble followed his new fortune. It was a classic witch’s omen; people used to fear their every word because their speech had a habit of becoming reality. That was why they were hunted—to keep them quiet.
Yuls left without a word. They had known each other long enough for her to understand that his silence was his way of acknowledging her warning.
The Duke returned much sooner than Adi anticipated. She checked her timepiece; only twenty minutes had passed since he entered.
She tucked the watch away and stepped toward him as he came into the light. She noticed flecks of debris in his hair and wondered if the interior of the witch’s home was neglected. For a fleeting second, she considered reaching out to brush it away.
“Is your business concluded?”
Yuls looked at her. In the bright afternoon sun, her hair seemed to glow with a pale, golden hue. Her white attire stood out, and for some reason, the witch’s joke about a prince on a white horse flashed through his mind. She wasn’t a prince, and she had no horse—she was merely his Knight.
“It is.”
“Any other stops, sir?”
“No. Back to the palace.”
“As you wish.”
She opened the carriage door for him. Knowing he might take offense if she offered a hand to steady him, she remained still. As he climbed the small steps, he paused and looked back at her.
“One moment,” she said.
Adi reached toward his head. From his position on the step, he was taller than her. The white dust was glaringly obvious against his crimson locks, and she even spotted a stray web.
She carefully cleared the debris and showed him her hand. “Just some dust, Your Grace.” He watched her wipe her palms clean before he finally sat inside.
Adi climbed in after him and signaled the driver to begin the journey back. Throughout the ride, Yuls kept his eyes fixed on her.
Despite the intensity of his stare, Adi didn’t ask what was on his mind. Yuls remained equally silent.
*
Upon their arrival, Yuls went to change his clothes, attended by his servants. Adi remained in the outer reception area. Soon, Bert emerged from the Duke’s private quarters.
“How did it go?”
“Did you manage to sleep through the whole trip?” Adi countered.
Bert yawned, admitting he hadn’t slept but had been occupied with other matters. Adi suggested he get some rest, as she was currently on duty.
“So, the trip?”
“Uneventful.”
“I’m sure it was.”
Bert knew the routine, but he could tell something was off. The look on the Duke’s face wasn’t the usual one he wore after these visits. There was a subtle shift in his demeanor, even if he wasn’t talking.
“Why the questions, then?”
It didn’t look like anything had happened between the Duke and Adi.
“You stayed outside, I assume?”
“Of course.”
Bert figured the change must have come from the witch. Whether Yuls would ever explain it was a different story.
“Adi…” Bert started, then shook his head. “Forget it. See you tonight.”
He checked the clock, noting that a few hours of sleep would be perfect. Adi nodded in agreement.
Yuls eventually reappeared, followed by his staff. He gave his two guards a passing glance before settling onto a sofa with a mask of indifference. A servant brought him a stack of papers—likely administrative work for his lands. Adi stayed back, and Bert excused himself.
Adi moved to stand by the window, keeping a watchful eye. As she moved, a servant took up a post by the door. Outside, the sound of distant laughter drifted in. Having spent most of her time with the grim Knights of the Outer Palace, the cheerful atmosphere of the inner grounds felt alien to her.
The sound felt strangely out of place. Then, she felt his eyes on her again. The Duke was watching her. When she met his gaze, he was the first to look away. Adi didn’t turn back to the window; she watched him work instead. The entire scene felt like a dream.
