Chapter 126
While brushfires were a common occurrence during the parched months, witnessing a massive inferno in the middle of the rainy season was unheard of. Dimitri wasted no time organizing mounts for the entire party. To reach Woodpecker with any speed, the Duke, his senior staff, and the martial escort had to ride hard; slow-moving carriages were a luxury they could no longer afford.
The various diplomatic obligations they had traveled to Ionad to fulfill were indefinitely shelved. This postponement carried a grim, unspoken weight—there was no certainty they would ever return to finish them.
“Is a summer blaze truly that out of the ordinary here?” Adi inquired.
“It is,” Dimitri confirmed. “The humidity usually prevents it.”
The chamberlain elaborated as they rode. He explained that while the northern territory of Grimaldi suffered through arid summers and sodden winters, Woodpecker followed the opposite pattern due to the influence of oceanic currents.
Dimitri kept a sharp eye on Yuls as he spoke. The Duke was flanked by Gavin and Bert, while Adi remained positioned between Joel and the chamberlain. She had recently discovered that Dimitri, despite his noble lineage, had been barred from martial training. It seemed the family viewed sword-wielding members of the collateral branches as a potential internal threat.
Neither of them harbored any current resentment over the restriction. It was a relic of a bygone era. Dimitri had long since passed the age for learning the blade, and his impeccable service as the household’s head meant he had no need for steel to prove his worth.
“Under normal circumstances, a fire in this heat would never spread,” Dimitri continued. “Our real danger months are typically the dry spells of winter or spring.”
Adi signaled her understanding. In a dry winter, even the simple necessity of a campfire became a gamble. No matter how mild the southern climate was, spending a night in a forest where flame was forbidden was a death sentence. To survive, one needed meticulous preparation or the deep, instinctive knowledge of the locals. Woodpecker was still a mystery to her; having only experienced its lush summer, she found it hard to imagine how they endured the winter months.
“Besides,” Joel cut in, leaning toward them, “the Oak Forest has never burned before. Not once.”
“Excellent conservation efforts, I imagine?” Adi suggested.
Joel gave a noncommittal shrug. “Perhaps. But the legends say something else. They say a Witch watched over it.”
She wondered about the nature of such a guardian. Did she keep the flames at bay to protect the local populace, or simply to preserve her own secluded sanctuary?
Folklore was thick with tales of such women, yet concrete facts were nonexistent. No one living had ever looked upon a real Witch. If there was anyone alive who shared that same enigmatic aura, however…
Adi’s gaze drifted. It would be Duke Woodpecker himself.
“I thought Witches were a source of terror in these parts,” Adi remarked.
In the North, the very idea of a Witch was synonymous with a nightmare. Their mere presence was treated as a plague upon humanity. Men there didn’t wait for a crime to be committed; they acted on the assumption of future atrocities, slaughtering any woman who bore the brand. It was a systematic purge of a name, not a person.
“They were feared here as well,” Joel admitted.
The memory of those atrocities hung heavy.
“But it wasn’t the same as elsewhere.”
For a fleeting second, Adi’s senses betrayed her. A phantom shriek seemed to vibrate in the air—a hollow, desperate sound that was half-whisper, half-agony. The sharp, metallic tang of something burning stung her nostrils, though no smoke was near. Fragments of a history she had never lived pulsed behind her eyes, the vividness of the long-dead violence so intense she had to knit her brows together to stay grounded in the present.
“The madness that gripped the rest of the world didn’t take root in Woodpecker,” Joel explained. He had been a mere boy during those dark days, and while the specifics of the Hunt were blurry, the sensory horrors remained. Even with his hands pressed over his ears in hiding, the sounds of the purge had found him.
“When the crusades finally pushed into the South, the people were horrified.”
It wasn’t a war; it was a massacre. While every region had its scars, the sheer scale of the bloodletting in the South suggested a deeper, more sinister motivation.
“That’s why the Southern people still look at the Crown with such bitterness and suspicion,” Joel added.
He glanced toward the horizon. The usually brilliant summer skies of Woodpecker had been choked by a heavy, leaden gloom for days. It looked like rain was coming, perhaps a side effect of the distant fire, though they were still far from the forest’s edge.
“We stop here,” Bert commanded, pulling his horse to a halt as they reached a wide clearing.
“Eat quickly,” he told the group. “We need to keep moving. If we want to hit the forest by tomorrow, we have to reach the next settlement before dark.”
“I’ll ride ahead to secure a place for us,” Gavin offered, staying in his saddle. The hamlet bordering the Oak Forest was tiny and lacked proper infrastructure. Finding a suitable place for the Duke to rest would be difficult, and time was of the essence.
As the camp came to life, a small fire was built. Yuls sat slightly apart from the main group, a small blaze flickering before him. While the chamberlains prepared a meager meal and Bert stood watch, Adi moved to join the Duke’s side at the knight’s suggestion.
“Your Excellency,” she said quietly.
Yuls looked up. He was always pale, but now his skin had the translucence of marble. He looked ghost-like.
“Your Excellency?” she repeated, stepping closer.
Concerned by his vacant expression, she was about to call for Joel when Yuls suddenly reached out. His fingers clamped onto the fabric of her cloak. Adi stopped instantly, looking down at his trembling hand before sinking to one knee beside him.
“Please,” she whispered. “You must breathe.”
Her voice seemed to anchor him. Yuls drew a ragged breath, then another, slowly forcing his lungs to work. He let out a dry, joyless laugh.
“The air smells like ash,” he rasped.
The Oak Forest was miles away, yet the phantom scent of destruction was suffocating him.
“It will be—” She stopped herself. She couldn’t lie. She knew the truth as well as he did.
She debated offering a hollow comfort but decided against it. Looking him directly in the eye, she chose honesty.
“Even if everything is lost, we have to endure. We have to keep living.”
“Don’t let your mind dwell on a tragedy you haven’t seen yet,” she added.
“You are remarkably steady, Guard,” Yuls murmured.
“I’m not,” Adi countered. “I only act this way because I refuse to let my terrors win.”
She wondered if the act itself had changed her. Could a person truly become brave just by pretending long enough, or was she merely deluding herself? Regardless, the mask was her only defense.
“But you don’t always have to be strong,” she said softly. “Sometimes, moving forward requires admitting you’re afraid.”
She thought of the sword. A blade that was too rigid, too unyielding, was the one most likely to shatter in a real fight.
“For me, there is no choice,” Yuls replied. He wasn’t dismissing her advice; he understood that vulnerability could lead to growth. But his position was a cage. “A ruler cannot afford a single moment of weakness.”
Without thinking, Adi reached out. She gently brushed a stray lock of his long hair away, tucking it behind his ear to reveal the full, striking lines of his face.
The old stories said Witches were so beautiful they stole the souls of those who looked at them. If a Witch looked anything like the man before her, she understood why men were so easily undone. She was still lost in thought, staring at him, when Yuls suddenly caught her hand in his.
“Your Excellency, I apologize for my overstepping…”
Yuls didn’t let go. Instead, he drew her hand to his face and pressed a lingering kiss against her skin. He didn’t care that the rest of the party was mere yards away. Adi, her back to the others, was shielded from their curious gazes.
“That’s better,” Yuls said, his voice trailing off as he reluctantly released her.
Adi’s hand remained suspended in the air, tingling.
“I feel more like myself now.”
She stared at her hand, the ghost of the sensation still humming against her skin. “Does… does a gesture like that actually help?”
“It does.”
“Just from that?”
“It isn’t ‘just’ anything,” Yuls corrected her softly. “It works because it came from you.”
“Am I really someone you can lean on?”
Yuls looked at her, his silence heavy with meaning.
“Answer me, Your Excellency,” she prompted.
A tiny, genuine smile touched her lips. The sight caught Yuls off guard; he had been about to say her name, but the sudden warmth in her expression made his mind go momentarily blank.
“I like it,” she said, beating him to the word. “Knowing I’m someone you can rely on… it feels good.”
He couldn’t recall ever seeing her look this way. He was used to her stoic, unreadable mask; this sudden flash of humanity was breathtaking.
“In that case,” Yuls found himself saying, “may I depend on you again? From time to time?”
“Certainly,” she replied without a second’s thought.
Yuls laughed, a genuine sound of surprise at her blunt, easy confidence. Adi blinked, wondering if she had been too forward. Her response had lacked the proper deferential weight.
“It is, of course, a great honor to serve in such a capacity,” she added, trying to sound more professional.
Yuls turned his head, his shoulders shaking as he tried to stifle his amusement. Adi watched him, her expression a mix of confusion and mild offense, but she eventually allowed a small smile to return to her face.
At that moment, the true scope of the disaster still felt distant. They didn’t realize how bad it was.
But when they finally reached the forest…
The sight was a nightmare.
