Ch#139
==================================================
The small bag held nothing but shriveled fruit. These were wild raspberries, a specific strain indigenous only to the Grimaldi mountains. This particular variety, recognizable by its deep violet hue, served as a fundamental staple in the local diet, appearing in everything from preserves and juices to potent spirits.
“I don’t understand…”
The Countess met Adrina’s confused stare with a cold clarity.
“For certain individuals, these are lethal.”
“I grew up eating these constantly,” Adrina countered. “They aren’t toxic.”
“To a human, no. They are harmless.”
Adi reached into the pouch, selecting a single dried berry and placing it on her tongue. It confirmed her memory; there was no hint of venom. The flavor was muted, lacking the sugary burst she recalled from her youth. It wasn’t a particularly remarkable snack, especially when far superior treats were easily accessible. She might have enjoyed them for the sake of a childhood memory, but that was the extent of their appeal.
“However, they are a death sentence for a Witch.”
Adi’s chin lifted slowly as the weight of that statement settled.
“Explain what you mean.”
“Rumor suggests the Duke carries the blood of a Witch.”
Adi felt her expression turn to stone. Could a common berry really act as a fatal toxin? She struggled to process the Countess’s motive for sharing this. Did it mean the Count intended to assassinate the Duke?
What could justify such a move?
Was there a genuine motive for murder?
Furthermore, why would she provide this warning?
What did she hope to gain?
Answers remained elusive. The only thing that mattered in that moment was reaching Yuls immediately. As Adi bolted from the room, the Countess watched her departure with a heavy exhale.
“That look hasn’t changed at all.”
It was the same desperate intensity Adrina had shown during the business with Adrian.
“Truly exhausting.”
*
“This place is remarkably tranquil.”
Claude took up the entirety of the sofa, lounging without a shred of decorum. He hadn’t bothered to sit upright since his arrival.
“Perhaps it’s the climate. Or maybe it really is this peaceful. I find the vistas and the open air quite agreeable.”
“You’ve had far too much to drink.”
“The local spirits are my favorite part.”
Claude set his glassware aside and reached for the bottle itself. He hauled his torso up just enough to press the rim to his lips, taking massive swigs before letting out a long, satisfied breath.
“Listen, Count. Now that we’re in this position, give me the truth.”
“What truth is that?”
“About Luigi. About the day you ended him.”
“……”
“Did you truly do it for me?”
Spencer remained silent, offering no immediate response to the prince’s inquiry.
“I won’t deny it worked out in my favor, but the thought haunts me. Was your loyalty really mine? I often wonder if you were simply waiting to see which of us—Luigi or I—would come out on top.”
“Does the ‘why’ still carry weight? His Excellency Luigi is long gone.”
“It carries weight to me,” Claude insisted. He stared at Spencer Grimaldi with an intensity that seemed aimed at peeling back the older man’s skin.
After a tense pause, Spencer finally spoke. “My devotion belonged entirely to Your Highness.”
Claude let out a dry laugh and tipped the bottle again. After another swallow, he gave a slow nod. “Of course. Naturally.”
“Just as you once served my father with such fervor.”
And yet, the Count now seemed intent on toppling that very monarch to seat Claude on the throne. One had to wonder: if the King hadn’t initiated the conflict, would Spencer have remained on his side?
“There was a time in my youth when I wished you were my father.”
Claude placed the bottle on the table and ran a hand through his hair. A deep crimson flush had spread across his face and neck, signaling the alcohol’s victory.
“Looking at things now, I’m glad that wish never came true.”
The words drifted out on a weary sigh. He let his eyelids fall, and within moments, his breathing leveled out into the rhythm of deep sleep.
“The Prince has reached his limit.”
“Sobriety makes the eventual intoxication hit much harder,” Yuls remarked. Spencer nodded in agreement.
The Count reflected on Claude’s admission. The boy had wanted him as a father. Spencer had certainly prized Claude, but not with paternal affection. He had valued him as a political asset—the King’s own flesh and blood.
He had never viewed Claude through the same lens as his own biological children.
“The alcohol here is exceptionally potent.”
“Is it?”
“People say spirits from the frozen lands are meant to burn.”
“That’s a Northern Continent sentiment,” Spencer corrected. “In the Central Continent, things are fairly uniform. If we’re judging by temperature alone, Belipeera is far more frigid.”
Altitude changed the nature of the cold, of course. These heights could be more biting than the lowlands of Belipeera, but it was still a manageable chill. Compared to the northern winters where the ocean turned to ice and the sun vanished, this was mild. The suffering of Grimaldi wasn’t born of mere weather.
“We simply had a tradition of distilling fruit into high-proof spirits for preservation. Isolation is common here, whether from mountain slides or other disasters.”
“And the constant warfare,” Yuls added.
“There were even tales of cannibalism when the larders went bare.”
“Nonsense. People were so starved there wouldn’t have been any meat worth taking. We survived on whatever we could find—roots and wild fruit. Because we are cut off from the world, we have flora found nowhere else. We ate those. Other cultures labeled them toxic, but we learned the secrets of preparing them safely.”
“…The desperation must have been profound.”
“It was. In those times, gold and silver are worthless. You cannot digest a diamond. Consequently, we focused our energy on agriculture and preservation rather than hoarding treasure. But even that had its breaking point.”
The Count gave a short, cynical huff.
“Eventually, we turned to theft.”
“The foundation of Grimaldi’s martial arts is plunder. It was forged through generations of mounted raids and the destruction of settlements.”
The blade wasn’t invented to shield the weak; it was designed for slaughter. Spencer had no patience for the romanticized notion of the ‘protector.’ Did a man protecting his home not have to kill the intruder? In the end, it was all just different names for killing.
Spencer accepted that reality. He believed his willingness to face that truth was why he had once been the premier knight of Dalkatir.
“But surely, Your Excellency didn’t travel all this way just for a history lesson.”
“As you suspect, Count—”
Yuls stopped himself. Claude’s snoring filled the room. Beyond that, servants were moving about the halls, and the guards stationed outside were known for their keen hearing.
“The architecture of the Grimaldi manor is fascinating. I noticed you integrated the original, failed city walls into the expansion. Are those sections still functional?”
“They are. One of our parlors is built directly into that stone. It stays cold, making it ideal for the warmer months. It possesses a certain historical charm.”
“Historical charm. I see.”
“If you wish, we could find a more private setting to conclude our business.”
“Lead the way.”
Yuls stood, accepting the invitation.
The manor was hushed. Adi sprinted down the staircase and began a frantic search for Joel. If there was ever a time for a healing specialist, it was now; he was the only one who could help.
“Joel! Where are you?”
She slammed open a door, her voice echoing through the hall. Dimitri appeared from a side room, looking surprised. “Adi?”
She was gasping for air, her face twisted with worry.
“What has happened to cause such a fright?”
“Dimitri.”
Adi shoved the cloth bag toward him. He peered inside and shrugged. “Wild raspberries.” They were ubiquitous in these parts.
“They make an excellent filling for pastries.”
“Do they have any other properties? Anything at all?”
Dimitri shook his head. To him, they were just fruit. They weren’t toxic; they were a local staple. They were a bit bitter and had a sharp scent, but that was all.
“What is all the shouting about?”
Joel emerged from the room, looking concerned. He had expected a disaster based on the noise, but only found the two of them. Unlike the calm Dimitri, Adrina looked like she was on the verge of a breakdown.
“We have to find the Duke. Right now.”
She held the bag up to Joel’s face.
“I’ve been told these are lethal to him.”
“What are those?”
“Wild raspberries,” Dimitri answered for her.
“Wait, a wild rasp—”
“No time. Move!”
Adi grabbed Joel by the arm and hauled him forward. He stumbled after her, his face a mask of confusion. Their strides were mismatched; when he pleaded for a slower pace, she merely shifted from a sprint to a grueling walk that still left him breathless.
They reached the drawing room quickly. Adi hammered on the door and burst inside. “Your Excellency!”
The room was empty of both Yuls and Spencer.
Only the sleeping Prince remained.
A head butler entered the room, likely investigating the ruckus. “Is there a problem?”
Adi closed the gap between them in a few predatory steps. The man recoiled in fear.
“Where did they go?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Duke Woodpecker. Where is he?”
“I assume they retired to their private quarters, did they not?”
Adi sneered. He was hiding something. Was it her Grimaldi name that made him difficult? Or was he just trying to exert petty authority over a visiting knight? It didn’t matter. She had no patience for games.
“I am going to ask you one more time. Be very careful how you answer.”
Adi pulled the knife from her leg sheath and pressed the cold steel against his windpipe.
“Where are they?”