Ch#149
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A heavy silence fell over the room as everyone stared at the items the Witch had displayed. The Cook, called in specifically for his expertise, looked particularly ill at ease. Adi found herself out of her depth; to her untrained eyes, the toxic flora looked no different from harmless forest berries.
“Your Excellency, I must protest. This is reckless,” Gavin finally declared, his voice tight with disapproval.
The Witch offered a sharp, knowing look. “Perhaps for a mortal,” she countered. She explained that just as wild raspberries were a deadly toxin to her kind while being a sweet treat for humans, the reverse was equally true. Substances that would drop a man dead were nothing more than a feast for a Witch.
“To my people, these are local delicacies,” she added with a smirk.
She began a macabre tour of her collection, pointing to each specimen as if she were a merchant showing off fine silks. “Here we have Foxglove, and beside it, Virosa. This is a common Poisonous mushroom—I assume you recognize that much? These over here are Devil’s Fruit roots, and this dark cluster is Death’s Nightshade Fruit.”
The source of these items was obvious to everyone watching. Such things were banned from any market; no merchant would dare stock them. She must have spent days scouring the deep woods and untamed fields to forage for such a lethal harvest.
“Tracking all of these down was quite the ordeal,” she remarked.
Her statement was an understatement. If a commoner were caught with such a collection, they would be arrested instantly. Had any member of the Woodpecker Guards, the local Militia, or the Standing army spotted her with these, it would have triggered an immediate, armed intervention.
The group continued to look at the array of death with growing horror. Finally, Bert broke his silence. “I cannot support this course of action.”
Gavin nodded in somber agreement. No matter how dire their circumstances, consuming poison seemed an unnecessary extremity. He believed they should instead use the current crisis to prove that Count Grimaldi’s provocations had directly endangered the ducal line. Yuls, however, was already moving in a different direction.
“I am going to proceed,” Yuls said.
“Your Excellency, please reconsider,” they pleaded.
“I have to find a way back to my true self,” he replied firmly.
“The risk is far too great.”
“It won’t kill me.”
With those words, Yuls reached out and plucked a single berry. It was small and dark, looking deceptively like a common forest fruit one might use to sweeten a tart or garnish a dessert.
“You’ve said it yourself,” he reminded them. “These have no power over Witches.”
“But you are only half-Witch, Your Excellency,” someone reminded him.
“True,” he conceded, “but that means I am only half-human as well.”
Before anyone could stop him, Yuls tossed the fruit into his mouth. A collective gasp of “Your Excellency!” echoed through the room, but he simply began to chew. His face twisted into a grimace, and he clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. “It’s incredibly bitter,” he muttered. Despite its succulent appearance, the berry lacked any sweetness, leaving a sharp, acrid sting against his palate.
The Witch had called it a delicacy. It was certainly a potent, unique sensation, though he wouldn’t go so far as to call it pleasant.
“Since it won’t be my end, I will see this through,” Yuls stated.
The Witch’s lips curled into a grin. “In that case, you shall join me for a proper dinner this evening.”
*
The ocean dominated the horizon from this vantage point. As the sky transitioned into the deep purples of twilight, the midday heat began to dissipate. The empty stretches of sand mirrored the darkening water. Through the open casement, the rhythmic pulse of the tide filled the room, the breaking waves shimmering with a bioluminescent blue that looked like swarms of glowing insects dancing in the surf.
Yuls sat at the long table, the sound of the ocean at his back. The Witch occupied the seat opposite him. Though both were technically adults, their stunted growth gave them the appearance of a young boy and girl—a surreal sight for the circle of armored knights and formal servants surrounding them.
Every guard and attendant remained on high alert, prepared for a medical emergency. The Cook’s face was a mask of anxiety, yet the Duke and the Witch appeared entirely unconcerned.
“We begin with a Vegetable broth soup, accented with fresh Watercress,” the head chamberlain announced, his voice trembling slightly. “It is served alongside poached Cuttlefish and seasoned with Clove and Spinach… as well as the foliage of the Foxglove plant.”
The chamberlain’s distaste for the vibrant green liquid was written plainly on his face. This was a concoction no sane person had ever sampled. Even so, the presentation was flawless, showing the kitchen’s meticulous effort despite their fear.
“The bitterness has been masked quite effectively,” the Witch noted after a taste.
It was a haunting tableau: two figures calmly consuming beautifully plated toxins while the household watched in silence. Next, a servant stepped forward with two salad plates.
“This dish features the root of the Virosa… paired with Asparagus, Turnip, and Fennel,” the man stammered. “It is finished with shaved cheese, oil, and pepper. Please be aware that even a trace of Virosa root is a lethal dose, so I must urge caution—”
The servant’s warning died in his throat. He realized both diners were staring directly at him, as were the knights and his fellow staff.
The Witch finished the last of her soup, her eyes locked on the trembling man. “Are you going to serve that, or just hold it?” she asked. She then glanced toward Yuls.
“Place the plates and withdraw,” Yuls commanded.
With shaking hands, the servant set the salad down and retreated.
“Is there no vintage to accompany this meal?” the Witch asked. “A nice poisonous brew would be fitting.”
“I avoid spirits unless the situation demands it,” Yuls replied.
“And what made that Wild raspberry wine so necessary?” she teased.
Yuls remained silent.
“You can’t even get intoxicated, so why be stubborn? Just have a drink.”
Her expression made it clear she wouldn’t take no for an answer. A kitchen hand scrambled to find a bottle. The Witch, meanwhile, began layering cheese and Fennel over the toxic roots, looking genuinely pleased with the meal.
“The oil really brings out the profile. The balance is impressive; I really should get this recipe from the chef.”
“It’s still bitter,” Yuls grumbled.
“Stop acting like a toddler,” she snapped. “You’re over twenty years old.”
Yuls reached for his cravat, feeling a strange restlessness. This was nothing like the experience with Count Grimaldi’s wine. That drink had been cloyingly sweet, making his body feel heavy and swollen. This meal, however, left a sharp burn on his tongue and a strange, spreading warmth in his chest as he swallowed.
Despite the lethal nature of the ingredients, his stomach felt comfortably full. It was a bizarre sensation of disconnect; he knew he wasn’t entirely human, but the lack of any ill effect was still jarring. Each bite of that salad contained enough poison to kill a grown man in heartbeats.
“I’ve been thinking, Your Excellency,” the Witch said.
He realized that there was enough death on the table to wipe out everyone in the room except for the two of them.
Yuls turned his head slightly. The faces of his retainers were filled with genuine distress. He had wondered if he would see fear or even disgust in their eyes, but he found only worry. They looked as though they were the ones suffering through the acrid meal.
“I stumbled upon some interesting lore while researching this,” she continued.
“Such as?” Yuls asked, turning back to her.
The Witch poked a piece of root with her fork, a wide, mischievous smile spreading across her face.
“Have you ever heard tales of the green humans?”
“The Green Man? You know of them?”
“I wasn’t familiar with the details until recently. The information surfaced in a very peculiar place.”
The doors opened again, and a servant arrived with a bottle and two glasses. As the cork was pulled, Yuls waved the glass away, but the Witch slid hers forward to be filled.
Roy leaned toward Adi, whispering, “Should a Boy that young be drinking wine?” Bert rolled his eyes at the comment, while Gavin and Joel looked equally exasperated. Adi thought it over for a second.
“Surely a bit of wine is less concerning than the poison he just ate?”
“Point taken,” Roy admitted.
Bert sighed at the absurdity of the debate. Under normal circumstances, neither a child nor a man should be consuming alcohol or toxins, but normal rules didn’t apply to these two.
“What did your research reveal?”
“The story of the sons born to Witches,” she said, lifting her glass.
The deep red of the wine reminded Yuls of the raspberry vintage from Grimaldi’s estate, and he winced. The Witch, however, didn’t suffer the same violent reaction he had. She savored the drink, set the glass down, and smiled.
“It turns out you aren’t a unique case, Your Excellency.”
“I’m not the first?”
“Hardly. There is a recorded history of this in the North.”
This confirmed his suspicion that Witches were active in the northern territories as well. They were everywhere, really—some innocent women were burned while the true Witches walked among the populace, invisible because they looked perfectly human. They lived in human cities, took human lovers, and birthed their sons to keep their lines moving.
But there was a specific fate for those boys.
“The children born to Witches,” she mused. “The ones they leave behind.”
“They are said to become the Watchmen of the woods.”
These were the males who could never inherit the full power of a Witch.
“They could never truly belong in human society. Their bodies don’t age the way a mortal’s does.”
Yuls’s mind immediately went to the Watchman of the Woodpecker Forest.
The order of the Watchman had been established by the previous Duke Woodpecker. He remembered hearing how the nobility had fought against the idea of a specialized unit dedicated solely to the forest. It was the only time the late Duke had ignored his advisors and forced a decree through. Those warriors eventually became the elite of the Woodpecker forces, a legendary symbol of the territory.
The previous Duke had even chosen their title himself.
Why was this long-ignored history suddenly surfacing in his mind?
Had his predecessor known the truth about Witches? Had he known what Yuls was?
“Some people even mistook them for forest spirits,” the Witch added.
“I suppose that makes sense,” Yuls replied.
The Witch idly traced the rim of her glass, swirling the red liquid. Her voice dropped to a casual, almost bored tone.
“Vinod likely knows the full story as well.”
Yuls’s expression darkened instantly. That was a name he had hoped never to hear again.