[TVL] 89 – King Emilio or Prince of Serrat?

“–What?”

When he wrinkled his nose sharply, the Poisoner tied a bundle of silver hair with a string and placed it on the counter.

“Isn’t it harder for her to live than die? For her, life is more painful than death. Death is her desire.”

“Shut up! Don’t be ridiculous... How, how dare you talk like you know what you’re talking about!”

“I know her, Alana, Queen of Armenia. She was a good-paying client of mine.”

Rising from his chair, the Poisoner put his elbows on the table and cupped his chin in his hands.

“She was one of those special people who I thought deserved to be alive. To me, people are rubbish. They’re worthless. And you? King Emilio. No, Prince Luciano of Serrat.”

“Who are you...?”

This Poisoner was spine-chillingly incomprehensible.

The air around him seemed to be blackened. And that’s what made it all the eerier. There was no indication of him facing Luciano.

“Well, isn’t that what it looks like? A simple poisoner. But then, people are funny things, aren’t they? You wanted them to die, and now you want them to live. How could such a change have taken place? It’s indescribable and interesting to the human heart.”

The Poisoner turned over the cloth and left for a back room, where he returned with two cups. When he returned, he had two cups, one of which he offered to Luciano: “It’s only a prototype, but here you go.”

“No, thank you. Instead, sell me the antidote. I thought you said you would accept the request.”

“There is an order in things. So what should you do? Is it defiance?”

“Sh*t.” Luciano snatched the cup from the Poisoner’s hand and sat down to sip it.

“It’s awful; what the hell is this?”

“That’s right. I think you’d better adjust the taste with honey. I’m afraid my taste buds are out of touch, so you’ll have to stay with me until you feel it’s delicious.”

“No! I don’t have time for this!”

“Even if you don’t have time, you have to go along with it. This drink also helps to relieve fatigue. You’ve come from Armenia for four days without sleep, haven’t you? How many horses did you have to sacrifice to get there as quickly as possible? More than ten, I’m afraid. You’re a bad man. You’ve done the same thing to me,” said the Poisoner, gnashing his teeth, “let’s negotiate. You want Queen Alana to live. But she wants to die. And she’s, my client. I don’t want to ruin my clients’ wishes. So you twist her wishes, and you want the antidote. Isn’t that a bit arrogant?”

Why was Alana the client of this Poisoner?

He wanted to know, but he knew he had no time for that. There was no time to waste. Luciano clutched the cup in his hand, and the cup trembled.

“Tell me what you are negotiating. I’ll give you as much money as you want. I’ll do anything for you. Sell me the antidote.”

“Well, here’s what I’ll do. I’m going to offer you the value of Queen Alana’s life. You will have to buy her life. What you are about to hear may come as a bit of a surprise to you.”

The Poisoner placed a cup in front of himself and dripped the contents of a vial into it. The liquid was thick and viscous.

“Do you know what it is like to be the second coming of the wise emperor Lorenzo? When they are young, they learn as much as they can from books and as many of the world’s languages as they can. We all have our limits. But Alana is different. She has memorised Armenia’s library to perfection. Perhaps she knows all the languages of the world too... As the story goes, I can memorise a book once I’ve read it. I have found that Alana is the same way. No, it’s a little different. It’s hard to believe that you can memorise a book just by ‘seeing’ it once.”

It was an unbelievable story.

Luciano was dumbfounded, but the Poisoner continued, “You know what I mean.”

“Don’t you get excited when you think of her as an enemy? She will come at us with all her measures, knowledge, and army. How would you attack it? See? How do you capture it?”

“Don’t lump me in with you. I don’t care about the wise emperor Lorenzo. Alana is my wife.”

Alana came to his mind.

-As he rubbed her hands in hot water, as she pouted and stared at his face. The way she looked at him when he bathed her. The way she squinted at him in the mirror when he combed her hair. The way she chewed her food when he brought it to her mouth. The smear of ink on her face as she worked on her handwriting. The green, beady eyes when he held her. Her warmth. The tears spilt, and he pressed his eyes with one hand.

“My wife is a good person alive. Her… as my enemy? I don’t even want to think about it.”