“The garden? You guys buried him in the garden?” Roy thought he had underestimated Louisa a little. He regretted not digging up the whole place. “The smell of flowers covers up the stench of rotting bodies perfectly. That was the perfect place to hide a body. Sylvia told us you’d spend some time in the garden every day. You were actually there to destroy the evidence of your crime, weren’t you? Poor Amos. He thought he was getting the chance of his lifetime, but instead he became fertilizer for the flowers. I wonder if he had any regrets.” Roy was just doing lip service. He didn’t really pity Amos. His greed got the better of him, and he threatened a king even though he couldn’t fight a whole country. He was stupid. “So what about Aryan?”
Louisa looked at the young man on the bed, and she said softly, “His Majesty cleaned himself up and left after we buried the body, while I went to search for my son, but I had no idea where he was hiding. The baron might’ve gotten suspicious if I was gone for too long, so I went back to the hall. I should have kept looking for him.”
“Had you searched the maids’ bedchamber beside the garden? Was there anyone in there?”
Louisa shook her head. “I only found out what happened when Rosie screamed.”
The witchers thought they could trust that. There was no need to keep what happened to Aryan a secret, not after she told them about the affair and murder. “So who did that to Aryan, then? Did he pass out from his trauma and sorrow?” Roy killed that thought as soon as it showed up. That’s a flimsy reasoning, and something tells me there was someone else in the garden besides Louisa and Foltest. That’s the real curse giver. “There’s no way the servants could’ve done this. We’ve interrogated them. So who am I missing?”
“I’ve told you everything I know, witchers,” Louisa broke Roy’s train of thoughts and pulled her hair back. “If you have any questions, ask away. I’ll tell you whatever I know, but please keep this affair a secret.”
Louisa was no longer nervous now that she had spilled her secret. She looked calm and elegant once more, just like how she was a while ago. “The family will be humiliated if news gets around. A-And the baron might just snap. He might have a fallout with Foltest. There’ll be war in the city. The people will be dragged into it. Lives will be lost. You don’t want that to happen, do you?”
“We’re not running a charity. I don’t care what happens to the baron’s people,” Letho snapped. He then said, “But we did promise you. Amos is dead, and there’s no changing that. We’ll keep this affair a secret as long as you clear the troupe’s name, give them the justice they deserve, and pay for their damages. You caused a lot of damage to them.”
Roy looked at Louisa and said, “I wouldn’t want to make an enemy out of Temeria’s king unless absolutely desperate. Nobody likes to be a fugitive.” Yeah, that’s the case, but I can still use this secret to my advantage.
Roy and Letho were both looking deadpan. Louisa had no idea if they were lying, so she had no choice but to believe them. She sighed. “Very well. I’ll convince the baron to let your friends go and pay for all the damages we’ve caused.” She pursed her lips. “But only if Aryan comes back to us safe and sound. If anything happens to him, then the baron will kill the troupe.”
“Only the curse giver can lift their own curse,” Letho said. “The only way to save him is to find out who cursed Aryan.”
“And that’s the problem.” Roy explained, “All the clues point to you and His Majesty, Lady Louisa. But you were busy getting rid of Amos’ body, so you have an alibi. Which means we’re at a dead end.” Who else could curse Aryan in secret? And they’d have to do it around the same time these two were dealing with Amos’ body. And for what? Money? “We’ll have to comb through our previous investigation and see if we missed anything. We’ll need to summon the guests back to the castle. I don’t think we can make any meaningful progress for now. Sir Aryan might not hold out until then.”
Louisa teared up. She held her son tightly and sobbed.
***
“You don’t have to dwell on an innkeep and some peasants. That’s a waste of time. I’m sure it just slipped your mind.” She took a deep breath, and as if the witchers were her last hope, she said, “Please, look at Aryan again. Save him. The prophecy did say you’ll wake someone who’s in slumber?”
“The prophecy… Maybe it has the clue we need!” Roy quickly asked, “How did the prophecy go again?”
Louisa almost jumped, while Letho answered, “Arrive they will. Those drenched in blood but filled with mercy. A veil will be pierced, and a grotesque truth spilled. The bloody reflection they shatter, to awaken the one in slumber.”
Roy fell into his thoughts. Hmm, only a part of it sounds interesting. “The bloody reflection… What kind of reflection is it talking about? Water? Walls? Or—” He muttered under his breath, but then his eyes widened in shock. It was hot, but Roy felt his blood run cold, as if someone just poured a bucket of freezing water on him. He got goosebumps all over him, and the young witcher tensed up like a beat. “Mirror? It can’t be. The real culprit is… is…”
Roy’s mutterings came to an abrupt halt. He could feel an eerie silence crushing his neck. When he looked up, Letho’s mouth was open, revealing his teeth and gums, but he couldn’t say a word. Even his muscles stopped moving, as if they were stopped in time.
Maria Louisa was still beside the bed, craning her neck and caressing her son. She leaned ahead, looking at Roy expectantly. However, it was as if her face were made out of a mold. Unlike her lively, beautiful self, it looked stiff and dead.
That wasn’t all. Everything else came to a halt, including Letho, Louisa, Aryan’s breathing, heartbeat, the sunshine, and even the wind. It was like an invisible hand just pressed ‘pause’ on the remote control that controlled all life.
All life, except Roy. The young witcher felt someone looking at him, and he slowly turned his gaze to the window. It was open, but he heard no chirps, despite the fact that there were birds outside. When he looked downward, he saw someone staring at him. It was a man, and his eyes were as deep as an abyss.
A smile curled his lips, and the wrinkles on his cheeks deepened. His eyes turned into slits, and smile lines appeared on the corner of his eyes. The man was smiling eerily, while his face kept changing from one man into another. Roy saw those faces before.
Tross, the stall owner who went missing in Aldersberg, Boyev, the chief of Cona Village, the customer in the White Orchard’s inn, the chief of Lower Velen, and Barton, the innkeep of Henhouse.
They were familiar faces, but Roy kept forgetting them. In the end, all those faces turned into one of a skinhead man with a crooked nose and untrimmed stubble. “Ah, so you’ve noticed me, Roy.” He smiled.
***
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