When Eleonora found the duchess at the farthest corner of the ladies' room, she was leaning over the sink, her chest heaving as she struggled to empty the contents of her stomach. Her knuckles had turned white with the force with which she clutched the porcelain edges, and the bright red specks of blood on her hands and the sink brought about a dull ache in Eleonora's chest.
She walked towards her with slow, defeated steps and left her herb box on the side table. Eleonora placed a gentle hand on the duchess and stroked her back to soothe her nausea. Since she wasn't prepared and was too focused on assessing the woman's condition, Eleonora stumbled several steps back when the duchess jerked her hand away.
'Stay away from me!' she snapped, the words pouring out between laboured breaths. Fresh blood painted her lips; her whole body shivered with weakness. Eleonora noted her unfocused, sunken eyes, as she raised her head to look at herself in the mirror. The duchess' fingers tried to reach for the tap to shut it, but the shaking was so vigorous, she could barely manage to touch it.
Still keeping a required distance for the duchess' peace of mind, Eleonora walked towards the sink and twisted the tap to a close.
'The prince sent me to help you. I'm an apothecary,' she said, maintaining caution. She wasn't offended by the duchess' curtness, neither was she afraid of her. Eleonora understood how illness could change a person. The pain, the weakness, the helplessness — it didn't just wear down the body, it eroded the spirit. She had witnessed the brightest eyes in the room dull down with the onset of an illness until there was nothing left behind them. She understood the duchess' irritability, her pain.
Duchess Winslow wiped away the blood with the back of her hand and shook her head as she took a step back, then stumbled. Eleonora rushed to hold her, but noticing how the woman struggled but managed to keep her balance, she kept her hands to herself, albeit stayed alert. Often, the ill were already struggling to maintain their dignity with every breath they fought, there was no need to make them feel worse by offering support when they didn't require it.
Eleonora kept her attention on the duchess as she walked up to her herb box. She singled out one dried root of Brightwort and held it out for the duchess to take it. 'It will ease your nausea instantly if you chew on it.'
Duchess Winslow didn't take it, but she didn't push her hand away this time. 'I don't need it,' she struggled to say. 'It won't come back for a while.' This time when she swayed and stumbled, Eleonora had to grab her and steady her, lest she hit her head on the wall behind her.
'Please, you need to sit down. You're straining your body by standing,' said Eleonora, intending to help the old woman walk out to the salon and take a seat, but the duchess only leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. Eleonora crouched in front of her, holding her steady by the shoulders to refrain her weak body from drooping to the side.
'You should leave,' said Duchess Winslow, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the wall. 'I shall be able to walk in a few moments.'
'How long have you been having these symptoms?' asked Eleonora as she let go of the shoulders and checked her pulse. It was slow and fleeting.
'Did he tell you?' Her eyes were still closed when she talked; her breathing was getting steadier although it still remained shallow.
'Tell me what?' Eleonora was more focused on the pulse, her mind running at a high speed to figure out a medication routine for the duchess. Poisons were easy to treat, for there was more often than not a discovered cure available for it. Drugs and addictions were tricky, they needed to be expelled from the body gradually. It took a lot of willpower. It took a lot of time. The duchess didn't seem to have much of either.
'Why he called you here,' she answered.
Eleonora looked up at her; her eyes were still closed. Her facial muscles were straining with the effort of simply breathing. 'His Highness called upon me to treat you,' she said. But even as she said it, Eleonora didn't believe it to be true.
'Can you then?' Duchess Winslow opened her eyes — life flickering in them like a candle flame on a windy evening. 'Can you save me?'
Eleonora hesitated. She couldn't lie, but she didn't have the heart to tell her the truth either. However, it didn't look like the duchess needed an answer anyway.
'How much time have I left?' she asked.
It was the first thing Eleonora had determined while testing her pulse. 'A few weeks,' she answered in a low voice.
The duchess made a painful attempt to smile. 'That is a lot.'
The words were like a stab to her heart. But it was a feeling she was very familiar with. In a few weeks, the duchess would no longer be here. Her presence would be limited to the memories of her loved ones, fading over time. And yet here she was right now — a talking, breathing person. Eleonora had never been able to move past the people she could not save. And every time she was faced with a situation like this, she couldn't look past that feeling of incompetence that crawled into her. The guilt that gnawed at a corner of her heart. It made her think of the what ifs — of her own potential. The things she could do but didn't have the courage to attempt.
For Eleonora knew that if she tried and failed the half-formed, unpracticed healing, she could bring about things that were worse than death for the duchess.
'You should run away,' the duchess said. Her words no longer came out broken, her breathing was getting less shallow, but it wasn't a sign of improvement. The short relief phase would end soon, and the nausea and weakness would come back like a hell loop. 'Run away before it's too late.'
Eleonora opened her mouth to answer, then closed it the next moment, not knowing what to say. She shook her head, at last. 'I don't intend to stay for long. I came here to help you.'
'Do you truly believe he called you here to help me?'
Eleonora stayed silent; she didn't know what to say.
'Do you believe in fate?' she asked.
Eleonora shook her head. She didn't. When the duchess said nothing in return, Eleonora explained herself. 'Fate is a tool used by those who don't wish to take responsibility for their actions. I believe in choices and consequences.'
Duchess Winslow made an attempt to smile. 'I used to be like you. I made my choice against everything when I met my duke. He was a merchant back then. A young man, so in love with me.' This time she actually smiled, even her eyes twinkled a little. 'I was told this by someone who could look beyond the present that it was my fate to kill him. Oh, how I fought everyone in my family for him, refusing to accept it. I knew myself, knew I would never hurt him. I married him despite every warning.' She shook her head dreamily, remembering the beautiful memories. Then, just as fast as it had appeared, the smile vanished.
'There has never been a day since then that I didn't regret it. He intends to kill me tonight. My duke. Do you think it was my fate or my choice that led me to this moment?'
Eleonora's eyes widened. For a moment, she started to question her hearing abilities by the complacent way the duchess has shared that startling information. Then, before she could say anything, the duchess continued.
'Callahan knows it too. His own fate. Generally, when one gets to know about his destined fate, they either deny it by rebelling to act against it, or they accept it — surrendering themselves to it. But Callahan has always been different. He intends to play with it.'
Eleonora was starting to wonder why the duchess was sharing all this information with her. For a commoner like herself, this level of knowledge of the nobles and the royals was like a curse that could lead her to decapitation. Eleonora was prepared to erase everything from her memory the moment she walked out of The Velvet Pearl. That was when the door burst open and a soldier walked in.
'The duke requests your presence in the carriage, my lady.'
Duchess Winslow sighed. 'Can you please help me stand?'
Eleonora didn't have to be asked twice. She immediately offered her support and remained by her side even when the duchess stood steady. She wondered if she should give her some herbs to keep away the pain that would eventually return. Duchess Winslow seemed to have accepted her end — whether it came naturally or by the duke — but Eleonora offered her services anyway.
The duchess refused. 'I have a lot of regrets, but none for how it comes to an end,' she said as Eleonora helped her walk to the carriage. 'For you, I say only this: don't become his plaything. I say this more for his benefit than your own. But run away while you still can. Fate is a tricky thing — its threads weave itself through our lives in ways no mind can truly grasp. And yours and his is meant to end in doom.'
Eleonora stood back in silence as the duchess climbed the open carriage steps with slightly wobbly feet. She didn't turn to look at her once she was seated next to the duke, but her words echoed in Eleonora's head. Was the duchess confusing her with someone else? Was she delirious because of her illness? Because how in heaven would she know who Eleonora was in the first place. How would she know about her fate?
Before her mind drifted off to dissect the absurdity of the whole conversation, Eleonora turned on her heels and ran back inside The Velvet Pearl. She didn't believe in fate. Had no reason to. But choices were her own to make. She owned up to them. Cursed herself for her own mistakes — no one else. Running into the forest was her own choice. Following the letter was her own choice. They say, fate offers an illusion of choices, that it all leads to the same end eventually. But fate wasn't the one giving choices to her here. It was someone else.
Eleonora stopped in front of the closed door, taking a deep breath as she prepared herself. The duchess had advised her to run away. And she eventually would. Hadn't that been her goal all along, anyway? But how was she to look the other way when the duchess had struck her with such grievous information?
Eleonora had never liked to meddle in people's business, that is, unless there was a life at stake. So she tried to calm the warnings in her head and push the door open to see the prince sitting idly with a glass of ale in his hand.
'You need to help her,' she said, without waiting for him to look up at her. 'The duke intends to kill her tonight.'