Chapter 94: Drink It, Red-Kite, Without Any Price
A hint of melancholy crossed Selyse's face as she replied:
"A long time ago, some of our companions could communicate with the trees. They could shape the wood just by speaking to it, without resorting to magic.
"Yes, and it is said that they could even turn ancient trees into Treants, driving away creatures unwelcome in the forest.
"However, pure-blood dryads are becoming fewer and fewer. We haven't had a new Speaker of the Woods born in Brokilon for a hundred years, they say."
"Only pure-blood dryads can become a Speaker of the Woods?" Arthur asked, feigning curiosity, but already formulating a hypothesis in his mind:
The Speaker of the Woods sounded like a weakened version of a Druid. The source of power was clearly nature-based magic, requiring both nature affinity and magical talent. There was no reason why a human could become a Druid but not a Speaker of the Woods.
The issue most likely lay with the magical talent aspect unlike pure-blood dryads, dryads converted from humans underwent a process where their mind was battered and destroyed. If a person's mind is fragmented, can they still achieve mastery in magic?
Arthur believed they could not. During his travels, he had personally seen a raving village sorceress who could throw boulders dozens of feet away when angry, yet that same sorceress couldn't learn even the simplest Igni Sign.
Selyse nodded artlessly: "That used to be the case. But now things are different. You aren't even a dryad, and you're a man."
Arthur smiled, looking out at the distant night sky, sensing that the surrounding trees felt even more relaxed than before: "Yes, things will be different from now on."
That night, the dryads were exceptionally excited, clinging to Dandelion to tell one story after another. By the time they finally dispersed, Ciri was sound asleep on Geralt's lap, a thread of drool glistening at the corner of her mouth.
The next morning, Braenn came to the tree house: "Everyone, Red-Kite wishes to see you again."
Her expression was no longer the cold mask of before, but carried a hint of sorrow. Arthur recognized this look; in Maribor, when the dwarf was hanged for a simple argument, Zoltan's rage also hid a similar sorrow.
He said nothing, stepping toward the door, but Braenn tightly grabbed his arm. The young dryad bit her lower lip, tears welling up in her eyes: "The Queen is going to make Red-Kite drink the Water of Brokilon. You… you are all humans. Can you help her?"
Arthur stopped, asking with a touch of curiosity: "I remember, when we first met, you questioned her position. Why do you now not want her to become a dryad a perfectly reliable comrade?"
A flicker of confusion crossed Braenn's eyes. She shook her head, tears tracing lines down her pale cheeks: "I don't know what's happening. Every time the Queen makes a girl drink the Water of Brokilon, someone cries. I… I actually always envied her. Envied that she could have so many ideas the strange, senseless ideas unique to humans."
Arthur sighed, patting the dryad on the shoulder a few times: "Don't worry. She'll be fine."
…
Eithné's tree house. Red-Kite knelt in the center of a gorgeous rug, her long, waterfall-like hair cascading down her back.
The short attire convenient for moving through the jungle had been removed; she wore only a simple, pristine white robe. Her eyes were tightly closed, her face devoid of any expression.
"Your friends have arrived. Won't you say something to them?"
Eithné's dress was green like summer leaves, thin and light in texture. With every move, it swayed, resembling a green cloud draped around her. Eithné's tone was elegant and composed, seemingly unchanged from yesterday.
But Arthur distinctly felt that the Queen's face was different from yesterday yet he couldn't pinpoint the exact change.
"Ah, Queen of Brokilon, Eithné of the Silver Eyes, I have always wanted to thank you! For rescuing me from the kidnapping of those pointy-ears and allowing me to meet so many lovely little dryads."
Dandelion stepped forward enthusiastically, attempting to lighten the mood.
Eithné's expression barely shifted, yet it conveyed an unmistakable meaning of 'Halt' a skill seemingly mandatory for those in high positions. As a troubadour who frequently frequented royal courts, Dandelion was perfectly adept at handling such situations. He calmly spun around in place, boldly letting his gaze flirt with every dryad, causing a blush to spread among them.
Then, he faced Eithné again, offering a solemn bow: "Today must be a grand occasion. You've even applied makeup."
Eithné wearing makeup? Arthur's heart stirred. He focused his gaze on the Queen, only then realizing her face seemed to be coated with some substance that made her complexion particularly fair. However, the dryads' makeup artistry clearly couldn't compare even to human nobility. Even with a layer of white substance covering her coloring, the Queen failed to conceal two prominent eye bags.
I knew it. With all that commotion last night, how could only the common dryads be affected? Arthur chuckled inwardly, moving his gaze away before Eithné could notice.
"You don't need to be so courteous. We merely achieved what we each desired." Eithné dismissed Dandelion somewhat coldly, then stiffly changed the subject: "I invited you all here today to witness Red-Kite's transformation ritual."
"In the past few years, she has consistently been Brokilon's most resolute and courageous warrior, contributing greatly to Brokilon's peace." With every sentence she spoke, she gently patted Red-Kite's shoulder. As she finished, Braenn walked out holding a cup filled with clear water.
It was the goblet engraved with the prophecy of destiny!
Geralt suddenly spoke: "Eithné, strictly speaking, I shouldn't interfere in Brokilon's affairs. But you should not treat a loyal warrior this way."
As he spoke, he gave Arthur a kick that he thought was subtle.
Braenn's steps faltered. Her hands trembled violently, and tears streamed down her face as she glared at Arthur.
"Kid, say something! Red-Kite has been good to us. Are we just going to stand here and watch her drink the Water of Brokilon?"
"Didn't you once say that erasing a person's memory is little different from killing them?" Zoltan, the most impatient of the group, threw caution to the wind, stood on his tiptoes, and started whispering urgently into Arthur's ear.
Phew… Arthur sighed, his expression a third helplessness and seven-tenths touched. None of his companions could keep their nerve, but their hearts were certainly warm.
He cleared his throat, preparing to speak. Eithné, however, smiled and raised her hand, interrupting Arthur: "Mister Arthur, do you remember what I said yesterday? No one can evade destiny."
It was the victor's smile. She looked at Arthur with satisfaction, her eyes seemingly saying: [See? Your destiny is to watch your friend be turned into a complete stranger, yet be utterly powerless.]
Arthur ignored the childish provocation. He focused solely on Red-Kite, offering gentle reassurance:
"Don't be afraid, Red-Kite. Drink this water, and you will receive an unprecedented reward."
"Don't worry about being stripped of your memory. If that was your destiny, I have already crushed its throat."
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