Calanthe made her way toward the elevated royal box, She made sure to fix her hair, and apply subtle touches of oils to on her neck. Hint's of cinnamon could be smelled and she walked up. Her posture straight, chin lifted, confidence worn on her face like a badge of honor. The closer she drew, the heavier the air became,
Politics, nobility, and dark whisper's of the unspoken authority of Cintra's court became more relevant. Calanthe had been doing her best for years to avoid, the world of political moves, and hidden intentions. But for Cain's sake, even after what he did, she was set on helping him. She just hoped Callum gives him a good ass kicking soon.
Two guards stepped into her path, halberds crossing. "This area is restricted," one said flatly. " You will go no further."
Calanthe confident smile didn't falter. "I am Sorceress Calanthe of Hillstead."
The name carried farther than she intended. Within the royal box, an tall, thin and stooping elderly man with sharp eyes and a trimmed white beard paused mid-sentence with Queen Calanthe. Stregobor turned his head, recognition flickering across his face. "Let her through," he said calmly. "She is a colleague."
The guards hesitated only a moment before stepping aside. Calanthe inclined her head politely and passed through, smoothing her robes as she approached the inner seating. Queen Calanthe of Cintra sat regally upon her seat. At her side, nestled against silk cushions, was young Pavetta, no more than nine or 10 maybe younger. No doubt she was still younger. She was wide-eyed and curious, clutching a small carved hedgehog in her hands.
Calanthe stopped a respectful distance away and bowed deeply. She prepared herself to deal with Stregobor. The man was like any other sorcerer she new. The only problem was his weird obsession with girl born of the Curse of the Black Sun. Some curse is tied to a solar eclipse, signifying the return of some demon goddess Lilit, who was set to wipe out humanity. Lord knows what has happened to those girls.
Calanthe focused on the present, and got into character. "Your Majesty," she said. "It is an honor." Calanthe said with a warm smile, and graceful bow twards the queen and princess.
The Queen's lips curved into a knowing smile. " Ahh young Calanthe," she said warmly. "What brings you here? And how is your mother Meressa doing?"
Calanthe blinked, genuinely surprised. "She is… well, for the most part. But—Your Grace—how do you know my mother ?"
The Queen laughed softly. "We go back quite a while. Where do you think you got your name?" She said gesturing a goblet of wine to her.
Calanthe straightened slowly, the realization settling in. She never new her mother named her after the queen, well after the queen because of their relationship.
Stregobor leaned on his staff, studying her with interest. "So," he said, voice smooth and inquisitive, "so what brings you here? Have you finally decided to take my place as royal advisor before I retire to pursue my studies?"
Calanthe shook her head. "No. Unfortunately not. I'm here with my brother… and his Witcher companion. They're searching for someone."
Both Stregobor and the Queen turned their attention fully to her.
"Your brother," Stregobor mused. "The one given to the Witcher's? So he survived the mutations and trials. Interesting. And this Witcher friend of his, who is he seeking?"
A servant handed Calanthe a goblet of wine. She accepted it with a nod. "He's looking for Francesca Findabair. For what purpose… that's his story to tell."
A smooth, amused voice drifted from behind her. "Oh? You mean that brown-skinned half-elf Witcher was looking for me?"
Calanthe turned.
Francesca Findabair stood there as if she had always belonged in that space, radiant, composed, her presence bending the air subtly around her with her beauty. Dark-golden hair framed her ageless face, her eyes alive with curiosity and mirth.
Calanthe smiled and inclined her head. "Lady Francesca. It's so good to see you again."
The elf returned the gesture, warm but measured. "Sorceress Calanthe. It is good to see you again as well. I'm surprised to see you in the town. I thought you would be neck deep in some spell research. But if your helping that Witcher it makes sense."
"You've already met him?" Calanthe asked.
"Yes," Francesca replied. "And I must say… I've never seen a Witcher like him. Nor an elf like him either. He seems strong and different, but I cannot figure out why."
Stregobor stroked his beard, amused. "A half-elf Witcher seeking an elven sorceress. That is… unexpected. Being a half elf Witcher alone is oddity in itself, but to be seeking a Elven sorceress. Makes one wonder what he wants."
Before Calanthe could respond, a familiar voice spoke beside her.
"Well now. If it isn't my niece."
Calanthe turned sharply. as she saw the tall, rugged man. "Uncle Tristan?"
Knight Tristan, and Eist Tuirseach stood there. Tristan's red hair catching the light. She stepped forward without hesitation and embraced him.
"I haven't seen you in so long," she said softly.
" Same here. I just say your brother and his friend. . We'll catch up later," Tristan replied, smiling. "The tournament's beginning."
The roar of the crowd surged upward as the first bout concluded and the next fighter stepped onto the arena floor.
Callum.
He faced a towering opponent with thick arms, battle axe resting on his shoulder, a arrogant grin on his face. "Well now. Little Witcher thinks he can steal my coin, with his half breed lover." The man hurled insults as the crowd laughed, but Callum didn't react. He shifted into his battle stance. He remained composed, and focused
Then the horn sounded.
The warrior charged, axe swinging in brutal arcs. Callum moved like water, parrying, sidestepping, letting the blows exhaust his opponent. Not one strike hit him, and that made the man even angrier. Minutes passed, and the big man's breathing grew ragged.
"He's got excellent footwork," Tristan observed. "Fast, agile, and precise."
" He's a Witcher," Eist added approvingly. "They spend years training and honing their skills, but I can tell being talented runs in your family."
Then the moment came. Callum stepped in, struck cleanly, disarming the man with a sharp twist. The axe skidded across the dirt.
"Do you yield," Callum said calmly.
"Never!" the man roared, lunging for his weapon.
Callum's hilt struck once against the mans head, the moment he grabbed the axe.
The man collapsed, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Callum turned and walked off the field as if it were nothing.
More bouts followed. Steel rang. Blood spilled on the dirt.
Then Cain stepped onto the arena floor. The noise dipped dramatically. No cheers, but hard gazes followed him. He heard the whispers spread. Judging him on his skin, his hair , his eyes, he nonhuman filth more times then he could count.
He noticed Queen Calanthe leaned forward slightly, studying him. Pavetta tugged at her sleeve, staring openly.
Stregobor frowned faintly. "I have never seen an elf like him," he murmured. "Nor a Witcher. I see know what you mean, Lady Francesca "
Cain felt the weight of their gazes, but did not react. Across from him stood one of the graybeard from earlier, broad-shouldered, stoic face, eyes sharp beneath weathered brows.
The old man nodded once. "Pay them no mind, the common folk rarely accept, what they do not understand." he said quietly.
Cain blinked. Surprised twice now, from the mans demeaner. "Why do you say that?"
"I've traveled far, I seen and experienced many things" the man replied. "People will judge you no matter what. Only the judgment of those close to you matters. For they know who you truly are."
Cain nodded and raised his sword. " Well said. Your name, sir?"
"Uther," the old man said, lifting his blade. "Now let's fight, Cain the Witcher. And may the best man win."
They took their stances. That's when Cain felt it. A familiar presence and pressure. The same presence he had felt from Vesemir, and Guts.
This man is veteran. A very dangerous one. Cain steadied his breath. Then the horn had been blown and the moved.