Chapter 29

Rita knew what this was.
No, it was more accurate to say — she couldn’t not know.

The thing she had been most afraid of had now come true.

Her breathing became rough.

Tinte began to tell the story.

“Lucas was a sickly child from the moment he was born.”

People had said it was a miracle that he was even born alive.
Tinte cried a lot on the day Lucas was born.

Thankfully, both his wife and son survived.

Lucas grew up. He was weak, but since his father Tinte was a skilled doctor, he overcame many dangers and lived.

They also had help from Cedric, who had once been the second prince and crown prince.

Though Cedric was cold, he had a soft-hearted mother — the Empress — and he grew up kind under her care.

Feeling sorry for Tinte, the royal doctor, Cedric accepted Lucas as his companion.

“Father, if I study hard, could I become Prince Cedric’s aide one day?”
“Of course. If you’re capable, Prince Cedric will not waste your talents.”
“You’re right. I’ll work harder then.”

The day Lucas found his first dream was one of Tinte’s happiest days.
That night, he shared wine with his wife, Lietta. Her face was full of joy too.

Time passed.

Cedric was no longer the crown prince. One day, a strange curse began to torture him with horrible pain each night.

Tinte couldn’t abandon him, so he followed Cedric to Wintergarten.

A freezing, desolate place where even long-time residents sometimes froze to death.

But Cedric turned that place into one where people could at least survive.

It was still poor, but people could live. Tinte thought maybe this life wasn’t so bad.

Then, one day, Lucas came home holding something in his hand.

He said he’d bought it from a merchant who traveled from the kingdom. His face was filled with hope.

“Lucas, what is that?”
“Father, they say there’s a potion in the kingdom that cures illness.”
“You mean a potion? They work well, but… I don’t quite trust them.”

Lucas joked, saying Tinte was just too old-fashioned. Tinte smiled at his son’s bright face.

“Why did you bring it, anyway?”
“To help His Highness.”

“You mean Cedric?”
“Yes. But I need to get healthy first. Harun is doing his best, but it’s not enough. If I get better, I can really help.”

Lucas smiled softly and said that if the potion worked, he’d recommend it to Cedric too.

Tinte should’ve stopped him that day.

He had regretted it every single day for the last two years.

His wife Lietta said it wasn’t his fault, but Tinte didn’t agree.

As a doctor, he should’ve trusted his doubt and acted.

That day, Lucas drank the potion in front of him—and collapsed, vomiting blood.

He didn’t die… but he didn’t live either.
Two years passed like that.

Rita quietly reached for the bottle Tinte had handed her.

Its shape felt very familiar in her hand. With the other hand, she picked up a potion that still had liquid inside.

She wanted it to be a lie. But it wasn’t.

She had seen traces of her own potion in Lucas’s body—and now, with this bottle, there was no way to deny it.

The potion bottle slipped from her hand.

“He drank the potion… and collapsed? Vomiting blood?”

She shut her eyes tightly, then opened them again.

Faces of other people who had collapsed like that flashed before her eyes.

Was it a coincidence?
People vomiting blood after drinking her potions?

Were her potions really perfect?

Her stomach twisted. She felt like throwing up.

She hit her chest with the hand holding the empty bottle, hoping it would clear her head.

Tinte gently stopped her.

“That’s enough.”

“I understand now… why you don’t trust potions. I get it.”

Tinte looked at her calmly.

Rita opened her mouth again, her voice defensive.

“Yes. I suspected it was the potion. I’ve seen these symptoms before, and… that’s why…”

She couldn’t speak properly. Tinte offered her a cup of tea.

She took it without refusing. The hot liquid burned her throat and helped her feel more alert.

She looked at the pink liquid with a gold swirl at the center.

She finally spoke, though her lips were stiff.

“This… is my potion.”

Tinte’s eyes widened.

Afraid he’d be angry, Rita avoided his gaze and continued quickly, not giving him a chance to speak.

“But I didn’t make it. I mean—something’s wrong with it. My potions don’t have these effects.”

“Nothing is ever perfect. Maybe you made a mistake. But I don’t think this is just a mistake. This is—”

“No!”

The word came out like a shout. Even she was surprised by her voice.

She bit her lip hard.

“My potions are perfect.”

“Rita—”

“You don’t understand what that means. My potions don’t hurt people. I’ve devoted my whole life to that. I can promise you that.”

Her words kept coming. She held one of her own potion bottles under the table, her hand trembling.

“Calm down. I’m not blaming you.”

What was this?
What the hell was going on?

Rita shut her eyes and dug through her memories.

Many things flashed through her mind.

“…Ah.”

Could it be… that?

“If it weren’t for that, I’d have killed her.”

Calix’s voice echoed in her head as if he had just said it.

And suddenly, everything started to connect.

Despite being accused of trying to kill a royal, she hadn’t been executed—just imprisoned.

They had locked her in a cabin, saying it was out of old friendship, and even gave her tools to keep making potions.

And then… they came to visit.
The same people she supposedly tried to kill.
They stayed with her.
Unprotected.

It was all—

“Isn’t it… weird?”

Once she had that thought, everything seemed suspicious.

She hugged herself, not wanting to shake.

“Rita, are you alright?”

“…I’m okay.”

No. She wasn’t.

“Rita, what is that?”

“It’s nothing. Just something to warm the body. It uses ether flow. It’s really cold here.”

“Can I have a few bottles?”

What had she said back then?

Something dumb, like “Sure, whatever.”

Trying not to look pleased, holding back a smile while secretly happy that they still believed in her potions.

“Ugh…”

“Rita!”

Rita ran out of the room and gagged, again and again.

Tinte called for a servant in a panic.

She could hear the noisy footsteps—but she covered her ears.

She held her breath and counted.
Her heart still beat too fast.

Voices—memories—rushed back like echoes.

“Rita. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

She had once been grateful to hear that.

“You’re a brilliant alchemist. I never doubted that.”

She had stayed up many nights, shaken by those few words of recognition tossed at her like scraps.

“If it weren’t for that… I’d have just killed her.”

If it weren’t for that…

“I would have killed her.”