The autumn sunshine shone through the impluvium, gracing the beautiful flowers dancing in the yard. Roy could taste their gorgeous scent in the air. A woman was walking down the pathways between the flowerbeds, her green low-cut dress drawing out her perfect curves. A wooden stroller sat beside her, and she was watering the potted plants.
“That’s Lady Louisa.” Sylvia was at the garden’s entrance, and she pointed at Louisa. She whispered, “She’s been a bit depressed because of what happened to Sir Aryan, so she visits the garden every day.”
“Won’t we be disturbing her then?” Roy asked.
“I’ll have to ask her, witchers. Pardon me,” she apologized. “But she worried about Sir Aryan. I’m sure she’ll work with you. Probably.”
The witchers nodded and saw Sylvia off, then they talked with the troupe members and told them to wait outside. They were still seen as the culprit’s accomplices. Louisa would be upset to see them, of course, given that she was the victim’s mother.
***
Roy sneezed and rubbed his nose. She looked at the ladies in the garden. All he saw was Louisa’s back, but just the curves of her hips and beautiful neck was enough to tell him of her beauty. “She just gave birth barely a month ago, and she’s already so slim. That’s impressive,” Roy praised. He thought that most women would lose their beauty fast after they had children. That was the rule no matter how beautiful she used to be.
Going out of shape and gaining weight was the norm, especially for village women. Nobody would keep themselves in shape just to please their peasant husbands after they gave birth. “I wonder what’s her secret.”
“She’s also the mother of a teenage boy, kid,” Letho whispered. He looked surprised as well. “And she’s not even thirty. Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? Either way, she had her first child when she was just seventeen or so.”
Letho stopped talking. Sylvia came back and invited them in. “The lady wishes to see you, witchers.”
***
Roy looked around the garden. There were more than ten types of flowers there. Rosemallows, chrysanthemums, and white jasmines. The last one took up more than half of the garden. “Jasmine represents loyal love. Is this the baron’s idea?” Roy smirked. He thought it was ironic. The baron was much older than his wife. Coins and flowers alone wouldn’t keep the relationship warm. She still cheated on him in the end. “These flowers…” He sniffed the air again not long after he came in. The fragrance left an impression on them even before they came in, and it only got stronger the deeper the witchers went. It was like they were enveloped in a sea of flowers.
All the witchers could smell was the flowers. Their sense of smell was a lot sharper than most people after all. Anything would become lethal in excess, including the scent of flowers. They would rather taste the scent of blood. It kept their edge and minds sharp. The witchers frowned, but when the lady turned around, their annoyance was replaced by surprise.
The gods gave all their blessings to this woman. Most white women would start to show wrinkles at her age, but the lady’s skin was still as smooth as silk, and it had a healthy tan. She was not wearing any ring or earrings. Her hair was tied up in a simple bun, and her hazel eyes were gleaming as brightly as the sun. Her lips were like blooming roses, and her cleavage drew the witchers’ gazes in. She had a slim waist and a pair of long, beautiful legs. This woman was drop dead gorgeous.
A nine in Charisma? Roy only had eight. It was a bit lower than her. He cast Observe on her, but Louisa’s body was not modified by magic, unlike the sorceresses. Aside from Charisma, her stats were ordinary. She was a natural beauty. No wonder he fell for her.
“Witchers, I am Maria Louisa La Valette, wife of the baron. Thank you for taking this request. The boy is nothing but skin and bones now. He would have died if not for the witch doctor’s spell.” Louisa looked exhausted and forlorn. Her voice was raspy, but she was still comfortably gentle. Unlike her husband, she was not arrogant. She held her hands out, facing downward. The witchers held them up and kissed their back.
“You don’t see mothers like that in the aristocracy now, but I digress. Now, let’s talk business.” The witchers got the answers they wanted. They exchanged looks and searched the garden.
***
“Achoo!” The witchers came back out an hour later, covered in soil. They sat down across from each other, leaning against the garden’s pillar. Letho crushed the jasmine in his hand and looked at the garden cautiously.
They did a thorough search of the garden. They did not destroy it, though they had searched everywhere they thought possible, but they found nothing aside from flowers, soil, water, bees, and a mouse. The witchers looked like a proper mess, but they still found nothing.
“He probably cleaned the blood even if he did kill Amos here.” Letho rubbed his nose vigorously, and it turned red and swollen. “It’s almost impossible to find any clues with how many flowers there are in this garden.” He stood up and punched the pillar.
Roy looked at the sea of flowers with resignation, but when he glanced at the pillar before Letho, the young witcher froze.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I found something, Letho. Move away.” Letho went up to Letho. The veteran witcher watched curiously as Roy touched the blue pillar, then he saw what Roy was touching. It was an extremely light crimson mark the size of a nail. The mark looked like a child’s random scribble or natural coloring from the flowers at first glance.
The witchers huddled closer to have a better look. They sniffed it, and they could smell the scent of blood hiding under the fragrance of the flowers. Only witchers, who possessed supernatural senses, could see what it truly was.
“Blood!” Letho took a deep breath and circled the pillar, staring at it intently. “There was a murder here! This is probably the original crime scene. But who’s the victim then?” He thought about it for a while.
Roy fell into his thoughts as well, and he had a guess. Amos, the missing performer. He could see what happened vividly. Amos the performer was ambushed in the garden. He was grievously injured, and as he struggled to escape, the performer touched the pillar by chance, leaving this clue behind. “Or this could be a clue he’s leaving for us.”
They moved their gaze upward to the ceiling. At the far end of the ceiling, there was a corner of the roof that tucked inside. The space above that corner was hidden in darkness, shrouded from everyone’s sights.
Letho climbed the pillar as quickly as a lizard would, and he extended his arm into the corner. He whipped something out and landed on the ground. When he opened his hand again, a hard card with intricate patterns on its back was sleeping in it. “A Gwent card? What the hell?” Letho arched his eyebrow and fell into his thoughts.
“Smart guy. He left us a clue. Only a Gwent magician can hide a card in that corner without anyone suspecting anything. Not even the killer and the castle’s servants saw this.” Roy turned the card around, and he saw a familiar face staring back at him. “This is the king of Temeria of the Northern Realms faction. Foltest.” Roy’s guess was validated. “And he has another identity—Setlov, the guest who came to get some fresh air during the banquet.”
***
***