Turbinio

Vervain and Bryonia

''Ah...'' You couldn't help but smile, even though you were terrified and somewhat inclined to punch him in the face. ''Well, I'm glad to hear that my sudden presence wasn't such a bother.''

"Not at all.'' Donibristle butted in. ''You're welcome here, despite your clothes, my dear. After all, if some gentleman chokes on shrimp, who else would be able to save him?''

Valentine laughed, a resonant but restrained laugh.

Noticing you raise your neck, he gently bent down. The features of his face were obscured by a few wrinkles. An incongruously straight, upturned nose appeared and, above it, two small, confident blue eyes.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. I wouldn't want any guests to be unwelcome at this dinner.'' He then made a delicate gesture with his hand, bowing to you, and his blond curls fell over his shoulders.

"With so much food and champagne, I doubt anyone would feel unwelcome.'' You said, paralyzed, impassive, like a lion would speak to a hyena. Then you politely extended your hand.

He narrowed his eyes for a moment, looking at your face, then brought your fingers to his lips and then to his nose, smelling them. Then, frighteningly, he looked straight ahead and cracked a soft smile, charming though creepy.

"You're a wise woman, aren't you?''

''Am I?''

He carefully turned your hand over, then gestured for you to hold out the other, which you did. Your two hands locked into Valentine's touch and gentle gaze. He traced your fingers and the chlorophyll stains around the cuticles, just as he felt the softness of your palm.

"A woman with green fingers may only be tending her roses, but a woman whose hands smell of vervain and bryonia knows more than just how to make flowers bloom. Don't you think?'' He asked, looking sympathetically at Donibristle, who was staring at him with undisguised interest.

"Oh, oui!'' Donibristle assured him. ''Miss (Y/N) is a very famous healer. A wise one!'' And she looked at you with pride.

''Is that so? Well...'' Valentine looked around with interest and turned to you. ''My, what luck. And I thought I'd have to wait until the end of the race to find a European doctor to take care of the situation.''

"Are you ill, mister president?'' Cynically, you asked, and Donibristle stared at you in surprise.

He didn't look it, but it was hard to tell, as the wrinkles and expression lines, the hair and a thin, oily layer of crème seemed to cover everything that couldn't be hidden by the fancy clothes. The only exception was his forehead, exposed, full of lines that demarcated his age.

"No, my health is fine.'' Mierda... you thought. Suddenly, he let go of your hands. "But my wife... she's unwell, that's why she couldn't come.''

"Miss (Y/N) is the best healer I've ever met.'' Eager to take credit for a good recommendation to the president, Donibristle continued to show you off as if you were in a shop window. Valentine, for his part, just stared at you, his eyes as blue and opaque as lazulite. ''She can heal Scarlet in the blink of an eye.''

''Is that so, Miss Witch?'' He then turned away briefly, but looked at you again.

"I'm not a witch.'' You replied somewhat impatiently. ''But if it's true and it's just an illness, I can take care of her. I guarantee she'll be better before the race is over.''

Valentine certainly noticed the threatening tone in your voice, but this in no way altered his impassivity.

''Ah, in three days, you mean? Well, the person who recommended you to me is already very trustworthy.'' He said, nodding at the madam's happy and satisfied face. ''But if what you're saying is true, I must say that I admire you very much. But I decline Donibristle's offer.''