Violette approached to inspect the enticing vessel. It was truly great. Her eyes followed the openwork pattern on the rim of the cup, forming into symbols and then into words:
I promise to keep the sacred oath.
Dante's deep voice reached her ears.
“The ballad sings about it wrong. The allies didn't just say words and by some magic force it became a promise.” Violette glanced at him as he continued, “The cave is not magical, but the cup is. They placed it here themselves and then cast a spell on the cave to protect this place and the cup. Nobody can take it from here and nobody who has bad intentions can enter the cave either.”
Her eyes looked down the pedestal, tracing inscribed words along the edges:
Et quicumque de hoc calice biberit,
promissionem suam nunquam franget.
Dante followed her gaze.
“And whoever drinks from this cup will never break their promise. It's Latin,” he noted.
“I know,” a caustic tone filled Violette’s voice, her attention lingering on the inscription.
She examined the goblet and then straightened up, locking her gaze with his.
“So, they drankfrom the cup and it made their vows unbreakable,” she summed up. “But why is there nothing about it in the legend?”
“Who knows.” He shrugged impartially. “You will not find any legend or fairytale which hasn't changed through time. I doubt most of them are even half true.”
He then reached into the pouch on his belt and pulled out a small vial. A red drop fell into the cup and, as if by magic, the drop filled it halfway.
“In this light it looks more like a wedding ceremony,” Violette blurted.
“If I wanted a wife, I wouldn't put in so much effort.”
“Mmm,” she drawled. “A song for women's ears. I bet you would be a dream come true as a husband,” she strained through a fake smile.
Her gaze fell inside the cup – the liquid that Dante poured into it gave off a blood-purple hue, similar to wine, its deep color glinted in the torchlight.
“Don't worry, if I wanted to poison you, I would have done it a while ago. Besides, you won't be of any use to me dead.”
She glanced at him from under her lashes and warily took the cup from his hands.
Maybe it would be smarter to ask him to drink first, but her pride wouldn't admit it. He thinks she is too scared and can't take his challenge? Then she will prove him wrong. She wasn’t a cowardand wasn’t scared of him, nor any questionable liquids. She was perfectly capable of doing all these things, she just tried to be careful. Once she forgets to think first, it will be over for her. And she knew how easy this would be – to just stop being cautious and allow her adventurous spirit to take over.
“Should we make a vow?” she asked, swirling the liquid in the chalice.
“Having drunk from this cup, you swear to help me to remove the curse cast on me, in return for which I swear to help you to cure your father of the illness and give him the medicine,” he declared.
Her eyes lowered to the cup, her lips touched its cold edge and with that everything started spinning. It tasted and looked like wine, but much sweeter. Luscious as a dream, as a lovely promise which it surely wasn't. Its taste was heady and she couldn't stop. Her consciousness started to fade, nothing felt real, and a strange feeling tingled her body. Maybe this is how such strong magic works. The ground began to slip away from under her feet, and wine spilled down her chin and neck. Her mind clouded – there was nothing but this drink that no longer felt as such. She drank as if her life depended on it, magic flooded all her being – her body and her mind. The wordpromisehung in her head as if tied by a golden thread, ringing in the ears.
Promise. Promise. Promise.
She felt such joy and happiness in one second and such darkness and emptiness when she came back to reality. It ended as soon as it started, she simply felt like she should stop. A single glimpse into the cup – it looked as if she had takenjust two or three sips. But it felt like she guzzled the entire cup.
“Your turn,” she said, handing him the drink, her eyes escaping his direct gaze as her betraying cheeks flushed with a pale shade of crimson.
Dante took the chalice from her hand while she wiped her mouth, keeping an eye on him. He slid away the black scarf, revealing a solid black mask on his mouth with an opening that reminded her of bars, but no matter how she tried to scrutinize it, she couldn’t see it clearly. Interesting choice of decoration, indeed. She almost shot him another question about why exactly he was cursed but as she opened her mouth she forgot what the question was.
“How do you even eat in this?” she asked instead, her brows pulled together.
“I would like not to bother myself with explanations,” he said coldly and lifted the cup to his mouth. His mask had a big enough opening to drink, even if some of the drops would be spilled, but she doubted it would let him eat easily.
