9 – Marianne’s Truth – 16
Late at night on the day after I spoke with
my father, Alfred and Franz appeared at our home, just as promised.
Both of them looked terrible, as always—or
perhaps even worse than before.
“Over the past two days, I’ve narrowed down
the possible locations of Lady Ilya’s imprisonment to two dungeons.”
Franz spoke, pointing to a map spread
across the reception table.
As the meeting was being held in secret,
the lighting was kept to a minimum. A faint orange glow cast a dim light over
the room, throwing shadows across our faces.
Evan was away for three days starting
today, tied up by an unavoidable matter. When I had blurted out, “Why now, of
all times?” my husband had simply replied, “I am not happy about it either.”
Yet, I had no choice but to fall silent
when he explained, “I was given a job—in exchange for the funds prepared for
Lady Ilya.” The gold coins delivered to the estate beforehand were so numerous
that even I, born into a Count’s family, had never seen such a quantity. It was
terrifying to even imagine what Evan had traded to secure that sum. He had gone
to such extraordinary lengths for her sake.
I couldn’t say how much help I would be on
my own, yet I managed to obtain the information they were seeking.
A swift messenger had arrived from my
family home just two hours ago. It was a close call regarding the deadline, but
we managed to avert the worst-case scenario—a testament, I suppose, to my
father’s capability.
“According to my father, it is likely to be
one of these two locations.”
The two locations lay at opposite ends of
the country. One of them matched the information provided by Alfred and Franz.
That meant *this* had to be the place—or so one would like to think, but...
“If we assume she is in this prison and go
to rescue her, the problem arises if she isn't actually there. If Lady Ilya is
instead at the other location identified by Lady Marianne’s father, we would be
unable to save her.” The two prisons were simply too far apart geographically.
In other words, discovering her absence and
immediately moving to the other prison would not allow for a rescue; there was
no way to outmaneuver the vigilante group, which could operate openly and
freely.
“Let us set aside the other prison we
investigated.”
I nodded at Franz as he spoke with a grim
expression. There was no concrete evidence to suggest Ilya was *here*—and yet,
I had no choice but to cling to the possibility that it *might* be.
“We have no choice but to stake everything
on this place.”
As I said this, the two knights looked up
in perfect unison. When I asked what was the matter in the face of their
piercing gazes...
“I thought... the voice had fallen from the
heavens...” Alfred replied.
I didn't understand what he meant.
Instinctively, I glanced at the steward who
was standing quietly nearby. He was the man who, with his keen intellect and
insight, managed our household staff and oversaw all internal affairs. I had
hoped he might grasp what Alfred was trying to say, but he merely wore a faint,
puzzled smile.
However, Franz—who had turned to look at
the steward after following my gaze—nodded vigorously. When he turned back to
face me, he wore a look of satisfaction, as if he had fully understood the
situation. It seemed there was an understanding shared only between the two of
them.
They were communicating without a word.
“It simply reaffirmed that, at our core, we
are knights. For better or worse, serving our liege is in our very nature. I am
truly glad that Lady Marianne is here with us now.”
No sooner had Alfred spoken than the two
knights rose to their feet and declared they would carry out the plan tomorrow.
My heart gave a single, heavy thud. Tension
made my fingers tremble.
“I will go as well.”
I could not hide my own surprise at the
words that had slipped out so effortlessly, before I had even consciously
thought them through.
“That is out of the question,” the steward
interjected, his voice clear and firm. I had foreseen that objection.
“No matter what you say, I am coming along,”
I said, meeting the gazes of Alfred and Franz.
Visibly flustered, the knights hinted that
I would be a liability—implying that if something were to happen to me, they
would be unable to save me. I was well aware of that fact, even without them
pointing it out.
“If a situation arises where I become a
burden to you all, you may leave me behind.” I stood up as well, to show I was saying
this in earnest.
“…Lady Marianne!” The steward let out a
sound like a cry of alarm and extended his arm as if to shield me, but I gently
restrained him.
He was here tonight as Evan’s proxy. He was
likely keeping watch to ensure I made no mistakes—and in this context, a “mistake”
was precisely the statement I had just made.
Yet, I simply could not back down.
I had resolved to sever ties with my father
for the sake of this. I did not know how long the silence lasted, but after a
moment, it was Franz who nodded and said, “Understood.” Alfred, meanwhile,
simply let out a deep breath and stared back at me; his sharp gaze seemed to be
gauging the strength of my resolve.
A taut atmosphere held my entire body in a
vice-like grip.
I could not move so much as a fingertip.
“I am grateful to Lady Marianne.”
“And to Lord Evan as well,” he added.
Pointing to a spot on the map, Alfred said, “Let us meet here tomorrow at
eleven o'clock at night,” before turning to the steward and bowing his head. He
was telling him that he could not stop Lady Marianne.
“Oh...” the steward groaned in dismay,
asking what he was supposed to tell the master.
But Lord Evan—who was currently away—would
not learn of this situation until three days later. By then, it would all be
over.
―――――And so.
*******
When I arrived at the appointed meeting
place, a knight I didn't recognize called out to me, “Lady Marianne—are you
alone?”
Besides Alfred and Franz, there were two
other men present; as I hesitated, unsure of these unfamiliar faces, Franz
explained that they were trusted colleagues.
It was Franz who had freed Alfred from the
dungeon, but it seemed these two had assisted in the effort as well.
“My manservant offered to come along, but I
thought a larger group would draw too much attention. Besides, I didn't feel it
was right to bring someone along solely to protect me...” As I spoke, Alfred
nodded urgently and asked, “You came on horseback, didn't you?” There was no
time to waste.
They had likely coordinated their plans
meticulously beforehand, as there was little explanation given. We would travel
on horseback, dismounting near the prison; from that point on, the plan was to
follow Alfred’s instructions.
In short, my task was simply to keep up
with them. That said, keeping pace with such an elite group was no easy feat.
Although I was dressed like a servant—anticipating that a gown would hinder
agile movement—my pace was still slow, and my movements sluggish.
“Lady Marianne, please listen closely. No
matter what happens, do not raise your voice. Screaming is absolutely out of
the question. A woman's voice is high-pitched and carries easily across the
area. Please take this to heart.” I nodded as the smallest of the four men,
Johann (a name that was likely an alias), gave me this warning.
“Even if Lady Marianne doesn't follow, I
won't turn back. I’ll leave you behind without a second thought.”
I understood that well enough without being
told, so I simply nodded deeply and replied, “That is only natural.” After
watching the look of satisfaction cross his face, I mounted my horse. It wasn't
far from here to the prison.
The moment had finally arrived.
At last, I would be able to rescue her.
I gripped the reins tightly, trembling with
the resolve that I was about to accomplish something extraordinary.
I silently congratulated myself on my
competence—on the fact that I was a skilled rider who had always handled things
with ease. Leaning forward, I pursued the backs of the four riders racing
through the night. Though anxiety flickered through my mind again and again—and
a foreboding sense of dread threatened to make my stomach churn—I kept telling
myself, over and over, that it would be all right.
Fortunately, there was no moon out tonight.
The sky was overcast, devoid of stars, and
with few streetlights around, the darkness effectively kept us hidden in the
shadows.
“This way.”
They must have already decided where to
hide the horses. As we met up again near the prison, Johann pulled me along by
the arm.
I see.
Johann was likely my caretaker. If so,
wasn't this a bad sign? The thought made the blood drain from my face in an
instant.
In other words, my presence was an “unforeseen
circumstance” for them. They probably never expected me to tag along.
My heart, which had been beating faintly,
began to race.
Johann glanced back at me and said, “It
will be fine”—wearing a faint smile, though I couldn't tell what he was basing
that on.
Yes, surely.
Surely, it would be fine.
I repeated the words “It's going to be fine”—for
the umpteenth time. Like a spell. Like trying to convince myself.
In the darkness, I couldn’t see Alfred, who
was walking at the lead. I could barely make out the backs of Franz and the
knight behind him. Had Johann not been there, I surely would have lost sight of
them. This was exactly the sort of situation they had been worried about.
Unable to even catch my breath, I simply kept
moving my legs, following after them.
After all, I couldn’t afford to be left
behind.
Eventually, we arrived at the dungeon where
Ilya was likely being held and stepped inside. Perhaps the necessary
arrangements had already been made, for there were no guards in sight. They
couldn't have had much time, yet it seemed they had managed to handle the
situation through the coordination typical of their order.
After all, they were known for their
unshakable solidarity.
“A foul stench,” Johann murmured. The damp
air felt heavy, almost oppressive. It wasn't just fatigue making it hard to
lift my feet; the environment was so wretched that I hesitated to even move
forward.
“This smell... what is it?” I asked, the
question escaping me before I could stop it.
“...The stench of decay?” replied the
knight walking diagonally ahead of me, covering his mouth. Having never smelled
the odor of rotting flesh before, I couldn't quite picture the source of the
stench.
“......You had best steel yourself.”
I felt a distinct shift in the tone of
Johann's voice.
Just then, a loud, rhythmic clanging of
metal rang out right beside me, causing me to stumble and twist my ankle. Franz
caught me just as I was about to fall; it seemed he had closed the distance
between us without my noticing. The noise was coming from an imprisoned inmate
who was shouting incoherently while gripping the iron bars with both hands and
shaking them violently—looking for all the world as if he were about to burst
through to our side.
Franz shielded me protectively, murmuring, “Please,
hold steady.”
Looking down, I saw my feet were caked in
mud; I recoiled, shaken by a sense of defilement unlike anything I had ever
known in my life.
Is Ilya really in a place like this?
As water droplets fell sporadically from
above, I looked up and realized the ceiling was nothing but bare earth. I was
left speechless by the crude construction—it looked less like a dungeon and
more like a cave with a cage simply set inside. The walls were covered in moss,
and the ground was lined with stones that seemed like a mere token gesture. In
a place like this, they surely weren't being fed properly. I wondered if they
even had drinking water. The thought crossed my mind that I should have brought
a snack along.
“This way,” Franz said, and I followed him
along a narrow, maze-like path. I felt a sense of unease realizing that the
cell where Ilya was likely held seemed to be located in the deepest recesses of
the prison, yet I continued to walk as directed.
The handheld lamp Alfred carried—borrowed
from the prison entrance—seemed to be gradually losing its strength. The light,
which had once glowed with the hues of twilight, was being chased by the
gathering dusk and swallowed by the night. I shuddered as the light slowly
faded away.
It was a place so desolate, filthy, and
dark that, though I didn't speak the words aloud, the feeling of fear escaped
me nonetheless.
And then.
At the place we reached shortly
thereafter...
—————We beheld hell.
Who was it that whispered, “Why?” Or
perhaps the thought had merely crossed our mind, never actually passing their
lips.
We didn't even need to unlock the door and
step inside; her form was visible beyond the iron bars. She lay sprawled on the
wet ground, her face turned toward us. Alfred, who had arrived at the cell
first, stood motionless, simply gazing at her. A knight standing beside him
caught the light source just as it was about to slip from his grasp.
Franz stepped away from my side, retrieved
the key from Alfred’s pocket, and entered the cell. Johann gave Alfred a push
from behind.
Perhaps I was dreaming.
That thought flashed through my mind, and I
instinctively covered both ears. Amidst the sudden silence, I prayed to wake up
quickly.
“...Lady Marianne.”
It was, of course, Johann who approached
me—frozen as I was—and gently uncovered my ears.
“You came to see her, didn't you? You
really ought to speak to her.”
His hushed voice guided me with a strength
that felt like a stern admonition. One step, then two. My numb legs moved
toward her of their own accord. Though it was my own body, it didn't feel like
it belonged to me; it was as if my mind and body had been torn apart.
It felt as though my soul alone was
hovering outside the cell, watching us.
“—————My Lady,”
Alfred knelt and stroked her hair, which
had lost its luster.
“I apologize for the delay; I have kept you
waiting far too long,” he said, speaking in his usual tone—expecting, as a
matter of course, a reply. Yet, her clouded, milky gaze reflected nothing, and
she did not look back at him. Her cheeks were so sunken that it seemed as
though she would look plumper if she were nothing but bone.
“Let us go home. We must hurry. You need a
bath to warm yourself. You need never return to the House of Marquis Nortis; I
have already arranged a place for you to live. I even secured some of the tea
you love from your family's estate.”
“My Lady.”
Are you angry? Because I was late coming
to get you?
The knight who once served as Ilya’s escort
brushed his scarred fingers against her cheek—a cheek bearing a strange hue,
like fresh snow churned up and trampled. Only then did he realize that the
liquid wetting the ground at their feet was her blood. Near the entrance lay...
an arm.
Ilya’s arm lay there.
“Alfred, let's go. We'll be discovered.”
Franz called out to Alfred, who remained
crouched on the ground. Yet Alfred did not move; he simply kept his gaze fixed
on Ilya’s face.
“Alfred.” When Franz called his name a
second time, the man suddenly attempted to lift Ilya into his arms.
“Al, you can't take her with you.”
Franz tried to grab his arm but failed.
“…Al!” A fourth knight, who had been
watching the scene unfold, called out the name again in a stern voice; yet,
seemingly oblivious, Alfred once more tried to lift Ilya’s upper body.
“I can't leave her behind in a place like
this... I have to take her home.”
“Stop it, Al.”
“I can't leave her alone. Not when I've
finally come to get her.”
“Stop it, Al.”
“My Lady, come, let us go. I have an
explanation. Will you hear it? Or are you still angry...?”
“Al!”
―――――Lady Ilya is dead!!!
“She's already dead!!”
A cry bordering on a wail echoes through
the cramped cell. I was the one who wanted to scream upon being confronted with
the truth. But I didn't. Johan covered my mouth.
“We can't carry the body out, Al.”
“...”
“There's no point in taking her out,
Alfred. She's dead. Besides, if the body goes missing, that would really cause
an uproar.”
“...”
“Al.”
Supported on either side by Franz and
another knight, Alfred rose to his feet; he squeezed his eyes shut and let out
a single, convulsive sob. He swallowed his wail and stifled a scream, his jaw
clenched tight.
Then, saying “Wait,” he sank back down and
picked up a lock of her silver hair that had fallen nearby.
Her battered body and the severed strands
of hair—the aftermath of a relentless, repeated slashing.
I am... so sorry.
Alfred knelt and pressed his forehead
against the ground in apology—his hands, knees, and brow all stained with Ilya’s
blood. It looked almost as if he were doing so deliberately, hoping to carry
back even the slightest fragment of her. After remaining that way for a time,
Alfred stood and walked ahead.
Blood-smeared limbs caught the edge of my
vision.
“Lady Marianne...”
Johann tugged at my arm, but I simply could
not move. I couldn't breathe. A scream I couldn't let out was choking my
throat.
Why?
Why?
I didn't make it in time.
I didn't make it in time.
She died. Ilya died.
—————She’s gone.
I couldn't save her.
I couldn't save her.
