Chapter 76

9 – Marianne’s Truth – 15

 

“So, what exactly is it that you want from Marianne?”

 

Evan gently stroked my back, trying to calm me as I wept. Resigned to the fact that there was no turning back now, he led the two knights into the reception room.

As we made our way down the dimly lit corridor, I found myself holding my breath—a reflex born of the need to remain unseen. While being spotted by a servant wouldn't necessarily be a problem, in the eyes of the world, our actions remained morally questionable.

Even though we intended to uphold justice, to an outsider, we were no better than villains.

“Let us tend to your injuries first.”

Once inside the room, a maid carefully re-wrapped the bandage that had come loose on Alfred—who sat down with a look of humble apology.

Only then did I ask them to tell me their story.

 

“We know Lady Ilya is being held in a dungeon on the lower levels, but we haven't yet pinpointed the exact location.”

Franz pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from his tunic and spread it out on the table. It bore marks at five different locations.

“I believe she is in one of these spots. However, simply charging in blindly carries a high risk of failure. There won't be a second chance; if we fail to get Lady Ilya out during that single opportunity, she’ll either be hidden away somewhere else or—in the worst-case scenario—her sentence will be carried out immediately.”

“Wait, hold on a second.”

Evan raised his right hand, cutting Alfred off.

“So that means you... are you perhaps trying to help Lady Ilya break out of prison?”

I asked in a hushed tone, the air around us heavy with a sense of foreboding.

“We hadn't intended to do that from the start.”

Franz shook his head, and Alfred answered with a solemn expression.

They had initially planned to rescue her through legitimate means. Even though she had been captured, they could not allow her reputation to be further tarnished. The only course of action was to dismantle the charges against her one by one and clear her name. Yet, proving innocence is far more difficult than gathering evidence of guilt. It promised to be a time-consuming process—potentially taking years.

“I understand she faces a considerable number of charges, including even minor offenses.”

Franz listed the accusations as best he could recall them. “Well, now...” my husband murmured, his voice tinged with a note of genuine amazement. If these were all false accusations, it was truly remarkable—or perhaps appalling—just how many crimes they had managed to fabricate against her.

“It is precisely because I was condemned as an accomplice that I understand this: Lady Ilya’s execution was likely a foregone conclusion.”

“…You mean it was decided from the very beginning that it would end that way?”

“Yes.”

Just then, the steward brought in tea and light refreshments, which I served to Alfred and Franz.

Judging by their hollow cheeks, they clearly hadn't had a decent meal lately; they might well have gone without food for a long time. Once they took a single bite, the realization of their hunger seemed to kick in, and they began shoveling the food into their mouths one piece after another.

Within half an hour, almost every plate was empty.

 

“Ideally, we ought to get to the bottom of why this happened. I know we should track down the person who framed Lady Ilya. And yet...”

Evan cut in before Alfred could finish speaking.

“True. Even if we unmask the mastermind, that doesn't mean Lady Ilya will be released. It’s likely impossible unless we can prove her innocence.”

“Yes...”

The oppressive atmosphere felt suffocating. A prison break is a grave crime in itself; if we were to lend a hand and it came to light, we would not escape unscathed.

“What do you want to do, Marianne?”

My husband peered into my face. I felt no hesitation.

 

“What must I do?”

 

Alfred and Franz gasped in surprise and exchanged glances.

Alfred, in particular, bowed his head deeply; the fists resting on his knees were trembling slightly.

 

“We need to pinpoint the location of the prison. We absolutely cannot afford to fail.”

 

I understood they were asking for my cooperation, yet I couldn't see how I could be of any use.

All I could really do was read the special edition news sheets posted on the street.

 

“I see—so that’s how it is,” said Evan, his voice tinged with admiration.

In other words, the person they needed to help them wasn't me...

“You want to get information from my father...?”

My husband clapped his hands together lightly and tilted his head, asking, “You get it now, Marianne?”

I nodded in acknowledgment, but the situation changed entirely if it required my father's cooperation. He was the one who had been wary of me growing close to Ilya even back in our childhood. I couldn't imagine he would agree to this—after all, he had shut down any conversation about Ilya just the other day.

 

“But if we want truly reliable information, there’s no one to turn to but your father.”

Evan looked to the two knights for agreement.

In that case, the only option was to speak with father first. We could decide what to do next after that. Yet, there wasn't much time left.

They must have guessed my thoughts from the look on my face; when they thanked me again, I shook my head.

I wasn't doing this for them. I was doing it for Ilya. It was something I wanted to do, so no thanks were necessary.

 

“But that’s not all, is it?”

When Evan asked in an especially gentle voice, the other replied, “It is difficult to bring this up, but...” Just as Evan braced himself for whatever might come next, the man—hesitantly—explained that they would need to secure funds.

“To get Lady Ilya out, we have to win the guards over to our side.”

However, persuading them with words alone would be difficult. The guards in the lower levels were responsible for keeping rough, unruly characters in check; they were hardly paragons of virtue themselves.

At the same time, forcing them to comply wasn't an option either. They were already outnumbered, and a fight was something to be avoided if at all possible.

Furthermore, since Ilya was likely being held in solitary confinement, someone would need to guide the way there; it would be impossible to even enter the prison without colluding with a guard.

“What's more, there are superiors who oversee the guards. There are gatekeepers, too, and a vigilante group patrols the area surrounding the prison. We have to slip a certain amount of money to every one of them.”

There is no need to explain every last detail of the situation, but we do need to *ask* them to turn a blind eye to any minor irregularities that might arise on the scene that day.

 

After hearing the whole story, my husband looked up at the ceiling with a thoughtful “Hmm,” then said, “I'll take care of that.”

“...Lord Evan?”

“I couldn't very well let you do all the work yourself, could I?” he said, wearing a mischievous grin.

“If it means becoming your accomplice, Marianne, I’m more than willing.”

As he gently took my hand, I felt proud to have such a dependable man as my partner.

Before we married, we only met on designated days, and neither of us had shown much interest in the other. Yet, since vowing to spend our lives together, we have gradually grown closer day by day.

 

Trust is built through effort.

Only a heart capable of mutual consideration creates a true bond.

 

“Rest assured. Money is one thing I certainly have,” my husband said, his smile deepening.

With that, they promised to meet again in two days and parted ways for the night.

 

****

 

“Lady Ilya's whereabouts? How would I know that?”

 

He said this right off the bat, wearing an expression as if he had bitten into something bitter, leaving absolutely no room for further discussion.

 

“Couldn't you look into it? Surely you could manage that, Father?”

“How many times must I say it? Marianne! This conversation is over!”

 

Hearing the argument taking place in the drawing room, the butler appeared, wondering what was the matter.

 

“Please, Father...! You are the only one who can help. If you simply find out where she is, I promise I will never speak of this again!”

“No, absolutely not. What would you do if you knew her whereabouts? What do you intend to do?”

“I cannot say. But I will not give up until you tell me. I have made up my mind—I will not give up.”

“...Marianne!”

 

“My Lady,” the steward said, wearing a troubled expression. I knew he was trying to dissuade me, but this time, I had no intention of backing down.

I chased after my father as he left the drawing room, claiming he had work to attend to. I clung to him—accompanied as he was by both the steward and an attendant—and pleaded desperately, but it was to little avail. Perhaps finding the situation tiresome, he raised his voice: “…Someone! Take Marianne away!”

Just then, Cynthia happened to pass by.

Seeing the tension between my father and me, she widened her eyes in surprise. She stepped up beside me, looking concerned, and stole a gentle glance at my face. Even without words, I felt as though she was telling me she was on my side, and that gave me the resolve to press on.

Last time, I had cut the conversation short out of consideration for her. But now, I could no longer afford to worry about appearances.

 

“Someone dear to me is in a desperate situation.”

“My, my...”

“Only Father can help. That is why I am pleading with him like this, yet he refuses to listen.”

“Oh dear, that is...”

 

The master of the house finally came to a halt, met by the reproachful gaze of Cynthia—his wife, in name at least.

Just as he was about to say something, Wilhelm appeared on the scene. He had likely been scheduled to accompany father from the start.

“What on earth is all this commotion about?”

 

The boy—now far more mature than when I first met him—asked the question with the air of authority befitting a future family head.

When I gave him the same explanation I offered Cynthia, he exhaled a breath that betrayed a hint of exasperation. “What is the meaning of this, Father?”

 

“This is no concern of yours. Hold your tongue.”

 

He flatly rebuked, a vein throbbing at his temple, only for Cynthia to raise her voice in protest: “I cannot simply stay silent.” It was a far cry from a few years ago, when she would never have dared to talk back.

Lately, she spoke her mind without hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

 

“Lady Marianne looks so deeply troubled—this is a matter of the utmost importance to me, too. There is nothing more vital to Wilhelm, either.”

“That’s right, Father. My sister’s well-being is the highest priority for our family.”

 

It seemed the two of them were ready to stand with me.

 

“No, you don't understand. You don't realize just how dangerous a path Marianne is stepping onto. This is something we absolutely must not get involved in.”

“But if it is what Lady Marianne desires, then we must lend our cooperation.”

“...Cynthia!”

 

You must understand just how deeply indebted Wilhelm and I are to Lady Marianne.

 

A moment of silence fell following that declaration—so straightforward, so dignified.

The butler nodded deeply with a solemn expression, though I hadn't the faintest idea what this was all about.

“Father. Wilhelm and I ask this of you as well.”

“What are you saying? Don't go spouting off when you know nothing about the situation...! This isn't just about Marianne. The very survival of our house is at stake.”

 

My father—usually so composed, even cold, when it came to politics—vehemently refused, his voice sharp and rapid-fire. That was just how perilous a gamble this was.

I was standing at the start of a burning bridge right now.

I could still turn back. Yet, I was resolved to leap into the flames and reach the other side. That said, I had no intention of throwing my life away. Even if the bridge spans collapse, I will cling to the piers and survive.

 

“I do not know what Lady Marianne desires. But if this matter concerns the future of our House, surely that is all the more reason for you to extend a helping hand to her? Do you intend to leave her to face this alone?”

“It is a situation she should never have involved herself in to begin with. She is trying to meddle in affairs that have absolutely nothing to do with our House.”

My father dismissed Cynthia’s impassioned plea out of hand and resumed walking.

He has a broad back. When I was a child, I used to look up at those shoulders, never daring to touch them—shoulders that remained out of reach even when I stood on tiptoe. I can hardly say I have drawn close to him even now, yet... if I were to reach out, it is not impossible to grasp them.

“Please wait, Father...!”

My voice came out strained and hoarse. In truth, my hands and legs had been trembling long before I even arrived here. Even as I resolved to speak to him, my mind was consumed by the thought of what might happen if I failed to secure his cooperation. It was a scenario I dread to even imagine, but if that were to come to pass, I would be unable to save Ilya.

 

Father was truly Ilya's lifeline. If this rope were to break, what would happen to Ilya?

 

――――――Ilya.

 

“Lady Marianne …?”

She must have sensed something unusual when she saw my complexion. Cynthia moved closer. We were so close that our arms were touching, so I grabbed her hand without hesitation.

 

I was scared.

There's nothing I could do about it.

 

“...If mother were here! She’d definitely help me!!”

 

I did my best to send my voice to my father as he moved away from me.

 

“If mother was here! She won't abandon me right now!”

 

“If mother was here! If she was here...! She'd risk her life for me!”

 

My eyes burned. I did not recall ever throwing tantrums or wailing selfishly, even in my naive childhood. My mother used to praise me for being such a sensible child.

She would say that because I was so easy to raise, she felt a touch of something missing.

I wonder when it was that she smiled and told me she wished I had relied on her and acted spoiled more often.

 

That was why I was so confident. I believed she had always shown me that kind of love. Now, more than ever, I wanted to believe in the words she spoke—that she would remain by my side even after losing her life.

It was only now that I have become a mother myself that I understood: the love that seeks to protect one's child does not vanish, even in death.

And that was precisely why I realized how cruel it was to wish for her to risk her life for my sake.

 

Father couldn’t live the way Mother did.

As the feudal lord, he had things more important to him than me. Mother once said, “When the critical moment comes, I will protect only Marianne.” She meant that if something were to befall our family, she would abandon Father to save me.

At the time, I took those words literally.

But after marrying and starting a family of my own, I realized the true meaning behind them.

 

She said it to ensure that, in a crisis, Father—who could not simply choose his family—would not be forced to make the agonizing decision to abandon us. At the same time, she took steps to ensure he would never mistakenly forsake the duties imposed upon him.

 

If Mother were the one to cast Father aside first, then Father—as the lord—would be free to choose his people. He would not have to abandon us.

 

“Father!!”

 

The person who had paused turned around. After giving some instructions to the steward, he began to walk back the way he had come.

Cynthia covered the hand I had been clutching with her own. Wilhelm, too, stepped up to stand close beside me on my other side; he had not followed father.

 

“I love you, Marianne.”

 

My father, having finally returned, let his face crumple. I gasped at the sight of that frail expression—the first time I had ever seen him look so weak.

“Don't make me cast you aside,” he murmured, the words forced out as if his throat were constricted.

If only love could solve everything—but the reality is different.

 

Love simply exists. It will neither fight for you nor protect you.

It is you yourself who must fight and protect.

 

“I cannot do what your mother did.”

“Then what will you do? What will you do for me?”

 

Cupping my cheeks in both hands, he said, “It means severing our ties.”

When I nodded and replied, “I understand,” a faint smile played upon his lips.

 

“I shall prepare a formal notice of severance.”

 

When the man—who had stepped back to gauge the distance—made his declaration, Cynthia let out a silent, anguished cry: “My lord...!”

Wilhelm sharply inhaled, as if seized by a sudden spasm.

 

“......It is merely for the sake of appearances. Rest assured; I do trust Marianne, after all... However, should the worst come to pass, I will be forced to abandon you. You understand that, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“I shall gather information on Lady Ilya in secret and prepare the answer you desire. But if this matter ever leads to criminal charges, our House will offer you absolutely no protection.”

“Yes.”

“......”

 

My father’s shoulders slumped, as if he were exhaling a long-held burden. “I should have made you sever ties with Lady Ilya sooner,” he said.

“No,” I replied. “That is not what should have been done.”

 

It was not a matter of parting ways; I should have remained by her side—right there with her—from the very beginning.

 

 Chapter 75                                                                          Chapter 77