Clinging to the Dead
……
"But how utterly heartless. Belladonna won't say a single word on the matter, one way or the other. Tsk. If I'd known it would come to this, it would have been better to marry you off somewhere else entirely."
My father looked, for all the world, like a man tallying a financial loss.
"And another thing—what on earth did you do with an entire year, without so much as a child to show for it? If you'd borne a son at a time like this, your position in the Ortega succession would have been rock solid."
……
"Never mind. It seems your husband was even more of a problem than you."
It was a strange thing. When he blamed me, I felt nothing at all—but the moment Camille's name left his lips, a disgust rose in me too fierce to contain.
"…He never did anything wrong."
It was a reaction too extreme for even me to make sense of.
"I was the one who asked for separate rooms. I was the one who pushed him away, every single day. All of it came from my side."
"What?"
For a moment my father wore a foolish look, as though he couldn't parse the meaning of my words. Then his voice boomed.
"Then you should have done your duty properly!"
Slam! His fist came down on the desk, and the teacups rattled at the clamor, the black tea sloshing to the very rim on the verge of spilling.
"Do you have any idea what people are saying about our family right now? The same jackals who used to sniff around hoping a crumb might fall—do you know how they're tearing into us now?"
……
"Of all things, suicide—suicide! Branded with that mark, you can't even set foot in the temple!"
Silence sank back down, and for a while only my father's ragged breathing hovered above it.
Pressing his temples to smother his flaring temper, he soon exhaled a heavy sigh, as though giving up.
"Haah… Enough. It's all said and done. What can anyone do?"
The spectacle of him raging alone and calming himself alone struck me as nothing more than farce.
And to me—holding my silence while my heart went cold and died—he tossed yet another stone.
"A charity date at Agnus has been arranged. I'll come to collect you next week, so be prepared."
He went on without so much as a glance in my direction.
"It's a gathering the noblewomen attend in force. Showing your face in person will do wonders for smothering the rumors."
My brow furrowed of its own accord. I couldn't for the life of me see how he'd arrived at that conclusion.
"If that's the goal, wouldn't it be better to simply stay out of sight for a while?"
"Enough! Do you think you're in any position to talk back to me?!"
My lips sealed shut reflexively at the thunderclap, and my father—who had roared as if to sever my words mid-breath—drew a long breath of his own.
Then, lowering himself as though someone might be listening, he continued in a hush.
"I hear a great many ladies with unmarried sons will be attending this time. You'll need to find your own way to survive, too. Eh?"
"Don't tell me… you're telling me to remarry?"
"Shh. Quiet. There are too many ears about."
"Father!"
My breath caught in my throat. Had I truly heard him right? He was telling me to set Camille aside and remarry?
"How could you even…!"
The words wouldn't come; my mouth only opened and closed.
How could anyone wearing a human face spew such filth!
Even as I stood aghast, my father didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow. He clicked his tongue, short and sharp.
"A whole year, no less. And what did we gain from it, eh? A single viscountcy and one letter of recommendation for Louis to the Holy Knights—nothing more."
Truly pathetic results, that. The cold sneer came right on the heels of the barb.
"Belladonna will deny it to my face, but one look at her summoning the second son back tells you everything. The moment that boy takes a wife, you'll be tossed out on your ear."
My father rose from his seat and stood over me.
His calloused hand settled on my shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Start preparing to make your quiet exit from this house."
……
"All you need to do is listen to your father."
He knew I feared this kind of touch.
That was why he always ended conversations this way.
But this time was different.
"Father, do you even know the meaning of good faith?"
"…What?"
A voice so cold it startled even me slid out over my lips.
"It has been only a week. How can you already put such words in your mouth?"
The astonishment that had flooded my father's eyes soon warped into a look laced with scorn.
"Good faith? What good faith is there in a political marriage, eh?"
The words cut to the bone—so sharply that, for an instant, the strength drained from my glare.
"Don't tell me you actually meant to bury your bones in that house for the rest of your life, Aub?"
……
"It's not even funny. No—you're so naive it's almost pitiable."
The crease between his brows carved itself unusually deep, as though he were dealing with a child who hadn't yet learned sense.
One deep sigh passed, and then came the tone of a man dispensing wisdom.
"Aub. Come to your senses."
I quietly lowered my eyes.
"Cling to the dead, and all you'll be left with is regret."
……
My clenched fist and bitten lips made my defiance plain enough, yet no rebuttal would come.
The hand that settled on my shoulder once more chose, this time, to squeeze.
"…I'll be going, then. See you next week."
Click.
With my father gone, stillness settled over the room he'd left me in.
His footsteps receded, then faded away entirely, but I remained frozen exactly as I was.
"My lady… are you all right?"
Romaine, who had stepped away for a time, crept close and laid a hand against my frozen brow.
"Good heavens! Y-your body is burning like a furnace!"
"…Ah, Romaine."
I finally forced out the voice that had been crushed down inside me.
"Could you… help me to the bed?"
"Yes, yes! Of course. Lean on me, my lady."
We had moved only a few steps when my vision swam dizzily and my stomach twisted.
Laid out on the bed, I stared out the window and watched my father's carriage shrink into the distance.
"Cling to the dead, and all you'll be left with is regret."
The phantom words, refusing to leave my ears, cinched tight around my throat.
In the end, I squeezed my eyes shut, as though admitting defeat.
…I want to see Camille.
The carriage sped on without pause, and where it finally stopped was an orphanage in the capital's slums.
Its name was the Agnus Orphanage—modest in scale, yet the place that drew the most sponsorship money in the empire.
Hommage Claudel, who had arrived early, was wedged among the noblewomen as always, trading pleasantries.
"Lady Leonhart! You're here early."
"Oh my, Viscount Hommage. Good morning to you."
"Indeed. The weather has turned quite mild, hasn't it? Warm enough to go without a coat altogether."
"It has, hasn't it? Hohoho…"
Behind their smiles, the ladies traded furtive glances, each apparently weighing what stance to take toward his newly changed station.
What a shamelessly thick face this man has.
Eyes minutely changed swept over Hommage from head to toe.
One little viscountcy hung on his name, and suddenly he thinks he's someone?
Baron to viscount. On paper, his rank had undeniably climbed.
But people had always weighed others against what they practically stood to gain.
And so, perhaps, it was only natural that his value had collapsed the moment the duke's son died and his married daughter's standing grew murky.
"Hahaha. And how is Caleb getting on these days? I hear he only just graduated from the Academy?"
"Yes, well…"
Linda gave a halfhearted nod, her expression lukewarm.
Why is he calling another man's son by his bare name? I suppose that's what being an upstart does—manners simply cease to exist.
The frost-edged resolve to humiliate him properly, someday, scattered in an instant at the sound of someone's shout.
"Look—isn't that the Ortega carriage?"
"I heard Lady Belladonna wasn't coming today?"
Where every gaze converged, a single carriage stood in state, gleaming with unusual brilliance.
Until its door opened, the crowd murmured among themselves, trying to guess who would step down.
Belladonna? Or else Claude Ortega, the second son of whom so much was said?
Whoever steps out, I had best make my presence known properly.
But the person who emerged from the carriage slipped clean past every expectation.
"That would be…"
Camille Ortega's—
the pale widow of light, left all alone in the world after losing her husband.
Aub Ortega had appeared, unaccompanied.