Chapter 107

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 107
Chapter Title: Different Thoughts
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Sensing the danger of being abandoned, Maletta shed her arrogant demeanor and clung desperately to Sancha.

“Sancha, my dear sister, Sancha!”

Ever since passing through the main gate of the Rambouillet Almshouse, Maletta had been half out of her mind. To her, this place was a living hell on earth. A place she had struggled so hard to escape; she couldn't possibly go back.

“I don't want to starve to death here. To give birth to a child only for it to die on a pile of filth, while I die beside it in labor...!”

Maletta went so far as to kneel, clutching the hem of Sancha's skirt.

“Please, don't leave me here. Please, have pity on me. Please... Please...”

Sancha clicked her tongue at the familiar sight. But this time, the roles were reversed.

- “My noble lady! Sancha has sticky fingers and an incurable cough!”

Those were the words Maletta had shouted in the past, before the young lady of House de Mare who had offered to take only one of them. Sancha would never forget what Maletta had done that day.

“Are you going to leave me? You can't. You're my only sister.”

You. You left me here. Why are you pushing morals and ethics on me that you yourself have never upheld? Sancha felt more disgust than pity. Maletta, babbling incoherently and begging to save her own skin, seemed less pathetic and more like a pile of filthy garbage. Unfortunately, however, Sancha had to follow her lady's orders to keep Maletta hidden away, ready to be brought back someday. Sharp words escaped Sancha's lips before she could stop them.

“Why? Afraid of a little karma coming back to bite you?”

Maletta flinched, glancing up at her sister from her prostrate position on the floor.

“I'd love to leave you here for good, but my lady will contact you when the time comes. Wait here quietly.”

Maletta's eyes widened. She chose to see the glass as half empty. This truly meant waiting indefinitely.

“S-Sancha. Please, give the lady a message for me.”

She grabbed her sister's sleeve and pleaded.

“I served Lord Ippolito, didn't I? And before that, I served Lady Isabella. I know many things that could be useful to Lady Ariadne.”

This time, she was on the right track. At the mention of “things that could be useful to Lady Ariadne,” Sancha stopped in her tracks. Sancha narrowed her eyes and said,

“Tell me.”

But Maletta stubbornly shook her head.

“I can only speak to the lady herself.”

Sancha replied.

“If you can't tell me, you can't tell the lady. I won't betray her. Not a word will leave my lips, so tell me now.”

But even though they were sisters, Sancha and Maletta's minds worked in completely different ways.

“What are you talking about? If I blab everything to you and the lady just takes the information and washes her hands of me, I'll be the one left high and dry! Do you think I'd fall for such a cheap trick?”

Sancha sighed.

“My mistake for expecting something human to come out of a mouth like yours.”

“The information is real. Make sure you tell the lady!”

Without another word, Sancha left the Rambouillet Almshouse. * * *

“Is that so?”

“...Yes.”

“It seems I might finally be able to settle an old score.”

The hook from the débutante ball. The hook that drove Arabella to her death. Ariadne hadn't forgotten. She could never forget.

“She's willing to testify? If that's certain, we might finally be able to finish Isabella this time.”

“...That depends on what you give her.”

Sancha looked uncomfortable. Ariadne glanced at her, slightly concerned.

“Sancha, are you worried? That this is your chance for revenge, and I might give Maletta a way out in exchange for her testimony?”

Maletta was Sancha's sister, but she was also her sworn enemy. In a way, their relationship mirrored that of Isabella and Ariadne. Ariadne herself knew she would be furious if someone, for their own selfish reasons, told her to give up her revenge on Isabella. She might not let them get away with it.

“No. It's not that.”

Sancha shook her head vehemently. She looked at Ariadne with moist eyes.

“My lady, please don't worry about my revenge on Maletta. I despise her, but she's still my sister. I haven't even decided if I want revenge or not.”

“Then why the long face? If you're lying about not needing revenge for my sake, you really don't have to.”

Ariadne took Sancha's hand.

“I'll do whatever you want. If you want to forgive her because she's your sister, we'll do that. If you want her dead, I'll make sure she dies in the most painful way possible. Just say the word.”

Sancha shook her head again and again.

“My lady, it's truly not that. I'm just... just...”

Sancha let out a deep sigh.

“Maletta is not to be trusted. It's true she was in a position to know things about Lord Ippolito and Lady Isabella, but there's no guarantee that what she says is the truth.”

Sancha added one more thing.

“And there's even less of a guarantee that she'll give her promised testimony before His Eminence, Cardinal de Mare, after she gets what she wants.”

Sancha looked at her lady with a worried expression.

“Because she's not trustworthy, I don't want her to play an important role in your plans. She'll definitely cause some unforeseen trouble. I don't want you to suffer because of her.”

It was a reason she hadn't imagined. Ariadne's heart swelled, and she squeezed Sancha's hand, interlacing their fingers.

“My lady! You can't hold my hand like this! I just came from outside and haven't even washed them yet!”

“What's a little dust?”

Ariadne stroked Sancha's hair.

“And you need to have a little more faith in me.”

Ariadne smiled brightly.

“If Maletta gets anything out of this, it will all be paid on delivery. I won't be fooled by the likes of her anymore.”

Ariadne looked at Sancha.

“It's better if we go to her rather than bring her here, right? Let's go hear what she has to say.”

* * * Confined to the staff quarters of the Rambouillet Almshouse for nearly ten days, Maletta was on the verge of a mental breakdown. Staring at a wall all day without saying a word had become her main routine. The two meals a day were staff meals, better than what the paupers received, but they carried the distinct, awful, acrid smell of turnips that had been boiled in the same pot for so long it had seeped into the metal itself—a smell unique to the Rambouillet Almshouse.

“They're trying to starve me to death in here! Everyone will forget about me!”

Maletta gritted her teeth, stroking her still-flat stomach.

“I will go back.”

Trapped alone in the attic all day, Maletta had developed a habit of talking to herself. Saying anything out loud made her feel a sense of release.

“That Lady Ariadne! If she gets in the way of the mother of the future de Mare heir, I won't let her get away with it!”

But monologues are, by nature, not meant to be answered.

“Is that so.”

Hearing a voice tinged with amusement reply to her words, Maletta was so startled she nearly fell off her straw mattress.

“The mother of the future de Mare heir, you say.”

“Eek!”

“So you finally got your wish, Maletta.”

The owner of the voice was Lady Ariadne herself. She lowered the hood covering her head and leaned against the oak door, a faint smile on her face.

“And how, exactly, will you not let me get away with it?”

“L-Lady...”

Behind the tall Ariadne, Sancha followed her in. The two of them standing in the doorway created an intimidating atmosphere. Though she hated groveling before Lady Ariadne in front of Sancha, Maletta was fundamentally weak before the strong. Nothing was more precious to her than her own life and a life of comfort. Maletta threw herself at Lady Ariadne's feet.

“My lady! My lady! I misspoke! I missed you so much, my lady!”

Maletta had hoped that Lady Ariadne might tell her to rise, considering her pregnancy, but Ariadne just stood there stiffly, looking down at her with cold eyes. While cursing inwardly, Maletta let out an even louder wail.

“You have no idea how scared I've been! How much I hate Lord Ippolito! How miserable I am! But he's still the father of my child!”

As she spoke, emotions surged, and tears streamed down Maletta's puffy cheeks.

“My lady, please help me... I know you must hate me, but I am just a lowly servant, and inside me is your own niece or nephew...”

“Let's dispense with this fruitless talk and have a more productive conversation.”

Ariadne walked lightly over and sat on Maletta's bed. Before her was a worn stool roughly hewn from wood. Ariadne gestured to it with her chin.

“Sit.”

Sniffling, Maletta took a seat on the stool.

“You said you had something to tell me. What is this secret?”

“It is...”

* * *

“Prince Alfonso. We need to talk.”

Alfonso, who had been just passing by, was caught by Grand Duchess Lariesa, who blocked his path with her arms outstretched. He looked at the Grand Duchess with an unreadable expression. After a moment of silence, he spoke to her.

“Grand Duchess. Please, mind your manners.”

His voice was a soft and pleasant baritone, his tone quiet. But the perceptive Lariesa could detect the trace of coldness within it.

“What great discourtesy have I committed! I've been waiting here for ages just to see you, Prince Alfonso!”

It was true that Lariesa had been standing in the hallway for over an hour, waiting for Alfonso.

“I have a prior engagement with my knights, and you, Grand Duchess, are blocking my way without an appointment. You may schedule one through my aide, Dino. Now, if you'll excuse me.”

“But!”

Lariesa cried out, her large, doe-like eyes welling with tears.

“You've been avoiding me, Your Highness! Your replies to my letters are sparse, and you always claim to have other plans for any escort duties outside of official events!”

Lariesa took a step closer, tapping her chest as she pleaded.

“I don't know what more I'm supposed to do!”

But Prince Alfonso was firm.

“Is there something more you must do, Grand Duchess?”

Alfonso spoke gently, like a host guiding a guest through his estate.

“Taranto is a beautiful place. You should travel, enjoy the local cuisine. If there is anywhere you wish to visit, tell my attendants. They will take you. You may go anywhere you wish to see.”

He paused for a moment before adding his final words.

“Etruscan welcomes the Grand Duchess of Gallico as it would a relative.”

They were, in fact, distant cousins, so in principle, his statement was correct. But they were not spending the winter together as relatives. And above all, that was absolutely not the kind of relationship Lariesa wanted.

“Prince Alfonso. We must become closer. That is the will of our fathers.”

Lariesa could bear it no longer. Growing desperate, she finally let her well-hidden temper show.

“And it is also the only way for your people! If you have even an ounce of responsibility for the citizens of Etruscan, you will treat me well.”

This man must surely fear the power of the great Kingdom of Gallico. Thinking of her dependable father, Grand Duke Eudes, and her distant cousin, Philip IV of Gallico, Lariesa added another threat.

“I am on the verge of exploding.”

Lariesa opened her mouth, intending to ride this momentum and condemn Prince Alfonso's indifference. But Alfonso's suppressed reply stopped her from saying another word.

“The only way for my people?”

Prince Alfonso, who had always been so gentle and mild, was now glaring at Lariesa, the flames of fury burning in his slate-gray eyes.