Sister I am the Queen in This Life [Novel] Chapter 115

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 115
Chapter Title: Lucrezia's End (2)
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However, what came from Lucrezia's mouth was not a name, but spit.

“Hock, ptui!”

Frothy white spittle struck Ariadne squarely in the face before dripping to the floor. Ariadne expressionlessly raised the back of her hand and wiped away the warm liquid from her face.

“What kind of mother sells out her own child! I won’t do it! I can’t!”

Ariadne grabbed the hair of Lucrezia, who lay collapsed on the floor, and shook her head violently. Lucrezia screamed in pain, feeling as if her hair was about to be ripped out.

“I'll be sure to convey this seething maternal love to your son.”

She raised her cold, green eyes to look at Lucrezia.

“But don't think for a second I won't find out. I'll chase you to hell and back to reveal Ippolito's tainted blood. And don't you dare think your son will be grateful to you.”

Ariadne said mercilessly.

“Do you know what the first thing I'll do when I leave this place is? I'll go to Ippolito and tell him. That his mother…”

Ariadne paused for a beat before continuing.

“...died after admitting that Ippolito's father was different from the others.”

Fear crept into Lucrezia's violet eyes.

“Ippolito will resent you forever.”

Lucrezia shook her head.

“Please, please. Leave my son alone. Ippolito is a good boy. He's never done anything to harm you, has he?”

She crawled forward on her knees and clung to Ariadne's skirt.

“You don't want the de Mare family to fall into the hands of some distant relative you've never met, do you? If a house has no men, its end will be wretched. A house needs a man. You need one too.”

Lucrezia wept, sobbing as she clung to Ariadne's satin skirt.

“My Ippolito, please just spare my Ippolito.”

In her imagination, Ippolito was not a young man in his early twenties with ash-gray hair. He was a toddler of three or four, and at the same time, a dependable man in his thirties. He was like a husband, a son, and a lover—the embodiment of all her dreams and hopes.

“Ippolito didn't betray me. My son couldn't help himself. It's my fault for getting caught. Why, oh why, did I let them find out I killed someone!”

Lucrezia begged Ariadne.

“What must I do for you to leave my son alone?”

“…”

“Please, just say the word. I'll tell you anything. A hidden room in the mansion? Emergency funds stashed away somewhere? I'll give you anything.”

“…I know as well as you do that you have nothing left.”

Lucrezia looked at Ariadne and let out a loud laugh.

“My, aren't our little bastard daughter so clever! There's nothing she doesn't know!”

She walked over to the wooden table and picked up an opaque glass bottle resting on a silver tray. The violet liquid inside was what Lucrezia favored when she killed people.

“Then I'll give you this. You hate me, don't you? Hate me enough to want me dead?”

Lucrezia uncorked the glass bottle and drank it down in one gulp.

“I'll give you my life.”

A stream of purple liquid trickled from the corner of her mouth. - *Cough!* The taste was horribly bitter. It felt as if her stomach was melting. Lucrezia looked at Ariadne and made her final plea.

“I'll give you my life, so please, spare my son. Please, don't touch my beloved Ippolito, so that he can live as Cardinal de Mare's son.”

Lucrezia deeply regretted not telling Ippolito who his father was beforehand. Even if Cardinal de Mare found out about Ippolito's birth, he could have sought out his biological father for help. But now, in this wretched state, the only person who could deliver her last words to her son was that detestable bastard.

“Tell Ippolito to bring my favorite flower to my grave. His roots are there.”

Would Ippolito understand? What if he didn't, and that terrifying girl absorbed it all like a sponge soaking up water? As if to prove her fears were well-founded, Ariadne's green eyes, fixed on Lucrezia, gleamed with sharp intelligence. - *Cough!* Her consciousness began to fade. At the end of her life, there was only one thing left for Lucrezia to do.

“Please.”

She looked up at the detestable bastard daughter and pleaded.

“I'm sorry. Looking at you made my stomach turn. Simon was a good man. If it weren't for you… my marriage would have been perfect… I was loved…”

Lucrezia's words trailed off. She couldn't finish her sentence and her head slumped forward. Ariadne stood alone in the north cellar, looking down at Lucrezia. She nudged the slumped form of Lucrezia with the toe of her shoe. - *Thump.* She was still warm, her limbs still supple. But when Ariadne placed a hand under her nose, there was no breath.

‘She's dead.’

Lucrezia had died protecting Ippolito to the very end. But Ippolito was not a man worthy of such devotion. Her mood sinking, Ariadne picked up the glass bottle lying on the floor and hurled it down violently. - *Crash!* The thick, opaque glass shattered into pieces with a sound that was both a clear crack and a dull pop.

‘Why!’

Why did Lucrezia die protecting such a foolish, ungrateful son? Why did my mother have to die so early? Why was there no one left to love me so blindly? Why! Why did that bastard Ippolito, who didn't deserve to be loved, receive such devotion from his mother, while Arabella had to die alone in her bed! It was unfair. So terribly unfair! Still seething, Ariadne kicked the glass shards again. She thought revenge would be sweet. Suddenly, Ariadne realized her cheeks were warm. They were tears. Not because she was sad about Lucrezia's death, but because she realized that even with her death, nothing had truly changed.

***

Ariadne remained in the north cellar for a long time before finally returning late. Back in her chambers, she ordered Sancha to take care of Lucrezia's body. After retrieving Lucrezia's body, Sancha returned and finally heard from Ariadne what had happened in the north cellar.

“What? What did you say?!”

“You'll deafen me, Sancha.”

“But, my lady! Did 'Miss Rossi' really admit with her own mouth that Lord Ippolito—no, that damned Ippolito—is a cuckoo's chick?!”

“Yes.”

Having erased any sign of her tears, Ariadne, pale and composed, returned to her chambers and reclined wearily on the sofa. She began removing her earrings, necklace, and other accessories one by one, placing them on the side table. Sancha, so shocked that she'd forgotten her duties, was startled when Ariadne began removing her own jewelry. She quickly rushed to help her lady finish undressing.

“Why are you so surprised? We both heard Maletta's confession.”

“I know, but I still couldn't believe it!”

Sancha continued the conversation as she carefully brushed Ariadne's thick hair with an intricately carved wooden comb.

“Maletta was the type to say anything. To be honest, there's nothing she wouldn't have said back then to get on your good side, my lady.”

“That's true.”

“Ah, what a waste!”

Sancha stamped her foot.

“You shouldn't have gone down alone! You should have brought a witness! What am I saying, a witness? If you had brought His Eminence Cardinal de Mare and had him stand outside the cellar door to overhear, that damned Ippolito would have been finished in one fell swoop!”

Ariadne replied wearily.

“How often in life do things work out so conveniently and easily?”

She ran her fingers through the hair Sancha was brushing.

“My father, His Eminence Cardinal de Mare, is… more sentimental than you think. If he had heard me cornering 'Miss Rossi,' he would have come running in barefoot.”

Sancha replied, crestfallen.

“That's true…”

“And it's not just His Eminence. If I had stationed one of my own trusted people outside the door, their testimony would have lacked credibility. And if I had placed someone relatively neutral like the butler there, he wouldn't have been able to handle any unexpected situations.”

The Cardinal's love for his wife had been steadfast and profound for over twenty years, right up until Ariadne appeared and systematically exposed Lucrezia's faults to the world. Because of that, the household staff had been in disarray, unsure of which side to take, right up until Lucrezia's death. It would have been a disaster if someone had run upstairs to report that Lady Ariadne was trying to kill Lady Lucrezia four hours earlier than His Eminence had commanded.

“It's not for nothing that I finished Lucrezia off before the time my father specified. I'd say there was more than a fifty percent chance that man would change his mind by morning.”

“What? After all that trouble? After all the effort it took to persuade Mr. Scampa and the representatives of the regional cooperative! Surely not, my lady!”

“Shall we make a bet?”

“Fine! I'll win this one.”

“What shall we wager?”

“Hmm… If I lose, I'll give you my favorite cookies!”

Sancha had developed a taste for the sugar cookies from 'La Montagne Pâtisserie.' They were expensive luxury goods, a treat even on Sancha's much-improved salary.

“Wow, betting big, are we?”

“Because I'm going to win anyway.”

Ariadne chuckled and replied.

“If you really win, I'll give you the new pearl hairpin I just had made.”

Sancha's eyes widened.

“My lady, isn't that the one you had custom-made at Collezioni as a set with your dress for the upcoming High Mass? You'd really give that to me?”

Ariadne replied with a smile.

“I only wagered it because I'll never have to give it away.”

“My lady! Aren't you a little too confident?”

“We'll see.”

A self-deprecating smile touched Ariadne's lips. She knew her father all too well. Sancha began carefully combing the strands of hair Ariadne had tousled with her fingers.

“My heart is pounding just thinking about receiving a precious gem worth over fifteen ducats.”

“Hush, you.”

“Ah, but it's such a shame. To think we have to keep the fact that the scoundrel Ippolito is of different blood just between us!”

Ariadne looked up at Sancha.

“Who said I was going to quietly keep it between us? I never let go of a card that falls into my hand.”

“What?”

“There's no such thing as a truth without evidence in this world. Let's take our time and look for it. While we were investigating, we heard that Lucrezia was already with child when she married into the de Mare family, didn't we? I have a feeling if we dig into the Rossi family, something will turn up.”

“But they're Ippolito's relatives… Will they really talk?”

“Not in their right minds, they won't. But if we look carefully, we'll find a crack somewhere. Time is on our side.”

Ariadne lifted her head, her eyes filled with conviction.

***

Cardinal de Mare usually woke precisely at the first crow of the rooster. But having tossed and turned the night before, he hadn't fallen asleep until dawn, and so he only rose from his bed long after the morning sun had risen.

“No, no, I can't do it after all.”

To have Lucrezia killed. Last night, after endless deliberation, he had resigned himself to it, concluding there was no other way out before finally falling asleep. But upon waking, he found he still couldn't go through with it. That woman had warmed his bedside for over twenty years. It was no longer just love; it was habit.

“The people from the regional cooperative don't know Lucrezia's face well.”

There must be a woman in the house who looks similar. We can have her killed instead and pass it off. We can give Lucrezia a new identity, send her to the Bergamo estate for a long time, and then, after about ten years, bring her back to San Carlo…!

“Attendant. Where is the item to be sent to Lady Lucrezia.”

The dedicated servant guarding Cardinal de Mare's bedroom summoned the butler, Niccolo.

“That item. Where is it? Postpone it for a while.”

Niccolo reported with deep regret.

“Your Eminence. The item you spoke of has already been sent down. It is all… finished.”

“What?”

He pulled open the curtains on the window and looked out at the sky, where the sun was already high.

“What are you talking about! What time is it!”

“It has been three hours since the first rooster crowed. The item has been delivered… and the body has already been recovered.”

- *Thud.* Cardinal de Mare collapsed onto the bed.

“Oh, Lucrezia, it can't be.”

He covered his face with his hands.

“Lucrezia…”

The butler, Niccolo, gave a signal to a junior servant and backed out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Alone in his bedroom, the Cardinal sobbed for a long time.

***

Lucrezia's funeral was a simple affair. It was announced that she had died of an illness. Citing the risk of contagion, they declined all condolences. Sancha cursed the Cardinal's fickleness as she brought her lady the sugar cookies. Ariadne chose not to deliver Lucrezia's last words to Ippolito—*Bring my favorite flower to my grave. Your roots are there.* This was both an act of spite and a way to keep Ippolito in check. Lucrezia's final words were, by all appearances, a hint about the identity of Ippolito's father. Ariadne decided there was no need to inform Ippolito; she would slowly uncover the truth herself. Besides, a bastard like Ippolito didn't deserve to hear his mother's last words. She did briefly consider telling Ippolito, 'Your mother died admitting your blood was different.' But she soon decided against it. She wasn't certain how Ippolito would react. If Ippolito heard the story from Ariadne's lips, it might yield the positive result of him becoming intimidated, losing his composure, and making a series of mistakes. On the other hand, it could also be like beating the grass and startling the snake, giving him a chance to prepare. Ariadne did not think highly of Ippolito, but she was, by nature, a very cautious person. She preferred to take her time and ensure a definite elimination rather than take a risk on a gamble. Ippolito would discover that the secret of his birth had been exposed later, and in a much more fatal way.

“Oh, Mother! *Sob, sob!*”

During the memorial mass, Ippolito sat in the front row and wailed louder than anyone else. He even managed to squeeze out real tears. But no one in the family gave him a warm glance. Mr. Scampa and the representatives of the regional cooperative officially announced that the suspicions connecting Paola Scampa's death to Lucrezia de Rossi were nothing but a misunderstanding. They received generous compensation for the bereaved family and an even more generous regional development fund. Mr. Scampa let out a hollow laugh as he stared at the ducat gold coins piled high on the clean but modest living room table. It was more money than he could ever hope to touch in his lifetime. But his daughter would not be coming back. He sold all his possessions and packed his bags. He intended to go far away. He left his elderly mother with enough funds to live out her remaining years. He would never return to San Carlo. The Cardinal de Mare's residence had held two funerals in one short winter. And then, spring finally came. From Taranto, the court of San Carlo returns.