Previously
Noah terrorizes his squabbling subordinates over two missing gold coins, threatening their lives with a military handgun and demanding full repayment. Jason interrupts with family summons urging Noah to seek a bride, though Noah dismisses marriage and expresses sole dedication to money and pursuits.
Midway through scribbling his signature on a document, Noah paused his pen, arching a brow.
“I lent money to a dump like that?”
Where did he say this was?
“The Marguerite family, sir. The lineage nicknamed the descendants of the merfolk.”
“Ah.”
Leaning back against his chair as if the memory had finally surfaced, Noah fell deep into thought, his long fingers lightly tapping against the armrest.
“Remarkable that they haven’t gone under yet. They were teetering on the brink of ruin back then, too.”
“And yet you still accommodated them with a loan?”
“There was something I wanted.”
Noah’s eyes narrowed.
“A man who gambled away his entire house isn’t exactly a reliable source, but since that woman should be the family’s true last descendant, she ought to know if anything was left behind.”
So where had their debtor run off to?
***
Cordelia bypassed the village entirely and headed straight for the harbor. For now, she blindly made for the sea. Jeneca was a peninsula bordered by water on three sides, meaning there was no shortage of port towns. What truly mattered was where she went from there.
In truth, she had no real plan. Only, quite suddenly, she found herself yearning to visit her birthplace.
Though she had spent her entire life growing up in Jeneca, this place was not her hometown. Imperial citizens, especially those from aristocratic families, took great care to ensure births took place on the mainland—specifically within the imperial capital of Katysha. Even if an infant was of pure imperial blood, the lingering prejudice treated those born on foreign soil little better than illegitimate children, though the custom had grown somewhat diluted in recent years.
As such, many expectant mothers undertook the grueling sea voyage back to the homeland just to deliver their children, and Cordelia’s mother had been no exception. The Marguerite family had still been reasonably well-off in those days.
She was told she had lived in Katysha until she was a year old, but naturally, Cordelia retained no memory of it. Even so, her mother’s stories had painted a vivid scenery in her mind.
A realm ruled by fog and rain, the dazzling social seasons, the grand balls and dances of nobles flocking from every corner, the steam cruisers drifting along the lovely Seine River alongside sprawling train stations, and clock towers and palaces steeped in centuries of history. A place where the vanguard of fashion, every manner of wealth, and brilliant artists converged. Citizens bustling through the streets day after day—the most magnificent city of life in all the world.
From long ago, she had wished to visit that beautiful city where she was born just once. Even if it was the center of the world, she had no memory of it. She might never make a debutante’s bow to seek a husband like young ladies of good standing, but she simply wished to gaze upon its shimmering nightscapes. She wanted to feel the fierce, thrumming energy pulsing from the heart of civilization.
After all, her own life would never bloom in such splendor.
As if possessed, she paid the fare and purchased a ticket bound for Katysha. What she would do upon arrival could wait. No, in truth… she found herself overwhelmed by the sheer flood of desires spilling through her mind.
She would visit that historic bakery her mother had loved as a young girl. She would watch the street performers singing in the squares by the Seine River and feed the pigeons. Once the Academy exhibition opened, she would seek out the collection by Siguin Noel, said to hang in the deepest alcove of the museum.
Her mother had mentioned looking upon his maiden series for prenatal care while carrying Cordelia. She would tour the renowned night markets, revel in the street festivals, and taste the exotic delicacies of the capital. She wanted to shed tears while listening to the aria sung by Ariaste, the prima donna of the century. And then….
Desires welled up within her in such variety that even she, so long accustomed to helplessness, was astonished. Feeling bewildered by urges she never knew she possessed, she was swept away by sheer happiness at the thought that she might soon experience them all.
Though she could feel the onset of her illness gnawing away at her life day by day, leaving behind bloody coughs and nosebleeds, she strove to keep her gaze fixed on the bright side. Hurriedly wiping away the stream of blood from her nose with an old rag and tossing it into a bin, Cordelia boarded the ship with brisk, resolute steps.
The end of my life will sparkle.
Like a mayfly opening its eyes for the very first time, Cordelia hugged Jeje tight in her excitement. The familiar heft of the teddy bear felt like quiet encouragement.
And so, she took to the sea.
Gazing out over the ocean for the first time since her unremembered infancy, Cordelia was wholly overcome.
The sea was far more breathtaking than she had ever imagined. Vivid and dynamic. It was alive.
Smoke billowed from the passenger liner’s four towering funnels, while people lining the docks smiled and waved toward the departing ship. To every stranger among them, Cordelia waved and blew kisses in return.
Grasping the railing of the vessel as it sliced through the waves like an iron whale, she watched the vast expanse of water and the deep blue swells frothing into white foam. The sunlight glancing off the surface gleamed like fish scales, and even the brisk, brinish breeze carried a tang as fresh as a newly plucked lemon. She swept back her windblown hair and let out a long, breathless exhale.
Had she ever felt this free in her entire life?
Though she had unpacked her few belongings in a run-down third-class compartment to save coin, Cordelia remained thoroughly buoyant.
Neither the middle-aged woman in the upper bunk whose snores rattled the room, nor the gossiping runaway girl, nor the old crone muttering ceaseless curses, nor the gypsy sisters casting uneasy side-eyes could spoil her mood. Even the squeaking mice and musty odor failed to dampen her spirits. Compared to being surrounded by her family, endure this was easy.
“Where’s a slip of a girl like you heading all on her own? I’m off to look after my daughter’s baby now that she’s given birth.”
When the middle-aged woman—whose booming voice matched her snores, and who introduced herself as Madame McKenzie—probed Cordelia, the other passengers subtly pricked up their ears.
Though Cordelia kept a scarf pulled low over her head and spoke very little, her poise and youthful jawline gave off an air distinctly different from the rough-and-tumble girls of destitute homes. Yet she lacked the squeamishness or finicky nature typical of well-bred young ladies.
“I’m traveling to my hometown to see my mother.”
She told herself it was hardly a lie. One of her reasons for going to Katysha was to trace the faint footprints left by her mother’s early days.
“And where might that be?”
“Katysha.”
“Well, your timing couldn’t be better. The social season is about to start, so the whole city will be in an uproar.”
Cordelia’s heart fluttered. Noticing the flush rising to her cheeks, Madame McKenzie clicked her tongue.
“Mind yourself, though. An uproar means robbers and cutpurses will be swarming everywhere. Plenty of scoundrels prey on young girls like you.”
“Yes, I know.”
Cordelia’s own mother had crossed paths with a swindler, gotten pregnant, and rushed into a marriage that led to a miserable life. Cordelia had no intention of squandering what little remained of hers on something as wretched and pointless as love. She had far too much left to do.
“Still, we’re fortunate the weather’s so fine. A storm makes the seasickness unbearable.”
“I hear pirates have been prowling near these straits lately.”
“Oh, Lord Noah Tudor, the hero of the Imperial Navy, will surely drive them off! Have you seen that striking face of his? I simply must make my debut on the social stage and meet him!”
Nineteen-year-old Blankie, busy every morning brushing her hair before a mirror, chimed in with cheerful abandon. The frivolous girl constantly prattled on about her ambition to reach the capital and marry a handsome, dashing gentleman, though naturally, no one paid her much mind.
The third-class passengers were far too worn down by their harsh lives to indulge or find amusement in such naive vanity, answering her unrealistic chatter with scoffing or irritation.
Madame McKenzie merely knitted her brows and offered a sharp retort.
“A debutante? That sort of thing is reserved for nobles or young ladies with coin and land to their names. Do you honestly think heading to the capital turns anyone into Cinderella?”
“My goodness, Madame. That was in the old days! Plenty of exceptionally pretty girls find patrons and make their debuts nowadays. Aristocratic rank is a thing of the past.”
“That much is true. What good is a noble these days? Without money, they’re just beggars with fancy titles.”
As murmurs and chuckles broke out in agreement, Cordelia gave a quiet nod of her own. She was living proof of that reality. The world had turned into a place where money was the only true power.
Madame McKenzie, however, shook her head.
“Childish nonsense. Wealth merely replaced titles; reality hasn’t changed one bit. Oh, they say there are common-born belles of society, like Shasha Ander. But are you as gorgeous, clever, and witty as her, Miss Blankie? Do you have grand connections willing to step forward as your patrons? Can you dance exquisitely, or sing like a canary? Or do you have vast wealth? To my eyes, Miss Blankie, you don’t look prettier or sharper than Miss Cordel right beside you.”
At Madame McKenzie’s biting remark, the gypsy sisters burst into cackles of laughter.