Previously
Noah Tudor recalls lending money to the Marguerite family and resolves to track down its final heiress, knowing she holds the key to what he wants. Meanwhile, Cordelia buys third-class passage on a passenger ship bound for Katysha, longing to experience her birth city before her terminal illness takes her life.
“Besides, she may be called a commoner, but her bloodline is entirely different from ours. Isn't her real father a high-ranking duke?”
“Goodness. So there isn't a single thing we can match her in.”
Her face turning beet-red, Miss Blankie shouted,
“You sound just like my mother! Just you wait! I'm definitely going to make it big in the capital!”
“That sounds about as likely as receiving a proposal from the famous Lord Noah Tudor.”
The laughter grew louder. When even a toothless old woman began to cackle, Cordelia took pity on Miss Blankie and spoke up for the first time, though with great effort.
“Miss Blankie is so upbeat and lovely, so I think she'll do wonderfully at whatever she tries.”
“As a housemaid, at best.”
“Thank you, Cordel.”
The simple-hearted Miss Blankie chose to pretend she had not heard the snide remark. She quickly changed the subject, chattering on about glamorous life in the capital, scandals, and handsome men. Naturally, the chief topic was that great hero, Lord Noah Tudor.
She sang praises of his illustrious family, his immense fortune, his personal accomplishments and naval feats achieved without growing indolent despite his splendid background, and his astounding acumen as the head of Raven Bank. Though the hero's epic sounded full of hyperbole, Cordelia listened with great interest, holding deep romantic notions about Katysha at the time.
Strictly speaking, they both belonged to the nobility, but he seemed to exist in a completely different world. Well, night and day hardly compared. A person leading such a life would never know the days spent tormented by hunger, violence, and debt, or the anxious terror of wondering which day might be one's last.
Did she envy him, then? Well, she could hardly say. One needed at least a modicum of proximity to feel jealousy; when the disparity was so unrealistically overwhelming, nothing came out except pure wonder.
“I wonder what it feels like to be loved by a man like that? Can you even imagine?”
Cordelia shook her head. No, not in the least.
“Ha. If I could just see that handsome face of his up close, I'd have no regrets left.”
Right then, with a thunderous crash, the ship shuddered violently. Luggage tumbled in a cascade, and when an old woman tripped and stumbled, Cordelia rushed to catch her, looking around at the commotion outside in sheer fright. Amid panicked screams and frantic shouts, an ominous cry rang out.
“W-we're in trouble! Pirates! It's pirates!”
“What? Pirates?”
Perhaps speaking of disaster truly brought it upon them. Turned ashen, everyone scrambled for their shoes. The deck thundered and deafening bellows shook the air, throwing the passengers into chaotic frenzy. Her heart plummeted straight down. Hastily gathering her belongings and jamming Jeje inside her bag, Cordelia swallowed her medication with trembling hands, chewing it down. If she suffered an attack in the middle of this, she would perish even without the pirates' hands. Was there even a doctor aboard who would look after her?
“Everyone hide!”
“Where do we go? What is the navy doing!”
“Save me!”
“Everyone stay calm, passengers! Please wait quietly in your seats! Damn it, don't come up here!”
A bullet hole appeared in the forehead of the sailor shouting at the protesting passengers while blocking the stairs. As his corpse tumbled down, the squabbling passengers leaped back in horror. Every mouth fell shut, and dead silence descended.
How much time had passed? Two hours? Five? The sinister racket outside—screams, gunfire, and the clash of steel—gradually died down, replaced by an unpleasant hush. When a pale-faced crewman lumbered down the stairs, hope brightened their faces for a second, only to gasp and swallow their breaths at the gun barrel aimed at his back.
“Nobody try anything stupid. Women, get up here.”
“W-what is the meaning of this! Do you think the imperial army—the Admiralty—will let you get away with this!”
When a gentleman protested, the armed man sneered.
“Sure, they'll make a fuss. Right after you're all dead.”
Aiming his weapon at the flinching crowd, he barked, asking if they wanted to die right this second instead of a few days later. Whimpers of terror spread like wildfire. None of it felt real to Cordelia. Even as she climbed the stairs as though dragged along with the other terrified women, she could only think that far too many harrowing events had unfolded one after another in recent days.
It was as if an avalanche of shocking trials was crashing down upon her all at once, following an era of bearable, dull misery. Naturally, none of it had anything to do with good fortune.
Did misfortune truly follow her everywhere?
To think that the timid Cordelia had scraped together every ounce of courage in her life just before dying to come this far, only to meet her end like this; the injustice was unbearable. Out of all the ships, why did the one she boarded have to be raided? More than terror, a sense of bitter resentment toward the world threatened to bring her to tears.
“Do as you're told, and nothing will happen to you.”
Cordelia knew phrases like that all too well. And she knew that doing as one was told meant dying quietly after following orders.
Emerging onto the deck, she saw that the women among the first-class nobility and wealthy had been hauled out as well. With crumpled gowns and pale faces ruined by smudged makeup and tears, they resembled magnificent tropical birds with broken wings after a tempest.
“Any unmarried young women sixteen and older, step forward.”
Color drained from every face. Now it was all too clear what vile, disgusting thing they intended to commit. Watching their reactions, a swarthy pirate grinned smugly.
“Don't worry, it's not what you're imagining. Well, you'll be sold as slaves, so I suppose it amounts to the same thing.”
“How dare you! Do you know who we are?!”
“His Majesty will not stand for this!”
When a noblewoman shrieked, the man clicked his tongue and licked his lips.
“You ladies had better give the names of the families who'll pay your ransoms. We'll let you go in the order of who pays quickest.”
The proclamation divided the crowd into stark halves of relief and despair. The upper-class women, previously paralyzed with fear, breathed sighs of relief, while those without wealthy families to pay ransoms wore expressions fit for the depths of hell. Half would return home; the rest would become slaves. Listening to Miss Blankie's sniffling, Cordelia remained silent. Provide a family name? Would her father ever pay a ransom for a daughter who struck his nephew and fled? If he had money, he would blow it on gambling; he was never one to spend it saving a useless child. No, to begin with, he wouldn't even have the coin.
‘Because the only wealth left in that house is right here.’
Cordelia offered a bitter smile as she looked down at the parchment meant for her name and origin.
How fitting. If its purpose was to reaffirm her own wretchedness.
If she was only meant to end up sold into slavery after running away like this, what on earth had she rebelled for?
Yet, ridiculously enough, she felt not a shred of regret. Even if she were to go back, she would do the exact same thing.
In the end, Cordelia wrote only her first name, omitting her surname.
“What's this? Why didn't you write your family name?”
When the pirate checking identities one by one questioned her, all eyes snapped toward her. In the stifling air, she answered with a composure that surprised even herself.
“I don't have a family name.”
Could this truly be called detachment? Perhaps resignation or surrender was more accurate.
Predictably, the pirate grew angry. Grasping her chin and turning her face back and forth, he sneered,
“No family name? Are you a gypsy?”
“I am an imperial citizen.”
“What imperial citizen doesn't have a family name? Listen here, if you don't pay a ransom, you'll be merchandise in a slave market in a week. Got it?”
Though she staggered under the nasty prodding against her shoulder and forehead, she clamped her teeth tight. It wasn't as though she had no desire to cling to life. But what then? Even if she wrote down her bankrupt family's name, she had no wish to hear whispers about a penniless house abandoning its daughter, nor did she want her family to learn of the wretched state she had fallen into after running away and laugh at her expense. Above all, did she truly need to confirm being discarded in an official capacity? The outcome would be identical anyway.
Studying her silence, the man scanned her from head to toe with a nasty grin. Cordelia already recognized the greasy gleam in those eyes. A rough hand reached to grope her waist.
“Well, suit yourself. You've got a pretty face, so you'll sell nicely. Or do you want to have some fun with me before that?”
Grinding her tongue in her mouth to endure the sickening disgust, she tasted blood. Such harassment was nothing compared to what she had suffered until now, yet strangely, it felt far harder to bear. Had she truly lost her mind after contracting a fatal illness, just as her family said?
“Look at this. Quite the spitfire. Haha, check out those eyes.”