Chapter 27

With the decision made, the daily life in the free port took on a completely different tone. Every copper coin accumulated, every conversation with passing merchants, carried a clear purpose—preparing for that near-suicidal journey to the heart of the empire.

Mara drew upon her previously unused network of connections, accumulated during her early travels. They needed a new, impeccable identity and a route that could evade the Empire's tight surveillance. This cost them almost all their savings and incurred some dangerous favors.

Ultimately, they obtained two merchant identity documents from the "Comerian Commercial City-State," claiming to be sisters traveling to the imperial capital of Roconia to purchase spices and silk. The relationship between Comeria and the Empire was delicate, involving both trade and mutual distrust. Their merchant identities provided some convenience without drawing excessive attention like faces from Cador or more distant regions.

They chose the longest, but also the least noticeable, route—sailing north to the eastern port city of Chicaled, then traveling by land through several less sensitive eastern provinces before finally heading west to the imperial capital, Rokonia.

The journey was dull and tense. The rough seas, the casual yet sharp questioning of the checkpoint soldiers, and every check of her identity documents kept Io, or Liana, on her toes. She deliberately imitated the Imperial Common Language with a Camellian accent, and her demeanor and attire were as befitting as the daughter of a middle-class merchant—neither ostentatious nor overly shabby.

Mara plays the role of a calm and capable older sister, handling various matters. Her composure and experience are their best cover.

As the carriage finally reached the main imperial road paved with flagstones leading to Rokonia, Liana looked out the window at the gradually familiar scenery—the neat farmlands, the undulating mountain silhouettes in the distance, and the indescribable, unique atmosphere in the air that belonged to the heart of the empire—her heart pounded heavily in her chest.

She's back.

She set foot on the land she had desperately tried to escape.

Roconia's massive walls and towers rose on the horizon, as grand and imposing as ever, symbolizing supreme power and order. Long queues formed at the city gates, undergoing more rigorous checks than ever before.

When it was their turn, the soldier carefully checked their identification documents, his gaze lingering for a moment on Liana's downcast face.

"Comerians? What are they doing in Rokonja?"

“Purchasing, sir.” Mara stepped forward and answered calmly, “Mainly spices; I heard the quality is quite good this year.”

The soldier glanced at them a few more times. Perhaps their simple clothing and calm demeanor aroused no suspicion, or perhaps their identity as Comerian merchants played a role. He waved his hand and said, "Go in. Remember, obey the laws of the Empire."

As the carriage slowly passed through the massive archway of the city gate, the moment the shadows fell, Liana felt a wave of dizziness that almost suffocated her.

The familiar architectural style lined both sides of the street, yet it seemed to possess a touch of the cold, rigid order characteristic of Lucien's rule. Crowds thronged, traffic flowed, and the imperial capital remained prosperous, yet it seemed shrouded in an invisible frost.

They checked into a hotel in a rather unassuming but bustling commercial district. The room was small, and the view from the window was of a noisy street.

After putting down her luggage, Liana walked to the window and looked down at the bustling crowds below and the distant, faintly visible, spires of the taller buildings belonging to the aristocratic district.

The Duke of Wilde's mansion is in that direction.

For Liana, every breath of Rokonia's air carried the taste of memories and danger. The small inn where she and Mara settled was located in the "Licaster District," a noisy and chaotic place filled with small merchants, artisans, and low-level clerks seeking opportunities from all over the world, which provided them with perfect cover.

Their primary task was to gather intelligence and understand the current situation at Duke Wilde's mansion. Approaching directly was too risky; they needed eyes and ears.

Mara changed into a simpler dress more suited to the common women of Rokonia and mingled into the market area and the gathering place for temporary labor services. With her quiet and reliable demeanor and her excellent sewing skills, she quickly struck up conversations with several women who delivered groceries to noble residences or provided temporary laundry services. She sifted through their trivial complaints and chatter like panning for gold.

"The Duke of Wilde's mansion? Oh, don't even mention it, it's as desolate as a tomb..."

"Yes, the Duke is very ill; I heard he can't even get out of bed..."

"The palace physicians do come often, but they seem to be just hanging on by a thread..."

"The head steward is holding the manor together now; the guests we used to have have almost all disappeared..."

"It's pitiful, such a prominent family, and the heir is..."

The news has been confirmed; the father is indeed seriously ill. The guards at the mansion may have become somewhat lax due to the master's condition, but the basic structure remains intact.

Meanwhile, Liana plays Io, the daughter of a Comerian merchant, who is new to the imperial capital and full of curiosity. She frequents the public library and some relatively refined tea rooms that allow women entry, where disillusioned scholars or minor officials often discuss current affairs. She carefully steers the conversation, listening to discussions about the imperial political situation and the delicate relationships among the nobility, trying to piece together the true situation of the Wilde family after Lucien's ascension to the throne.

She heard mostly cautious words, but the core meaning was clear: Duke Wilde, due to the loss of his daughter and illness, had moved away from the center of power; the new emperor was ruthless, and the power of the old nobility was being continuously weakened and consolidated. The surname Wilde was now more symbolic, carrying a sense of tragic heroism.

Fragments of information gradually came together. The mansion's internal management might be lax due to the master's serious illness; the once bustling place was now deserted, reducing the chances of it attracting attention; Lucien might not devote too much energy to monitoring an aging minister who posed no threat—but Liana was not certain about this last assumption.

A few days later, Mara brought back more specific news, which might be a glimmer of hope.

“One of the cooks who was in charge of purchasing ingredients at the back gate of the mansion,” Mara said in a low voice in the hotel room, “is looking for a new job because she had a falling out with the steward over her wages. She complained that there is a lot of anxiety in the mansion now, and the stewards are only concerned with their own personal gain, and no one is genuinely taking care of the ailing old duke.”

Liana's heart skipped a beat. "Can I reach her?"

“I’ve already spoken to her through a laundry woman, telling her that my ‘sister’ is looking for work, is quick and efficient, and especially knows some herbal care, and is willing to apply for a low-paying job.” Mara looked at Liana. “This is an opportunity, but also a huge risk. You need to go directly into that mansion.”

Deep into the tiger's den. Liana felt a chill creep up her spine. She would be operating under the watchful eyes of servants who might still harbor vague memories of her, and every step could expose her.

But she didn't hesitate. "I need this opportunity." She took a deep breath. "Tell me what to do, how to play this role."

They carefully considered every detail: Liana's new name—"Lina," an ordinary name; her background—from a poor family in the eastern province, with some knowledge of herbs, who came to the capital to seek refuge with relatives but was not found and urgently needed work; her demeanor—to appear humble and timid, but with a touch of the simplicity and diligence of a country person.

Mara obtained some strong-smelling herbal juice, making Liana's skin appear slightly dull and rough. She also used a special method to temporarily alter the shape of her eyes, making her overly bright blue eyes appear smaller and less striking. They repeatedly practiced the accent of the eastern provinces and the mannerisms of the lower-ranking servants.

Once everything was ready, with Mara acting as a go-between, Liana, one evening, followed the grumbling cook through the inconspicuous back door of Duke Wilde's mansion, a door filled with the smells of cooking oil and ingredients. Head bowed, she stepped into the home that was once so familiar, yet now felt strange and dangerous.

The door slammed shut behind her.

The kitchen area of ​​Duke Wilde's mansion was filled with an atmosphere of anxiety and lethargy, a stark contrast to the deathly silence of the front yard. The steward seemed truly only concerned with enriching himself, his care for the ailing master merely a formality. Liana, now a lowly maid named Lina, quickly gained favor with the elderly maid responsible for preparing the Duke's herbal remedies and cleaning the outer room of the master's bedroom, thanks to her apparent "diligence" and slight knowledge of herbs.

This gave her the opportunity to get closer to her father.

The Duke's bedroom, located on the upper floor of the mansion, was once heavily guarded, but now only a few listless servants and elderly maids were present. The strong smell of medicine in the air almost masked the familiar scent of his father's books and leather.

When she first carried the basin of hot water into the outer room, her gaze quickly swept towards the inner room. Through the half-open door, she saw a skeletal figure huddled in a thick down comforter on the luxurious and heavy bed, sparse gray hair plastered to his forehead, his breathing shallow and rapid.

That was her father. The man she remembered, so dignified, even somewhat authoritarian, yet showering her with tenderness and affection, was now nothing but a skeleton, ravaged by illness. Overwhelmed with grief and sorrow, she nearly lost her balance on the copper basin.

She forced herself to lower her head and focus on her work, wiping the gleaming furniture, but every time she entered that room, her heart felt as if it were being tightly gripped by an invisible hand.

An opportunity arose one afternoon. The elderly maid who was in charge of brewing the medicine had to leave temporarily due to family matters, entrusting Lina with the task of tending the stove and delivering the medicine on time. Inside the room, there was only an elderly, often dozing, personal servant.

Lina, carrying the warmed medicine bowl, moved with the lightness of a cat into the inner room. The male servant, leaning against the wall in his chair, nodded slightly, unaware of her arrival.

She placed the medicine bowl on the bedside table, finally able to look directly at her father's face without obstruction. His cheeks were deeply sunken, his skin sallow and covered with age spots, and heavy shadows hung beneath his tightly closed eyelids. He looked so fragile, as if he might vanish at any moment.

As if sensing something, or perhaps stimulated by the smell of medicine, the Duke's eyelids twitched a few times before he opened them extremely slowly. His once sharp, eagle-like eyes were now cloudy and lifeless, staring blankly at the top of the bed curtains.

Lina held her breath, her heart pounding.

Suddenly, his gaze shifted very slowly and unfocused in her direction. He seemed to be trying to make out who it was, his chapped lips moving slightly, emitting an almost inaudible whisper: "...Who...?"

Lina's tears welled up instantly, and she bit her lower lip hard to keep from crying out. She leaned closer and whispered in a deliberately altered, hoarse voice with an eastern accent, "Sir, it's time for the medicine."

The old duke's cloudy eyes remained fixed on her, unresponsive, as if piercing through her, looking at a distant phantom. He murmured, his voice so broken it was almost inaudible: "...Ser...Lin...Na...?"

Lina trembled violently! Did he recognize her? Or was it just a hallucination in his dying moments?

She dared not respond, but with trembling hands, she scooped up a little medicine with a silver spoon and carefully brought it to his lips.

The Duke did not resist and obediently swallowed a mouthful. But his gaze remained stubbornly fixed on her face, and in her empty eyes, something seemed to flicker extremely faintly, like the last flicker of a candle flame about to burn out.

“…My…baby…” He uttered these words very softly, almost with his breath, and then, as if he had exhausted all his strength, he slowly closed his eyes, a single, cloudy tear sliding down from the corner of his eye and soaking into the pillowcase.

Lina's tears finally broke free, flowing silently down her face. She gripped her father's withered, cold hand tightly, pressed her forehead against the edge of the bed, and her shoulders trembled violently from suppressed sobs. He knew... perhaps he had always sensed it, perhaps in the hazy consciousness of his final moments, he had felt the call of his blood.

She didn't speak again, but just knelt quietly by the bed, holding his hand, until his already weak breathing gradually became almost imperceptible, and finally, there was only deathly silence.

The hand that had once gently stroked her head and signed countless important documents slowly lost its last bit of warmth in her palm.

The old valet was snoring softly in his chair, unaware that this was his final farewell.

Lina slowly released her grip and fiercely wiped away the tears on her face with her sleeve. She stood up, took one last deep look at her father's peaceful face, then picked up the almost untouched medicine bowl and, just as she had come, quietly left the inner room.

Her back was ramrod straight, only her slightly trembling fingertips betrayed the turbulent emotions churning within her.

The next morning, the deep tolling of the Duke of Wilde's bells, a symbol of death, rang out at the Duke's mansion, announcing the Duke's passing.

As chaos and sorrow began to engulf the mansion, the maid "Lina" vanished silently through the back door, like a drop of water merging into the ocean. She took nothing with her, only that unforgettable final meeting, and the lingering coldness of her father's hand on her palm.