Chapter 26
Time, like a silent hourglass, flowed evenly across every corner of Faerûn. The Empire's power, under Lucien's iron fist, grew ever stronger, and a new order gradually replaced the old. Meanwhile, in the Freeports of the Broken Isles, far from the center of power, Serena, using the alias "Liana," was striving to establish herself in this chaotic yet opportune soil.
Using her previous savings and the meager funds afforded by her identity as "Liana," she and Mara rented a small shop with a backyard in a chaotic but relatively inexpensive neighborhood of Freeport. Mara returned to her old trade in the street-facing front, opening a small leather repair and custom-made workshop. Her craftsmanship quickly attracted some practical sailors and adventurers. Liana, on the other hand, tidied up the backyard, using the knowledge she gained at the Scholars' Guild to cultivate local plants with insect-repellent or medicinal value, and drying specific types of seaweed she bought cheaply from nearby fishermen, grinding them into powder. These seemingly insignificant items were in demand among both sailors on voyages and local residents.
Life remained tough, but through their skills and caution, they gradually gained a foothold. Liana deliberately kept a low profile; her blonde hair was always braided and wrapped in a simple headscarf, and her clothing was no different from that of most working women in the Freeport. She learned the mixed accents here, became familiar with the unspoken rules of the dock area, and knew which corner and whom to pay "protection money" to avoid unnecessary trouble.
However, news from one's homeland always seems to drift like seeds carried by the monsoon, landing unexpectedly on foreign soil.
That day, Liana was drying seaweed in her backyard when the proprietress of the grocery store next door, a plump woman who loved to gossip and spread rumors, leaned against the low wall separating the two yards, cracking nuts as she spoke in a casual tone:
"Have you heard? Liana, it's news from the Empire." The proprietress lowered her voice, with the excitement of sharing a secret, "That Duke Wilder, you know, that once very powerful nobleman, seems to be on his deathbed."
Liana abruptly stopped turning over the seaweed, her body stiffening instantly as she faced away from the proprietress.
The proprietress, oblivious to what was happening, continued, "They say that ever since the news of his precious daughter's death in the shipwreck reached us, he's been devastated, fallen seriously ill, and is on the verge of death... Tsk tsk, it's so pitiful. Such a prominent family, and their only heir, gone just like that..."
Seaweed slipped through Liana's fingers and scattered on the muddy ground. The sunlight shone on her back, but she felt no warmth, only a cold numbness spreading along her spine.
Father... is seriously ill...
Although contact had been severed long ago, and the farewell letter had been sent years ago, the bond of blood and those vague yet warm childhood memories were not so easily erased. A complex bitterness welled up in her throat, almost suffocating her.
She forced herself to continue what she was doing, gathering the scattered seaweed, her voice trying her best to remain calm, even carrying a perfectly measured curiosity, mimicking the attitude of the Freeport residents towards anecdotes of nobles from a distant empire: "Really? That's... so unfortunate."
“Who says otherwise!” The proprietress, having received a response, became even more talkative. “I heard that the Emperor even sent a court physician to visit him, but it seems… alas, he probably won’t make it through the winter. The news has already reached us; I bet it’s spread all over the capital by now…”
Liana stopped talking and just silently kept her head down and worked. The proprietress rambled on for a few more minutes, but seeing that Liana wasn't very interested, she sheepishly returned to her shop.
The backyard returned to silence, with only the sound of the sea breeze rustling through the drying racks.
Liana straightened up, gazing at the grey-blue sky of Freeport, dotted with sails. Her gaze seemed to pierce through the vast ocean, landing on that distant yet familiar imperial capital. She could almost see her father lying on his sickbed, growing increasingly frail; she could almost feel the gloom and sorrow permeating that magnificent yet cold ducal mansion.
Was it her "death notice" that became the last straw that broke him?
This realization was like a dull knife, slowly cutting into her heart. She had never hoped for this.
But she also knew perfectly well that she couldn't go back. That "Serena Wilde" was dead, killed in the storms of the Kreid Sea, killed in the records of the Empire and in everyone's perception. Going back would not only mean walking into a trap, but also facing Lucien's unknown reaction, dragging everything she had painstakingly built up over the years, as well as Mara, into an abyss of no return.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the air, which smelled salty, fishy, and herbal.
The sadness and guilt that belonged to "Serena" were forcibly suppressed back into the deepest corner of her heart. Here, in Freeport, she was just Liana, an ordinary woman struggling to survive.
She bent down and continued picking up the scattered seaweed, her movements returning to their previous rhythm, though her fingertips trembled slightly.
Night fell quickly in the free port, the sea breeze bringing coolness and dispelling the daytime heat. The small leather workshop had already closed, and the backyard was filled with the faint fishy smell of drying seaweed and the bitter aroma of herbs. The light from the oil lamp shone from inside, casting a small, dim yellow light on the muddy ground.
Liana sat on an overturned wooden barrel in the backyard, not tidying up herbs or practicing writing as usual, but quietly gazing at a small patch of starry sky cut off by the eaves of the neighboring houses, her eyes vacant.
Mara locked the shop door, walked over to her, and silently kept her company. She had seen the shopkeeper talking to Liana and guessed what they might be talking about.
After a long silence, Liana's voice broke the stillness of the night, soft and trembling slightly.
“Mara,” she didn’t turn around, still gazing at the starry sky, “from the capital… to Sunset Manor, then escaping there, exile, shipwreck… until now, here.” She paused, as if sorting through that long and chaotic period of time, “Have I… always been running away?”
Her voice carried a deep weariness and confusion, emotions rarely seen in Mara. She had always displayed resilience, composure, and adaptability.
Mara didn't answer immediately. She walked to the opposite side of Liana, leaned against the drying rack in the backyard, and ran her rough fingers over a piece of dried seaweed.
“Living is not about escaping.” Mara’s voice was deep and steady, like a rock. “In the manor, you face imprisonment and distorted control; escaping is resistance. On the road, you face hunger, pursuit, and death; surviving is victory. Here,” she gestured around, “you face the unfamiliar, the arduous, and the unknown; taking root is courage.”
She looked at Liana's profile, which appeared exceptionally pale under the light: "You weren't defeated by any of them. This was never an escape."
Liana slowly lowered her head, her hands clasped tightly together, her knuckles turning white. "But... Father..." her voice choked, "...because of the news of my 'death'... he's dying."
She finally raised her head and looked at Mara, her blue eyes filled with struggle and pain: "Mara, I want... I want to go back and see him one last time."
The moment she uttered those words, even she felt a chill run down her spine. The thought was so dangerous, almost tantamount to self-destruction. The Empire, the capital, the Duke of Wilder's mansion… that was the very heart of Lucien's power, a den of thieves and spies everywhere. What kind of storm would the sudden appearance of someone already "dead" unleash? She dared not imagine.
But she couldn't suppress the surging, daughterly instinct within her. The father who had once carried her on his shoulders and taught her to read, the father who was sometimes stern and sometimes kind in her memory, was now on the verge of death because of her. She couldn't comfortably pretend to know nothing in this faraway land.
Mara watched her silently, her face devoid of surprise, as if she had long anticipated this moment. Her gaze was sharp, as if she were weighing the most dangerous tactics.
“You know what going back means,” Mara stated, her tone flat. “Your ‘death’ is the best cover right now. Once this disguise is torn off, how will Emperor Lucien react? How will the Wilder family treat you, their ‘resurrected’ daughter? How will those covetous nobles in the capital use this? You may never be able to leave again.”
“I know.” Liana’s voice was tearful but unusually clear. “I know it’s foolish, dangerous, and could destroy everything we have now, or even… I could die. But Mara, if I don’t go back, if I don’t even get to see him one last time… I will never have peace for the rest of my life.”
She stood up and walked to Mara, her eyes filled with a desperate resolve: "I won't go back as Serena Wilde, that would be too conspicuous. Perhaps... perhaps I can find a way, just to take a look from afar and confirm his situation... or, I can use another identity to infiltrate the manor..." Her words were somewhat incoherent, revealing the intense struggle within her.
Mara gazed at her for a long time. She saw the pain, guilt, and unwavering determination in Liana's eyes. This was not a momentary impulse, but the most instinctive call of blood ties at the moment of life and death.
Finally, Mara took a deep breath, and her always straight back seemed to relax slightly for a moment, carrying a heavy sense of resignation.
“If you’ve already made up your mind,” Mara’s voice remained steady, but carried a hint of barely perceptible helplessness, “then we need a plan. A plan that is almost impossible, but must be foolproof.”
She looked at Liana with a complicated expression: "Remember, this is not returning home. This is an infiltration that is more dangerous than crossing the Black Forest or facing a shipwreck. Once you embark on the journey back, there will be no turning back."
Liana nodded heavily, tears finally streaming down her face, but her eyes were clearer and more determined than ever before.
“I know,” she said softly, as if making a vow, “but I have to go.”
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
