Chapter 34

Iberin was endlessly curious about Marquise Civelli.

From the reactions, the woman didn't seem like good company — but as Roto Civelli's wife, well, it was a windfall dropping into her lap.

"Hohoho, it's been ages, everyone."

The second the marquise stepped through the door, though, Iberin was caught off guard.

Ugh, what the hell?

The marquise's outfit had blown past lavish straight into excessive.

A glaringly purple gown, and jewels piled on her ears, arms, and neck without restraint.

The stones were enormous, too, and the sparkle off them was eye-watering.

The back of the gown sprouted gaudy plumes that looked like they'd been yanked off a peacock, jutting out every which way.

"How surprising that you'd come all this way."

Countess Megan led the marquise to her seat with a smile.

"Ah, I heard the Grand Duchess Lecashe was here and was so curious about what she's like that I dropped in despite knowing it was rude."

The marquise's smiling face was grotesque.

Her eyeliner had been drawn out so thickly it nearly reached her temples, and her skin was caked the chalky white of an opera performer.

Her lips were slathered in a vivid red, too.

Why apply makeup like that…

The whole effect was simply too much.

Iberin caught herself dreading the moment their eyes would meet.

"Please, sit here."

Countess Megan gestured to the seat she'd been occupying right next to Iberin. At the same moment, the marquise's eyes met Iberin's.

"Oh my! Is that the Grand Duchess?!"

The instant their eyes locked, the marquise put on a whole performance.

"…Yes, hel—"

A marquise of the Civelli house was worth knowing, regardless, so Iberin tried to at least offer a greeting.

"Could I have a different seat? Something a little farther away."

"……."

She was making her distaste blatant.

"What if the curse spreads to me?"

And apparently saw no reason to filter her mouth.

"Marquise. Please mind your conduct."

When Countess Megan finally stepped in to defuse it, the marquise scowled.

"What about my conduct? Aren't all of you uncomfortable too?"

"Marquise! Please!"

"Oh my, you all act so terribly refined, but the moment the Grand Duchess goes home you'll tear into her, won't you? Isn't it better to say it openly than to whisper behind her back?"

Every face in the room went white.

"……Haa."

Iberin watched the marquise with a flat, stunned expression.

When their eyes met again, the marquise broke into a beaming smile.

"As you heard, I'm Emily. Feel free to call me Emil."

"…Ah."

There was no trace of noble decorum in her.

"Let's skip the handshake! The curse mustn't spread!"

Emily laughed cheerfully.

She seemed to be attacking outright, but somehow Iberin couldn't feel any malice from her — a strange person.

"It doesn't spread, but sure. Pleasure to meet you, Emil."

"Oh my, you're the first noblewoman to call me by a nickname right off the bat! These ladies are all so terribly refined — they said they'd use it once we got close, but no one's called me by it yet. They badmouth me behind my back because I'm a lowly merchant's daughter. Countess Megan here, especially."

"Marquise! What on earth—!"

"Am I wrong?"

"You are! I've told you before, it's a misunderstanding!"

"Oh, really now?"

Iberin's eyes narrowed at the strange tension.

It seemed Countess Megan and Marquise Civelli weren't on the warmest terms.

The two of them really were polar opposites.

Emily soon laughed it off as if it didn't matter and turned her attention to the table.

"Oh? That's cake from my favorite bakery, isn't it?"

"…The tea will be out shortly, so please be patient."

Countess Megan's voice came out strained, like a woman swallowing a roiling stomach.

"Don't bother. I hate tea — tastes like mop water."

Wow.

Iberin let out a small marveling breath.

She didn't actually know tea, but she drank it when it was around.

Not because she enjoyed it — there just wasn't much else to drink.

And the simal-flower tea they'd brought out today really did taste like mop water.

She just hadn't said so.

"Grand Duchess, may I use your name? You called me Emil, after all."

"Please do."

"All right, Ibel."

Inventing a nickname on her own initiative, no less.

"But does the curse really not spread?"

"It really doesn't."

"Then we can share food too?"

"Of course."

"Well, even if it did, the worst it could do is make me die a little faster, right?"

Emily fired off question after question and chattered without pause.

The moment any of the other noblewomen tried to open their mouths, she barreled in first, chopping off their words and pivoting to whatever she wanted to say.

By the time every face in the room had turned mottled red and purple, two hours had passed and Iberin had to get up to leave.

Emily shot a hand into the air and called out,

"Ibel!"

"Yes?"

"May I write to you?"

"Of course."

She was the Marquise Civelli.

For Iberin, this woman approaching her first was nothing short of a gift.

"Oh wonderful, wonderful, I'll write without fail. You must answer."

"I'll be waiting."

When Iberin rose at the agreed-upon time, the other noblewomen made disappointed sounds and all rose to leave as well.

It seemed clear they were ending the party early because they couldn't stand the marquise's company.

"Travel safely."

Countess Megan saw her to the carriage. Once Iberin had settled inside, the butler — who'd been waiting the entire time — asked,

"Did anything happen?"

The question brought the ridiculous figure of the marquise back to mind, and Iberin couldn't help a small laugh.

"It was fun."

---

She did pay the price for the strain — the tension drained out of her the moment she got home, and she ran a high fever the rest of the day — but she could say with confidence it had been time well spent.

The estate had been thrown into an uproar, mind you.

And not long after, just as Emily had said, the capital filled with rumors about Iberin.

A conceited Grand Duchess.

Less pleasant than expected.

Seemed to hit it off well with the marquise.

That kind of thing.

The women who'd smiled and insisted otherwise to her face had, exactly as Emily said, been two-faced after all.

"…My lady. I'm sorry. I should have looked into them more carefully."

"It's fine."

The butler was beside himself, but Iberin didn't care.

She'd come away knowing Emily.

The wife of Roto Civelli himself.

That woman would be worth more than every small fry combined.

"Oh, my lady. A letter arrived along with the elixir."

"Really? That was fast."

"Yes. They'd already brewed it once before, and His Highness apparently lent a hand again with the materials."

Iberin took the thick letter from the butler's hand.

She'd been alone in the capital for nearly three weeks now.

In that time, letters had come weekly from the Lecashe estate, but the volume had been steadily climbing — today, the stack was so thick it nearly filled the butler's hands.

"Ether, His Highness, Rotte, Tami, Roz… Simons, Popo, the head chef… wow, did almost everyone send one?"

"They all miss the mistress. The noise they made at me about it was something."

"I miss them too."

Iberin answered in a small voice.

She stroked the letters with a tender look, then tore one open and started reading.

A pleased smile soon settled on her lips.

The butler's face brightened too, watching her.

She'd lost all sense of time reading the letters when Pons spoke up.

"You haven't forgotten you have an appointment today, have you?"

"Ah, is it time already?"

"It is."

"I'll have to finish these when I get back."

She tucked the few remaining letters carefully into a drawer and gathered the small vial Rotte had sent — the liquid inside it sloshing gently — close to her chest.

The Eshib elixir, the one that had pulled the truth out of Elvin.

She'd asked for it separately, thinking it might come in handy.

She was thinking she might use it on Emily.

---

The rumors had begun spreading beyond anyone's control.

The stories about Iberin had even reached the common folk, and they'd been twisted to dramatic effect.

It was the sort of rumor that gave off the distinct sense of Lecashe being Lecashe.

"Are you all right?"

"What — the part where I stayed in the capital to devour small children? Or the part where I bathe in the blood I wring out of them?"

The state of the rumors was appalling.

How wretched did Lecashe's image have to be for this kind of story to take root?

And these had nothing to do with what the noblewomen had been saying, either.

"This is so unfair."

"…My lady."

She could shrug off most things, but eating small children and bathing in their blood was a bit much, even for someone as tough as Iberin.

The rumors had spread like this because Lecashe's image was already so terrible to begin with.

"Maybe I should do some volunteer work."

Iberin muttered it.

The butler's eyes lit up.

"That actually sounds great."

"Huh?"

She'd said it offhand, and he was taking it seriously?

She'd always assumed volunteer work meant rolling up your sleeves and doing the unpleasant jobs, so the butler's surprisingly enthusiastic response made her blink.

"I can volunteer?"

"Of course. It's a good cause, and if it helps your image, all the better."

"I'd be working?"

"Pardon? Why would you be working?"

"Then what would I be doing?"

"Sponsoring. Of course, since you need to be visible, it's best for you to attend in person."

"Ah."

Right — there's no way nobles called something "volunteer work" if it involved actual labor.

"Isn't it too transparent, though?"

"What of it? There are plenty of nobles doing far more transparent things than that."

The butler said it dryly, and it clicked for Iberin.

"Ah!"

It seemed wherever people lived, they were all pretty much the same.

---

Even after the spectacular knife in the back from Countess Megan, the plan had been to keep attending other noblewomen's tea parties.

Meet enough people and surely one of them would turn out to be a kindred spirit, and even if none did, lesser nobles more interested in scraps than principles wouldn't see Iberin as a bad option.

She'd get capital gossip; they'd get crumbs from Lecashe. A win on both sides.

But once she started writing to Emily, none of the rest mattered.

"Oh, Ibel!"

Today too, Emily came up with a beaming smile, dressed as lavishly as ever.