“Roxana.”
“Curtisā¦”
“Who do you think opened the outer wall?”
There was no reunionāonly a sudden question. Roxana, her face soaked with tears, lifted her head.
“It was Mary. Your maid.”
The informant inside the castle. Shock hit her once again, and Roxana staggered. Her bound hands dropped to the dirt floor to steady herself.
“How do you feel?”
“ā¦”
“If you want, I can kill her right in front of you. What do you say?”
It was a testing question. Roxana shook her head instead of answering. Curtis clicked his tongue at her reaction.
“How boring.”
He stared down at the stunned Roxana for a while, as if in deep thought, then knelt again to meet her eye level.
“Roxana.”
His voice was gentle, just like before. As if entranced, Roxana raised her head to see a soft smile.
“Iāll spare your life. Iāll even grant your request.”
“Whatā¦?”
The faintest light of hope flickered back to life. Curtis narrowed his eyes like a cat toying with a mouse.
“Donāt be so quick to celebrate. You might end up begging for death instead. Youāll be sent to a shabby convent, one that no one knows the name of, and no one comes looking for.”
A convent. The unexpected word made Roxana part her lips.
“From today, Roxana Dalton is dead.”
“ā¦”
“Youāre no longer the noble daughter of a marquess, but a nameless nun in a run-down, isolated convent.”
A convent. A nameless nun.
“Youāll live the rest of your life like youāre already dead, as no one but ‘Roxana’.”
No one but Roxana.
Roxana repeated those words to herself. Something stirred within her chest. The chains that had bound her throat and hands were snapping one by one.
She no longer had to live as Roxana Dalton. No longer the greedy, cruel daughter of a wicked lord. That woman had died at this moment.
The man before her was declaring just that.
“I promise. As long as you donāt escape or try to die, Iāll treat the people of the territory and the marquessās estate humanely, just as you asked.”
A strange glint flickered in his violet eyes. Curtis, who was watching her reaction with interest, gave a silent signal to one of his aides.
āā¦!ā
Swish.
A knight approached and cut off a portion of her long red hair with a daggerāproof to present to the king. Curtis didnāt even blink as he watched.
She was the daughter of his enemy. He wasnāt swayed. He hadnāt been reminded of the girl from the past. He had simply achieved his goal and grown bored. So, like a cat playing with a mouse, he was just entertaining himself.
Sheāll probably comply for now, but eventually try to escape the convent. When that happens, he would mock her, humiliate her, and when he tired of itākill her. Having reached that conclusion, Curtis sneered.
“Live your life praying for the souls your father crushed. Carry the weight of his sins, dressed in your shabby nunās robes until you die.”
Seeing that she understood, Curtis turned and walked away. As he faded into the distance, Roxana parted her lips.
“If I do thatā¦ can I atone?”
Her voice was barely a whisper. Curtis paused and turned slightly. A tiny crack flashed across his expression, but it was gone in an instant.
“Youāll have to find the answer yourself.”
That answer was enough. Roxana quietly accepted her fate. The moment when “Roxana Dalton” died and “Roxana” was reborn.
* * *
“Sister Roxana.”
Someone called her name warmly. She wanted to sleep a bit longer, but the voice was persistent. Roxana finally opened her eyes on the old bed stuffed with straw.
“Iām sorry, Sister Elin. I overslept.”
“You pushed yourself too hard yesterday, didnāt you? Gathering herbs on the mountain.”
“Itās okay. I wasnāt the only one gathering herbs. Iām sorry to show you this side of me.”
“No need to apologize. Weāre family.”
Sister Elin gently patted Roxanaās shoulder and tucked her messy red hair behind her ear. The kindness made Roxana lower her gaze.
It had already been two years since she became a novice nun. Angela Convent, located on the far edge of the Russell borderlands, housed only three sistersāMother Superior Maria, Sister Elin who assisted her, and Sister Anna.
The convent sat just below the mountain slope, isolated from the nearby farms, of which there were fewer than ten. Most of their food came from self-sufficient means: vegetables from the backyard garden, firewood from the surrounding forest.
“Oh, by the wayāthanks for the tea leaves you gave me yesterday. I slept so well! How did you make it?”
“Iām glad it worked. I dried and crushed valerian root and lavender.”
“Really? Valerian root? It didnāt even smell bad.”
“Thatās what the lavender is forāit masks the odor.”
“Aha, I see. Youāre really clever.”
“But is something wrong? Monday mornings are usually for rest.”
“Oh! Thatās right.”
As if suddenly remembering something, Sister Anna jumped up from her chair.
“Mother Superior said we need to prepare for house calls right away. Thereās a medical emergency today.”
“Suddenly?”
“The children in the lower village arenāt doing well.”
A cold sense of foreboding passed over her. Roxana threw off the blanket and quickly grabbed her nunās habit.
“Got it. Iāll go right away.”
The childrenās condition was severe. Their bodies were covered in red rashes, and they burned with fever.
“Itās flower fever. They likely ate a poisonous mushroom while playing in the forest. The name comes from the flower-like rashes. This is the first case weāve seen here. Itās not a common mushroom. Weāve removed all we found, butā¦”
Mother Superior calmly explained the illness.
“Adults rarely catch it, but those with weak immunity might. It can be fatal, so we need to move them to an infirmary as soon as possible. No outside contact in the meantime.”
Following her orders, the three nuns brought the children into the convent and began full-scale care.
They rolled up their sleeves and tended to them day and night, but the condition only worsened.
To make matters worse, the villagers grew angry about not being able to see their children.
“You witches, come out right now!”
“What are you doing to our children?!”
“Youāre witches, arenāt you?!”
On the fourth day, angry parents stormed the convent, holding sickles and pitchforks. Terrified, Sister Anna trembled.
“What do we do, Roxana? What do we do?”
Unlike the composed, mature Mother Superior and Sister Elin, Sister Anna was youngāonly ten years older than Roxana.
As she tried to calm Sister Anna, Roxana stood before the furious villagers and calmly assessed the situation.
“Should we wake Mother Superior?”
“No. She finally got some rest. I wonāt wake her.”
Rejecting the idea, Roxana stepped forward.
“What do you think youāre doing?”
“Give us back our children!”
“And what will you do if you take them?”
“Of course, take them to the next village doctor!”
“We already brought a doctor from the next villageāand the one beyond that too. No one would help. They said to burn everything the children touched and to quarantine the convent.”
“Lies!”
“I-Itās true!”
Just as a man charged forward in anger, Sister Anna chimed in support of Roxanaās words.
The other villages wouldnāt get involved in a non-paying, troublesome case. The convent had hit its limits. Roxana couldnāt remember the last time she had slept or eaten properly.
“Thatās impossible! Stop lying!”
“Then come inside and see the children yourself. But I wonāt be responsible for what happens after. You might get infected too.”
“If thatās true, why are you all still healthy?”
“Thatāsā¦”
By chance, all four nuns had already contracted flower fever before. It was a disease that didnāt reoccur. Roxana was about to explain immunity but held her tongue.
Ignorance isnāt a sin, but suspicion makes people cruel. These were the same villagers they had helped during small illnesses, and yet now they had turned on them. Theyād likely accuse the nuns of spreading it themselves.
“Now I remember! I once asked my father about the Mother Superiorāwasnāt she a pharmacist who killed a patient?”
“What?!”
Sister Anna, enraged, raised her voice without thinking. That was a mistakeāmeeting anger with anger only fueled the fire. Roxana instinctively grabbed Annaās arm before she could rush forward.
“A quack murderer trying to kill again! Give us our children now!”
“Apologize.”
A sickle pressed coldly against her neck. Roxana didnāt flinch as she spoke the words like a curse.
