Only after a brief delay did she recognize the figure.
Her noble half-sister.
Talia examined Aila's face the way one might examine an ornament displayed inside a cabinet.
Something unpleasant must have happened.
A faint crack had appeared in the otherwise flawless features that resembled carefully crafted porcelain.
Curiosity stirred within her.
Aila rarely lost her composure, no matter what Talia did to torment her.
What could possibly have put such an expression on her face?
“I know you feel responsible for what happened. However, you are my fiancé. Continuing to keep that child in your quarters is inappropriate—”
Aila's gentle voice penetrated Talia's muffled hearing, as though traveling through water.
Talia frowned.
The content mattered less than the voice itself.
Even when angry, did this woman always sound so elegant?
For Talia, who could only feel satisfied after vomiting every last fragment of emotion out into the open, such restraint was unimaginable.
Perhaps that was one reason she hated Aila so much.
The fact that this woman—possessing virtues Talia could never imitate—was her half-sister felt unbearable.
Had she not spent her entire life being compared to Aila, perhaps she might have hated her less.
Aila continued.
“If you're worried about leaving her alone, then send her to my residence. Then there would be no need for you to concern yourself with her any longer—”
“Does anyone put a snake and a wildcat in the same cage?”
A dry voice carrying unmistakable fatigue cut her off.
Talia shifted her eyes toward Varkas.
He was standing with one shoulder leaning against a tent pillar.
That alone was strange.
Varkas almost always maintained perfect posture.
Seeing him support himself against something like that was exceptionally rare.
Had he remained here the entire time while she inhaled the incense?
If so, it was remarkable that he was still standing upright.
She had barely been capable of keeping her eyes open.
“Are you comparing me to some insignificant animal?”
Aila's voice sharpened.
Talia focused harder.
She wanted to see Aila's expression.
But Varkas straightened, and his broad shoulders blocked her view.
His cold voice echoed through the tent.
“If Her Highness the Second Imperial Princess stays in your residence, it's obvious what would happen.”
A low sigh escaped him.
Then he added in a faintly cynical tone,
“Or would you like to see every one of your beloved maids lose their heads?”
Aila fell silent.
For a moment she seemed unable to answer.
Talia stared blankly at Varkas's back, half-hidden in shadow.
...So he really had been watching her.
Keeping her nearby so she couldn't cause any more trouble.
She had never expected anything.
Therefore she shouldn't have been disappointed.
Then why did it hurt again?
Disgusted with herself, she closed her eyes.
The moment she let go of the fragile thread of consciousness she had been clinging to, the irritating voices around her faded almost instantly.
It felt like sinking into deep water.
With willing acceptance, she allowed herself to descend into unconsciousness.
* * *
The suffocating heat continued for days.
For people forced to travel while transporting dozens of corpses, it was nothing short of a disaster.
To prevent decomposition, purifying salts and dried herbs had been packed into the body cavities of the dead.
Myrrh and fragrant oils had been applied to their gray, faded skin.
Yet as the days passed, strange odors still began leaking from the coffins.
Naturally, the faces of those marching alongside them grew increasingly grim.
Leaning against the carriage window and watching the procession, Talia suddenly remembered her wish when they had first departed the Imperial Palace.
She had prayed that the procession would lead straight into hell.
Had God answered her prayer?
Or was this punishment instead?
She was absently rubbing her aching knee when the sound of a whistle echoed from somewhere ahead.
Talia narrowed her eyes against the brightness and looked beyond the hill.
Below the gently sloping rise, beneath the fierce glare of the sun, stood towering gray walls.
The miserable, bleak journey that had seemed as though it would never end had finally reached its destination.