86.

She had Melvin summoned the moment she returned to the residence. She laid the purchased sea chart flat on her desk. The map thoroughly depicted nearby ocean currents, coastlines, and archipelagos. She weighed down the four corners of the chart with bookends and dipped her quill deeply into ink. Her mind had already drifted back to that day when she discussed the expedition with Cardier.

‘It’s dangerous enough as it is—what reason could there possibly be for a nighttime departure? And so suddenly, without even a hint. It must be a special operation breaching Tilsen’s coastline.’

At the time, Cardier hadn’t denied a single word. Coastline of Tilsen, special operation, invasion… Though she had vaguely anticipated such a mission, now that she saw the map firsthand, the number of variables she needed to consider was overwhelming, and the information she possessed was extremely limited. She didn’t even know how many soldiers had set sail or how much supply they carried.

She retraced her memories. Perhaps recalling her conversation with Cardier would reveal some clue.

‘There’s nothing truly dangerous about it. Aside from sharing a border, it’s not a particularly difficult operation.’

Border. It could’ve been dismissed as insignificant, but it might also hint at the ambiguous boundary where territory and territorial waters met. She circled several prominent capes and about half a dozen nearby archipelagos. Then, pacing the room, she rapidly muttered calculations under her breath and marked X over a few of them. Unless the sea had gone mad and changed drastically within the past four years, sailing through those areas would be suicidal. What else had he said?

‘Besides, you know well the principle that Father and I never sail on the same ship. The commander’s vessel naturally takes the front line, so I’ll likely just be trailing somewhere behind.’

If they weren’t on the same ship, and the commander’s ship led the front line… Total warships, including supply vessels, would be at least three, possibly up to seven.

‘I could return as early as within twenty days.’

The moment she recalled that voice, she bit back a curse. Damn it, in two days it would already be the twentieth day. She should’ve been wary of the silence. Ever since he’d set sail, she had deliberately avoided hearing anything about Cardier’s thoughts or current state. The more she thought of him, the more anxious she became, and his absence grew vividly present in her mind.

Even now, merely recalling his voice was becoming increasingly painful. It felt as if Cardier might open that door any second, walk in, and pull her into his arms. Then she’d press her cheek against his chest without a care, breathing in his broad, firm embrace and his pleasant, musky scent. ……Damn it, focus, you fool. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood and tightened her grip on the quill.

“Twenty days.”

She whispered the word aloud. She didn’t know the scale or size of the supply ships, but if the one-way voyage took about ten days, then for a typical frigate, the maximum range would be roughly this far. For a larger battleship, the distance would be even shorter. Even if both fully resupplied at the last naval base…

“Mistress.”

She nearly dropped the quill, startled by the knock on the door. She had ordered the servants to fetch Melvin urgently, yet had completely forgotten in the moment.

“May I come in?”

“Yes.”

She answered distractedly and narrowed her focus to three maritime zones. As she drew triangular markers on the map, the door opened. Melvin had clearly run all the way from the stables—he was drenched in sweat.

“Y-you’re alright?”

“What nonsense are you spouting?”

“I mean, you suddenly called for me like that…”

“Catch your breath first.”

“Phew… I thought something terrible had happened, so I rushed over in a panic.”

She fanned the map gently with her hand to dry the ink as she spoke.

“Yes, it’s urgent. We need to prepare for departure immediately.”

“Huh? Already?”

“Yes. As soon as possible. How soon can it be done?”

Melvin began listing off prepared items, ticking them off on his fingers.

“Let’s see… Crew recruitment is nearly complete, repairs are finished, provisions loaded… If we hurry, maybe in two days?”

“Two days? Damn it…”

“That’s already pushing it. You’re heading to Bilvron Strait, right? We’ll need to reclaim the assets from the maritime bank before doing anything else.”

That had been the original plan. The only funds ‘Lea’ could mobilize were bills of exchange issued under the names of Valdemore and Montrosa. But using such bills for shady dealings would inevitably lead to long-term complications. Clean, long-laundered assets of the ‘Red Dawn’ would be far more suitable for achieving their goals. Yet contrary to Melvin’s expectation, Rosetta shook her head.

“No. We’ll visit the maritime bank on our return.”

“…What?”

“We’re heading to the waters near Portmats.”

“That’s toward Tilsen… No, but then everything would change—from food supplies to sailing conditions. Under those conditions, we’d need at least four more days.”

“One day. No more. Do whatever it takes to set sail by tomorrow afternoon. Late at night is fine, and spend whatever money is necessary.”

She removed an earring and tossed it to Melvin. He nearly panicked, catching it with both hands to prevent it from dropping.

“You know how to handle pawned goods well enough, and if it’s not enough, just ask for more.”

“Understood.”

Though Melvin wore a bewildered expression, as if he had no idea what was happening, he obediently rushed off to expedite departure preparations. Rosetta scanned the sea chart once more with a hardened expression. More than anyone, she knew how reckless it was to plan catching up to a ship already twenty days ahead.

But… what if a trap had already succeeded, and Cardier was stranded, waiting? Or barely clinging to a buoy, drifting helplessly?

She clenched her trembling fists tightly. Stay calm. It was too soon to imagine the worst. After all, the darkest hour always came right before hope arrived.

* * *

Shortly after Melvin rushed out, Rosetta instructed her servants to purchase every homing pigeon available that was trained for round trips to the waters near Portmats. As a result, within less than an hour, her room swarmed with twenty pigeons bought from various pigeon merchants. Adding ten more personally raised by the Montrosa dukedom, the place turned into utter chaos.

“What on earth is all this commotion?”

“Instead of asking, just copy these notes.”

Anna grimaced at the pigeon droppings smeared across the carpet, but fell silent and obediently scribbled with her quill under Rosetta’s stern gaze. However, after copying just three notes, she couldn’t hold back any longer and muttered,

“The wind direction has changed? What does that even mean?”

“It’s a code.”

“To whom are these being sent?”

“To anyone.”

Rosetta answered vaguely, tying a note to the seventh bird’s leg and releasing it. She watched its retreating silhouette for a long moment.

* * *

Midnight.

He stepped onto the deck. The salt-laden wind, as always, was humid. It clung stickily to his hair and cheeks before vanishing, leaving behind a clammy discomfort. Cardier stood gazing intently at the undulating horizon, a pre-cut cigar clenched between his lips. As if, by staring hard enough, he might uncover the conspiracy hidden beyond.

The Emperor’s annual orders were always simple: attack and eliminate pirate nests that had formed on the archipelago bordering Tilsen, or inflict comparable damage.

Yet this year’s expedition concealed another operation beneath its surface directive. Unlike the routine annual raids, this was a somewhat riskier mission. Still, most pirates were amateurs who’d never even received formal naval combat training, so the advantage tilted heavily toward them even before the battle began.

Nonetheless, unease crept in, uninvited and persistent—even in a situation where there was no apparent reason for it.

Cardier struck a match and lit the cigar. His cheeks hollowed as he inhaled the smoke. The acrid fumes might have stung his eyes, yet he didn’t so much as flicker an eyelash. He was that accustomed to it. Something he’d never shown even once in front of Rosetta.

He knew Rosetta as deeply as he loved her. Perhaps even more so than she knew herself, as she herself had once admitted.

Rosetta always projected the image of ‘River’ from her childhood onto every single one of his actions. As if that memory were the only support keeping her alive as ‘Rosetta.’

Before her, Cardier had played the part of a decent gentleman. But looking back, he had never once been truly sane. Her affection was thinner than a sheet of paper, while his ran impossibly deep. The bottomless abyss of his love knew no satisfaction, gaping wide like a ravenous maw, unaware of shame or limit. He was always on the verge of drowning.

“Lieutenant.”