Chapter 53

Before she knew it, she was passing through the sky, and the night, and the morning, over and over and over— She felt as if she were waking from a very long dream. Scarlett slowly opened her eyes. Her head hurt. Where was she? Her memories were all mixed up. She looked around and concluded that she was inside some sort of rough carriage. Had she reached her destination, or was she just setting out? She wasn’t sure, but the carriage had stopped. “Get out,” the man sitting next to Scarlett said, poking her in the back. What a rude lout! She tried to raise her hand but realized that manacles were fastened to both her wrists. Her fuzzy memory steadily cleared. That’s right. Scarlett Castiel was on her way to be executed. How could she have forgotten? The rough carriage was the wagon taking her to the execution. This was Saint Mark’s Square, and she was being taken to the executioner’s block, where her head would be chopped off. But somehow, none of it felt real. Was the dream to blame? Or had it even been a dream? Scarlett was confused. It must have been a vision brought on by the fear of death. But it had been so horribly vivid. Imagine, Scarlett Castiel becoming a vengeful ghost! True, she wanted to plunge the scoundrels who had done this to her into a living hell, but would she really do something so clingy and miserable as become a ghost? She did have some pride, after all. She adjusted her hood and stepped out of the carriage. Angry shouts and jeers greeted her. The torrent of abuse was appalling, but unfortunately for the people hurling the insults, her heart was not admirable enough to be hurt by such things. This execution was merely a show. Heckling like that was no different from an evening party waltz. Well, maybe a little noisier and less elegant. Luckily, she was used to being on display. She didn’t mind being the center of attention, no matter the variety. To Scarlett, standing in front of that crowd was not so different from dancing at a ball. At least, that was what she told herself. A light rain had begun to fall. When she reached the platform, one of the executioners ordered her to take off her cloak. His insolent attitude irritated her, but she knew it would be stupid to show her anger, so she shrugged her shoulders and obeyed. The hair sticking to her neck bothered her, so she shook her head lightly, then slowly looked up. At that instant, the storm of insults stopped. Every last person in the square was staring intently at her. …Oh, it’s all so predictable, she thought. It really is like a ball. She looked around. Nobles were mixed in among the commoners. She recognized several faces. The first acquaintance her gaze fell on was Emilia Caroling. Nothing had even happened yet, but she was already pale and quivering. The woman with half her face covered by a fan must have been Deborah Darkian. Scarlett frowned slightly and mentally ran her finger across her throat. If the dream was true, Deborah would only be laughing for about ten more years. Prepare yourself, you middle-aged hag. Lily was standing next to Deborah, probably to keep her in check. That wicked girl was showing her competitive streak even at a moment like this. She smiled her special, compassionate smile at Deborah, silencing whatever remark the other woman was trying to make at Scarlett. Lily was a detestable person, but Scarlett supposed she could admire her guts. Suddenly, she noticed a young man hidden in the crowd, watching her. His expression was cold, but when his eyes met Scarlett’s, his handsome face crumpled. Scarlett held her breath for a few seconds, but then looked away, her expression unchanged. It wouldn’t do for her to start crying along with everyone else. If she did, that earnest man would probably feel even worse. …Leticia must have gotten her crybaby streak from my brother. Suddenly she remembered the bright, innocent niece she had met in her dream. She wasn’t even born yet, but in the dream, Maximilian had called her Lettie. Just like he used to call Scarlett. The dream had been so strange. It must have been what was making her calm in the face of death. She scanned the crowd again and noticed a large man some distance away. Hamsworth. People say that, when consumed, it can scramble a person’s sense of time. She recalled a conversation they’d had in her dream. They had been talking about the fruit juice she’d been given before getting into the wagon. Of course, his claim was absurd. But what if…? What if it hadn’t been a dream? What if some crazy phenomenon had occurred, and she really had jumped ten years into the future? Scarlett smiled wryly to herself, rejecting the notion. What a stupid thought. Anyhow, she had very little time left. There was no way she could find out the truth before she died. Scarlett observed the crowd calmly. She took in every face, without missing a single one. They squirmed beneath her gaze. No matter how hard she searched, she could not find her father, Adolphus, among the crowd. A mere day ago, that fact would have plunged her into despair. She would have concluded that he loved only his kingdom and had no love for his own daughter. But now she understood very clearly. Her father, no—that dunderhead—had most likely gone to the palace as usual, with the usual expression on his face, and would return home as usual that night. And he would cry when no one was looking. Your father is awkward and stubborn and very good at pretending he doesn’t care. She finally understood those words her mother had said with a smile. And she realized something then. Ah. So that’s what was going on. “…Curse you.” The words flowed smoothly from her lips. Yes, curse you. Curse you, Scarlett Castiel. If the dream was her future, and those things really would come true, then to hell with it. She might as well forget about pride and gossip and become a vengeful ghost. “May every last one of you be damned!” she shouted, so every person in the square could hear her. It was Scarlett’s curse, and her declaration of war. Issued to the world of ten years later. “Wh-whore!” someone screamed. “Harlot!” “Devil woman!” “Murderer!” The jeers flew thick and fast. The swelling malice seemed to know no limits. The crowd was swallowed in a vortex of abuse and fury. It’s all right, she told herself again and again. It wasn’t a dream. Then show me the proof, another part of her asked coolly. Show me it’s more than a convenient fantasy. After all, Scarlett Castiel will die here a failure. No! The frustration of having been set up by someone remained, and so did the fear of death. But what upset her more than either of those things was the thought of that future never coming. No! she thought again. She couldn’t help it. For the first time, she felt terror. She clenched her fists to hide the shaking of her hands. That was when it happened. Right in front of her, she saw a small child turning her head from side to side. Scarlett blinked at the out-of-place sight. It was a little girl with her hazelnut hair in two braids. She must have been pushed to the front of the crowd. She was looking all around, clearly frightened by the abnormal fever of excitement in the square. The girl must have felt Scarlett’s gaze, because she slowly looked up. Her eyes, the color of fresh young grass, reflected back Scarlett’s own form. Ah, there it is. Scarlett felt profoundly reassured. It hadn’t been a dream. This girl had hazelnut hair and green eyes. And Scarlett Castiel never forgot a face. It’s all right. There’s nothing for me to fear. A feeling of deep satisfaction filled her. Without meaning to, she smiled. The child’s eyes widened. As Scarlett looked at her shocked face, she suddenly remembered the first time they met. She was certain Connie had screamed when she saw her. Her smile widened. It’s all right, she thought. It will be all right. After all, now she knew that she, Scarlett, would have the last laugh. And that meant… “…I’ll be waiting for you at the Grand Merillian.”