The Swordswoman’s Revenge Story After Rebirth
Chapter 271: Apologizing
When they arrived at the villa, Harlan was waiting outside. Seeing Isolde, his eyes blazed with anger. “I never thought you could be so heartless! He’s already in such a state, and yet you still want to send him to his death?”
“You know?” Isolde raised her hand, signaling Hattie and Hazel to secure the carriage.
Harlan’s fury intensified. “Of course, I know! Your father didn’t hide it from me. You’re quite clever, Lady Isolde, sending me away while persuading your father to go to his death. Even if you hate him, you could have just stayed away. Why must it come to this? His body can’t withstand any punishment now—even a single strike could kill him. How can you be so cruel?”
“He agreed to it,” Isolde replied, offering no explanation and showing no desire to argue. Hattie and Hazel finished securing the carriage and approached; the three of them entered the villa.
Harlan wanted to continue pleading, but Hattie gently restrained him. “Hey, Harlan, if Lady Isolde truly wanted to harm him, why would she bother with all this?”
“Sending him to the palace is sending him to his death! In such cold weather, with his body so weak!” Harlan’s eyes reddened. Deep down, he didn’t believe Isolde could be so cruel. He knew this might be a necessary measure, but how could Geoffrey’s frail body endure such an ordeal?
Inside, Geoffrey had already risen; several thorny branches lay beside him. He was bare-chested, his emaciated body exposed. The cold weather had turned his lips purple. When he saw Isolde enter, he straightened his neck, attempting to appear more dignified, and forced a smile. “I’m ready. Just need to carry the thorns, and we can set off.”
Isolde looked at his pale face and purple lips. “Wait. Put on some clothes first,” she said, then turned and walked out.
“Lady Isolde, what are you doing?” Hazel followed her.
“I’ll make some ginger soup.”
“Let me do it. You should talk to Geoffrey,” Hazel offered.
Isolde shook her head. “No, I’ll do it.” She had nothing to say to him, nor did she want to see him in such a pitiful state. Ginger soup would warm his body and drive away the cold. Alcohol could too, but since they were going to the palace, drinking was out of the question.
Isolde couldn’t suppress the ache in her heart. When life and death were at stake, all past grievances could be set aside. She was still resentful, but now that resentment was buried beneath the weight of survival. Perhaps, if he lived, her anger would remain. But if he were to die from this punishment…
She couldn’t bear to think about it. In both her past and present lives, she had never experienced such a profound connection to family. She couldn’t make sense of the emotions surging within her now.
In the kitchen, there was leftover bread from breakfast and a pot of mostly watery soup. Harlan had said Geoffrey couldn’t keep anything down, vomiting frequently, so he likely hadn’t eaten much. Isolde added some pepper to warm his stomach. The ginger and pepper soup filled a large bowl, its steam making her eyes water.
Hazel watched her and said softly, “Stay positive. It’ll be alright.”
Isolde didn’t respond, simply sitting by the stove and rubbing her face with her hands. Hazel, who had never seen her like this, grew concerned. “Are you okay?”
Isolde shook her head, pulling the firewood from the stove and extinguishing it. Black smoke rose, reddening her eyes. Suddenly, she grabbed a smoking piece of wood and threw it to the ground, her voice sharp with frustration. “It shouldn’t be like this. At least, not this way. If he dies on the way or is punished by the King, I’ll be to blame. He’d be dying for me, and I hate that.”
If that happened, she wouldn’t even be able to hate him properly.
After speaking, she wiped her face roughly, picked up the soup, and walked out. Hazel hurried after her, catching up quickly. “Whether it’s hate, resentment, or unwillingness, he’s still the closest family you have in this world. The most important thing is that he’s still alive now.”
Those words struck a chord in Isolde’s heart. She was unwilling and resentful. She could have hated him for the rest of her life, but after the events in Zloimond, all the revenge she had imagined was no longer possible. But weren’t those cold, vengeful thoughts born out of care? If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t have bothered at all.
She took a deep breath. As she had thought earlier that morning, when life and death were at stake, all else could be set aside. “I’m fine. Don’t worry,” Isolde said, turning to Hazel with a faint smile before striding away.
When she returned to the room, Geoffrey had already tied the thorny branches to his back. The thorns dug into his flesh, and blood was already seeping out. The bright red blood was painfully vivid, stinging the eyes and bringing tears. Harlan had calmed down somewhat, likely after Hattie’s reasoning.
“Ginger and pepper soup. Drink it before we go,” Isolde said, trying to keep her voice steady. Geoffrey was a little flattered. He reached out to take the bowl, his hands trembling slightly, whether from the cold or emotion.
“Drink it while it’s warm,” Harlan said, giving Isolde a complicated look before turning to Geoffrey. Geoffrey nodded heavily and began to drink. The ginger was strong, as was the pepper, meant to drive away the cold and warm the stomach. After finishing the bowl in one go, beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
“Delicious, delicious!” Geoffrey even ate the ginger pieces, his eyes glistening with what seemed like tears. Isolde smiled. “Get ready. Let’s go.” The wind outside was strong, so it was best to set off while the warmth from the soup lasted. Harlan turned away, wiping his eyes. “I’ll prepare the carriage.” Bearing thorns to seek forgiveness meant he couldn’t ride in a carriage. He would have to walk barefoot and bare-chested, carrying the thorns, all the way to the palace. Since they were at a villa outside the city, the carriage would take them to the city gates, after which they would continue on foot.
Imperial Palace. Layla’s Palace.
Early that morning, Margaret had brought Agnes to the palace to visit Layla. “You always bring so many things. Are you here to relieve the poor? You mustn’t do this anymore. I don’t have much to offer in return,” Layla said, sitting in her chair. She wore a light green satin dress embroidered with flowers, an outfit Margaret noticed she had worn the previous year. Her hair ornaments, though valuable, were not particularly fashionable. Her demeanor remained proud, her well-maintained face smooth and rosy, though fine lines were visible at the corners of her eyes, and there was a hint of weariness in her gaze.
The Hanson family had not been doing well in recent years. Though they still held high positions and generous stipends, the King’s strict surveillance meant that communication between the palace and the outside world was limited. The Hanson family dared not send too many gifts to the palace, fearing it would attract gossip. The higher one climbed, the more one feared gossip.
Queen Sophia, known for her frugality, had reduced the monthly allowances of the palace consorts by a third compared to when Layla first entered the palace. While the consorts never lacked food or drink, luxurious items couldn’t be obtained solely through royal gifts. With the need to maintain connections and distribute favors, Layla found herself somewhat strapped for resources. Margaret had occasionally sent gifts to the palace in the past, but without receiving anything in return from Layla, she had gradually stopped. Thus, Layla’s words were a subtle reminder that Margaret had stopped visiting her sister once there was no longer any benefit to be gained.