Chapter 11
Adelise asked to speak with Ismeralda alone.
I said:
“Your choice.”
Roland said nothing.
Good.
They met in the small library.
Door open.
No guards inside.
I stayed away.
Later Adelise told me what mattered.
She asked:
“Did you ever believe my father was dead?”
Ismeralda said yes.
For the first several months.
After Roland escaped, Corwin claimed he probably died somewhere in the mountains.
No evidence.
Ismeralda chose to believe because death simplified responsibility.
Then, eight months later, Corwin admitted he had received a report Roland might still be alive.
Ismeralda did nothing.
That was the part Adelise could not forgive.
Not yet.
Maybe never.
“You let me light candles for him.”
Ismeralda cried.
“Yes.”
“You helped organize the memorial.”
“Yes.”
“You chose the flowers.”
Another yes.
Adelise asked:
“Why hire me?”
The answer was uglier than I expected.
At first, guilt.
Ismeralda wanted to ensure Adelise had money.
Then usefulness.
If Adelise worked near her, any message from Roland might come through the house.
She could intercept it.
So charity became surveillance.
Again.
One action with two motives.
One decent.
One controlling.
Humans rarely gift us clean categories.
Adelise listened.
Then said:
“You put coins in his medal case.”
Ismeralda covered her face.
That moment mattered because it had no strategic purpose.
No Corwin.
No security plan.
No fear.
Just cruelty.
Why?
Because Adelise’s presence had become unbearable.
Every time Ismeralda saw her, she remembered Roland.
Tonight, during a dinner honoring him, the guilt became irritation.
So she lashed downward.
Specific remorse again.
Useful.
Adelise left the room without forgiving her.
Good.
Victims do not owe narrative closure.
When she returned to her father, she simply sat beside him.
Roland took her hand.
May you like
No speech.
Eighteen months had already stolen enough words.
