Before learning about Tunnadus' assassination, the information Jorgen received from Althea made this new murder case seem less important. Or to put it another way, it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to treat Darkshire Town, the Night Watch, and the death of Bower as separate issues. When Dalia recovers, they would return to Stormwind together, leaving the local matters to the locals – a simple plan that was rendered inapplicable due to the new developments. Jorgen deeply regretted agreeing to let Dalia speak with Althea.
On this particular morning, Jorgen had led Morticia and Althea into the room. The girls were holding hands; the hands of a mature woman and a young girl, hands that had once moved gracefully and rhythmically across piano keys, were now relaxed and unified in a more primitive and direct way, tightly intertwined like a strong knot, with neither side exerting more force. Morticia's thumb was slightly raised, avoiding the scar on the back of the girl's hand.
As soon as they entered, Althea met Dalia's gaze, and her body instinctively recoiled, even though Dalia appeared very friendly. These past few days, she had been regretting her actions, as if the self-imposed defiance of several years had suddenly rebounded upon her in this moment, like a runner twisting her ankle after a long sprint. She was experiencing a self-doubt she had never known and was asking herself, "Is this what they call being childish? I've always taken pride in provoking their anger, but where did this pride come from?" Althea, who refused to admit her immaturity, was allowing this idea to take root deep within her. She was trying to bridge the gap from the awkward, unreflective girl she had been to the adult who considered the consequences of her actions—an opportunity she had been given by a person whose life she had put in danger.
Before visiting Dalia, Althea had confessed to Jorgen that she had fabricated the threatening letter. Although she didn't volunteer this information, Jorgen didn't press her too hard. She had broken the glass in Staven's storeroom and reached for several volumes of poetry piled by the window. She had never considered the possible consequences of her actions. She thought her family might be angry, and that was it. Althea, who had never acknowledged her own immaturity, found herself unable to answer Jorgen's questions.
"This is a crime of threats and public nuisance. Jail? No, because you're only fourteen, and your brother is an important government official. However," Jorgen emphasized, "the target of your threatening letter was directly linked to the MI7. We're not like regular law enforcement agencies; we have the authority to use additional security measures. By doing what you did, we will categorize you into a certain group—you don't need to know the exact name, just think of it as a blacklist. For people in this category, and all their friends and family, comprehensive surveillance is possible, and their actions will be restricted—a form of 'soft confinement.' You cannot request the removal of this surveillance from any institution until we deem you are no longer a threat. Are you prepared to accept such a life? Can you understand how foolish your actions were?"
Althea remained silent, her gaze shifting aimlessly between the walls to the left and right, her little finger fidgeting with the hem of her pants.
"Answer my question. The person who can decide whether to proceed with this procedure is me."
"I know I was wrong... Lord Jorgen," she stumbled over the last part, her voice catching. "Please don't punish me."
This still seemed like a child making excuses for a minor offense like skipping class, but for Althea it was decent progress. Jorgen had no intention of scaring her further, besides, educating an unruly child was not his job.
"This thing... I mean, the letter," Althea said. "Please don't tell Lady Dalia."
Jorgen looked into her flickering eyes. A kind of sincerity that she couldn't yet reveal openly and confidently flowed out, like a fledgling trying to flap its still immature wings under the dazzling sunlight. She didn't want the impression
she had made on Dalia to worsen further, though it was still a deception, it was a benevolent one.
"Okay," he said, "I won't tell her."
Jorgen didn't intend to push Althea too hard, nor did he want Dalia who still needed rest to become overly excited, so he agreed. At this point he still didn't know that from the moment he proposed the two meet, the emotional impact Dalia would receive was already predetermined. Compared to that, the threatening letter was just a trivial matter.
Before this, Jorgen had ordered Staven's release since his suspicion had been cleared, and he no longer held any value as bait.
This would be the second thing Jorgen would regret.
But for now, in Dalia's sickroom, nothing had happened yet. The light outside was unusually soft, not dim but gentle, like a calm sea. Dalia greeted Morticia and Althea with a smile, a perfectly placed smile that expressed her friendliness without deepening any feelings of guilt they might have. To show his sincerity in making this arrangement, Jorgen stood by the door, allowing the two visitors to sit by the bedside.
Althea hadn't even settled into her seat before tears welled up in her eyes. In her memory, this once radiant and always friendly lady now appeared as if she had been wandering alone in the desert for days and nights. From her complexion to her demeanor, there was an undeniable frailty, even though she had recovered somewhat. In Althea's mind, the image of Dalia now overlapped with the horrifying scenes she had seen of some Night Watch members tortured by spider venom.
"Yes, I... I'm sorry," Althea replied, her hand resting on her knee, unsure if she should lift it to wipe her tears.
"Don't cry," Dalia said.
She didn't say more, or perhaps she did, but Jorgen didn't hear it. In any case, words were not the most effective means of communication at this moment. Their emotions in their eyes, in their skin, in their fingertips, seeped into the silent light of the room and merged, mutually absorbed. And all of this would not have worked without Dalia's innate compassion.
Jorgen couldn't fully understand Dalia's attitude. It couldn't be explained solely by her care for a younger person or by general maternal instincts. What Althea had done wasn't a simple prank; it was a potentially life-threatening act. He found it easy to determine why someone might entertain thoughts of harming others, but he couldn't determine when an individual could find it in themselves to forgive others. Of course, his job never required him to delve into the concepts of forgiveness and understanding.
In this atmosphere, Jorgen lost his sense of time passing. When he realized it, Althea had stopped crying. According to the original plan, he was to be the one to "interrogate," with Dalia listening in. But in the current situation, he had become a bystander.
"I am genuinely curious about why Althea has such strong feelings against the MI7," Dalia said, "but I can't and don't want to decide what you should say."
Morticia gave the girl's shoulder a comforting squeeze.
"Althea, have you made your decision? Will you tell Lady Dalia?" she asked. This was a genuine request for her opinion, not an adult offering a hollow, useless opportunity to voice her thoughts.
The girl nodded. "Okay."
"Then, may I go first?" Morticia asked.
"Sure," Althea replied, her voice even softer this time.
"Lady Dalia," Morticia began, "what we are about to say was originally meant to be a secret we would carry to our graves, unknown even to Joseph and Elro. No, I'm not asking you to swear to secrecy. If it were just an apology we wanted to offer, we might not have decided to reveal it. But Althea has been tormented by something for a long time. Yes, it's related to MI7, and I admit that sharing this in front of you both carries some risk, but it's already decided. Without doing this, we might never be able to resolve some dreadful confusions. And as members of MI7, you two might even be able to help us. Let's start from here... Both of you know that I am the second wife of Gondore, right? When he was away, he brought me and Althea back to Darkshire."
Dalia nodded.
"But... Althea isn't my biological child."
The girl's shoulder trembled. Morticia tightened her grip on the girl's hand and continued:
"Before I met Gondore, I worked at an orphanage under the Hillsbrad Mountains. Although I started helping there from the age of six, I didn't know much about it. There were often strange people in the yard, like those who came in very luxurious carriages or those who concealed themselves completely in black robes, including their faces. In fact, calling it an 'orphanage' was just my own judgment. As an ordinary worker, I could only do what the superiors told me, and I couldn't even move freely."
"So, Althea..."
"She was one of the children I took care of. About thirteen years ago, when I was sixteen—someone brought three children to the orphanage, and Althea was one of them. It was a very mysterious visit, and the higher-ups warned us, the female workers, not to disclose it, or our lives would be in danger. Of course, I couldn't know the man's name, even though there were rumors that he was from MI7. I didn't even have a chance to see his face clearly. Even if I had seen him, so many years had passed that I couldn't recall it in detail. All I remember is that he was very tall and wore a wide-brimmed black hat. When I saw that he was carrying two daggers, I was very scared."
What was she saying?
Jorgen's initial reaction was to look at Dalia. She widened her eyes, as if the air in front of her had condensed in an instant into some inexplicable, dim entity that forcibly drew her gaze. He could hear her breathing.