275

"Father," Cárcel began, his voice measured, but the duke cut him off with a sharp shake of his head.

"His Majesty's fury over the incident in the Strait of Alava has not abated. He is blinded by the impulse to conquer Las Sandiago, as if it will somehow wash away the empire's stains... This campaign is an utter folly. It matters not whether the troops march in late summer or early fall; it would take at least a year to be adequately prepared. Even Prince Oscar knows this, yet he refuses to speak out, saying he cannot find a way to quell his father's anger," the duke said, faint scorn in his voice. It was quite unusual considering how he usually put his precious nephew above all else.

Cárcel watched his father with careful eyes as he responded, "I share your concern, but if war calls, I cannot shirk my duty."

"Duty?" the duke scoffed. "What did you gain from fighting in the last war? Nothing but hollow praise in the newspapers and a handful of medals to adorn your uniform. His Majesty even banished you to the rear-guard unit, for heaven's sake-essentially a relegation. No, son, you owe no further duty to fulfill on the battlefield. I want you to retire."

Cárcel's lips twitched with a flash of vexation. "Do you wish me to be branded a renegado, then?"

"It is better to live with the scorn of others than to be glorified as a dead man."

"Father," Cárcel said once again, his voice a little taut this time.

The duke's eyes gleamed with a fierce, unyielding light. "You speak of honor as if it surpasses life itself, but life is the highest honor. You have paid your dues as a descendant of Admiral Calderon with your service in the last war. Your life will be much more pleasant than my own." His voice had grown bitter, laden with the burden of his own past-how he had spent his entire life being compared to his father. "Your grandfather was the only man His Majesty wholeheartedly trusted and supported during his long reign, but even that trust was born of necessity. The empire was under the weight of endless wars, and your grandfather's authority had already been established during the days of the previous emperor... Now the empire has been enjoying a prolonged peace, and His Majesty has become forgetful. He is incredibly guarded and hesitates to give support to any nobility... The corsairs of La Boquilla and the pirates of Alaba are plaguing the seas of Ortega, which they would never have dared under your grandfather's watch. The glory of the empire is certainly fading..." The duke paused for a moment, his expression darkening as he added, "His Majesty regrets the current state of the empire now, and he speaks of restoring the honor of Escalante-reclaiming its rightful place at the forefront."

Cárcel, who had been listening in silence, finally opened his mouth. "Our rightful place... would that be a promotion without any justification?"

"He does have a justification," the duke responded bitterly. "He means to acknowledge your achievements that had gone unappreciated and intends for you to lead this new campaign. If you consider an order to march to your death a reward, I suppose it is one indeed."

A heavy silence hung between them.

"Even if you survive," the duke continued, "you will find yourself caught in a web of jealousy and slander. Even Captain Noriega, the most selfless man in the navy, was subjected to the emperor's suspicion. Should you return a war hero, crowned in victory, he will ensure your every move is scrutinized." The duke drew a deep breath and released it. "I believe he truly wishes someone to fill the role your grandfather once played. He is desperate to crush the pirates and wage war with La Boquilla by conquering Las Sandiago. But you, my son, are much too young, and Mendoza is full of bloodthirsty sharks, waiting for you to falter. He will give you the fourth fleet and promise to honor you above all naval officers... but it is a trap, Cárcel. A trap."

The word echoed in Cárcel's mind- trap-and something stirred within him.

"You needn't risk your life, Cárcel. Retire as soon as possible and dedicate yourself to Prince Oscar. There will be other opportunities to achieve honor and glory in the service of His Highness."

The very thought sickened Cárcel, though he knew his father meant well. And there was a deeper concern that weighted on his mind.

"Is there a way for you to avoid being tested by His Majesty if I choose not go to war?" he asked. Although he had been slightly disheartened by the unexpected shift in his circumstances, that feeling had dissipated as he digested his father's words.

"What... did you say?"

"Consider this, Father. Our loyalty will be proven once I march to war without seeking gain. His Majesty is extending a great deal of support; this could be a perfect opportunity for us."

The corners of the duke's lips tensed noticeably. "Cárcel..."

"There is no other way," Cárcel insisted.

"And there is no reason for you to face His Majesty's scrutiny in my stead," the duke retorted.

"Then allow me ask you this. It seems you have come to a decision of your own, and yet you are only sharing this with me now." Cárcel inhaled deeply, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. "Did you agree to offer them Miguel?"

"Cárcel..." the duke groaned.

"You must know this will destroy Miguel."

"His marriage is a small price to pay if it keeps you alive!"

"It is no small price," Cárcel responded, his voice quiet but firm. "I may return from war alive, but Miguel will be lost to despair."

The duke's expression twisted with an emotion Cárcel could not name.

"I know that you see past His Majesty's words," Cárcel continued. "You must suspect there is someone else who wants my downfall... for me to perish on the battlefield."

Cárcel had been envisioning his father's precious nephew as he spoke, but he knew the duke's suspicion was directed at the council members and their leader, Duke Ijar.

His voice remained serene, as he pressed on. "Even if we satisfy His Majesty by marrying off Miguel, others may already be scheming behind our backs. We may end up losing Miguel to a marriage he despises, while I am sent to war. The battle will not end with Las Sandiago. There will be La Boquilla, Villares, Maldaroz, Escuelera... and countless more."

"So you must retire," the duke insisted.

"Yes, perhaps they intend to brand the great admiral's son a coward so they can use that disgraceful name to haunt me until the day I die. Every word I speak will be dismissed in the Council of Mendoza, my voice reduced to that of a traitor... just like those renegados who came before me."

"Do not compare yourself to those wretches!" the duke huffed. "They took their ease in Mendoza without lifting a finger for the empire in return. I have seen countless cowardly vermin crawl their way into El Ledequilla, only to flee when duty called or be rescued by their families. Only the foolish and unfortunate allow themselves to be disgraced. But you... I will not allow such a fate to befall you."

"It will be a different story for the grandson of Admiral Calderon," Cárcel responded coolly. He knew that withdrawing from the military would spell his ruin as long as he remained Inés's husband and Oscar remained the monster that he was. "They will find a way to drag me down unless I return from battle gravely injured or maimed."

"You carry the blood of the imperial family, and your destiny is to ascend to the head of the Escalante household. As long as His Highness remains in power, not a single soul will dare look down upon you!"

Once again, Oscar became an omnipotent figure in his father's words. The only difference was that the duke was doing it for Cárcel's sake.

Cárcel stifled the bitter truth that threatened to spill from his lips-that his father's beloved nephew would relish the sight of his son falling into the deepest pit of despair, disgraced and broken.

At that moment, a strange feeling swept through him, and a thought began to form in his mind as he answered, "Then the power and honor of Escalante will crumble, which is exactly what they desire."

The words escaped him as if someone else were guiding his tongue. At the same time, his mind cleared as though awakening from a fog, almost like he had received a divine prophecy. He had experienced this before-visions, fragments of memories flooding back. Images flashed through his head: the painting in Sevilla, Inés's face as they left the soiree, Emiliano in Bilbao, and a jumble of voices from his past. He suddenly stood in the eye of the storm, staring at the statue of the apostle he had destroyed. He saw the broken stone ankles as if he had been thrust back in time.

In his mind, he could heard Emiliano's voice, asking about the strange word carved into the apostle's foot.

"I have always wondered... What does it mean?"

He heard himself reply in a daze, "To restore, or to heal."

And then Cárcel saw each letter of the ancient tongue being etched into the stone foot once more, as if someone were carving them anew, each stroke of the word glowing.

is resurrected. The rise.

The newly carved word felt different from before, like a message from beyond-a prophecy telling him he would return from the battlefield and even from death itself. A chill swept through his entire body. When he drew a sharp breath, he was no longer in Bilbao.

He had no doubt that Oscar would rejoice regardless of the outcome. Whether Cárcel met a pitiful end in the throes of battle, returned alive to face false accusations, or spent the rest of his days as a disgraced coward after tarnishing his grandfather's legacy and his family's honor, Oscar would find satisfaction. However, there had to be an outcome that the crown prince preferred above all others.

Perhaps Oscar desired nothing more than to see him stripped of all honor, living out his days in shame before fading into obscurity in Mendoza.It was also possible that Oscar was plotting to draw him into his orbit, graciously offering Cárcel protection only to ensure his eventual ruin. Oscar might indeed be waiting for Cárcel to step into his shadow for false honor and glory just like the duke had said. Perhaps Oscar would even be content with that arrangement, as long as Inés remained close and Cárcel met his demise in the near future. Oscar would see to it that Cárcel never achieved an honorable death, nor lived a life of dignity as a war hero.

At last, Cárcel spoke, his voice steady but charged with resolve. "This is an opportunity, Father. I intend to step out from my grandfather's shadow once and for all. I will gain such power and influence that they will have no choice but to silence themselves."

He thought of how Oscar had smiled at him a few days prior. Now, he was absolutely certain that the prince "remembered". This meant that Oscar had either ended his lives with his own hand, or he had somehow wished, at the moment of his death, for the ability to retain the memories as he died in a way that was not congruent with his destiny.

The latter was not such an impossible idea. Emiliano had been burdened with the punishment of those who took their own lives even though he had never done such a thing, which meant it had to be possible to wish to keep the memories of the past. Cárcel wanted to climb so high that Oscar couldn't touch him if he couldn't kill the prince with his own hands. If he only aimed for survival, he would spend his entire life narrowly escaping death and running away, and Inés didn't deserve to be with such a coward.

Although his father had pitied Captain Noriega for never being able to seize power in Calztela due to the emperor's wariness, even his point of view was limited by the fact that he lived in Mendoza. The truth was that most of the admirals in the Armada Imperio Ortega were "ancient men who can't even walk or think straight", just like his father had said. Aside from them, very few men had ever surpassed Captain Noriega, and those who actually held any power and respect had been determined a long time ago by the nobles who rotated through honorary titles. Therefore, Cárcel had to follow in the footsteps of Captain Noriega before his own grandfather, and he had to seize so much power and authority that nobody in the military would be able to hurt him.

There was a simple reason why even the emperor had never managed to kill Admiral Calderon despite being so wary of him-war was always on the horizon back in those days, not to mention the entire world wished for his survival. For a long time, Ortega had suffered from pirates pillaging its coasts as well as terrible naval defeats, and this had continued until Admiral Calderon dedicated his entire life to conquering the seas. The people of the empire still remembered the horror of those days, even if Oscar was too foolish to do the same. In fact, those horrible, distant memories were the reason why the commoners were so horrified by the reappearance of the pirates in the Strait of Alava. This also explained why the strength of the emperor's reign had started to crumble, since the only thing he could gloat about was the peacefulness of Ortega's waters.

Cárcel knew that, even if no one pushed him into battle, he had to do everything in his power to go to war.

The duke's face was twisted with concern. "This is a trap, Cárcel... one that is deeper than you could ever imagine."

"Then I will claw my way up and rise above it all," Cárcel responded with cold determination.

In the end, everything would unfold according to God's will. Oscar would die like the scum he was, and Cárcel would live.