Mother’s Contract Marriage

Chapter 1

The name Lyrica Vans was well-known in the slums of the capital. Whenever parents scolded their children, they would often sigh and say, “If only you were half as capable as Lyrica.” At the tender age of eight, she was already renowned for her diligence and resourcefulness.

However, if there was one burden that weighed heavy on her young shoulders, it was her mother. She’d already lost count of how many times she’d had to help her drunken mother stumble home after a night of heavy drinking. As the thin wooden walls of their shanty offered nothing in the way of soundproofing, the alcohol-fueled tirades her mother directed at her could be heard by anyone who happened to be nearby.

After a particularly chaotic night, Lyrica would often arrive at work with eyes swollen and red from crying. Still, she took great pride in her mother. She had never seen anyone more beautiful, and her mother was the only inhabitant of the slums who knew how to read. Lyrica believed that her mother, who had once been a noblewoman, had grown coarse and rough after enduring years of hardship.

The woman often spoke of Lyrica’s father, who had incurred a mountain of debt while pursuing some sort of trade venture at sea, only to one day disappear without a trace. As a result, they had been cast out of the castle they’d once called home. Her mother frequently reminded her that if not for Lyrica, she could have married again and built a better life elsewhere.

She knew her mother was right. Even after suffering in wretched squalor for so long, her mother’s beauty had not been tarnished in any way—her golden hair still resembled the pure rays of the sun, and her eyes were as blue as cornflowers and had lost none of their luster. Her milky skin and delicate features caused her to stand out everywhere she went, no matter the rags she wore.

Although men were drawn to her, she was simply too beautiful, meaning that none of them dared to actually approach her. It was a relief for Lyrica, for if she were to charge at them wielding a broomstick to protect her mother, any grown man could easily knock her unconscious with a single blow. At eight years of age, Lyrica was small and frail, and being so undernourished guaranteed that one smack would send her flying.

She knew this all too well, as she’d experienced it firsthand when their overdue rent had earned her a beating from the landlord. Her head had spun, her ears ringing as she tasted the metallic tang of blood in her mouth, darkness closing in and stars flashing before her eyes. For this reason, Lyrica lived in constant fear that a dangerous man would approach her beautiful mother one day.

Each night, she clasped her hands together and prayed to the brightest star in the sky, “Please, keep the bad people away from my mother. Please, always keep her safe.” Perhaps the star had granted her wish, as her mother seemed to navigate the rowdy taverns she frequented without much trouble.

Today was a quiet day, because her mother, who was even more inebriated than usual, had passed out after coming home in a stupor. Lyrica wove her brown hair into a tight plait and set out for work. There were very few jobs available to the children in the slums, but Lyrica labored diligently at whatever she was able to get and had a good reputation. She worked hard, was meticulous, and never stole any of the goods or food she worked with. She’d once heard a shoe-shiner declare that trust was the foundation of all work, and she had never forgotten it.

Today, she had been tasked with cleaning the kitchen in a local tavern. She had to repeatedly scrub the floor with a brush to remove the dirt and grease stains and rinse it with water. Her arms trembled from exhaustion and sweat dripped down her face, but she diligently scrubbed away with both hands.

Lyrica often indulged in her well-worn daydreams whenever she did such monotonous work. Most of the time, she fantasized about her father’s return. Though her father had set out long ago on his business venture, she dreamed that he would one day suddenly return accompanied by a ship laden with gold and treasures to happily reunite with Lyrica and her mother.

Her second daydream was a secret, more personal one, which had come to her one day when she’d been passing through the streets of the capital. A gentleman, perhaps moved by pity, had tossed her a silver coin. She’d been startled when he’d suddenly told her to hold out her apron, and even more surprised when she’d complied and a coin had landed within the folds of the fabric.

“Go buy yourself something delicious,” he’d told her.

However, the idea of spending the coin on food had been unthinkable to her. Instead, she’d held onto the coin as a talisman of sorts, imagining that she would one day use it to buy two chickens and hatch some chicks. She would raise many more chickens, and then sell those chickens in order to buy a goat and a cow. Later, she could even buy a horse. In this way, she would one day grow rich.

These were the two fantasies Lyrica indulged in most often, and whenever her thoughts drifted toward them, her work no longer felt difficult.

She finally rinsed the floor one last time. When she was finished, she received a single large copper coin as payment. Five small copper coins were equivalent to one large copper coin, and with one large coin, she could buy a loaf of bread. Ten large copper coins made a white copper coin. Although Lyrica occasionally saw a white one, silver coins were exceedingly rare.

She purchased half a loaf of bread and made her way home. When she cautiously stepped inside, she saw that her mother was still asleep.

Good.

Quietly lifting the mat on the floor, she pried up the wooden floorboard beneath, where she kept her hidden secret stash that consisted of a pouch containing her silver coin and several small copper ones. She ran her fingers over the silver coin and flipped it over several times before returning it to the pouch.

The coins inside were meant to cover next month’s rent. She was forced to save the money in secret, as her mother would surely squander it on alcohol or other frivolous expenses if she were to discover the stash.

Thankfully, the pouch was heavy with coins—there was enough to pay this month’s rent with some left over. This filled her with happiness. She smiled and carefully put the floorboard back into place before pulling the mat over it.

Then, the peace in the shanty was abruptly disturbed.

“Ah!”

Her mother let out a piercing shriek and began thrashing her arms and legs about wildly as though she were caught in the throes of a sudden seizure. Lyrica froze in shock.

“No! It burns! No, it wasn’t me! Ah!”

Her mother rolled off the bed and crashed to the floor, still screaming and flailing about, seemingly completely unaware of her surroundings. Only then did Lyrica snap out of her daze and rush to her side.

“Mother? Mother, are you all right? Are you ill?”

“Help me! Help...”

Lyrica grasped her mother’s hand tightly, and only then did her convulsions finally ease. The woman’s trembling eyelids fluttered open as she looked around, her gaze unfocused and disoriented. Lyrica grew fearful. She’d heard stories of people who drank too much, eventually losing their minds. Was this what was happening to her mother?

“Wh-where am I...?” Her mother gasped. “You... You’re... You can’t be... Lyrica?”

Her mother attempted to sit up, and Lyrica held her hand as she gently helped her to do so.

She drew close and softly replied, “Yes, Mother. It’s me, Lyrica.”

Her mother stared at her in a daze, and she grew nervous as she studied the woman closely.

“Are you all right, Mother? This is our home, and... Yesterday, um...” she trailed off. Her mother always grew angry whenever Lyrica brought up that she’d drank too much, so she didn’t know what to say. “I think you may have had a bad dream,” she said instead.

However, her mother’s response was completely unexpected.

“Rica... You’re young again.”

“Pardon?”

Lyrica was at a loss for words. She was eight years old. How old did her mother think she was? Lyrica’s eyes darted around, unsure of what to say, and her mother swallowed heavily.

“Rica, you’re alive...”

“Um... Yes, of course! Of course I’m alive!” Lyrica replied, delivering a hearty thump to her own chest.

Perhaps her mother had dreamed that she’d died. The woman continued to stare at her in wide-eyed wonder.

“You’re alive. Y-you’re not just young again. You’re alive... My goodness. Lyrica, how old are you?”

“I’m eight.”

“Impossible! What’s going on?” Her mother suddenly sprang to her feet and began pacing, her movements erratic. “How? We’re back in the slums. This cannot be. My goodness...”

Her mother peered out the window, then scanned the interior of their house and began pacing back and forth, before picking up a tiny shard of mirror. She stared intently at her reflection and gasped.

“I came back...”

“Mother?”

Lyrica was growing afraid. It seemed as though her mother’s mental state was unraveling. What was she supposed to do? They couldn’t exactly call for a physician, nor could they afford proper medicine. Perhaps she would have to use her silver coin to seek professional help. Lyrica rose to her feet, resolved.

“My goodness!” her mother exclaimed. “I’m back! How can this be? How on earth did this happen? My goodness!”

Her mother’s frantic shout made Lyrica freeze in place. Approaching her now seemed risky—there was a chance her mother might lash out or strike her. She knew to avoid anyone who grew too erratic and started shouting whenever she was in the taverns. Lyrica watched her mother in silence, waiting for her to calm down.

Her mother, however, just continued to touch her own limbs, feeling her hair and stroking her face while continuously muttering about how she’d returned. Then she whirled around to face Lyrica, causing her daughter to flinch. Her mother suddenly rushed toward her and reached out a hand, and Lyrica braced herself for a slap.

She screwed her eyes shut but instead felt her mother’s soft touch against both of her cheeks. She slowly opened her eyes and found that bright blue eyes so close they were all she could see. They were glistening with tears.

“Lyrica, you’re alive... My precious Lyrica. Mommy is so sorry... This is all my fault. I was so foolish. Your mommy was so stupid.”

Lyrica blinked in shock, suddenly finding herself in her mother’s tight embrace.

She sobbed and whispered, over and over, “My treasure, my precious baby... I love you, Lyrica.”

The warmth that came with her mother’s touch slowly drained all the tension from Lyrica’s body, and her words felt like they were seeping into her heart. Before she knew it, her own eyes had filled with tears as she began to sob. She wasn’t sure if this was one of her fantasies or if she was asleep, but her mother felt so, so warm. Being held was a wonderful thing, Lyrica realized. Her mother stroked her hair and kissed her wet cheeks.

A long time later, when she finally seemed to have calmed down at last, the woman sighed deeply and squeezed Lyrica one last time before letting her go. Everything that had just happened was so surreal and unexpected that Lyrica could not help but feel uneasy. What if her mother suddenly changed again?

“Rica... What year, month, and day is it today?” her mother asked.

“Today is... uh, the fifteenth day of the fourth month, in the year 485.”

Her mother thought for a moment and then snapped her fingers.

“The imperial ball!”

Lyrica was startled by her mother’s sudden exclamation but nodded in agreement. Everyone in the capital knew that the spring ball was about to take place at the palace. The city was always filled with vibrant energy this time of the year. Even the slums became swept up in the infectious energy that surrounded the celebrations. Nobles from all over the region traveled to the capital to attend the extravagant ball hosted at the imperial palace, and this year, the emperor himself was said to be attending.

Rumor painted him as a terrifying man, and children were often threatened, “If you keep behaving badly, I’m going to send you off to His Majesty the Emperor!” It was said that the emperor ate the hearts of children and that he was capable of freezing anyone who displeased him to death.

Whether these stories were true or not, it was also said that the imperial family possessed special powers. They could supposedly control water, freeze anything they wished, or move objects without even lifting a finger. They were even said to possess a wide variety of magical tools. It was these abilities that had enabled the imperial family of old to eliminate their enemies and win the throne.

There was even a rumor that the current emperor had killed his predecessor in order to take the throne. The current crown prince was the son of the former emperor, and though there was talk of the emperor only remaining in power until the crown prince came of age, few people actually believed that this would be the case. Most people simply spoke of how strange and terrifying the emperor was.

And here her mother was, suddenly speaking of the imperial ball. Lyrica blinked in confusion. Her mother grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Rica, I must attend that ball.”

Lyrica stared. It was such an absurd thing to say that she had no response, but her mother’s blue eyes were gleaming with lightning-like intensity.

“I must attend that ball and meet with His Majesty. This is our only chance. I must make preparations today, and go tomorrow.”

“But that’s impossible,” Lyrica blurted, feeling a sense of despair.

She’d thought her mother had changed, but she’d been wrong. The imperial ball? The emperor? It was all so absurd that she could hardly believe it. How did her mother not know what even an eight-year-old did?

“How will you even get into the imperial ball?” she questioned.

“There’s a way,” her mother insisted. “But of course, I can’t go dressed like this. I must go to the pawn shop and borrow something more suitable. If we can manage that much, then I’ll take care of the rest. So, Rica...”

Lyrica’s lips trembled. She knew what her mother was about to ask.

“I-I don’t have any money, Mother,” she stammered.

“Rica, please... Trust me just this once, okay?”

Lyrica shook her head. They still needed to pay rent, and she had no desire to be beaten again. Besides, the imperial ball? What would her mother do if she were caught by the soldiers? And she would certainly be caught.

Her mother tried to coax her, but Lyrica kept her mouth firmly shut. The stubbornness of a girl raised in the slums was not something to be underestimated. Eventually, her mother sighed and raised her hands in defeat.

“All right, Rica. If that’s what you’ve decided, then there’s nothing to be done for it.”

Lyrica lifted her head. Her mother didn’t look particularly upset. Instead, she seemed to think for a moment, before reaching out and tightly grabbing Lyrica by the shoulders.

“Rica. There is one thing you must know. I will do everything I can for you. I know that you’re the sort of child who can be happy without anything, and this is all my own greed speaking... But I will do the best I can for you, in the way I know best. Do you understand?”

Lyrica nodded, and her mother smiled and embraced her.

“Let’s go to bed early tonight.”

Hearing her mother’s words, Lyrica quickly took out the half loaf of bread.

“Please eat, Mother. I already ate before, so I’m fine.”

Her mother looked down at the loaf for a moment before saying, “Let’s share it.”

The hard bread required a firm grip to break apart, and after eating it together, they fell asleep curled up on the narrow bed. Lyrica was so happy that she slept deeply, not even dreaming of silver coins.

However, when she woke up the next morning, her mother was nowhere in sight. Instead, the mat was crumpled on the floor and the floorboard had been pried up, leaving the space beneath exposed. Of course, her pouch and all the coins in it were gone.

Lyrica, utterly dismayed, collapsed to the floor as her legs gave out. It didn’t even occur to her to try and chase after her mother. She wailed, unable to do anything but cry. For the first time in her short life, she truly hated her mother. Lyrica could do nothing but cry without end.