Episode 15
When he left the room, Lady Elinia came up beside me, draped a soft fur shawl over my shoulders, and winked.
“Go and have a good time.”
I bowed again.
“I’ve caused you so much trouble, my lady. And you even lent me a dress….”
I would of course return every piece of jewelry without a scratch, but the dress was a different matter.
A dress was the pride of a noblewoman.
They found it dreadful to wear the same dress twice, and if another young lady appeared in a dress similar to theirs, they considered it shameful.
Lending one to someone else was even more unthinkable. So the fact that she so readily offered me one was overwhelmingly generous.
“Ember, I think you’re misunderstanding something.”
Her gentle voice fell above my head. When I lifted it, Lady Elinia’s face was right in front of me.
“No one is losing anything here. If you go to the theater dressed as you were, it’ll hurt my brother’s reputation.”
Her remark was quite unexpected. I stared blankly at her, and she flashed me another bright grin.
“I didn’t do this solely for you. Of course I did want to help, but strictly speaking, it was for my brother’s sake. And honestly, I had fun too. I love dressing people up. Do you know how often the young ladies around here come looking for me whenever they have a tea-time gathering? Half the young ladies in the capital are dressed by me.”
Come to think of it, the room she guided me to and even the maids seemed perfectly accustomed to this sort of thing.
I felt the heaviness on my chest—the weight that had pressed down like a stack of baggage—gradually ease. It was strange.
Hearing that she hadn’t done this solely for my sake helped untangle the confusion in my heart. Perhaps it was a kind of justification she allowed me to accept.
“If the dress still bothers you, then consider it payment for entertaining me today. It’s not every day I get to dress up someone as pretty as you.”
“Thank you so much, my lady.”
“Now, really—go on. He’ll be waiting.”
She gave me one last fresh smile and wave.
When I climbed into the same carriage again, now looking completely different, he glanced at me.
“Looks like you enjoyed yourself.”
He said it casually, barely looking up from across the seat.
“My lady is… truly a kind person.”
He snorted.
“She’s the eccentric of our family.”
But there was a warmth in his voice when he said it—affection for his younger sister. I almost told him the two of them resembled each other, but stopped.
Instead, I thought over their similarities in silence as I recalled everything that had happened.
The grand and warm ducal residence, the gentle young lady, the mountain of clothes and the dazzling heaps of jewels.
The Klein family I had always admired.
Gilbert and I didn’t speak much until the carriage reached the theater, yet for some reason, the silence no longer felt awkward.
—
As soon as my feet touched the ground, holding his hand, I saw a massive building rise before me. Not as magnificent as the Klein Theater, but still impressive.
The “tour” he’d mentioned started the moment we stepped out of the carriage.
“Wearing my sister’s dress means you can’t hide behind the excuse of being a commoner anymore. So try to imitate one—at least a little.”
A commoner in a noblewoman’s dress. But to others, I would look simply like a woman wearing an extremely expensive gown.
“Straighten your back and walk slowly. Don’t take steps that are too small. If you just look confident, you’ll manage half of it.”
When I carefully placed my hand on the arm he offered, he matched my pace and guided me smoothly toward the Mandela Theater.
The lobby was already crowded.
Nobles in splendid gowns and tidy suits wandered freely, drinking beverages or talking until the performance began.
Gilbert led me to a corner, called over a staff member serving drinks, and handed me a glass of champagne.
“Usually all seats sell out beforehand, but for regular seasonal performances like this you can buy tickets at the venue. Wait here for a moment.”
He disappeared into the crowd. Left alone, I slowly looked around the lobby.
But my gaze met so many others that I had to lower my eyes back to the glass in my hand.
*He’s a famous figure, after all.*
One of the most famous nobles in the entire country. And the woman he brought was surely someone none of them had ever seen.
Most of the nobles here were clearly wondering who I was.
Ladies hiding behind fans whispered among themselves. Gentlemen pretended not to stare, but their sideways glances weren’t exactly subtle.
Instead of watching them, I tilted my head back and looked at the ceiling.
The chandelier lights were so bright I squinted, and behind them I noticed the patterns decorating the ceiling.
The intricate mural was lovely, though not as magnificent as the Klein Theater.
“What are you looking at?”
His sudden voice startled me. I lowered my head quickly.
“Oh—just the ceiling….”
“The ceiling?”
Gilbert followed my gaze upward.
“It reminded me of the Klein Theater. The painting there is… a little different.”
“What? Ah.”
He rolled his eyes back toward me and smirked.
“Ellie must’ve told you about Jonathan again.”
I gave a small smile to confirm. When he offered his arm once more, I returned my champagne glass to the staff and followed him inside.
“Among the artists I’ve sponsored, Ellie especially adored Jonathan. She bragged about him to anyone she met.”
I suspected she bragged less because she liked Jonathan, and more because she was proud of the brother who had raised him—but I didn’t correct him.
Gilbert led me to the second-floor seats.
“There are a lot of eyes down there. It’ll be more comfortable here. The acoustics are better too.”
I nodded lightly as I sat.
The spacious hall spread out below us. The stage was covered by a red curtain, and the seats were half occupied.
Across the way, other couples were settling into their seats.
A slow worry crept over me. I could feel gazes drifting our way.
I scooted my chair slightly away from his so we wouldn’t look too close. But he leaned toward me anyway, speaking softly as if unaware of my concerns.
“Have you heard the myth of Atticus?”
I straightened up and nodded slightly.
“This play is an adaptation of that myth. The soprano playing Lunea—Atticus’s lover—is the lead. Pay attention.”
He began explaining quietly.
The order of the scenes, the music the orchestra would play, how singers here performed and acted at the same time.
His voice, low and close to my ear, distracted me—yet his explanations were undeniably helpful.
I finally began noticing the complicated lighting rigged to the ceiling and the orchestra seated before the stage.
Knowing that I had little knowledge of this genre, he explained everything patiently from the beginning.
His lecture continued until the overture ended and the curtain rose.
“Now hear it for yourself.”
The backdrop—depicting a bustling metropolitan street—appeared, and the chorus entered. Only then did he sit properly.
The myth of Atticus was extremely well-known. Even those who couldn’t read had heard it told.
Once, long ago—when gods and humans still lingered close—the dragon of the deep awakened and drowned most nations.
The only way to survive was to slay the sea dragon, and the one who succeeded was Atticus. He became a hero and then the king of the sole kingdom still above water.
But pride corrupted him. Being king no longer satisfied him, and he dared to covet the seat of the gods.
He condemned the gods for doing nothing while humanity perished, claiming that he—not the gods—was the true savior and true deity.
The enraged gods cursed him. Driven mad, Atticus believed his wife’s newborn son was the reincarnation of the dragon and tried to kill them both.
Queen Lunea, to protect herself and her child, killed Atticus.
The play began with Atticus returning victorious after slaying the dragon.
A long chorus set the background story, then the scene changed to Lunea’s bedchamber, depicted with only a bed and a wardrobe.
Lunea’s aria filled the hall as she heard the news of Atticus’s return.
I stared at the soprano playing Lunea.
Her golden hair sparkled under the chandelier light until it looked almost transparent.
Dressed in flowing ancient robes, she sang with one hand outstretched.
*So you can sing beautifully while smiling like that…*
I thought. Even at inns, singers were expected to appear joyful, but the woman before me held far more expressive emotion.
As if she truly were Lunea herself—walking lightly through the chamber in pure delight, releasing delicate high notes like shimmering threads.
The trembling of her voice rippled once more in my ears.
When I took a deep breath, I sensed Gilbert glancing at me from where he leaned against the armrest.
Proper etiquette would have been to meet his gaze, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the stage. The flowing silk fabric of her costume left an afterimage in my mind.
Atticus finally returned to the palace amid cheers, and reunited with Lunea.
They embraced and mimed a kiss. A duet between the tenor and soprano followed.
In that joyous atmosphere, Atticus became king and Act 1 ended. During the orchestral interlude, Gilbert leaned toward me again.
“How is it?”
“It’s beautiful. And harmonious.”
I furrowed my brows, searching for words to express what I felt. He spoke before I could.
“Do you think you could do it?”
“Ah…”
Lunea’s aria came back to me—the slow, joyful start, then gradually light and quick, ending in a burst of soaring high notes far higher than anything I usually sang.
I shook my head. It wasn’t as overwhelming as when I heard Caroline Deez sing, but I still couldn’t imagine easily reaching those notes.
“I’m not sure.”
“Then listen more.”
Without any hint of disappointment, he straightened again. The second act was beginning.
Act 2 opened with Atticus’s aria. Now a king, he still couldn’t grasp the gods’ will and was drunk on his own glory.
He spread the tale of slaying the dragon across the world, gathering worship. When the music reached its climax, he made his conclusion—
He was greater than the gods.
His resolute expression was chilling. His voice twisted subtly against the orchestra.
Magnificent, yet unsettling. I shivered involuntarily.
When the tension peaked, the scene changed again—back to Lunea’s chamber.
Lunea sang a blessing over her newborn son.
But her joy didn’t last. Word spread that Atticus had gone mad under the gods’ curse.
A fearful chorus of citizens followed, yet Lunea tried to believe in her husband.
But when Atticus saw the child’s face and flew into a frenzy, her shock drove her to cradle the baby and sing her final aria.
Her voice—once serene—was now utterly transformed by confusion, terror, betrayal, and grief.
Her sorrow turned to fury, delivered through rapid, cascading notes that descended from high pitches.
The raw yet beautiful melody filled the entire hall, and gasps rose through the audience.
No sooner had she finished than thunderous applause erupted. I clapped softly. A single thought filled my mind.
Gilbert asked again.
“And now?”
“I don’t know if I can… but still—”
I looked around the audience once, then fixed my gaze on the soprano disappearing backstage.
“I want to try singing it.”
I wanted to sing like that. From the moment she opened her mouth, I had been unconsciously copying the shapes of her words.
When I turned my head back to him, his golden eyes—fixed on me the whole time—met mine.
“Shall I ask for you?”
His face, shadowed by the lights and chandelier, carried a satisfied smile. I realized I had given him the answer he wanted.
He said,
“In my opinion, you’re more than capable.”
The play raced toward its conclusion. Atticus stormed onstage with a sword, and Lunea cried out as she tried to protect her child.
But I couldn’t take my eyes off Gilbert, listening to the scene with only half an ear.
Only when he silently pointed at the stage did I finally look forward again—but I couldn’t fully concentrate for the rest of the performance.
*You’re capable too.*
His words blended with Atticus’s dying cries.
