Episode 17
A few days later, a small party was held at the “very fancy” tavern where I used to work. It was arranged by Miya to celebrate my joining the troupe.
The tavern was closed for the day, and several employees and singers I had known for a while stopped by.
Even the owner, who had laughed heartily and congratulated me despite my sudden resignation, brought out a bottle of wine he claimed he had been saving especially for me.
“He definitely opened it because he wanted to drink it himself.”
Miya, leaning against me at an angle, giggled.
“No way.”
That’s what I said, but as I looked around at the already tipsy crowd early in the evening, it briefly crossed my mind that my celebration might just be an excuse for them to drink.
The tavern staff, who always loved to party and drink, offered their congratulations and then immediately split into groups to continue drinking.
I sipped apple juice from a whiskey glass instead of alcohol and watched their laughter blossom like flowers.
“Thanks, Miya.”
“For what?”
Miya, who had suggested the celebration in the first place, pretended not to know, and I just smiled quietly. She leaned back against the bar table and asked in a sly tone:
“So tell me. What did you do with Gilbert Klein? A date?”
“A date? No, it wasn’t like that.”
Flustered, I lowered my voice so no one else would hear. Thankfully, music flowed constantly in the tavern, and everyone around us was wrapped up in their own conversations.
“It really wasn’t like that, Miya.”
“Fine, fine. What did you call it again? A tour?”
She corrected herself and snickered. Only then did I realize she was teasing me, and I let out a small sigh. Then I slowly explained what had happened over the last few days.
—
That day—which had passed like a fleeting dream in the night—I carefully removed the noblewoman’s dress and hung it in a corner of the tailoring shop.
The necklace and earrings, glittering even in the dark, were placed into Madam Sierra’s safe.
Dressed once again in my usual plain clothing, I lay down on the straw-stuffed bed and quietly closed my eyes.
In my mind, the short two-hour performance replayed from the beginning.
Lunia’s aria. Atticus’s aria. Their duet. The chorus of the crowd. And finally, Lunia’s song, which had received roaring applause.
Every scene and every sound was vivid. Forgetting to sleep, I listened to Lunia’s song over and over again.
And the next day, I headed to the troupe early.
Members of the troupe were free to practice at the theater until an official performance schedule was set.
I quietly counted on my fingers.
When I first read the newspaper and took interest in the Klein Theater, Caroline Dees was already a famous prima donna in the capital.
According to the profile I had read at the time, the very first performance held the moment the Klein Theater was completed had starred Caroline Dees as the lead.
And now, the internal construction of the theater was perhaps halfway done.
Because they prioritized preparing the spaces the troupe would use immediately, those areas were nearly finished.
But the theater was enormous, and there were still many places that clearly weren’t completed yet.
And considering how long it took to prepare a single performance, it wasn’t as if having an unfinished theater meant there was plenty of time.
*Not much left. The score will come out soon.*
Most performances commissioned professional composers or playwrights.
But according to Nick, the Delgado Troupe had an exclusive composer, and the troupe’s schedule followed his.
In other words, by the time the score was finished, I needed to be skilled enough to take even the smallest supporting role.
With that in mind, I hurried to the performance hall where the members had gathered yesterday—but contrary to my expectations, it was even busier than before.
People were moving in and out of the stage, adjusting lights and setting backgrounds.
And in front of the stage, four people were discussing something as they looked over it.
“Ah, Miss Ember.”
Nick spotted me standing at the entrance and waved brightly. Immediately, the other three people turned to look at me.
“Perfect timing.”
I intended to simply greet them and find another space to practice, but Gilbert, standing beside Nick, gestured for me to come over. Hesitantly, I approached.
“This is the soprano I mentioned before, Lady Delia.”
As he pointed to me, I inhaled sharply.
“I remember.”
Lady Delia smiled faintly at me. Unlike Viscount Logan, I recognized her immediately.
At the awards ceremony, she had been introduced as the kingdom’s greatest prima donna.
Her face then overlapped perfectly with the one before me now.
When she smiled, faint wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes and lips—but they only made her seem more dignified and beautiful.
While I was silently admiring her, Lady Delia turned toward me and extended a pale hand.
“Nice to see you again. Sir Gilbert said he wanted you in the troupe, but I didn’t think you would actually join.”
“Yes, it’s an honor to meet you.”
I shook her hand and answered awkwardly.
“I had planned to enjoy a peaceful retirement, but these people just won’t let me go. I even declined a professorship at the conservatory.”
She sighed as if confiding in me, someone she’d barely met.
“Lady Delia has agreed to serve as an advisor to our troupe.”
“I see.”
“And she will also be guiding your vocal training, Miss Ember.”
At those words, my eyes widened. Lady Delia added:
“I don’t mind helping the members with their practice, but I won’t play favorites. Not even for Sir Gilbert’s sake.”
“As you wish.”
Gilbert, silent until now, bowed politely when Lady Delia gave him a playful look.
As Lady Delia and Nick began conversing lightly, I quietly turned my gaze toward the stage.
At that moment, my eyes met someone I hadn’t greeted yet. He had been looking through a stack of papers beside Gilbert and happened to lift his head.
He had long, deep blue hair tied neatly at the back, and silver-rimmed glasses that suited him well.
As I became aware of him, very pale blue eyes looked at me through the glass.
*Ah, the accompanist from the audition…*
If not for his unique hair color, I might not have remembered him. I realized he was the pianist who had sat at the stage piano.
A beat late, I bowed my head slightly. He returned the gesture with a faint smile.
His long, sharp eye shape made him look cold at first glance, but when he smiled enough for his eyes to curve, that cold impression vanished and he looked gentle.
“I’m Rowen. Nice to meet you.”
He spoke first and extended his hand.
“I’m Ember.”
I took his hand quickly, trying not to show my surprise.
A simple greeting without surname or title.
Unless intentional, it meant he was a commoner, like me.
—
“Rowen? Yes, he’s definitely a commoner.”
When I recounted the uncertain way I had greeted Rowen, Miya replied casually.
“You two know each other?”
“What? Of course not.”
She burst into laughter and waved her hand.
“There aren’t many people who *don’t* know him. He’s that famous. You know Klein and Dees so well—how do you not know Rowen?”
Caught off guard by the sudden scolding, I smiled awkwardly. I couldn’t say it was because I had only ever read about the other two in the newspapers.
“In short, he’s a monster who succeeded without anyone’s help. Entered the Royal Conservatory top of his class. Graduated top too. Full scholarship. Refused every sponsorship he was offered.”
“He’s that good a composer?”
“He originally majored in piano. Composition was just a hobby, or so he said—but he was so good at it that even as a student he received commissions. Probably lived off that money.”
“How do you know all this?”
“When you’re at the conservatory, nobody doesn’t know the geniuses in the field. People talk about them every day.”
I listened with pure admiration as Miya shrugged and finished her drink.
She added that the exploits of those who graduated a few years earlier always became objects of admiration among students.
“Anyway, he was doing great after graduation, but then he suddenly disappeared for a while. Then—bam—he showed up with Nicholas Marquez and Gilbert Klein.”
“Nicholas Marquez?”
When I asked, Miya snapped her head around. Her expression clearly said, *Don’t tell me you don’t know this either.*
“W-what?”
“You don’t even know your troupe leader’s real name?”
“Lord Delgado?”
I blurted out, and Miya sighed deeply.
“There isn’t a single person who doesn’t know Nicholas Marquez and the head of the Delgado Troupe are the same person. Everyone pretends not to know, out of courtesy. Rumor has it he had a falling out with his family—but you know how nobles hate to air their dirty laundry.”
At that moment, I remembered what Lady Ellinia had once said.
*He used to be a tenor. In fact, he was doing very well in Diena without my brother’s help. But there were some family issues…*
I straightened up and asked:
“Did he abandon his family name, then?”
“I’m not sure. Honestly, there aren’t many who know the full story. There are too many rumors. But what *is* certain is that Nicholas and Rowen were close classmates—and that both spent their whole lives being called geniuses.”
Miya’s speech was getting a little slurred as she tried hard not to stumble over her words.
“Nicholas worked briefly as a tenor, then disappeared for two years just like Rowen. Then suddenly reappeared with a new name and founded the troupe. I don’t remember if he met Gilbert Klein before or after that, but anyway.”
When I nodded, Miya leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand.
“But that’s not the important part. So?”
“So…?”
“You met Rowen, and then what happened?”
“Miya, you’re drunk.”
I laughed, scrunching my brows, and she giggled along with me.
“Hurry up and tell me.”
“Okay, okay.”
Knowing all too well how stubborn Miya got when she was drunk, I reluctantly continued the story I had paused.
