Episode 6
Mia ran her music lessons in a rather unusual way. Since she went straight to the tavern after finishing her work at the tailor shop, where preparations for the evening performance were always underway, she could no longer sing on stage.
So until the performance began, Mia and I sang together in the liquor storeroom.
And once the show started, we would head out to the bar tables, leave a drink we wouldn’t touch, and keep listening to the music.
During that time, I learned everything quickly.
“You’re frighteningly good at imitation.”
When I copied not only Mia’s singing style but also Helena’s—the most peculiar singer in the tavern—Mia said so.
I instinctively knew how to produce sound. When learning classical singing, I would tense my abdomen, push the sound up, and resonate it in the empty space of my head.
Henry would explain the principles, show me once, and I would always succeed within three tries.
My range gradually increased until I was assigned the soprano part, though he said I was average compared to professional sopranos.
But in that rural church choir, I was always the one who sang the highest notes.
When I followed Henry’s conducting and sang perfectly, the entire lofty sanctuary would tremble as if shivering. It felt like a reward given to me.
When I heard the beautiful sound coming from my own mouth with my own ears, I would feel as though my heart had floated up into the air.
For a moment, the tavern lights overlapped with the vivid multicolored beams that used to pour into the church’s interior.
Only then did I snap back to myself.
Loud applause and cheers filled the tavern.
The customers—eating and drinking at their tables—were clapping for me.
It felt strange.
No matter how well you sang in the choir, no one ever clapped.
My song was always meant for God, merely to honor His presence. And He never gave applause.
From the bar table, the tavern owner was wearing a deeply satisfied expression. Mia, slouched sideways at the table, was clapping as well.
I greeted Josh, the pianist, and stepped down from the stage.
When I walked toward Mia, the owner poured a drink himself and pushed it toward me.
“You’re pretty good now.”
The doubt he had shown on my first day on stage had completely vanished. I smiled faintly and pulled on the thin shawl I’d left with Mia.
“Do you think so too?”
When I rested my chin on the table and narrowed my eyes, Mia let out a dry laugh and pushed my shoulder.
“Disgustingly pretty. Get lost.”
I burst out laughing at her words.
Back in Harne—when I lived in the lord’s manor—a maid laughing loudly was unthinkable. Levistan also preferred that I laugh shyly, quietly, softly.
So it was only recently that I realized how refreshing it felt to laugh big and boldly like Mia.
After I had worked at the tavern for over a month and became an official employee, I began to understand Mia’s behavior.
Why she spoke so roughly, why she wore heavy makeup every time she went on stage, why she showed only the bare minimum of courtesy to strangers.
And the more I learned, the more I found myself becoming a little like her—and we grew close enough to call each other friends.
“Can’t you give me a compliment? I didn’t make a single mistake this time.”
My skills weren’t bad, but that didn’t mean I did everything perfectly.
I had absolutely no sense of stage attitude.
“All that talk you made about etiquette—and you don’t know a thing about stage manners.”
During the first rehearsal, Mia had crossed her arms and mocked my awkward gestures.
The stiff posture and fixed gaze that were absolute basics in the choir meant nothing on a tavern stage.
In that sense, the owner giving me a one-month probation had been the perfect choice. I spent the month listening to lots of popular songs, memorizing lyrics, and practicing movements.
Madam Sierra made my stage clothes cheaply, and Mia helped with my makeup.
After about five short performances, I finally started to look like a real singer. But Mia still said coolly:
“Please. You’ve got a long way to go. I could see your eyes shaking from all the way over here.”
I couldn’t argue and awkwardly scratched my neck. Of course Mia noticed I had mixed up a lyric.
When it came to music, she was stricter than anyone. She would compliment my looks without hesitation, but never once praised my singing.
“Still, two more times and you’ll look decent. Isn’t your next song soon? Go to Josh.”
She didn’t give compliments, but she did gently pat my back in encouragement.
I drank a glass of water instead of alcohol, opened the back door, and went into the small waiting room. Josh saw me and gestured right away.
“Ah, Amber. Perfect timing.”
“Yes, Josh?”
“The interlude is by the sheet, but the intro will be longer. It’s a famous song, so the crowd reacts instantly.”
“Really?”
“If the intro changes suddenly, you might miss the entrance. So—I’m going to bring the chorus forward a bit…”
Josh explained more concretely for me, since I couldn’t read the change from the sheet alone, then he left the room.
Left alone, I fixed my makeup and outfit in the mirror.
The face of a country girl was nowhere to be found. The mirror reflected a glamorous singer anyone could recognize.
It was my first time wearing such heavy eye makeup, my first time wearing glittery clothes.
My previous life—spent in maid uniforms and faded aprons suitable for farm work—felt like a lie.
When the ceiling lights shone on me alone, the tavern would fall quiet. Everyone looked at my face.
As the gentle piano melody flowed, when I opened my mouth, people would put down their forks, sip their drinks, and listen.
When I ended the song with lingering emotion, the satisfied audience would applaud and whistle generously.
Since I had begun performing, the tavern had grown busier. According to the owner, it was getting close to the days of his best sales.
I had found a good opportunity at a good time.
And inevitably, I thought of Levistan.
*“What would you say if you saw me now?”*
He once stroked my cheek and said he disliked heavy makeup on noble ladies—so what would he say if he saw my pale, painted face now?
What would he say if he saw me—who used to dress modestly and keep every hair neatly in place—now with my hair let loose, wearing a headpiece with fake jewels?
With a small laugh, I set down the comb I’d been using.
I liked how I looked now. When I forced a smile at the mirror, I saw the most beautiful version of myself I’d ever seen.
Satisfied, I finished my touch-ups and returned to the stage.
More people were seated than during the first song. I now felt confident that even if the entire tavern were packed, I wouldn’t tremble anymore.
Feigning a relaxed smile, I glanced across the room.
My eyes met Josh’s; he nodded once, and I nodded back. Then the piano accompaniment began.
As he’d predicted, the audience reacted immediately. Cheers of recognition rose from everywhere.
Smiling with half-moon eyes, I took a slow breath.
And then—it happened. The gesture I’d made so fluidly froze mid-air.
Josh’s extended intro was truly a brilliant decision. If we’d followed the original, I would’ve missed the first line.
Among the countless people, one face stood out sharply.
*“Why is he here?”*
His gaze toward me was coldly neutral—but I couldn’t be neutral.
A month ago, I had run into that face by accident while running an errand for Madam Sierra.
Gilbert Klein was sitting in the farthest corner of the tavern.
—
I didn’t even know how I finished the song. I returned to the waiting room and sank into a chair. My fingers trembled worse than after my first performance.
I barely regained my senses right before the first verse and forced myself to sing. While gauging the audience’s reaction, I kept stealing glances at Gilbert Klein.
He sat quietly in the midst of the noisy crowd. No smile, yet no sign of discomfort—just an utterly blank expression.
Of course, I had no reason to be nervous.
Yes, he was the owner of the Klein Theater, whose newly built façade was impressive. And yes, the newspapers had recently announced that auditions for its first performance would open soon. Even so, I had no reason to tremble before him.
Because I was nothing to him. Just part of the background of the space he occupied.
I should have felt that way—but instead, my neck felt stiff.
It was an instinctive desire. Even if I was merely background noise, I wanted him to notice me at least once.
*“He’s Gilbert Klein, after all.”*
The man who built the Klein Theater, destined to become the most famous in the kingdom. The man who brought Caroline Dees—then a newcomer—onto his stage and turned her into the greatest prima donna overnight.
The day I read a description of Caroline Dees’ beautiful soprano voice, I dreamed again of standing at the center of a grand theater.
I had never actually seen the inside of a theater, so I didn’t know if the place in my dreams could even be called one. Still, I sang there.
Slumping in my chair, I thought:
I came to the capital because I wanted to sing. In a way, I have fulfilled that wish, and I’m quite satisfied with who I am now.
I don’t need the Klein Theater to sing. Audiences are everywhere, and kind customers always cheer for my songs.
But I kept thinking of Gilbert Klein’s face—and the stage in my imagination.
That stage was always the Klein Theater.
“I thought you’d faint, you looked so pale. What are you doing here?”
Just as my thoughts reached that point, the waiting room door opened behind me and Mia’s voice followed.
“Mia.”
I turned my head slightly and met her eyes.
“What do I do if I want to be a soprano, not just a tavern singer?”
