Chapter 49
Rashid picked up the lute and sat down on a stool.
As Rosetta watched him skillfully tune the strings of the instrument, Sika whispered next to her, “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard Riga sing.”
“Sing? He’s going to sing? That blunt man?”
Sika didn’t bother to deny that he was a blunt man. “It’s true that he’s blunt, but it’s also true that Riga is a good singer. Listen up, it’s a rare opportunity, and I’ve only heard him twice in my life.”
Singing and Rashid are an unexpected combination. Who would have ever imagined that the hand that holds a sword would also hold a musical instrument?
After the tuning was complete, Rashid adjusted his posture: He rested the lute’s rounded bowl on his wide-open thighs. As he pressed his left fingers against the upper strings and stroked the lower ones with his right hand, the melodious tones of the stringed instrument filled the banquet hall.
His playing was surprisingly good. He didn’t have the flashy virtuosity of a professional, but each note he played was clean and precise.
Rosetta watched in awe as his long, gnarled fingers moved freely over the strings, playing the piece.
A red velvet drape hung behind him, and candles lit on all sides illuminated his figure. Thick, full black eyelashes reflected the light of the candles, casting long shadows across his face.
A moment later, as his eyelids lifted and his bright blue eyes turned to face the front, a song echoed through the banquet hall.
“Ardennes, I will sing thee to-day, for thou art always shining bright by the rough sea.”
Rashid’s singing was much more husky than his speaking. I’d always thought he had a low voice when he spoke, but now it sounded even lower.
“The traveler who crossed the sea still walks the desolate plains today, the endless road touching the sky and the earth dazzling with red sunlight.
The silver sky and rugged, snow-capped mountains are shrouded in dark gray clouds, and darkness slowly descends.
Before long, the ground beneath the vast expanse of clouds is drenched in red, and a mournful song is heard from somewhere.
Ah, what is reflected in our eyes at that moment?
Serene starlight. Even today you shine of your own accord.”
It is often said that the long epic poem came before the lyric poem. Therefore, some would say that lyric poems are the most advanced form of a poem, while epics are old and outdated.
Rosetta, however, has always been quite fond of epic poems in their original form. She has always been drawn to epic poems, even when they have been revised and polished, stripped of all unnecessary elements and reduced to their essence, because they are noble, beautiful, and somewhat raw, yet still retain the language and emotion of the original poem.
The path of travel in the song, following the stranger’s footsteps, had taken him from the sea in the west to the mountains in the north, and now he was gradually descending to the south.
“Over the smooth ridges, the great clouds drifted slowly. The land is dotted with meandering rivers and green vegetation, and lavender in all its fragrance is the light of my two eyes.
and the air is full of rich fragrance, and lavender is the light of my two eyes.”
Rosetta was now lost in his song. So did the others, who listened to Rashid, forgetting the distraction Rosetta had just caused.
Just as she was getting lost in the flickering candlelight, the beautiful voice permeating the space, and the ecstasy it all created, Sika whispered from the side, “I think this is Riga’s song to Rigaina.”
“What do you mean?”
His song sounded quite romantic, but the lyrics had none of the characteristics Sika was referring to, for he was singing about the majestic and beautiful nature of the Ardennes from beginning to end.
Sika smirked at Rosetta. “Rigaina, what color is lavender?”
“Purple,” Rosetta replied, remembering the purple flowers in the tub from her last bath.
“No. Lavender isn’t purple, it’s blue and green.”
Rosetta tilted her head. “Why?”
“Well, that’s how we say lavender around here: the flowers are blue, and the stems are dark green.”
Sika raised a finger and pointed to Rosetta’s green eyes, then to Rashid in the distance.
“Riga just said, ‘Lavender in all its fragrance is the light of my two eyes,’ so maybe he’s referring to the color of his and your eyes.”
Rosetta’s cheeks flushed for a moment. She coughed, trying to look nonchalant. “Oh, no. It must be from the original song.”
“As far as I know, there’s no such verse in the original song. The original lyrics are ‘Lavender in all its fragrance is my light’. Sure, there may have been some paraphrasing in the translation from Ardennes to Latisse, but this is more of a clear intent than a paraphrase…”
“Hush, I can’t hear the song because of you.” Rosetta turned away, embarrassed.
Sika smiled cheekily. “Yeah, yeah, I guess so. What do I know? I don’t even have a girlfriend. I’ll shut up now.”
Rosetta glared at Sika for a moment as he shrugged. This was clearly revenge for her teasing earlier.
Yeah, maybe what Sika had just said was a lie. Maybe the line was actually in the original song and he lied and said it was a new one. Or maybe he just made up some ridiculous interpretation.
Yeah, that’s probably it. What does that blunt man know?
With that rationalization, Rosetta turned her head back toward the stage, and that’s when her eyes met Rashid’s. Their green and blue eyes tangled in the air, and strangely enough, that’s when her heart started pounding.
‘Why am I feeling this way?’
Rosetta put a hand to her chest, her heart pounding incessantly. It was pounding like it was going to jump out of her body at any moment. Had I eaten something wrong?
Rosetta reached for her glass on the table. She gulped down the red juice in one long gulp.
Then the song stopped, and the lute ended. As everyone rose to their feet and clapped, Rosetta staggered to her feet, her vision strangely blurry.
“Rigaina, is something wrong?” Sika asked, realizing something was wrong with Rosetta. Her eyes, which had been so clear just a moment ago, were hazy and her expression was blank.
Rosetta rubbed her forehead and muttered, “…I think the juice tastes a little strange.”
Sika stared at the red liquid remaining in Rosetta’s glass. Bringing the glass to his nose and sniffing it, Sika gasped in surprise.
“Rigaina, this isn’t juice, it’s wine!”
“Wine? Why would wine…”
While thinking in a daze, Rosetta remembered that the maid had brought her a new glass after she dropped it earlier. Apparently, it had been filled with wine instead of juice in the process.
“You drank all of this in one shot?”
Rosetta nodded, and Sika was shocked. “Are you okay? Even a grown man would get drunk right away if he drank all of this at once.”
Rosetta looked at Sika and smiled. In response, Sika looked even more worried.
“No, I don’t think I’m okay…”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than a thud sounded. Sika’s surprised shout echoed through the banquet hall.
“Rigaina!”
***
In the dead of night, Rosie walked down the hallway with her brother Fertan. Her cloak was pulled up to her head, hiding her face.
It was the first time she had left her room since her marriage was annulled. Of course, she had been sneaking out of her room at night to visit Allen and the others in prison, but no one knew about it.
But Fertan, who had never sought her out in all these years, had suddenly come to her today and ordered her to go to Duke Iselle Scallion’s room immediately. According to him, the Duke had requested that a woman be sent to his room. Not a maid, but at least the daughter of a clan leader.
There wouldn’t be enough time to find a woman of high status on short notice. So he must have reached out to his sister, the one nearest to him.
“You must serve the Duke well. Rosie, do you understand me?”
Uncharacteristically, Fertan continued to behave friendly. He’d been cursing since the marriage had been annulled. If someone hadn’t stopped him, a few punches would have been thrown. Now he looked like he was afraid his sister was going to be rude to the Duke.
“You should think about it, too. You should be grateful to me that I gave you this chance and not some other girl. No one likes a bride who’s been abandoned by her groom, and you’re bound to end up marrying someone older and shabbier than the Croa chieftain. Wouldn’t you rather have the young and handsome Duke of Iselle? You may not be a proper wife because he has Princess Lysa, but a mistress isn’t that bad. And the fact that he himself asked me to fetch a woman for him makes it clear that he doesn’t intend to be content with one just because he’s marrying a princess.”
Rosie found herself giggling at that point. So far, the rumors she’d heard about the Duke of Iselle had been nothing but good. He was sweet and thoughtful, and close to Princess Lysa, the future Archduchess, since childhood.
What kind of man would even think of taking a woman into his room before his marriage?
Despite her own predicament, she pitied the situation of Princess Rosetta.
When no word came back from the messenger to Hezen, Rosie had already made her preparations. Allen and the nanny had insisted that the Duke of Iselle would never do such a thing, but Rosie had never believed in such things as the human heart. Who could she trust when her own blood family was like that?