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“It would be too dangerous if another war broke out. This time, they would even request troops from Bolton.”
Marcel, who had been listening quietly, whispered softly.
The things he whispered seemed utterly unrealistic.
“When has Bolton ever agreed to such a thing? Especially since Orturan has no right to ask that of us.”
“Antaka will be the one requesting it. They’ll want to send fewer of their own soldiers. Do you think Bolton could refuse a request from its closest ally?”
“Of course they would refuse. It’s far too distant a concern for them.”
And it was a useless endeavor. Rose had eyes and ears, so she knew why the other countries had gone to war three years ago, but she couldn't understand it.
The Kingdom of Radan, located at the eastern edge of the continent, shared a border with the Cuetra Empire of another continent.
In the midst of expanding their territories, Cuetra and Radan clashed, and Orturan and Antaka joined the war for the sake of their allies.
On the grounds that they could not stand by and watch pagans flaunt their power.
However, embarrassingly, the allied forces struggled throughout the conflict.
It was said that the tide of war only turned after Ray Crawford joined the fray.
“It’s not as if Cuetra is attacking Bolton; surely they wouldn't participate.”
“Look at you and me. Bolton is the only country on this continent without its own language. Some regions borrow Antaka, others borrow Orturan... In a position where we even borrow our language from others, would a refusal be possible?”
Looking up at Marcel’s face, which was filled with anxiety, Rose let out a small sigh.
“...My husband says there will be no war. Please don't worry.”
Rose felt Ray was like a stranger, but she believed his words. After all, her husband was a man who had lived achieving everything he desired. Except for his unfortunate marriage to her.
If such a man said there would be no war, she could believe it.
“You know, Rose. I’ve started a magazine with some renowned artists. But it hasn't been promoted enough yet... It would be great if there were an interview or an article that could pique people's interest.”
At the sudden change of topic, Rose shifted her gaze from Ray to Marcel.
“They are people who oppose the war. It would be good if their opinions could gain some traction.”
Ah.
An interview that would pique interest.
Realizing his intention, Rose let out a hollow laugh.
“Teacher, I won't be of any help. If you've seen the newspapers, you know how the people here think of me.”
“But don't you also need a place where you can tell your own story? Or, if possible, perhaps Duke Crawford...”
Rose did not answer.
There was nothing to be gained from such a conversation. The magazine might gain popularity, but she would be dragged into gossip again, and Ray Crawford would end up running around frantically to fix the mess.
“I'm not sure.”
After giving a short answer, Rose suddenly felt a wave of fatigue.
The freedom of conversing in the Antaka language was fleeting; the conversation with her former teacher continued to remind her of a past she had tried hard to forget.
Rose looked up at the teacher, who had once been one of the people she loved and trusted most.
Marcel had come to her like a stroke of luck in the Bolton countryside. His kind face and personality remained the same.
But now, he was no longer someone she needed.
That change felt bitter.
* * *
Ray couldn't hear the conversation between Rose and Marcel clearly, but he could tell it wasn't in the Orturan language.
Hearing a few words of Antaka, he assumed they were speaking in that language.
Using a different language just between the two of them—they really are in a world of their own.
As they drew closer to the table, they exchanged words in hushed whispers, then soon drifted apart again.
Since the marriage, Ray had become accustomed to constantly observing his unpredictable wife and keeping her within his sight. Now, his gaze followed her more out of habit than reliance.
Perhaps thinking the topic of war had heightened the atmosphere too much, the Ambassador's wife cleared her throat and changed the subject.
“Mrs. Crawford is very composed. I arranged this meeting thinking she would be thrilled to see her former teacher.”
At the wife's words, the Ambassador let out a hearty laugh.
“Of course she's happy on the inside, dear. You know Boltonians well.”
Ray looked at the Ambassador, confused by the remark, and the man added an explanation with a benevolent smile.
“Orturans might not know, but Boltonians aren't naturally prone to smiling! That's why a Boltonian's sincere smile is said to be the greatest gift one can receive from them.”
What kind of great gift was that?
It truly was a peculiar country.
“Especially a bright one. They only show that to those they are very intimate with.”
“That sounds like they are somewhat lacking in manners.”
“From an Orturan's perspective, I suppose so.”
The Ambassador chuckled at Ray's indifferent response. If Bolton had no laughter and Orturan had smiles, then Antaka had laughter in excess.
“Laughter doesn't necessarily mean kindness, does it? They are good people. They just seem to think there's no need to grin like fools all the time.”
“Why, there's even a proverb in Bolton. A person who smiles without reason is either a cleric or a madman.”
The proverb the Ambassador's wife shared as if it were amusing sounded quite extreme to Ray's ears.
Then to that woman, all Orturans must have looked like madmen, Ray thought.
No wonder she had acted as if she were ignoring a barking dog.
“Mr. Elliot Davis wasn't like that.”
Ray recalled the craftsman from Bolton who always wore a glistening smile on his face.
“Oh, goodness, isn't that man an Orturan now? He's obtained citizenship here. Only Orturan refuses to recognize it.”
Ambassador Antaka pointed out the prejudice of Orturan with nonchalance.
“By the way, your wife's piano playing was truly wonderful. I envy you, Minister, for being able to hear such beautiful sounds often at home.”
Ray had heard it for the first time today, and he didn't know if he would ever hear it again, but he simply smiled.
He suddenly wondered.
What on earth do Boltonians do when it's too tedious to respond to everything individually? This is exactly when a smile is needed.
“I think His Majesty King Catherine would love it if she heard it. She is someone who truly loves music.”
Letting the Ambassador's words go in one ear and out the other, Ray watched the man and woman talking closely. Their expressions remained serious throughout, regardless of what they were discussing.
After finishing their conversation, the woman—who looked exhausted and completely devoid of vitality—eventually approached.
“Thank you for arranging this. Thanks to you, I was able to see my teacher after a long time.”
As the woman greeted them slowly in Orturan with an awkward smile, the Ambassador and his wife beamed.
“I'm glad you enjoyed it. But I didn't arrange this meeting solely to introduce you to Mr. Garnier.”
The Ambassador continued energetically.
“I believe your mother's hometown is Dlow City in Antaka? It's the same as my wife's hometown, so I wanted to create this opportunity. I could sense the traces of the western region in your Antaka accent.”
“It brought back old memories, it was lovely. Let's meet again.”
The Ambassador's wife patted Rose's arm quite affectionately, as if she had genuinely enjoyed herself.
Seeing the exchange of pleasantries, it was now time to leave.
Ray naturally tidied up and led Rose out of the embassy. The Ambassador, his wife, and Marcel saw them out to the entrance.
“Rose, here is my address. Write to me.”
After the final goodbyes, Marcel handed a slip of paper to Rose and spoke to her in Antaka.
The man, who used the foreign language as if he didn't care about Ray's presence, gave his characteristic eye-smile.
For the first time, Ray was glad that the man could speak Antaka. He didn't particularly like it when things he didn't know or understand happened right before his eyes.
Even if he couldn't discern the thoughts or emotions exchanged between them, at least he could understand the words.
Rose remained silent even after boarding the carriage.
She was so quiet that not even the sound of her breathing could be heard; when he glanced beside him, there was only a woman with an expressionless face staring blankly out the window.
Remembering how depressed Rose had looked after playing the piano, Ray felt uncomfortable again.
“...If you didn't want to play the piano, you didn't have to.”
“My feelings aren't particularly important, are they?”
Rose replied without even looking at Ray. Her quiet voice didn't even sound sarcastic.
It was a voice so humble, as if she had understood that fact deep in her heart.
“Why don't you play the piano anymore?”
The question escaped him unconsciously.
Only then did Rose turn her head to look at Ray. She looked surprised, as if she hadn't expected him to ask such a question.
In the carriage where only the sound of the rolling wheels could be heard, their gazes met for a long time. Her pale green eyes searched him, as if trying to find his intention.
Strangely, Ray felt for the first time that he was seeing Rose's face properly. The gaze they shared in the silence was prolonged.
After a moment, the woman was the first to avert her eyes.
“Because my wrists hurt.”
Rose murmured, looking down at the floor of the carriage. Ray remembered that she often clasped or massaged her own hands. He had thought it was just a habit.
At the same time, he recalled her wrists, which had turned red yesterday when he had unfairly gripped them.
Of all things, I grabbed her wrists.
Ray let out a hollow laugh.
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