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The artist's fans bought and read the magazine, and as a result, debates broke out wherever there was a spare moment—on the streets, in restaurants, in cafes, in drawing rooms, and in kitchens.
While the opposition to the war did not become strong enough to completely overwhelm the pro-war sentiment, it reached a point of equilibrium.
“It is a relief that the Prime Minister has announced his position, but I intend to keep speaking out. I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you, my Lord, are opposed to the war.”
Marcel spoke with a rather solemn air.
As he suggested, as useless conflicts became more frequent, the Prime Minister was eventually forced to issue a vague statement claiming that war was not the most pressing issue at the moment.
That, for the time being, each of the Allied nations had more important tasks to attend to.
It was an excessively ambiguous statement, but at the very least, it meant Avery would not be able to run wild like a warrior on the brink of war. For a while, anyway.
Ray looked at his wife, the one who had brought about this result.
She was talking to Ben a short distance away. The gaze she cast upon her younger brother was so tender that it felt unfamiliar.
Ray noticed Rose habitually rubbing her wrists as she spoke.
“...How serious is my wife's wrist injury?”
“You knew?”
When Marcel asked back with a surprised expression, Ray was overcome by a subtle sense of displeasure.
Am I supposed to be ignorant of such things regarding my own wife?
“She will be fine as long as she doesn't play the piano.”
“Are you saying she shouldn't play at all?”
“Playing occasionally wouldn't matter, but if she exceeds twenty minutes, it will be too much of a strain. It's a pity. She must have tried composing because she felt the loss herself...”
Composing.
It seemed she had lived quite diligently, trying to do whatever she could.
“Did she have a talent for composition as well?”
“Well, if she were to learn properly, she would likely be good at it. She lacks the fundamentals, but she has the intuition.”
“I assume you never taught Ms. Rose composition, Mr. Garnier.”
“I was far away, so I wasn't in a position to oversee her properly.”
Marcel glanced at Rose and continued.
“But isn't it a futile effort anyway? If a woman cannot become the best, why bother... realistically speaking. Being a pianist had far more potential. At the very least, she could have held recitals in Bolton and Antaka.”
It was a very realistic perspective.
Ray had always thought that artists engaged in airy, impractical pursuits, but Marcel's expression as he spoke of reality was quite cold.
It felt as though he was discovering various facets of art.
“You wouldn't want Rose to dwell on such things, would you, my Lord?”
Ray expressed his agreement with silence. Indeed, there was nothing to be gained by the Duchess immersing herself in such matters. Such things were far too... professional.
“It seems she's given up anyway. Perhaps that's why her personality has changed so much since I last saw her.”
The man, speaking as if he knew Rose well, suddenly became irritating. Is it acceptable for a man like this to know things that I do not?
“Fifteen is a long time ago, so she probably isn't the same person as then.”
“Oh, no. I saw her occasionally whenever I went to Bolton after that. I believe the last time I saw her was about two or three years ago.”
That meant they had remained in contact until quite recently.
Having grown accustomed to Rose living like an alien without any ties, Ray felt like a fool failing an exam every time a piece of her past—one he was unaware of—surfaced.
One must know everything to be able to control it.
“...Did she have a talent for singing as well?”
The question was impulsive. It was because he recalled a certain night when she lay on the sofa, humming a song.
“Singing?”
Marcel frowned and asked back.
“Did she ever sing...? I don't recall ever hearing her.”
If that were the case, then this man also had things he didn't know about Rose. That fact slightly erased the displeasure he had felt.
He felt a strange sense of victory.
“Oh, excuse me for a moment, Duke Crawford.”
Marcel abruptly asked for understanding and moved toward where Rose and Ben were. It was only when he saw Agatha appearing behind him that Ray understood the reason.
Apparently, this Antakaro pianist felt uncomfortable around Agatha, the incarnation of tradition.
“I wonder if Rose's claim that young Davis has good grades is actually true? There are so many children from prestigious families at Oakley School.”
“It seems true that the faculty's evaluation of him is high.”
Ray gave a cursory answer to Agatha and continued to watch his wife.
When Marcel said something to Rose, she suddenly burst into laughter.
It wasn't loud, but it was definitely the sound of laughter. A laugh like quiet music spread through the drawing room.
“My. She actually knows how to laugh.”
Agatha murmured in a surprised tone.
With a stiff face, Ray stared at Rose, who was still smiling, the remnants of her laughter lingering.
The woman was showing a side of herself he had never once seen—and she was showing it elsewhere, not to him.
Ray had always thought that there was something wrong with this woman.
Finally, he discovered what that problem was. The reason for the displeasure and sense of incongruity he felt every time he looked at his wife.
Rose Davis had come to him empty. Without a single shred of her true self remaining.
“It seems she's given up anyway.”
The words of the man who knew her past lingered deeply in his mind.
His wife had come to him because she had discarded her life, because she had given up on living.
Ray had married an empty shell.
* * *
“Do you know Father has completely lost his mind?”
As the dinner concluded and they prepared to see off the guests, Ben approached Rose and whispered.
“I think his business isn't going as planned after you got married. He was saying how some high-ranking official in Cuetra wanted you, and he's lamenting that he should have sent you there instead. He's making a fuss that he should have broken into Cuetra.”
Ben's tone was quite serious, but Rose wasn't particularly surprised. It was typical of a father whose greed knew no bounds.
“I'm telling you, he looked like he was ready to actually sell you off to them. I heard people in Cuetra don't believe in just one god, but several. How are you supposed to live in a place like that?”
“Well, I think it would be better than living with Father.”
Ben chuckled at Rose's indifferent response.
“Still, I think it's a relief you married into this noisy household instead. It's better than Cuetra.”
Ben spoke with a quite serious face after wiping away his smile, but in Rose's eyes, he still looked as young as the day they first met.
The year Rose turned sixteen, she had gone to find her father in Antaka to get money for her mother's hospital bills. Her father, who had coldly cut off the living expenses for the mother and daughter, was smiling there while holding a young boy.
With a face of utmost tenderness.
It seemed the father had kept Rose's existence a secret from Ben's mother and lied, saying that Rose's mother was too mentally ill to be legally divorced.
Ben's mother, Charity, must have been deeply shocked upon learning of Rose's existence, as she left the father.
Afterward, she used to send money to Rose, telling her to add a portion of the alimony she had received to the hospital bills.
Ben resembled Charity a great deal.
Kind and intelligent.
Seven-year-old Ben, upon confirming the existence of his half-sister, had apologized first, unlike a child his age. While crying.
It wasn't something Ben needed to apologize for.
Rose had instead worried that Ben might end up in the same position as her because of her, but fortunately—or unfortunately—the father truly loved his son.
“Are you still composing?”
The kind younger brother, who still looked exactly as he did back then, asked.
When Rose didn't give much of an answer, Ben clicked his tongue as if he were the older brother.
“Don't give up. It's not like only one or two places rejected you, right?”
“Giving up is also a form of courage, Ben.”
Unable to confess that she had been rejected by ten places, Rose replied briefly.
“If you're worried about me, I'm fine, Rose. I'm doing great at school, and I'm all grown up now.”
The brother, whose cheeks still hadn't thinned, squared his shoulders for no reason, pretending to be a fully grown man.
Surely Ben must have faced many tiring situations at school because of their father and Rose, yet he never let it show, which was both admirable and touching.
“So don't worry about me and just do what you want.”
“Hmm? Since when did I ever worry about you?”
When Rose joked to change the subject, Ben willingly played along.
“Geez, this woman is cold. Aren't you my sister?”
Because of Ben, who chuckled and playfully nudged Rose's arm, Rose let out a laugh unconsciously.
As she laughed and turned her head, Rose suddenly discovered Ray staring at her. He was gazing at her with his usual expressionless face.
Just how long has he been watching like that?
As the smile vanished from Rose's face as she became uncomfortable, Ben looked around to find the cause. Eventually, Ben's face also darkened upon discovering Ray.
“Rose, perhaps...”
“Ben, I'm fine. This is what I chose.”
Rose forced a smile again and gently patted her brother's arm.
Rose thought that if one gives up on life carelessly, one must pay the price.
Fortunately, she was not alone in this Orturan.
Meeting Ben, even for a short while, was a great emotional help.
“You're the one who shouldn't worry about me; just work hard at school.”
And so, Rose was able to send her brother away with a willing smile.
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