Until this point, I had put very little thought into Rasantark’s and Kenntrips’s hopes and emotions. Yet here was Rasantark, doing his best to protect me as one of my engagement candidates. Perhaps now was the time to take them both seriously.
“Indeed,” I said at last. “They do cherish me, from what I can tell.”
In hindsight, I was not showing them as much consideration as they were showing me. I would need to thank them for knowing how much to advertise themselves as my chosen suitors when interacting with other duchies.
“I did not think you would say as much, Lady Hannelore...” Rasantark mused. “Does this mean I can start ordering a hairpin through Lady Rozemyne?”
“Please do not interrupt us,” I said.
In an instant, my newfound appreciation faded away. I glared up at Rasantark with a menacing smile, and he reflexively stepped back, insisting that he had only been talking to himself.
“I see there is a variety of instruments being brought to class this year,” Lady Rozemyne said. Rather than everyone having a harspiel, roughly half of the room held flutes or percussion instruments.
“Indeed, as we have entered our fifth year, we must start preparing for the songs offered to the gods during the graduation ceremony. Students not chosen for the sword dance or the dedication whirl are made to either perform or sing. Those skilled in instruments other than the harspiel are attempting to catch the professor’s eye.”
“I suppose we really are close to graduating... I spent the bulk of my fourth year in the Garden of Beginnings, so I scarcely feel like a fifth-year.”
I am surprised she feels like a student at all, considering her recent inauguration as an aub. Not to mention her tendency to return home halfway through the academic term.
Although I chose not to say it, I suspected that leading Dunkelfelger into war and becoming the ruler of an entire duchy were largely to blame for Lady Rozemyne not feeling the appropriate age.
“As it stands, I am glad to have grown, but my initial response was nothing but resentment for the gods...” Lady Rozemyne muttered with a sigh, turning her gaze upward. It felt as though she were looking at the gods themselves, so I straightened my back on instinct.
“Speaking of the graduation ceremony—which goddess will you be whirling as?” I asked, hoping to bring her eyes back down. Lords Wilfried and Ortwin must have overheard, as they approached without a moment’s hesitation.
“I, too, am curious,” said the former.
“Based on the duchy rankings, I would think that you should be the Goddess of Light, Lady Hannelore,” the latter added. “But with Lady Rozemyne being an aub...”
Just as the performers of the sword dance were chosen from the knight course, dancers for the dedication whirl were chosen from among the archduke candidates. Each year, archduke candidates would speculate on who would whirl as which god.
Unfazed by all the eyes on her, Lady Rozemyne placed a hand on her cheek and gave a troubled smile. “I shall not be participating in the graduation ceremony’s dedication whirl. Instead, I will join those playing music.”
“Come again?”
Her answer caused not just me but every archnoble in earshot to stare at her in shock. It was the last thing any of us had expected. She had whirled so enchantingly since her very first year at the Academy, so not one of us had thought she would not be onstage for the ceremony.
“Is there a reason for that?” I pressed.
“When I whirled for the Zent’s transference ceremony, I completed my offering to the gods. There is also a good chance that my whirling would open the path to the Garden of Beginnings, so to ensure everyone’s safety, it seems best for me to abstain. Involving the gods would create quite a mess for Ferdinand and the Zent to clean up.”
Her primary concern is summoning the gods themselves?
Lady Rozemyne smiled and tried to make light of the situation, but her reasoning for abstaining was so far removed from my every expectation that I knew not how to respond. My own concern over which goddess I would perform as felt childish in comparison.
Lord Ortwin and I were rendered utterly dazed, forced to devote all of our focus merely to masking our surprise. Lord Wilfried, on the other hand, was used to Lady Rozemyne’s antics. He frowned and stared at her quizzically.
“Are you sure playing music is safe when your songs fire out bless— I mean, when your songs produce many blessings as well...?”
More than his impolite speech, it was the object of his concern that stunned us all. Certainly, when Lady Rozemyne played in class, the wondrous light of a blessing suffused the room alongside her music. Both whirling and playing an instrument counted as offerings to the gods; would the result not be the same in both cases?
“We should not need to worry as long as I am not atop the whirling stage or the ritual carpet, so I plan to play my instrument in the corner, far away from them both. I might still produce a blessing, but it should create a pillar of light at most.”
As trivial as you make it sound, creating such a spectacle would normally require the mana of an entire group of nobles.
In the Dunkelfelger Dormitory, pillars of light formed only from the rituals before and after ditter, and only when there were more than ten players involved. Lady Rozemyne could make them on her own, and she considered them tame compared to what she was truly capable of. No wonder she was known as the divine avatar and had received the Grutrissheit from the gods themselves.