“Lady Rozemyne,” Lord Ortwin said, “would it not seem out of place for Aub Alexandria to perform in the corner?” It would cause a commotion among the other students, especially when she had sat beside the Zent during the fellowship gathering.
“I understand your concern, but Ferdinand would never permit me to perform somewhere as dangerous as the center,” she explained. “Not to mention, sitting in some gaudy chair far from the stage would only exacerbate the idea that I receive special treatment.”
Lady Rozemyne was determined not to take the stage. I wondered if she would manage to persuade others to her way of thinking—few would consider playing an instrument as dangerous as she did.
“In any case,” she continued, “I intend to remain very much in the background. A few blessings and pillars of light should blend right in during the ceremony.”
Oh, Lady Rozemyne! There must be a limit to how abnormal one can be!
So grand were her “dramatics” that my head started to spin. A student aub permeating the auditorium with blessings and music could never blend in with her peers. She would create more of a scene than Lady Detlinde had with her own performance. The more Lady Rozemyne strove to blend in, the more she would inevitably stand out.
“Well, all that aside, I doubt we have much reason to worry...” Lord Wilfried said. “Uncle will make sure everything works out.”
“Indeed, he will communicate with the Zent to ensure as much,” Lady Rozemyne insisted. “Not to mention, we have an entire year before our graduation ceremony.”
Somehow, the pair before me seemed completely on the same page. Many had taken to bad-mouthing Lord Wilfried since the cancellation of his engagement, but the concern he showed for Lady Rozemyne proved just how kind he truly was.
“Now then, everyone,” Professor Pauline began, “your tasks this year are to play the song to be performed during the graduation ceremony and a song that you composed with your music tutor. I am always delighted to hear so many new pieces. What have you all prepared, I wonder?” Especially brief songs would be rejected, but otherwise, we were free to devote our music to gods of our choosing.
“Is this to say that, each year, there are as many new songs produced as there are students?” Lady Rozemyne asked me.
“Not quite. This is a requirement only for archnobles and archduke candidates.” Many laynobles and mednobles lacked a dedicated music tutor to consult. Even if they had one, as they were studying so intensely for their graduation, they would not even have time to compose their own songs.
Because so many students had such limited exposure to music, the professors had a hard time determining where everyone’s talent lay. They had to decide who should spend what little time they had on the harspiel and who should focus on other instruments instead. Professor Rauffen said as much each year when he had to announce how the instruments were being distributed.
“Is that so?” Lady Rozemyne asked, cocking her head at my explanation. “Professor Hirschur rarely ever visits the Ehrenfest Dormitory, so I know painfully little about our teachers’ hardships. In truth, it feels strange having a supervisor who actually spends time in the dormitory she oversees.”
A female supervisor had been sent from Alexandria to replace Professor Fraularm, but as I had not taken the scholar course, I had yet to actually see her. Kenntrips had informed me that she had lost her husband during the Lanzenave War.
“I cannot even imagine a dormitory without a supervisor,” I said.
“I doubt most would need to.”
Without a dormitory supervisor at hand, what did the students of Ehrenfest do when they had inquiries about classes, wanted to retake exams, or received challenges to ditter matches? Did they have to contact Professor Hirschur by ordonnanz?
I was still deep in thought when Lady Rozemyne raised a hand. “Professor Pauline, I have a question,” she said. “For the latter task, would it be acceptable to use a song I have already composed?”
Our teacher paused. Under normal circumstances, the answer would naturally be yes. My brother had told me what to expect long ago—back when he was in his third year—so I had finished my composition well in advance. It was a fairly common practice, but Lady Rozemyne had gone above and beyond, and her previous songs were already rather popular. Professor Pauline must have been eager to hear something brand-new.
“I shall accept any song that you have not already debuted,” she said at last.
“Hmm... I wonder which one I should choose,” Lady Rozemyne mused aloud.
At once, I was overcome with the urge to look away. Had she truly composed so many songs that she knew not which one to play? Having to devote attention to my other classes meant I had only recently finished my own composition. I intended to hone it with my tutor, but it would be beyond me to make another entirely from scratch.
“Rozemyne,” Lord Wilfried whispered, not caring to address her formally.
“Yes, Wilfried?” she asked in just as low a voice.
“Professor Pauline means a song made with your instructor, not with Uncle. Do you have any?”
“Of course. Rosina always yearns for new songs, so we have made plenty without his involvement. I see music as more than just a means to bargain with him, you know.”
I exchanged a look with Lord Ortwin. Evidently, we both had the same question in mind.
“Have you made plenty with his involvement, Lady Rozemyne?” Lord Ortwin asked hesitantly. “Erm, since the time you were in Ehrenfest, I mean.”