Chapter 13 The Silent Role
THE SILENT ROLE
Both Carlotta and I were expected back at the theatre the next day.
The show must go on, and the Lutesse City Opera patrons didn’t care about our individual traumas.
We were to premiere a new opera buffa the following night, and there was still much to figure out in rehearsals, including who would now be singing the lead role of the countess.
Despite the spectre of the lead role hanging over our head, we took the tram together, chatting and gossiping about the comings and goings of the Opera Company. Carlotta’s eye was still bruised but she was able to put a smaller bandage on the gash on her head, and she almost looked normal again.
When we arrived at the theatre, the entire company was gathering on the stage. My palms itched as we approached. Madame Giselle was there—as was the viscount. I didn’t know what he was doing here, but it couldn’t mean anything good.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have decided to gather to discuss the show tomorrow, and how we will proceed since our prima donna has been injured.” Madame Giselle addressed the entire company. “Viscount de Barras, would you please inform everyone of your decision?”
“The role of the countess will be sung by Carlotta,” the viscount stated plainly.
Everyone began murmuring. Carlotta hadn’t even made an appearance back at the theatre until today.
From where she stood beside me, her face was stoic and unreadable.
I grabbed her hand, ready to tell her she didn’t have to do anything she wasn’t ready for. She squeezed my hand once in return.
“Viscount, I must disagree with this decision.” Madame Giselle turned to the viscount with a look of shock. “I thought we had agreed that Seraphina would sing for the lead role?”
“Seraphina is not good enough,” the viscount stated, with ice in his voice, “our patrons have paid to see Carlotta sing. They will get what they paid for. It is a business decision, I’m afraid.
” The viscount’s eyes met mine, and for a moment, I detected hatred.
Not annoyance or even the mild derision of the night at the club.
No. This was pure hatred. I looked away, unable to stomach his gaze.
“I’ll be ready for tomorrow night.” Carlotta had left my side, walking downstage to stand beside the viscount.
“I’m fine, Madame Giselle, really.” Carlotta met my eyes across the stage, her lips pursed.
Perhaps she was sad that I wouldn’t be singing for the role of the countess.
But maybe, just maybe, she was equally invested in protecting her own position within the company.
“Carlotta, with all due respect, you are not cleared to perform. You will not be able to stand with that wig on for the entire show. This is ridiculous. I am against this decision,” Madame Giselle said in her most biting tone.
Everyone, and I mean everyone, in the company was afraid when she used that voice.
But the viscount ignored her entirely. “Well, fortunately this is not your decision to make.” His voice was cool, calculated and cunning.
There was not a hint of warmth or understanding on his face.
“As for the costume, the show must go on. Carlotta has said she’s ready.
We must believe her!” He clapped his hands together as if that was that.
“Carlotta will be playing the role of the countess, and let’s see, ah yes, Seraphina Dallier.
You will play the pageboy. The silent role.
” The viscount’s stare was a dagger in my direction.
“Thank you for your time. You’re all dismissed.
” He exited stage left, like a harbinger of death.
The entire company was in an uproar, protesting, whispering, some outright shouting that it wasn’t right to put Carlotta in this position. She still stood downstage, with her hands on her waist. She cleared her throat, and everyone looked in her direction, the murmuring and whispering silenced.
“I appreciate your concern, but the viscount is right. I am ready to perform tomorrow. I am a professional and I do not need you to concern yourselves with my well-being. You are all dismissed. Get back to rehearsal or no one will be ready to perform this show.” The prima donna had spoken. She had the final word as usual.
We rehearsed all day. I was happy to be acting alongside my friend, even though it seemed like the viscount was trying to punish me by putting me in this role where I was neither dancing nor singing.
I was worried about Carlotta, but she had assured everyone that she was fine.
Maren and I made an agreement to keep an eye on her throughout the rehearsal, ensuring she got adequate rest, food and water.
We mother hen-ed for the rest of the day, and it seemed like everything was going to be alright.
The ballet in this particular opera was a beautiful pastoral springtime piece which occurred in the second act.
I watched the ballerinas rehearse from side-stage.
I ached to see them dancing without me. Maren was such a brilliant dancer, and my heart soared as she jetéd and piquéd across the stage.
She would make principal dancer soon. I would never be as beautiful as she was with her perfect arms and long, long, legs—her statuesque relevé.
And perhaps I would never sing quite like Carlotta either.
In those quiet moments, I wondered what my place was here.
If perhaps I didn’t belong as they did. It felt like I didn’t belong anywhere at all.
After a seemingly endless day of rehearsing, I was ready to go home. But I found Seff waiting for me in the gilded atrium of the opera house once more. He strolled over and gently kissed my cheek. I took his hand and he offered to take me home.
We walked in silence for a bit before he spoke.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get the lead singing role,” Seff said, his voice low and soft as velvet.
“It’s fine. It wasn’t my role to lose. I’m just happy Carlotta is alright.” I smiled, pushing down any feelings that may have bubbled up: envy, resentment, fear—I pushed them down as far as they could go.
“Well, I know you had your little foray into fame when you filled in for Carlotta,” Seff began, “but I think it’s better this way.” He smiled down at me.
“Okay…”
“After what happened the other night? It’s not safe for you to be in the spotlight like that.
Ciaran and his followers won’t stop trying to come after the Church—my father—they’ll use you again,” he explained, “and anyway, you’re nowhere near ready to be in a starring role in the Lutesse City Opera,” he said, like it was obvious.
“You’d need years more practice to be anywhere close to good enough.
And by that time, you won’t be performing anymore.
” His words were matter of fact. Statements, not questions.
“I won’t be?”
“Of course not. You won’t have time to do all this anymore once we have a family. You’ll be far too busy—running the household, caring for the children. Once we’re married there will be no need for you to perform in the Opera Company anymore.”
There it was. His statement dropped into my being like a stone into the depths of that underground Cistern.
Down, down, down, to the core of it, the truth of it.
With Seff, I would be little more than an accessory—someone’s wife.
It wasn’t just the viscount and the archbishop spouting off nonsense.
Seff wanted the same things. A quiver full of Scion arrows.
I would not be Seraphina the dancer, the singer, the artist. With Seff I would be the viscountess, the wife, the mother, the good, godly churchgoing woman.
Just another version of his mother. The image of her bony face, joyless and gaunt, kneeling in supplication, flashed into my mind.
That was the future Seff saw for me. The future he wanted for me.
Something under my skin seemed to recoil at those words.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up; the street lights that we walked beneath flickered and then went out.
I gulped, trying to reign in my emotions, as Ciaran’s wicked voice filled my head: “You have an incredible gift.” As Maren’s face flashed in my mind, dreamweed billowing out of her mouth as she told me to follow my heart.
My heart, which was now pounding in my chest, screaming to get off this merry-go-round.
“You haven’t said anything,” Seff said quietly as we approached my building—the first place I had ever called mine.
A place Seff would undoubtedly have me give up.
“You do want to marry me, don’t you, Seraphina?
” Seff looked at me with eyes of piercing blue.
And I couldn’t get a word out. My throat felt like it was closing.
“Are you asking me now?” I managed to swallow past whatever was blocking my throat. To answer Seff before he thought I was having a stroke. Maybe I was.
“I was planning to do it in a more formal way, since we got my father’s approval. But… yes. We can make things official now. We don’t need to wait, when it is going to be inevitable anyway.” Seff shifted back and forth.
“Your father’s approval?” My brows knitted together as I focused in on that part of Seff’s statement. He had to be kidding. “Is that what that was? At Montmartre?”
“Of course. And at the church. He’s given us his blessing. We are free to marry. You don’t have to worry about any of this—” he gestured toward my home, “—or any of that opera drama anymore.”
My throat really was closing. I opened and closed my mouth, but no sounds came out.
“You’ll have to convert officially,” Seff went on, “to the Church of Scion. Since you haven’t been baptized or had any of the sacraments.
Usually it’s a tedious process, but since my father is friends with the archbishop, I’m sure we’ll be able to expedite it,” he continued explaining.
“And then there’s the wedding ceremony, of course.
It will be quite the to-do. But that’s the féerie tale, isn’t it?
Every girl’s dream? A wedding to a viscount’s heir?
The talk of the whole city?” Seff didn’t seem to notice that I hadn’t said a word.
As he spoke, I wasn’t sure he’d ever listened to a word I had said.
“Seff…” I finally managed to make a sound. “Seff I’m… I don’t know what to say,” I stuttered. It was a féerie tale. Just like the romantic and fantastical stories I had grown up with. And I had always imagined that I would end up with Seff someday. But now? Something within me recoiled.
“Say yes.” Seff’s brows furrowed. He seemed to have just noticed that I wasn’t jumping for joy at this impromptu proposal.
“I… I don’t know if I can,” I said finally.
Seff had gone very still. “It sounds wonderful,” I lied, backpedalling.
The last thing I wanted right now was a blowout—to have Seff as angry with me as he’d been when he found out about Ciaran and the rooftop.
“It’s just a lot to process. And I have a very early rehearsal.
” I feigned a yawn. “Can we just wait? I mean, what’s the rush? ” A very fake giggle slipped out.
“There’s no rush, Seraphina. I just…”
“Oh my goodness, it’s so late. And I have to get some rest—big day tomorrow.
I’ll see you after the show, okay Seff. Good night!
” I kissed him on the cheek before he had a chance to say another word, and disappeared into my apartment, making sure to lock the door behind me.
I didn’t let the sobs leave my body until I was sure Seff had gone.
I cried for a long time. I had let some of my emotions out with Carlotta, but this feeling was beyond that.
It was existential. I had been floating through life for a while.
I was untethered. I was allowing things to just happen to me, and I was not taking control or responsibility for my own life—for my own destiny.
I couldn’t exactly blame Seff. I had given no indication that what he had said wasn’t everything I wanted.
I knew who he was. I knew what would be expected of someone who was going to be his wife.
But I let it all happen anyway. I let myself get swept up in the romance of it all.
I let myself believe that he could be who I wanted him to be.
The thought that someone would even look at me in that way: that they would see me as more than just a casual conquest. I liked that feeling more than anything else.
I wasn’t even sure I liked the person Seff actually was.
Maybe I just liked the way it felt to be wanted by someone.
I let myself be relegated to the role of a chorus dancer in the opera.
I wasn’t content there. I wasn’t going to pretend that this was what I wanted.
What I had trained my whole life for. I had only pursued ballet over singing because I was holding onto the promise I made.
It wasn’t what I truly wanted. But I just…
let it happen. And even then, I didn’t pursue anything more than the crumbs that were given to me.
I should be grateful for what I got. I was not the “right body shape” for this anyway.
I should just shut up and be happy. Because why?
Because the truth would make others uncomfortable?
Because to show who I really was would be inconvenient?
So, I tore myself into bite-sized pieces so that no one would have to worry about choking on the full size of my ambition—of my desires.
On the outside I was pretty. I was palatable.
I was quiet. I was demure. And on the inside, I was a hurricane.
I was roiling, swirling, angry and lashing.
I was a goddamned tempest. But here I was.
Packaged up nicely with ribbons and bows and tulle, easily digestible and not rocking any boats.
And no one saw it. No one saw who I was on the inside.
Not Carlotta, not Maren, certainly not Seff. No one.
I couldn’t be his wife. I couldn’t say yes to him. I dreaded having to do what I knew was right. The tears didn’t stop coming for a long while. It was nearly dawn before I fell into an uneasy sleep, the knowledge of what I had to do a dark cloud hovering over me.