“Wait.” She interrupted. “You slept in his bed? Did you…”
“NO! Carlotta!” I spat. “He slept on the couch!”
“What, you said he was hot, right?” She smirked. Typical Carlotta. Her biggest takeaway from the dramatic tale was the perceived hotness of the man involved.
“I believe I said ‘striking,’ but it doesn’t matter—I’m with Seff,” I reminded her.
“Okay, sure, sure, sure, but Ciaran sounds… dark… mysterious… broody. That’s hot as hell. I don’t know if I would have had the self-control not to.”
“Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t have.” I stuck my tongue out at my friend, glad that we were able to banter and joke, even through all of this.
“Fifi, I don’t know. Magic has been gone for a really, really long time. I don’t think it can possibly be true. Maybe this Ciaranand whoever those men were thought they saw something, but… I’ve heard you sing for years. I’ve never noticed anything weird.”
That statement made me feel settled for the first time since that beam had fallen on stage. Carlotta had never noticed anything. And in the light of day, it all seemed so ridiculous. I decided that I’d put magic, Scion and Ciaran Fahy out of my head once and for all.
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 onhis 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 statuesquerelevé. 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 endlessday 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.
