A Talented Maid

Chapter 9

Marie lost track of time.

The symphony was nearly finished in her head when someone called, “Miss Marie? Miss Marie?”

“Oh, yes?! Maestro!”

Vahan was gazing worriedly into her face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been in a trance for a while.”

Marie looked around in surprise to find the orchestra taking a break.

Good god, was I daydreaming for over an hour?

Vahan said kindly to the baffled maid, “Take it easy. Get some rest if you are feeling poorly.”

The orchestra resumed rehearsal. Marie returned to the music in her head.

The symphony is finished. The Country Symphony. All four movements of it.

She had done the impossible: a scullery maid, of all people, had finished a symphony in her head in just over an hour. But this was real. She could see the notes on the manuscript in her head as clear as day.

But what do I do with this?

What, indeed, was Marie supposed to do with this music only she knew about? She couldn’t bury it in her mind, nor could she tell Vahan about it. Besides, she couldn’t predict how he would respond to his music that Marie finished in her head.

She did not think that he would ignore her or make light of her efforts; the symphony was wonderful by Marie-as-Mozart’s standards. If anything, she was concerned that she might attract suspicion and too much attention. How was she to explain a scullery maid with no musical training completing a symphony?

People would find it suspect.

So what now? Marie wondered, staring at Vahan’s back. He was still rehearsing the stuffy symphony with the frustrated orchestra.

***

“Good work, everyone!”

“See you all tomorrow!”

The day was winding down. The rehearsal ended and the musicians packed up their instruments to go home.

“Let me put away the music stands.”

“Thank you, Marie. See you tomorrow!”

Marie was left behind to clean up. She stole glances at Vahan as she swept the room. He was curled up in a corner staring daggers at the music. Marie debated whether or not to speak to him, and finally made up her mind to go ahead.

He’s looking at his symphony. It took Marie little more than a peek to see what his music contained, all thanks to the ability of Mozart that she gained through the dream.

Vahan looked up when she approached him.

“Oh, Miss Marie. May I help you?”

When Marie could not get the words out, he smiled awkwardly and asked again, “What is it?”

Marie screwed up her courage and asked, “Maestro, I have a question for you.”

“Sure. Anything.”

Marie took a deep breath and said, “Hypothetically... and I’m truly speaking hypothetically... if someone were to help you finish your symphony, what would you do?”

Vahan’s eyes grew wide. He asked, “What do you mean by that? Who’s going to help me?”

Marie stammered, “Well, what if an angel, for example, came down from the sky and finished the symphony for you?”

“An angel?”

“Well, I’m not saying that an actual angel will come down, but if something similar were to help you...”

Vahan chuckled despite himself. “Thank you for that. I really needed a laugh. I appreciate it.”

“I didn’t mean it as a joke...”

“Of course I would be glad if someone could help me,” he said with a smile.

“You wouldn’t be offended?”

“Offended?”

“Right. Because it’s your symphony. You wouldn’t be offended if someone contributed to it?” Marie asked cautiously, aware of how famously sensitive musicians could be. But he shook his head plaintively.

“I can see why you might think that, but it’s different with this piece.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d like to see this symphony finished. I would swallow my pride and sell my soul to hear it in its finished form.”

“I see.” Marie nodded, deep in thought.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked with a smile. “Will you help me finish the symphony?”

“N-no!” Marie shook her head in panic. Her emphatic refusal surprised Vahan.

“Well, I should be going now. Thank you for cleaning up. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, sir. See you tomorrow!”

Alone in the rehearsal hall, Marie finished tidying up and said to herself, “I’ll help without anyone knowing.”

If Vahan had refused help, she would have buried the music she’d written in her head. But he sincerely wanted to finish the piece, even if it meant receiving help.

The prince won’t hear of such trivial things, would he? Marie conjured up an image of Prince Rhaël. Why would a bloodthirsty man care about orchestral music?

Flap!

Marie lay down sheets of paper on the floor of the rehearsal hall. She got down on her hands and knees and began to write out the music she had heard in her head.

Just the main theme and the motifs, she told herself.

It would be impossible to write out the parts for all the instruments, not to mention the lack of time.

And if I write it all out, it’ll no longer be Vahan’s symphony.

She was only going to help, not write the whole symphony for him; she would get him unstuck, and he’d fill in the rest in his own style.

Hurry, Marie. If I leave this on Vahan’s desk, no one will suspect I had anything to do with it.

One would hardly believe that a mere scullery maid could write music even if they watched her with their own eyes. But better safe than sorry.

Hurry, Marie.

She scribbled on.

***

Meanwhile in the Lion Palace, Prince Rhaël was speaking with Baron Gordon, the imperial physician. He was wearing his customary white gown.

“How is your insomnia, sir?”

“The same.”

The baron sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. Would that I could do more.”

The prince had long suffered from insomnia. He often went two or three nights without sleep and still found himself unable to get a good night’s rest. No matter how tired he was, he spent more nights awake than not.

“Ah, well.” Rhaël gently shook his head.

“Let me increase the dosage, sir.”

“All right.”

The physician left, and the prince leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. He hadn’t slept a wink last night. Before he could have a moment’s peace, however, the arrival of another visitor was announced.

“Premier Auren wishes to see you, sir.”

“Show him in.”

The handsome man, who normally had a cheery disposition, entered—with a great frown on his face.

“What’s going on?”

“Ugh, I couldn’t find him, sir!”

“Who?”

“The sculptor! I looked everywhere I could think of. Where could he have gone? I’m sorry to keep harping on this, sir, but are you sure you saw correctly?”

The prince nodded impassively. “Yes.”

“So where’d he go? How dare he taunt this bloodhound!”

“Bloodhound” was the nickname Auren had earned during the civil war for his tenacious pursuit and elimination of his targets.

“I swear to god I’ll hunt down this—”

“I want to reward this sculptor, not punish him.”

“Yes, yes. The sculptor will be rewarded and punished for sending me on this wild goose chase!” Auren added, “I’ve never met anyone this impossible to track down since Princess Maurina de Brande la Cloyan.”

The prince looked up at the mention of the name. Maurina de Brande la Cloyan—the woman behind the prince’s ongoing headache. “Three years we’ve been looking for her.”

“Yes, sir. It’s hard to believe she’s still out there.” Auren sighed. “Do you suppose she died?”

“I don’t think so. No one’s recovered the body.”

“But if she’s alive, surely someone would have seen her. We left no stone unturned in all of Cloyan and all the neighboring regions. I’m starting to think that this princess was imaginary. No one even knows for certain what she looked like.’

“I’m sure she’s not imaginary. If she is, she couldn’t have done such memorable things for her people during her short time in the palace.”

Rhaël had heard that Princess Maurina had lived in the palace for just a few short years, during which she stayed hidden from her brothers to such an extent that few people even remembered her face. The one portrait of her had burned during the war.

And yet, she was so generous to her people, Rhaël thought, recalling what he’d heard about the princess.

Remarkable.

She was known among her people as the “Faceless Saint.” Rhaël remembered the shock he’d felt when news of the princess had reached him.

She was the only surprising character to be produced by the pathetic line of La Cloyan.

She was just fourteen three years ago, and yet she had found a way to come to her people’s aid without anyone finding out. She wasn’t able to do much, of course. She was a young girl with no weight within the royal family and had little resources to work with, but she had saved her allowance to give to the poor through her maid and bought medicine for the sick.

Just little sums here and there, and yet it could not have been easy. Allocating resources for others was difficult work even for those with deep pockets, and Princess Maurina certainly did not have much at the time. So it went without saying that the people of Cloyan, suffering cruelly under the tyrant king, were profoundly moved by her kindness. People spoke of her fondly to this day.

“The people of Cloyan have not forgotten about her. So I must find her, however long it takes.”

“Yes, sir. But what are you going to do once you find her?” Auren asked cautiously. “Kill her, perhaps?”

Rhaël was quiet for a moment.

“Worst-case scenario, yes. She has done nothing wrong, but the people of Cloyan will likely rally around her.”

“Worst-case scenario?” Auren noted. “Do you mean you might spare her?”

The prince nodded. “That’s right.”

“If your goal is to absorb Cloyan completely into the empire, wouldn’t it be a good idea to eliminate the only surviving member of their royal family?”

“Sure. But that’s plan B. I have a better plan to win the hearts of the Cloyans.”

“What’s that?”

The prince cracked a smile at the puzzled premier and said, “I’ll make her mine.”

“Yours?”

“I’ll make her my queen.”