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Chapter 48
Talli’s Dance
Before going out to dance, Diana looked at Guiscard. He wore a startled expression when he saw her attire. It was no wonder. His eyes lingered on Diana’s face, her lips painted a striking red.
Although she had not yet even debuted in society and kept her appearance modest, the flowing, airy dress was still difficult to get used to.
He gazed at her in a daze for a moment.
“My lady.”
“Are you feeling better?”
Guiscard nodded. Seeing him bow his head, Diana was unsure what to say.
“Guiscard, don’t ever do that again.”
“……”
“You don’t have to prove yourself with death.”
Instead of answering, Guiscard lowered his head.
“I heard the story.”
“What story?”
“That you’re dancing because of me.”
“Who told you that?”
Diana asked, but Guiscard only shook his head. Probably someone overheard and told him. She decided not to dwell on it. Guiscard then asked with a downcast expression:
“Was it… my actions then that troubled you, my lady?”
“No. That woman would have found fault with me no matter how polite you were.”
Seeing his guilt-ridden face, Diana almost laughed in disbelief. So, he could make such an expression. A slave who makes his master dance—truly insolent.
“That woman… is that woman?”
“Hm?”
“The one you mentioned before. Isn’t it her?”
“……”
“She must be the one troubling you.”
Could it be he remembered that? Diana looked at his serious face, hesitated, then finally nodded.
“Has she harmed you, my lady?”
“No, not yet. But she will.”
Guiscard nodded. His earnest acceptance of her words eased her heart a little.
“Do you dislike it if I go to her, my lady?”
“Yes. I wouldn’t care about anyone else, but her—absolutely not.”
At her cold words, light shone in Guiscard’s eyes. He half reached out his hand, then pulled it back.
“I dislike it too.”
“……”
“I don’t want to go to her either.”
“Why? She’s kinder, prettier. She could treat you better than I do.”
At that, Guiscard’s face hardened.
“You still don’t believe me. How can I prove my heart? I—”
“Guiscard. You don’t need to say it. You’ve already shown me enough with your body.”
“……”
“You stabbed your own chest rather than leave—what more proof is there?”
As if only now remembering, Guiscard brushed his chest. Diana gave a bitter smile. Not knowing the meaning of her smile, he copied her faintly, his lips curving just slightly.
“Does it please you, my lady, that I tried to die?”
“If you’d really died, I wouldn’t even be able to smile. Don’t ever do it again.”
Her softened tone made him nod eagerly, joy clear on his face. Still, he kept sneaking glances at her faintly smiling expression.
“So… can you win?”
“Hm?”
“I mean, I don’t need to die anymore?”
At those words, Diana blinked, then understood and smiled.
“Of course not.”
Her confident reply made Guiscard stare at her wide-eyed. It had been a long time since Diana wore such confidence on her face.
“Guiscard, I won’t let them take you.”
“……”
“You’re still mine. You must remain mine.”
Though her words were clearly a chain, Guiscard couldn’t help but feel joy. He did not even notice the implication of the word still.
The sacred Flame of Purification burned, and one by one, people came out to dance. Any unmarried young lady who had debuted in society could participate in the ball. Each sought to show why they embodied Talli.
The flame made the hall warm, enough to shed their heavy winter garments.
They danced in flowing garments like the goddess. Some revealed their skin through sheer fabric, others wore tight dresses flaunting voluptuous figures. Some dazzled in ostentatious jewelry, calling it “the goddess’s ornaments.”
One girl prepared a short play, another performed a different kind of dance. Talli’s dance was not a fixed form; each expressed it differently.
But one drew everyone’s eyes.
Pink hair fluttered against the backdrop of blue flame. With hair unbound, the girl danced beautifully. In a silver shimmering dress, she wielded a spear—she was the very image of the winter goddess Talli.
It was Lady Rubien.
Ferdinand stood, overwhelmed with admiration. Her brilliance under the white light was breathtaking. The crowd was entranced; even the priests were spellbound.
“The Kingdom of Lodbrok can no longer be called uncultured.”
“Indeed.”
The nobles of Farnborough whispered, watching the radiant lady.
Now, only one remained. People began to anticipate Diana Brienne’s dance. To be precise, they were preparing to compare just how much worse she would be than Lady Rubien.
How could a mere thirteen-year-old girl surpass her? They were ready to mock the shame of Lady Brienne for daring to step into a realm beyond her reach.
When Lady Rubien left the stage, the next figure appeared—making the crowd’s eyes widen.
What?
Everyone gasped. It wasn’t the finely dressed Diana, but a bent old crone wearing a mask.
Akra sighed. If not for the Archbishop’s orders, she would not have come here, but stayed in prayer to God. To interrupt prayer for something as trivial as judging dances at a ball—it was absurd.
“There’s nothing we can do. We must simply judge fairly.”
Rob smiled faintly. Kronde, with his gentle smile, added:
“It isn’t so bad to see the secular world now and then.”
The three monks were devout, never tainted by worldly power. They took on burdens others avoided, and were not swayed by earthly “desires.”
They had long cut ties with politics. The Archbishop, whether by fortune or misfortune, had noticed them and made them bishops and high priests, allowing them to live in peace.
Thus, they could not disobey his order. And so, they had come to this frivolous pinnacle of worldliness—the Talli Ball.
Their god was Kronosotia, lord of time and creator of the world, not Talli, who was only one of his attendants.
Still, it was a rite in honor of divinity.
Akra watched the dazzling dances. The women were passionate and radiant. Only Kronde showed any change of expression now and then.
But when Sarubia Rubien performed her spear dance, even the stiff Rob rose to his feet. Akra narrowed her eyes.
Fools. So very foolish.
Was this truly meant to honor Talli? Was the goddess not being exploited simply to flaunt youth and beauty?
Akra sighed in disapproval.
But when the final dancer appeared, her thoughts changed.
The crowd was stunned. After a parade of young, unmarried women showing off their beauty—an old woman? Where was Lady Brienne?
Then they realized. The hunched crone in the robe was wearing a mask. Could it be—could it really be Lady Brienne? Her small stature betrayed her.
The crone’s dance did not seem powerful. Where was the mighty goddess of war, Talli? Faces twisted in disappointment.
Her dance lacked passion, not entertaining. The image of a fading elder was not beautiful. Yet something about it silenced the hall.
Then gasps erupted. The spear the old woman wielded suddenly ignited.
Blue flames raced along its length. As she swung the spear gracefully, every flame nearby blazed brighter.
At that moment, the braziers all roared to life.
“I am the old woman of the snowy hill, Talli. With my spear, I melt the winter!”
The crone danced. Fire blazed, her slow movements quickening. The audience watched, entranced. Then—the mask fell away.
Another gasp.
It was a young woman crowned with flowers. No sparkling jewels, but a wreath of leaves. Her garments were adorned with fresh blooms.
Diana Brienne.
Her hair, usually tied up, fell loose and fluttered. Her somewhat dull blond shone noble when decorated with red flowers.
Her dance was not extravagant, nor was her outfit. But in her simple white tunic, her steps were light, her hem fluttering gracefully with each step.
There was no sense of burden to impress, no need to prove herself. That was why she captured every gaze. Her dance swayed like a spring breeze, drawing people in.
The thirteen-year-old radiated the vitality of youth. Yet her beautiful performance ended quickly—unlike the other Talli dances.
Why? Was it to heighten the contrast between elder and maiden? Why did her dance end so soon? The audience felt regret.
But when her dance ended, some looked at Akra’s face and understood.
This was Diana Brienne’s overwhelming victory.
