The Price Is Your Everything - Chapter 23

The children who had witnessed social gatherings at their own homes simply pouted, while those from the countryside, who had never even heard a poetry recital, wore pained expressions.

Even though the academy promised equal education to all who paid the tuition, many aspects of its curriculum favored those who had the advantage of prior knowledge from their upbringing.

“Of course, I’ll recite first so you can observe the correct posture for a recital. Alright?”

“Yes,” the children replied sweetly, like little angels.

Sir Sheridan straightened his posture and began reciting the poem.

The pauses between lines were regular, and his emphasis on key words was remarkable.

Those students who had attended poetry recitals by professional poets or banquets featuring bards realized that, despite his earlier modest remarks about leaving the interpretation of poetic diction to the literature teacher, Sir Sheridan possessed exceptional literary sensitivity.

After finishing a poem about the scenery of autumn waters, Sir Sheridan handed out sheets of paper with the poem printed on them. Though worn at the edges from annual use, the paper itself was of high quality.

“Aidalia, you’re quite familiar with poetry, aren’t you? I envy people with such artistic talent,” said Megara with a kind smile.

Aidalia shyly averted her gaze and mumbled a small thank you.

“How can you read something this long without tripping over your tongue?” Nicholas muttered. Losing interest in the paper almost immediately, he began playing around with another boy at his table.

After giving the children some time to examine the poem, Sir Sheridan asked, “Can anyone recite it from memory?”

The authors of classical poems hadn’t written their works on paper for reading—they had been passed down orally by bards. Thus, memorization was a fundamental skill for students in the academy’s literature curriculum.

The children fell silent. It was impossible to perfectly memorize a fourteen-line poem in such a short time. Megara, knowing Sir Sheridan wasn’t expecting perfection, remained relaxed, but most of the children nervously darted their eyes around.

Then, a sharp voice broke the silence.

“Nerys, can’t you do it? You weren’t even looking at the paper.”

All eyes turned to Nerys’s table.

By now, enough time had passed since the semester began for seating arrangements in nearly every class to become established. The children knew where Nerys sat and who her tablemates were.

Pushing an unpleasant task onto someone else while publicly wounding their pride to trap them into compliance was, of course, a breach of etiquette. Sir Sheridan frowned slightly but addressed Nerys gently.

“Nerys, would you like to give it a try?”

Diane glared at Rhiannon, the one who had spoken. Normally, Rhiannon would have been flustered by such a look, but instead, she coldly stared at Nerys.

To the rest of the children, it was clear Rhiannon was trying to bully Nerys. Nicholas grumbled under his breath, loud enough for his tablemates but not for Sir Sheridan to hear.

“She’s lost her mind.”

Megara smiled sweetly, but Aidalia, catching a glimpse of her violet eyes, felt a chill. Was there icy ridicule behind that smile?

Under the weight of the class’s collective gaze, Nerys lowered her eyes, her expression unreadable.

The children assumed she was embarrassed. Of course, she must be. Who could have memorized a fourteen-line poem after seeing it just once?

And she wasn’t even from a family likely to have attended poetry recitals.

When Nerys didn’t respond after two breaths, Sir Sheridan spoke again, his tone even softer than before.

“Nerys, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But taking a brave step is always a good thing.”

As Nerys remained silent, the atmosphere among the students grew subtly hostile toward her. Their earlier curiosity about her had faded almost entirely.

It was no surprise. After all, the beautiful and noble Megara seemed to find Nerys “uncomfortable.”

How dare she, the daughter of a mere lower-ranking knight, enter the advanced class and humiliate Megara publicly? If Megara weren’t so kind-hearted, many students would have already demanded Nerys take responsibility for her insolence.

Angharad Nine muttered darkly, “If she can’t do it, she shouldn’t act so high and mighty.”

Despite usually ignoring Angharad, Rhiannon burst into loud laughter in agreement. Diane’s cheeks flushed with anger.

“High and mighty?”

In Diane’s eyes, Nerys had done nothing of the sort. What did they mean by high and mighty? Being genuinely intelligent? Reading books? Quietly studying today’s poem? Was it arrogance to simply not be as ignorant as the rest of them?

Just as Diane was about to speak up, Nerys subtly signaled her with a small gesture to hold back. Then, she rose quietly from her seat.

“Geese gliding over the autumn lake…”

From Nerys’s small, red lips, the delicate words of the poem flowed like silk.

Her voice, rhythm, and emotion wove an intricate pattern that left the children wide-eyed.

Her slim wrists, wrapped in deep brown sleeves, resembled autumn fruits, and her elegantly clasped hands looked like those of a classical statue.

—

Blazing autumn leaves.

The pale bark of birch trees.

The steel wings of autumn birds.

Someone sighed unknowingly. Ancient poetry was meant to be a passionate song, and what came from Nerys’s mouth was undoubtedly just that—stunningly so.

“…And so I wait.”

After delivering the final line, Nerys closed her lips. A brief silence followed before Diane began clapping, soon joined by the rest. The applause wasn’t loud enough to scare birds into flight, but some students clapped enthusiastically. Sir Sheridan was among them.

“That was impressive, Nerys.”

Sir Sheridan, a seasoned figure in the social world, always appeared kind but was, in truth, a fastidious man. One couldn’t please others without being sensitive themselves. Even he, however, could find no fault in Nerys’s recital.

Was this normal? How could a girl from a family without a live-in tutor flawlessly recite a poem she had only seen for the first time today?

Many students were moved, yet some couldn’t help but doubt her. Rhiannon, her face flushed red, accused her sharply.

“You—you already knew this poem, didn’t you? Why did you pretend it was your first time seeing it? That’s ridiculous!”

Diane shot a glare at Rhiannon, refusing to back down. But before Rhiannon could respond, Nerys spoke softly.

“You’re the ridiculous one.”

Under Nerys’s piercing violet gaze, Rhiannon instinctively averted her eyes. Realizing that she, a descendant of an old and prestigious family, had displayed such weakness in front of others only fueled her anger.

“I really didn’t know this poem. How could I have seen something written by the teacher’s friend?”

“Who knows? Maybe the teacher showed it to you in advance?”

“Rhiannon Berta.”

That was not something Sir Sheridan could ignore. He made no effort to hide his displeasure.

“Are you accusing me of violating academy rules by favoring a specific student?”

As a teacher of social etiquette, Sir Sheridan refrained from using the word “accuse,” but the sharper students quickly grasped the implication. Rhiannon’s face turned pale. She stammered, trying to backtrack.

“No, I didn’t mean… not like that…”

“Acting recklessly and then saying you didn’t mean it doesn’t make it acceptable. It’s convenient for you to think so, isn’t it?”

Diane muttered, pursing her lips. Nerys, still gazing at Rhiannon, let a small smile spread across her lips.

“If you want, come up with anything right now. I’ll memorize it and recite it for you. Why can’t you memorize something after hearing it once?”

“Stop showing off!”

A few students felt that this time, Nerys truly was showing off. Just as the growing resentment toward her began to take shape, Nerys closed her eyes and began reciting.

“Black, white, yellow, red, blue.

Hot, cold, soft, rough, smooth—

And yet—

On an autumn day!”

Aidalia, hearing one of her favorite poems, smiled unconsciously. It was a simple poem, using common words, and most high-ranking nobles learned it at some point in their childhood.

But in this setting, what was the point of reciting such a short, four-line poem…?

Oh, honorable governors.

Oh, respected citizens.

Poor Titlai sees you all gathered here—

Wearing such fine clothes in the square,

Rejoicing in the death of a poet!

‘What?’

What was this? Aidalia’s knowledge of the poem ended at the four lines she had just heard. That was supposed to be the end of it. Yet Nerys continued without hesitation. Judging by the rhyme scheme, it seemed to be the same poem, but was there more to it?

While most of the students were as bewildered as Aidalia, a few who understood the situation stared at Nerys in disbelief.

The first four lines, “Black, white, yellow, red, blue,” were widely known as a lighthearted excerpt, but they were merely the opening to a much longer poem—over a hundred lines in total.

It was a work by the ancient poet Titlai, a sharp critique of the indifference of power. Titlai had openly criticized the contemporary governor Juzibe and was publicly humiliated in return.

Sir Sheridan made no move to stop Nerys. Her recital never faltered, and as far as he could tell, she didn’t miss a single syllable.

With each line she recited, Rhiannon’s face grew stiffer and stiffer.

“…Poor, poor Titlai!

Wretched, wretched are you all!”

With the final word of the poem, Nerys closed her lips. Her expression remained calm—so calm that it was hard to believe she had just recited such a long and intense poem in one breath. Without a hint of pride, she turned to Rhiannon and asked,

“You think I couldn’t memorize fourteen lines?”

No one in the class dared to say otherwise. Rhiannon, at a loss for what to do, buried her face in her arms.

Aidalia clapped with a smile. Watching Rhiannon’s humiliation was oddly satisfying.

Before anyone could notice Megara’s face hardening, Sir Sheridan stepped in.

“That was truly remarkable, Nerys. Lord Louis must be disappointed that you’re not in the first-year literature class. You could have taught it in his absence!”

Lord Louis was the teacher in charge of first-year literature. A few students chuckled at the comment, and the tense atmosphere began to lighten. Nerys gracefully offered an apology.

“I’m sorry. I’ve taken up too much class time, haven’t I?”

“Not at all. You’ve provided an excellent example fitting for today’s lesson.”

No matter how correct or impressive her actions were, provoking resentment from others was not a wise move in the social world. Sir Sheridan felt reassured by Nerys’s apology, and so did many of the other students. Those who regarded Nerys positively began whispering excitedly among themselves.

As Nerys returned to her seat, she glanced at Megara. Megara was already chatting with Aidalia, laughing as if nothing had happened. But Nerys had a suspicion.

She already had a good idea of who had provoked Rhiannon into trying to humiliate her.