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All she had to do was sing. Hardly difficult. Something she had been doing since she was a child, now honed and sharpened into a tool.
Performance would be easy.
Wouldn’t it?
That was the question she caught in everyone’s eyes, from Pedrolino to Tartaglia.
Would she do it?
Could she do it?
The orchestra section was packed when the curtain rose for the first act. As she sang, danced, acted among the rest of the cast, she tried to remember to pace herself. Rhiannon could hear the cold reminders from Signora that a proper Fair Lady does not show weakness. The echoes of disdain from Dottore every time she failed to finish an aria without gasping or coughing wracked her bones. The aches from every sparring match with Tartaglia felt like nothing compared to the fire in her lungs.
Before her, a darkened theatre, save the exclusive group sitting in the orchestra section, and the private seating high above for the Tsaritsa and her Harbingers.
Rhiannon tried to focus on her footwork, her breathing, how she should float despite the heavy skirts of her costume.
Tonight’s performance was not of a famous work, but rather, crafted specifically for this occasion. One song in particular, designed by the good doctor himself, was designed to showcase just what kind of heights she could reach. Her solo, the peak of the entire story of the night, was going to push her limits despite practice.
One or two people during trial was one thing.
But this many…?
She had to do it.
After all, what did she have left?
Karina wasn’t going to come. Their parents were gone from this world. No home. No family.
But she had this chance. The level of pride that exuded when she got something right was tantalizing, addicting. For once, she didn’t feel numb or like the world was going to collapse around her every second. Instead, power coursed through her, a rush of cool air that made her feel whole, lighter than a feather, put her in touch with every single particle of air as her voice crashed on the first note.
The lyrics hadn’t made sense to her weeks ago.
But now…now that she knew …
The Fatui were the lucky ones. Any of their ranks were not only smart enough to side with the Tsaritsa and support her, but their leaders were some of the sharpest and shrewdest minds of Teyvat. Despite all of their arguing and bickering, the room seemed to glow when all Eleven of them accompanied their leader.
Rhiannon felt it from her heart when she sang about glorious harmony, waltzing with destiny, her partner turning her into the light.
When it was explained to her just what their purpose was, she felt as though she was truly feeling the sun on her face for the first time after a long winter. The heaviness of the past few weeks and months melting away to reveal vibrant grass, fresh flowers, a world anew for the wildlife beyond. Heaven would be in their grasp soon enough, yanked down from above…
Sacred geometry, movement as poetry…when she first read the line, Rhiannon had to keep herself from thinking too deeply.
All of them fit together like a puzzle, like a clock. Parts of a greater whole that served a larger function.
As she reached the final chorus and the outro, she let the power from the focus at her throat rush through her. She felt the area around her, around the audience, and pulled , urging it away from its host, towards herself. Air swirled around her, picking up the long tendrils of her hair left loose and dancing along the edges of her skirts.
Before her, the audience was entranced. Too dazzled to move; too dazed to do so, even if they wanted to. She hit the final notes as she released a stronger wave of power, commanding the air before her as if it was nothing. Those who tried to stand gave strangled cries covered by her own voice, lips the slightest blue and faces stuck in a look of perpetual surprise.
When she was done, and she took her bow, the only sound of applause came from above. A single pair of hands followed by eleven more.
Rhiannon could only bring herself to gaze above, at the box covered in darkness, until the curtains closed around her.
Her stomach churned and then protested just as she shut herself into her dressing room. Her entire body screamed at her. Rhiannon’s abdomen muscles were already exhausted from controlling her breathing, let alone rejecting whatever she had left in her system until the metallic tang of blood hit her tongue. She longed to rip off the dress and layers and corset, but that wasn’t possible, not yet.
She still had her Audience with the Tsaritsa to attend.
Rhiannon tried not to think of how her Archon called such a thing Judgment. And how the Hydro Archon was no longer her Archon and wouldn’t be, not if she wanted to support this cause.
As she cleaned up, she heard the door to her dressing room open; she looked up in the mirror to find Tartaglia standing in the doorway, something as close to pride as was possible dancing in his eyes.
All of the emotions that he emoted always managed to not quite reach his eyes. His tone was right, his gestures spot-on, but…something about his eyes always missed the mark. Even then, when she caught glimpses of him as darkness danced around her, threatened to take to her Celestia, he always lacked just the little extra in his expressions.
“That display was stunning. All of them, in the span of mere minutes. You’ve been holding back.”
It was less about holding back and more about not burning herself out. The Delusion pinned to the collar of her dress was nothing more than a test , a sample. It would have to be returned until she was presented with one properly. Whether they decided to keep her. Like the stray she was.
The stray he made her into.
“I didn’t expect so many,” Rhiannon replied, her voice so hoarse that her visitor winced at how rough it sounded. “A row, maybe, but not…”
All that life . Snuffed out. Gone.
By her hand.
She should feel powerful, by all accounts. But all she could think about were blue lips and burst blood vessels.
As if sensing her hesitation and remorse, Tartaglia scoffed as he brushed a gloved hand along the nearest arrangement of flowers, sweet cecilias, lamp grass, and windwheel asters; flowers from another nation but all embodiments of a common element.
“They were dissenters. You should be pleased with your efficiency to help purge the world of those who would not support moya tsaritsa .”
He left as quickly as he came, the words spat as if they were the biggest inconvenience to him.
If that had been a test, she failed. Of that, she was certain.
The wait for her Audience took longer than the boat ride from Fontaine to Sneznhaya. Or so it felt. Her fate was left in the hands of the Eleven and the Tsaritsa herself.
And when it came time for her Audience, she tried to hide her surprise at the knowledge that she would be trained as the Fair Lady’s Understudy.
After all, La Signora was the favorite Harbinger and she could not be everywhere at once.
Rhiannon tried to pretend she missed the glint in Dottore’s red eyes as he pinned her Delusion to sit at the base of her neck, replacing her Vision. La Signora gained an Understudy and he gained an experiment.
Freedom within order, a family found through a family lost, mentions of stationing her back home, in Fontaine, to be among the people. A beacon of hope.
It wasn’t perfect. It never would be.
But could it, would it, be enough?