grievinglands
patreon
TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 24 (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 15:37:32 +0000 UTCChapter 24 - Nothingness
I want to make difficult people somehow relatable.
- Rebecca Hall.
An expectant hush fell over the training hall as Magister Belfrost straightened his posture, hands clasped firmly behind his back. He wore an air of absolute confidence, his eyes sweeping across the room until every last one of his students had stilled. A self-satisfied smile curved his thin lips.
“Now,” he began, in a deep, resonant voice that demanded silence, “it is time for your first task—your first true lesson.” He paused for effect, letting their anticipation build. Then he dropped the pronouncement like a hammer. “Your task is to do nothing at all.”
A murmur rippled through the class. A few puzzled glances were exchanged, but no one dared speak until Magister Belfrost, still smiling, raised a brow and continued, “For the remainder of this lesson, you will resist every temptation to experiment, to try, to see. Curiosity is the very first snare you must learn to evade.” With that, he seated himself at a grand old desk and opened a tome, as though he had nothing else to say.
After a beat of silence, Fleur—one of Seraphina’s classmates from Wisteria—spoke up, her tone bright with uncertainty. “And should we give in, sir?”
Magister Belfrost looked up slowly, his calm gaze belying the finality of his words. “Then I will simply not teach you,” he replied smoothly. “I see no reason to waste my time on students who fail at the very start. Who can not do this most simple of tasks.”
Seraphina’s lips thinned at his pompous tone. She had not cared for his self-importance from the moment she laid eyes on him, and now her patience frayed. “This sounds like an excuse for laziness,” she said, crossing her arms. “We’ve paid good money to attend these lessons. Not to mention that our time is precious. Teach us something, or I’ll report this farce to the principal.”
A slight lift of Belfrost’s chin signaled his vexation. “Ah, de Sariens,” he said, drawing out her name as though it were a particularly inconvenient chore. “The one who struggled even with accepting her first magic—Crystal, no less—presumes to instruct me on how to teach, hmm?” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving her.
Eloise, standing beside Seraphina, tensed at the barb. Seraphina sensed how her lady-in-waiting longed to respond in her defense. She placed a discreet hand on Eloise’s arm.
Magister Belfrost addressed Seraphina directly, his voice taking on a lecturing, if somewhat disjointed, lilt. “There is method in this madness, de Sariens. There will be times in your life—those quiet, empty moments—when your will falters, your guard slips, and your magic calls to you in the darkness. At those times, you must possess the discipline to remain steadfast. The ability to ignore it. To master your magic, you must first not let it master you.”
Though it pained her to admit it, Seraphina found at least a grain of sense in his words. She might have grudgingly respected him for it if only he did not act so smug. It seemed to her that the Magisters had cloaked practical wisdom in an opaque, esoteric riddle. A thing that truly irritated her.
She angled her head, regarding him closely. “Perhaps, esteemed Magister, a demonstration might help ease our… burgeoning curiosity? It could serve to motivate us and stave off our impulses.”
His dismissal was swift and absolute. “No, de Sariens. This lesson is a test to see whether you can resist your powers when there is no immediate need. A demonstration would undermine everything I hope to teach you. Trust me, if you can find the restraint to control yourselves now, you shall find it far easier in the days to come.”
Seraphina bit back a retort—arguing further would only prolong the session of doing nothing. And so, she forced herself to adopt a semblance of composure, giving him the barest hint of a nod. Belfrost, satisfied, returned his attention to his book with maddening nonchalance.
The rest of the lesson crept by at a snail’s pace. The silence in the hall became oppressive, broken only by the students quietly talking among themselves. Seraphina felt the itch of her magic as a physical sensation in her fingertips. She was desperate to use it, anything really, to break the stifling monotony. But she held firm. Her pride demanded she succeed, if only to deny Magister Belfrost the satisfaction of seeing her fail.
At last, the bell rang, slicing through the silence. Belfrost snapped his book shut with measured grace and cast a detached glance around the room. He appeared collected, but Seraphina noticed something new in his expression. Had she not known about it beforehand, she would have never noticed. There was a forced quality that lingered beneath his cool demeanor, as though each mannerism had been meticulously rehearsed—every smirk, every tilt of his head part of a carefully orchestrated performance. Like a machine that was playing the part of a human.
“Very well done,” he said in a clipped tone that dripped with irony. “You have accomplished the simplest of tasks: doing nothing. This bodes well for your future, though I suspect some of you found it more challenging than you care to admit.” His eyes brushed over Seraphina, and she felt a flash of indignation tighten her jaw. “Now then, until our next session, you will practice calling your element to you on your own time. Here in these halls and nowhere else. It will not do for the Academy to meet the same fate as certain parts of the city. For those of you with more… offensive spells, feel free to test your destructive potential on those.” He gestured to a line of battered clay dummies slumped in the corner. “Now, off with you. Whatever other classes you have, I suggest you don’t keep your esteemed teachers waiting.”
Seraphina rose, gathering her books and biting back a remark about the nature of his “lessons.” She filed out with the rest of the students, her mind whirling. She knew Magister Belfrost’s secret—knew how his too-perfect act skillfully concealed something more ominous. Secrets were power, but the question burned in her mind: when and how to wield this particular secret most effectively? And, it was one thing to know of a lurking horror that existed behind a glass screen, but quite another to face it in the flesh.
A sudden chill rippled through her. Her steps faltered before she shook it off. This was no time to be overthinking. No time for hesitation. I am just waiting for the most opportune time.
She turned to Eloise, who trailed a half-step behind. “Well, Eloise,” Seraphina said, affecting a casual tone, “what’s your next class?”
Her lady-in-waiting offered a small, encouraging smile. “Alchemy, my lady. I admit I’m rather excited about it.” She smoothed her skirt, looking every bit the perfect scholar. “I do so hope I will actually get to learn something.
“As for me,” Seraphina sighed, “I have a free period. I’ll head to the library, I suppose, and attempt to make a dent in the mountain of work we’ve been assigned.”
The word “homework” rang in her mind like a curse. Even here, in this world of wonder and fantasy, that evil bane of students everywhere had followed her. The world never changes. She gave Eloise a wry grin, and together they set off down the corridor to their respective classes.
***
Homework, as it happened, was far less burdensome than Seraphina had anticipated. Within twenty minutes, she finished everything assigned, her quill falling silent on the crisp parchment. She had, after all, grown adept at such tasks over the years—practice made perfect, or near enough. The library bustled softly with studious energy: boys and girls hunched over their work like quaint little, robed worker ants, immersed in their books and notes. Seraphina almost envied their uncomplicated diligence, though she herself preferred more… ambitious pursuits.
Still, with class time left to spare, she might have lost herself in whimsical poetry or indulged in idle daydreams of romance—a guilty pleasure of hers. Instead, she reached for a fresh sheet of parchment and carefully dipped her quill in ink. There was, after all, a more pressing matter—Count Jacques de Viserac. He had responded favorably to her recent inquiries, which allowed her to become a new “supplier” of one of his needs. He had practically invited her to establish another paper factory near his lush forests. The nominal rent he demanded was so trifling, it bordered on laughable.
This arrangement was perfect for alleviating the bottleneck she had run into with her candy production. Producing the packaging, it turned out, had become more of a bottleneck than the confections themselves. By securing a steady supply of inexpensive paper, she could finally see a smoother flow from production to distribution. Yet in the world Seraphina inhabited, nothing came without strings attached, and in this case, it meant that she had to deal with the Count’s… proclivities. It rather amused her that, in satisfying his demands, she would also advance her own agenda. He provided her with a place to quietly offload some of the more troublesome orphans in her care, while simultaneously offering expanded production of cheaper materials for packaging. It was for the young girl a “win and a win even more” scenario that she just positively adored.
But what else could she do with a bunch of cheap paper? With de Viserac’s support, she might even be able to produce a rather large amount of it.
She set aside the Count’s letter with a satisfied tap of her fingers, scattering some blotting sand on it. Next, her mind alighted on her greatest threat. Este Lize—her rival, and by her own words a prodigious talent in magic. It rankled Seraphina that this upstart would suffer no negative effects from taking in at least more than two Paths with her inbuilt cheating nature.
And, her position within the Church of Avaria opened endless possibilities. A commoner by birth though she was, Este Lize the Living Saint of Silver, supported by the monolithic institution looming strong behind her, had the de facto prestige and social standing of a princess.
Seraphina’s quill hovered over the parchment as she chewed over her next step. The insufferable minx had tried to claim something that should, by right, was hers and hers alone. The thought set her teeth on edge. But was Este Lize so unashamedly going after the Crown Prince because she wished to, or was it perhaps at the behest of the Ecclesiarchs? Did the Church wish to muddy the waters between the spiritual and the temporal even further?
Or was it because Este Lize was just a hussy? Going after every single beautiful boy that she could get her hands on. After all, in the game, the main character had a lot of options to choose from the main cast, as well as a few more secret options. Seraphina was of the mind that perhaps it was a bit from column A followed by a bit from column B.
The young noblewoman considered what would happen if the Living Saint married into the royal line. The political ramifications could stretch on for generations, bolstering royal power while cementing the Church’s influence. It would be an evil tyranny inflicted upon the people. And that, for the people of Aranathia and mostly herself, Seraphina would not abide.
I will never let that hussy get her dirty claws into her Velens, she vowed to herself.
It seemed an impossible challenge to confront directly such a mammoth of an institution. Yet Seraphina saw the solution appear in her mind, shimmering like a serpent’s grin: If something was big, you first broke it up into manageable parts. Perhaps it was time to introduce a schism? The mere thought sent a ripple of excitement through her. Of course, sowing discord in the Church’s ranks was easier said than done, and she would need intelligence resources beyond what even the Lehman’s Bank could provide. She needed a network of agents—people who could move unseen in every walk of life, whose loyalty was absolute.
A quiet voice interrupted her musing. “Milady,” whispered Miriam at her shoulder, making Seraphina startle just ever so slightly.
She swiveled, carefully schooling her features to hide her annoyance. “Finally, where in the heavens were you?” she hissed, scanning the nearby tables.
“Forgive me, Milady,” Miriam murmured. “My class ran over, and I couldn’t slip away any sooner. But I’ve brought you some documents to sign. Lehma… sorry, I mean, your loyal servant, has devised a few… additional protections for your interests.”
“Thank you, Miriam, just put them down here and stop looking so stupidly obvious,” Seraphina instructed, pointing to a small space on the desk. “Go hover somewhere else.”
Seraphina was glad that a casual observer would just think that they were just girls exchanging notes in a library, and not part of a conspiracy to shake the Kingdom of Aranthia to its very core.
At the use of her full name, Miriam’s eyes flickered with apprehension. She drew in on herself, trying to appear as small as possible. Seraphina seldom dispensed with the nickname “Milly” unless she was planning something truly devious. So Miriam, sensing the storm brewing, placed the papers with careful reverence and beat a polite retreat.
Once she was gone, the young noblewoman allowed herself a small, triumphant smile. Rifling through the papers, she read over the bank’s plan written in a cipher she had already memorized. Her dear bankers had established multiple shell companies in her name, each positioned to file liens against “Bottlesworth’s Confectioneries,” the company ostensibly owned by her maid. Several pliable and very corrupt magistrates had already approved the legalities, ensuring that, on paper, poor Bottlesworth’s Confectioneries now carried a near negative value. Yet in truth, all those subsidiary companies filtered back to a solitary holding firm, for which Seraphina was the lone shareholder. Clever, layered obfuscation. She could almost see her father’s, the chairman’s, grudging nod of approval for so masterful a ploy. Did she even still count him as her father in this world, though? There were not only more of Seraphina’s memories with Anatoli in this world, but they were all rather more pleasant at that.
She stilled for a moment, this was not the time for mawkish thoughts.
The blonde girl pursed her lips, imagining more scenarios and plotting a path through the future. The net result was that Miriam Bottlesworth, on paper, appeared to be among the wealthiest women in all of Aranthia—even though, in practical terms, she held little real power. Seraphina rather suspected that if word got out, Miriam would have suitors swarming her like flies to honey, but Lehman’s Bank knew how to keep a secret sealed. That they were not was proof of the Lehman’s Bank’s efficacy. Truly, their discretion was legendary.
Seraphina tapped her quill thoughtfully against her chin, resisting the childish urge to gnaw on the plume. The candy business, bolstered by her “special ingredient,” was flourishing, with demand far outstripping supply. She understood the perils of rapid expansion; slow, steady growth was safer. Though rivals were already beginning to spring up, they had neither her innovation nor her “secret ingredient,” so their confections paled in comparison. The de Sariens girl was really going to make the most of her “first-mover” advantage.
Just as she finished signing the last document with a flourish, a familiar voice cut through her concentration like an unwelcome knife. “Ah, there you are!”
She froze, closing her eyes for a moment before composing her features into a polite mask. Turning slowly, she beheld the bane of her academic life: Hughes—persistent, meddlesome, bloody Hughes.
The boy was like a bacterial infection that was resistant to antibiotics.
Seraphina pressed her lips together, bracing herself for yet another tiresome conversation. In that moment, she wondered if perhaps her carefully orchestrated expansion plans, her discreet dealings with Viserac, and her grand aspirations to undermine the Church might all be simpler to navigate than dealing with this one pest who refused to leave her in peace.
But she steadied her breath, smoothing the pages in front of her, ready to deal with him as she would any other obstacle in her path: with crisp elegance and a green gaze as sharp as any blade. She had, after all, had appearances to keep up.
