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TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 19 (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-03-06 13:56:27 +0000 UTCChapter 19 - The Fires of Determination
Education is not the filling of the pail, but the lighting of the fire.
- William Butler Yeats.
Flames ravaged Meridian, turning the horizon into a glowing inferno beneath a pall of smoke that dominated the sky. Fire had taken root in the granaries and roared through the neighboring buildings, fueled by new wooden constructions that yielded to the blaze with terrible ease. In the face of this disaster, the Academy—shielded by its layered wards and protected by the might of Earth, Air, and Water Mages—stood unscathed. Yet elsewhere, a broad swath of the city was tasting the hungry kiss of flame.
In the face of this disaster, classes were promptly canceled, as many of the gifted teachers and senior students of the Academy were called upon to protect the city.
In the midst of the chaos, Seraphina de Sariens, merely observed for the moment. She had foreseen all of this and had invested heavily in grain for precisely this reason. Meridian’s winter would be a harsh one if the grain in the destroyed granaries were not replenished, and relief from the kingdom at large could be painfully slow—travel and communication still reliant on the quickness of a horse or the swift wings of a messenger bird.
From her contacts at Lehman’s Bank, Seraphina already knew the grim news: grain prices were set to quadruple. A less ambitious investor would have rushed to sell at the first opportunity, pocketing a tidy sum as the city’s demand soared. But not Seraphina. She had no intention of merely turning a profit; she desired the city’s devotion, its gratitude, its awe. Timing was everything.
With the Wisteria’s Wish trading company—officially owned by her loyal maid, Miriam—Seraphina plotted her grand move. When the city’s fury at the established grain factors reached its boiling point—when the people had seen their neighbors price-gouged into near starvation—she would step in. She would release her grain at a modest markup rather than an unconscionable one, emerging as the savior of Meridian’s populace.
And oh, how they would love her for it. The other grain factors—those who lined their pockets amid tragedy—would find themselves branded as villains. Seraphina, meanwhile, would appear as an angel of mercy. A smile, chilling in its certainty, curved her lips as she envisioned the final act in her plan: more fires, this time destroying the warehouses of her rivals. The despair and rage of Meridian’s citizens would find a target, and who could blame them for turning to arson when they felt cheated and left to starve?
That was the scenario she envisaged.
All these thoughts and more played through Seraphina’s mind as she studied the black-and-white stones before her. She and her Page, Ibn, were seated in a secluded nook of the Academy gardens, playing the ancient game of Stones—or Baduk in her native language.
In this paradise of soft greens and pastels, neither smoke nor flame would intrude upon their game—nor would the troubles of the common folk. Unlike Este Lize, the Silver Witch, she needed this time to relax. A little bird had told her that the silly girl was even now trying to fight the blaze with every scrap of magic she possessed. It was not worth Seraphina’s time and effort to lend a personal hand to the efforts to save the city.
Who truly cares if a few NPC peasants died? she thought to herself. One might argue they were fated to perish, their entire lives leading to that singular moment when they were consumed by fire. At least their screams didn't carry this far; sound pollution would have been such a vexation.
Seraphina, with her blonde hair and vivid green eyes, leaned forward on her elbows, her gaze moving across the board. Stones had not been a feature of “The Maiden of the Wisterias,” and she wondered how a board game from her world had managed to cross over. Perhaps, centuries ago, another Visitor, a person from a different world like her, had introduced it. A hint of curiosity tugged at her thoughts—what other bits of Earth’s legacy might lie yet hidden in Zed Valize?
Hovering close, Miriam served tea with swift efficiency while Eloise quietly turned pages in a hefty tome, her delicate features creased into an expression of thoughtful concentration. A few steps away sat the unlikely Desdemona, close enough to Ibn to offer the occasional remark—advice so questionable that it was at least half the reason for the predicament his stones now faced.
Seraphina tapped a manicured nail on the table, quietly savoring her plans for the future.
Her Page studied the board with a mixture of dogged determination and dawning resignation. A faint bead of sweat clung to his brow, and he reached for a black stone, rolling it between his fingers. The red-eyed boy placed his black stone in a spot the young noblewoman had seemingly overlooked.
Across from him, Seraphina seemed the very picture of poise—her posture relaxed, a serene half-smile curling at the corners of her lips. The young girl glanced down at the shape of her white stones, then back up at Ibn, not unkindly.
Desdemona hovered just behind Ibn’s shoulder. “Have you considered playing here?” she said, tapping the edge of the board with her finger, brimming with self-importance.
Seraphina raised a delicate eyebrow. “Careful, Ibn,” she teased with good humor, “Desdemona's suggestions might be not be as cunning as they appear.”
“Ha!” the brunette scoffed.
The young boy frowned, placing his black stone in a position that expanded a narrow territory on the upper side. Seraphina nodded in mild approval. “That’s a better idea,” she remarked. She lifted one of her own white stones and, for a moment, briefly toyed with the notion of playing on to secure the top corner. Finally, however, she placed her stone firmly in a different place. This move reinforced her hold along the top edge, preventing any last-minute invasions and leaving Ibn fewer prospects. However, it grated on her, as Seraphina was not accustomed to playing defensively.
From the side, Eloise peered over the top of her thick book. “I see White’s territory is quite sizable on the right,” the doll-like girl murmured softly, as though reading the game’s outcome in the lines of her book.
Miriam set down a white teapot with a gentle clink before refilling Seraphina’s cup. The steam rose in a graceful swirl that faded into the clean garden air.
Seraphina sipped her tea as Ibn contemplated an approach on the left side—perhaps a reduction of White’s territory around C10. Desdemona pointed to an inward push near D12.
“That might cause her some trouble,” the de Savant girl declared, though with a skeptical edge to her voice. Ibn ventured a short thrust, dropping a black stone at D12, but Seraphina calmly countered with a solid block at C11, linking her groups and leaving minimal aji, latent potential, for Black to exploit.
A hint of desperation crept into Ibn’s subsequent moves. He probed the lower side near R4, then tested the center around K10. Each time, Seraphina responded precisely, neither overplaying nor missing any small gains. She played a ko threat at L8, forcing a trade that netted her a few extra points of endgame territory. It was an inelegant, if effective, move.
“You might consider playing carefully now, dear boy,” Desdemona offered, though she was quick to add, “But if you’re feeling bold, you could—”
“Stop listening to her,” Seraphina interjected with a light laugh. “Trust me, a big reckless move would not be in your favor at this stage.” Though he was still far from ever matching her skills, she was delighted to see how much progress he had made in so little time.
Seraphina had spent years honing her skills at this game—one of her father’s favorite pastimes—in hopes of winning his approval. And that approval, much like any advantage, she had wielded like a blunt instrument against her half-siblings.
Desdemona’s “advice” just reminded Seraphina once again why she was third-rate.
It was truly a shame that this level of progress was not reflected in his letters. Or, lamentably, in his poetry, for that matter. Could he not see that she was trying to mold him into something other than a boring old weapon?
Ibn exhaled heavily. He placed another stone with a small clack—this time at P17, a final attempt to squeeze White’s top corner. But the green-eyed girl had read the sequence clearly. She extended at Q17, turned at R18, and cut off Black’s approach, denying any hope of seizing vital points.
For a long moment, Ibn surveyed the board. The shapes and flows of influence spoke plainly: White’s advantage was undeniable. Black simply could not close the gap. Ibn’s shoulders slumped as he recognized the inevitable.
The game had been truly educational, it showed insights into how Seraphina thought, her weaknesses, and her overwhelming strength. For the young Hazagadami boy, the black-and-white stones had traced a hypnotic rhythm across the board—a dance in which he had not led, yet one that enthralled him all the same. He felt in his secret heart that he had been able to converse and grow closer to his mistress through the game.
Desdemona let out an indelicate sigh. “Well, it was worth a try. You fought bravely, Ibn.”
Still poised in her seat, Seraphina set her last stone on the board with a light click. “Do you see how all of this will end?”
Ibn bowed his head. “I… see it. There is nothing I can do.” He removed his hand from the bowl of stones. “I resign.”
Seraphina smiled and gently lifted a cup for Miriam to pour in some more tea, her gaze sweeping across the pattern of black and white. “Remember, in Stones, every move is a chance to learn. And, it manners that one must be graceful in both victory and defeat.”
At this, Miriam's hands stopped, almost spilling the tea.
But Ibn merely nodded, as if absorbing some secret wisdom. There were lessons to be found in the game of Stones—feints, deceptions, tactics, and grand strategy. The art of the cut and the precision of the thrust each had their place, just as they did in the Romance of the Sword.
He realized that his mistress had once again gone out of her way for him. This had been no mere game, no idle pastime—she had deliberately taken the time to teach him a lesson, one that he was just seeing now. Not even his own mother had guided him in such a way, and at that thought, a deep sense of loyalty welled up in his heart.
The young Hazagadami boy stood and bowed deeply before Seraphina, his voice soft yet brimming with respect. “Thank you very much for your supreme guidance,” he said. A gentle breeze stirred the orchard around them, carrying the faint scent of blossoms through the warm air.
Seraphina regarded him with an indulgent smile, and his heart caught in his chest. “Oh, come now, Ibn,” she teased. “It was just a little game to pass the time. Now, girls, whatever shall we do for the rest of the afternoon?”
Desdemona, sitting primly now, let out a melodramatic sigh as she took out an unfinished piece of embroidery. “I did not expect classes to be canceled so early in the term. The seniors told me this afternoon’s lessons were to be insufferably dull,” she said, somehow managing to look down her nose despite her own petite stature.
“Yes, this fire business has been most inconvenient,” Seraphina replied dryly, her tone cool as she flicked an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve.
Above them, the blooming branches rustled under a sudden landward gust. Shadows danced across Ibn’s face as a single white petal drifted lazily from overhead and landed in his cup. Hee looked upon it and felt a sudden swell of purpose. It had been his mother’s favorite flower.
In that moment, he silently vowed that he would become the Lady Seraphina’s perfect sword—an unyielding blade born from her teachings and tempered by his devotion.
And honed to a fine razor’s edge on only the strongest of foes.
