grievinglands
patreon
TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 10 (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-02-13 15:34:30 +0000 UTCChapter 10 - The Wheat and the Chaff
"Yusuf, O man of truth! Explain to us (the dream of) seven fat cows being devoured by seven lean ones, and seven green ears of grain and others dry, so that I may return to the people and inform them."
- The Quran, Surah Yusuf 12:47
With only a week remaining before Seraphina began her “sentence” at the Academy of Meridian, she had little choice but to finalize her preparations and conclude certain negotiations with the board of directors. They had initially refused her demand to bring her full retinue of guards onto Academy grounds, insisting that the Meridian Academy Guard was more than sufficient to protect the nobility and other notables. Under the threat of losing her father’s generous endowments, however, they begrudgingly agreed that she might require some form of private protection.
Now Seraphina was locked in a match over just how many guards she could bring with her. Determined to be strategic, she had her “father” write a glowing letter of recommendation for Frest, proposing him as a temporary instructor. The letter, written in her best approximation of Anatoli’s crude hand, emphasized that Sir Frest was easily the equal of any Knight of the Royal Guard, and that he could enrich the martial courses of the Academy with his valuable taste of real combat experience.
Meanwhile, Seraphina had also summoned the hulking twins, Giles and Krayton, by sending a fast coach with her written orders. Upon arrival, she designated them as Miriam’s “servants.” Although servants were not typically allowed weapons, she reasoned that she could get away with them having knives secreted about their person. After all, knives counted more as tools, didn’t they? she justified to herself. And, if the Academy refused them as servants, she would demand they be hired as groundskeepers. One way or another, they would stay close to her and help shield her from any potential threats.
Seraphina also realized that a number of her personal guards were around her or near her own age. While it would be ruinously expensive, she planned to secure recommendation letters for those who could claim even a sliver of noble lineage and status, ensuring their admission to the Academy. In this way, they could learn alongside the other students while continuing to protect her.
Petting Cornelia, she nodded to herself. They really should be grateful for her largesse.
Moreover, each guard who gained acceptance would, in turn, be permitted their own servants. Her plan was coming together nicely—a matter of skillfully maneuvering within the system to get exactly what she wanted. Whenever a puzzle piece did not fit, all she needed to do was simply force it into place.
Seraphina pressed her fingertips against her temples, frustration pulsing behind her eyes. She was running out of time. As if her other worries weren’t enough, she still had to deal with her nervous wreck of a Page, Ibn. The boy could barely hold a sharp blade without trembling. How could he ever hope to grow and become a Sword Master if he couldn’t even grip a live sword without turning pale?
She let out a slow, measured breath and surveyed the quiet study. A comforting scent of rose and lavender lingered in the air from one of the scented candles. She wished she had the leisure to tutor Ibn gently, to nurture him through his fears—but the Academy’s entrance ceremony was only a week away. There was no time for coddling.
A polite knock drew her attention to the door. Eloise, who had been curled up with a book in the corner, rose to answer it.
“Oh, it’s you, Ibn,” Seraphina said, her tone was brusque. The moment she saw the Page’s wide-eyed face, she beckoned him inside. “Come in and take a seat.”
Ibn obeyed with nervous haste, settling onto a wooden chair near Seraphina’s large mahogany desk. His fingers twitched restlessly against his knees, and his gaze slid across the floor as though he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.
Seraphina eyed him critically. He was certainly growing—was that the suggestion of a thin moustache on his cheek? And yet, he was afflicted by the silly trauma of wielding something sharper than a wooden spoon. She almost scoffed at the thought that someday he’d have to shave.
Trying to maintain some semblance of courtesy, she asked, “How are you finding Meridian?”
“It’s… it’s very nice,” Ibn squeaked, his voice cracking halfway.
“Good,” she said, flipping through a stack of parchment on her desk. “I am glad you are enjoying the finer things in life. Unfortunately, you will have to go away soon to—”
Ibn’s head snapped up in alarm. “You’re sending me away?!” he blurted, panic flashing in his dark eyes. “But—I’ll do better, Lady Seraphina, I promise! I—I’ll practice more—”
Seraphina silenced him with a dismissive wave. “Stop babbling, Ibn. Let me finish.” She regarded him with a stern stare. “I’m sending you away to train. To let you find your destined path. And, don’t worry I am not sending you faraway and I need you back before the Academy’s entrance ceremony.”
He swallowed hard. She could practically taste his unease. Still, it had to be done. The time had come to impress upon him the seriousness of his position—and her needs.
“As it stands,” Seraphina continued, “you are next to useless to me. If all you can manage is helping Miriam scrub my small clothes, then you’ll never be fit for the position I have planned for you.” She paused, letting the words sink in. It was always good to dangle the carrot. “As you know, I’ve had several… attempts on my life,” she added, stretching the truth a little. “At this rate, it will be me having to defend you instead of vice versa. Aren’t the boys supposed to protect the ladies? Also, as my Page, you are expected to be at least a little useful in a fight.”
“I—I’m doing my best!” Ibn’s voice cracked again. Was that from emotion or was his voice simply beginning to break? she idly thought.
“Trying is not enough,” Seraphina responded, taking up a sterner aspect. “Don’t you understand? The people who come to harm me won’t care one bit about your efforts or excuses.”
“Yes, Ibn. Where exactly were you last time?” Eloise chimed in, her tone mocking.
“The same could be said of you, Lady de Laney,” he shot back, unexpectedly.
Hormones.
Ibn glanced away from Eloise, shame and regret coursing through his features. Seraphina made a show of ignoring their little exchange, though inside she felt a flicker of satisfaction. It was good when her underlings competed against each other and this whole scene was unfolding almost exactly as she had envisioned it in her mind.
“The gentle approach has ended,” Seraphina announced, lifting her chin. “I’m sending you to the Palipula Woods, a days ride outside of Meridian. You’ll have a sword, a spear, and four days’ worth of rations. You will return here, before the entrance ceremony, with three trophies: a Cronir horn, a Dire Wolf fang, and the gullet of a Burnes Bear.”
Ibn’s shoulders began to shake. “But—”
“Or do not bother coming back at all.” Her voice was ice-cold. “This is your test, Ibn. I do so out of love. Now—will you do it?”
His gaze dropped to his lap. “Yes,” he answered quietly, the single syllable laced with sullen resignation.
“Aren’t you tired of being called a boy?” Eloise asked teasingly, her tone suddenly sweet, like a predator coaxing prey. “In the old traditions of Aran, men would return from the wilderness with those trophies as proof of their worthiness—a rite of passage.”
Seraphina watched the spark of newfound determination flicker in Ibn’s eyes at the challenge. Eloise was lying, of course. Those ingredients were needed for her latest Alchemical experiment, but Ibn didn’t need to know that.
“Exactly,” Seraphina said. “Well hurry along then. Sir Frest has prepared everything you in the courtyard—equipment, supplies, directions. Make yourself ready within half a turn of the glass.”
Ibn rose, shoulders slumping in defeat, and walked to the door. Just as he crossed the threshold, Seraphina called after him, softening her voice for one final manipulative prod.
“Wait. If you come back with everything I asked for, I’ll have a reward for you—something befitting a man who is no longer a mere child. Good hunting!”
He stopped and turned. In an instant, something fierce and determined flared in his expression. Then, with a brief nod, he slipped out, shutting the door behind him.
Once he was gone, Seraphina indulged in a quiet laugh. “He’s so very easy to push, isn’t he?”
From behind her, Eloise smirked. “Let’s just hope we haven’t pushed him too far.”
Seraphina shook her head. “He’ll manage.”
She rang a tiny silver bell, and within moments, her maid Miriam appeared in the doorway.
“Yes, my lady?” Milly asked, voice subdued in Seraphina’s presence.
Seraphina gave her a level look. “Have a few adventurers from the Guild to follow Ibn from a distance. I want him tested, not killed. It would be a bother to lose him now, after all the time and resources I’ve invested in him.”
Milly bowed politely and withdrew to carry out her task. Left alone with Eloise, Seraphina settled back into her chair, staring at the door through which Ibn had departed.
She closed her eyes, imagining the tall, swaying trees of the Palipula Woods and the dangerous creatures that prowled its dark corners. A small smile tugged at her lips. It was a cruel test, but necessary. If Ibn was ever to become the Sword Master she needed, this was the first real step.
His first steps on his path of carnage.
***
“What do you mean the Duchess Anaselena is coming, Milly?” Seraphina demanded, whirling around in disbelief. Her fair hair swished, catching a shaft of afternoon light from the window. “Mother—the witch—is supposed to be back home pulling Father’s strings.”
Miriam, her maid, hesitated, clearly torn between loyalty and fear. “I… I don’t think you should speak of your lady mother that way, milady…” she began, then clamped her mouth shut as Seraphina shot her a vicious glare.
“Miriam,” Seraphina said icily, “you do not tell me what I should or should not do. Is that clear?”
“Y-yes, Lady Seraphina,” Miriam stammered, lowering her gaze.
Seraphina turned away with a huff. “I could handle Father easily enough, but my mother?” She let out a long, exasperated sigh. “She’s just too much! I do not need this right now. I’m juggling far too many problems.”
Miriam shifted uncomfortably. “But, Lady Seraphina… if your mother isn’t at the ceremony, people might assume—”
“Assume what?” Seraphina snapped.
“That you’re not… well… not highly esteemed in your own parents’ eyes,” the maid finished weakly.
Seraphina tensed, irritated to find Miriam’s logic unsettlingly accurate. For a half second, she even felt a twinge of gratitude—just a flicker—before her pride flared up again. She sneered inwardly, thinking that Miriam really was far too human at times. Well, you were what you eat, she thought darkly.
“Thank you for your astute observation,” she muttered sarcastically, “though it’s hardly welcome. Still… you are right.”
She tossed back her hair with a roll of her eyes. “Very well, Milly. Have the guest chambers readied. Mother can be rather particular, as you know.”
Her mood soured further by the minute. Lately, everything seemed to be going awry. The Meridian City Guard were having her every step watched for her “safety,” making it nearly impossible to slip out of town to complete a few ‘Trials’ to help boost up her level.
And there was the persistent threat of assassination and capture—professionals sent by the Emperor. The first attempt had been more like a sinister overture, a test of her mettle from the old man. Secretly, very secretly, she dreaded the day he sent his truly elite agents from the Bloody Tower. Though she was loathe to admit it, despite her considerable power, she wasn’t entirely certain she was prepared for that.
Realizing her thoughts were spiraling darkly, Seraphina ran a hand through her hair and forced down the surge of looming despair. She needed a remedy—a distraction.
Shopping.
She turned to Miriam with a bright, sudden smile, so sweet it was almost predatory. “Milly,” she repeated when her maid only stared, transfixed. “Milly!”
“Yes, milady?” Miriam squeaked.
Seraphina’s eyes gleamed. “Have my guard and Sir Frest make ready. I wish to go about town. There are a few things I’ve been meaning to purchase for some time now. It’s time my so-called protectors earn their keep. They can carry my bags.”
***
“Lady Seraphina,” Sir Frest said dryly, a while later, “when you mentioned ‘shopping,’ I assumed you meant the boutiques in the Merchant’s Quarter—enough dresses to outfit an entire village, shoes so delicate you’d only wear them once. Most assuredly not a grain exchange.”
Seraphina cast him a sidelong glance. She did intend to pick up extravagant dresses, shoes, and jewelry aplenty, but first, there were priorities. And, if she succeeded in this gambit she would be able to acquire more of them. A lot more of them.
“Frest,” she ordered calmly, “I want three full warehouses’ worth of grain. No, make that five.”
“That should be straightforward with your line of credit.” He nodded politely, waving his hands at the granaries around them. “I’ll see to it immediately. Should be easy enough. There should be warehouses too close by.”
Seraphina lifted her chin. “No. Have it all moved to the Old Quarter by the river. I want it stored in one of the sturdy, older stone warehouses, not the new ones. This is important, Frest,” she added, giving him a very meaningful look.
Frest’s brow furrowed. “You may need to speak directly with a factor, or a few merchants, to finalize those arrangements of such a scale…”
Seraphina wrinkled her nose in distaste. “That’s precisely why I have you and Miriam. I will not be caught dead haggling with common tradesmen. That would be… just so gauche.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I trust you remember enough from your previous profession to know how to negotiate the best price for grain? Use force if you must—the Sariens name, too, if necessary. I’ll buy nearly everything they have, so we have a certain leverage. If you manage at least fifteen percent below the market rate, I might even reward you with a rather fine new sword.”
Besides her, Miriam shrunk inwards. More had been added to her already very stacked plate.
Frest gave a wolfish smile that almost matched her own in predatory glee. “I’d be delighted to oblige, Lady Seraphina. Your confidence is well placed.”
She nodded, satisfied, and smoothed the front of her skirts.
It was a wonderful thing when you knew what tomorrow held. Or in this case, next week.
