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TO&FQ: Book 3: Chapter 14 (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-07-31 02:13:03 +0000 UTCChapter 14 - Realization
Civilization is the progress toward a society of privacy. The savage's whole existence is public, ruled by the laws of his tribe. Civilization is the process of setting man free from men.
- Ayn Rand.
The road to Meridian, at least so far, had passed without incident, which in itself became cause for unease for the girl. So still was the journey, so tediously calm, that Seraphina often felt as though she traveled not through fields and hamlets, but beneath the poised blade of a headsman’s axe—its edge suspended by a single fraying thread. Fields rolled by in an endless parade of late autumn hues, broken only by patches of tame forest with the wild long bled from them.
She spent her time in the various inns along the way, hunched over parchment, feathered quill scrawling out the dull assignments that passed for education at the Academy. Her lady-in-waiting, Eloise, helped her, though Seraphina, stubborn as a mule, refused to yield to the temptation of simply copying the answers. If she were to build a base of knowledge, it would not be on the backs of borrowed words.
It was in the midst of one such mind-numbing exercise that her thoughts turned to the problem of information. Thoughts that turned to true whispers, secrets, the sort that could topple reputations and raise the grateful to a higher position. The really salacious stuff that would also make good fodder for her newspaper. Thus far, she had leaned heavily on the network spun by Lehman’s Bank. A reliable source, yes, but not her own. No, if she meant to wield secrets as a sword and shield, she would need her own whisperers. And that meant building a network from the ground up.
Her maid Miriam, as expected, had the imagination of a spoon and had little to say upon the subject when Seraphina had pressed her for ideas… Wait a moment, that’s it! she thought to herself as she reached a sort of epiphany.
“Milly!” Seraphina called.
A few heartbeats later, there came a knock on the inn room’s door. “Come in,” she commanded, already rising from her desk.
The door creaked open to reveal the maid, blinking blearily, clutching a shawl about her shoulders. She cast a furtive glance toward Eloise, who lay sprawled on the bed, snoring like a drowned boar.
“Milly,” Seraphina began, hands on her hips in that imperious way, like a queen before ordering a beheading, “we’re going to start a training program for the young and talented.”
“A… training program, milady?” Miriam echoed, already wary.
“For servants. Staff. Footmen, maids, valets, all of them. The finest in the land.” Seraphina’s voice carried the clipped certainty of command. “All my peers are forever wailing about the dearth of competent help. It’s time we give them what they want… at a premium.”
Miriam’s face twisted, the way a cook’s might when told to bake a pie from mud and vinegar. “But, milady, that would take—”
Seraphina’s eyes narrowed. “What did I say about starting a sentence with ‘but,’ Miriam?”
The maid’s mouth snapped shut. “Yes, milady,” she murmured, eyes downcast.
“Better. We’ll select the brightest of the lowborn, the ones with quick hands and quicker wits. A short course, brutal and thorough. Incentives will do the rest.”
“Incentives, milady?”
“Yes. The carrot and the stick,” Seraphina said, smiling faintly. “I leave the details to you. But I want graduates of this program to be coveted—to be whispered about in drawing rooms, praised in the halls of the lords and ladies of this land. Let the great Houses scramble to hire them.”
Miriam fidgeted with her spectacles. “It will take time, milady. Resources.”
“Throw money at it—lots of money. Give them the very best. Reward those who show the most promise. And, make it clear how to get those rewards, I find that usually helps. Consider that your carrot. A very big carrot.”
The maid bit her bottom lip. “And the stick?”
Seraphina gave a little shrug. “Oh, I imagine your kind can come up with something suitably horrid. As a suggestion, I find the best negative motivation comes from the fertile soil of the human imagination. Let their own fears drive them. Let the conditions for punishment, unlike the punishment itself, be very clear. Humans work best when presented with this binary.”
Miriam hesitated, then asked in a small voice, “May I ask, if it please you, what the purpose of all this is?”
Seraphina turned back toward her desk, fingers drumming against the worn, wooden surface. When she spoke, her voice was soft and deadly.
“Because, Milly, I intend to plant eyes and ears in every noble house in this kingdom… and in time, beyond. My people will serve them dinner and sweep their floors. And… take care of their wives, mothers, and… their children.”
She looked at her monstrous maid, and the firelight caught the curve of her mouth—a smile sharp as broken glass. “And once you have the very first batch of candidates ready, I will interview them personally.”
***
As they entered Meridian, Seraphina observed that the city at large had remained most untouched by the Dragon attack. No doubt, this was probably in no small part due to the ancient ground-to-air defenses that she had temporarily activated as the Administrator of the facility that had been hidden deep beneath the bones of the Academy.
The citizens had returned to their lives with commendable diligence; yet, if Seraphina’s imagination did not mislead her, there lingered upon many an air of guardedness which a brush with danger leaves behind, like the faint scent of smoke after a candle is snuffed. People, when they have lately contemplated their own fragility, step rather more carefully into the day.
Her carriage rattled over the bridge and into the Academy grounds. Here, order asserted itself with practised ease. The larger part of her escort, having fulfilled duty, would immediately return to the Sarien duchy; only her youthful personal Knights, who were ostensibly students, and Sir Frest were to remain. However, before they were to return, Seraphina made sure to make use of their strong arms to help her with things.
Proceeding to the dormitory—“my second home,” as she had schooled herself to say, for the comfort of an expression is sometimes the sole consolation for the fact it conceals—she was met by a large shipping crate upon the steps. From it, there issued the scent of flowers.
A servant, whose face was new to her, passed by. “You there! What is this?” Seraphina asked, in a tone that wavered between pique and surprise.
“I believe it is a package from Lady Yanmei de Laney for a Miss de Sariens,” said the servant, with a bob and an averted gaze.
“You may go,” Seraphina returned, dismissing with a light wave. The face of the servant looked vaguely familiar, but the young noblewoman had difficulty placing it.
“Milly,” she called, while little Tia had already begun to circle the crate with an air.
May I eat it? came Cornelia’s inquiry through the amulet.
“No, you may not, you ridiculous creature,” Seraphina murmured.
The blonde girl turned to her maid, eyes narrowing. “See to the contents and have them stored suitably,” Seraphina said. “It is an eyesore at the door.”
“At once, milady,” Miriam replied, rushing off to find some tools from the shed.
Seraphina entered the dorm, nodding her head politely and giving a quick greeting to those who had come to see who the latest arrivals were. Entering the room she shared with Eloise and kicking off her shoes, Seraphina dove into the bed in a most unladylike fashion.
Moments later, Eloise followed suit.
“I am excessively tired of travelling,” Seraphina declared into her pillow. “Could we not employ a Gryphon and be done with roads?”
“We could… that is to say, we might… however…” Eloise began with a gentle hesitation.
Seraphina turned a languid eye. “However?”
“Even the largest Gryphons can only bear the additional weight of a small child,” Eloise confessed; “and, please pray forgive me, Lady Seraphina…”
“Yes, yes,” Seraphina sighed. “Yes, I am no small child. It was just a bit of nonsense and a release from the vexation that has claimed me recently.” She lightly punched the mattress with her small fists; the frame creaked, as if in protest. “I am undone by the travails of the road.”
“Then you must rest,” Eloise said, with a soft laugh; “but not, if you please, before you change.”
“Oh, very well.” Seraphina sat up with the air of a martyr reconciled to a modest sacrifice. “Attend me.”
“Of course, Lady Seraphina.”
She set a drowsy Cornelia upon the coverlet. The creature hissed softly before coiling around herself. As the young ladies exchanged travel dress for light shifts, their conversation wandered—family particulars, boys, and assignments—until it reached that grim certainty.
“Are you quite sure that classes commence next week?” Seraphina asked, with the air of one willing to be contradicted.
“Quite sure,” Eloise whispered. “And I have heard we are to enjoy the addition of two further periods each day,” she added, shaking her head.
“Two!” cried Seraphina. “Pray tell, whose felicitous wisdom decreed that?” the young girl said sarcastically.
“My mother informs me it was in fact the Lady de Sariens, your good mother, who strongly urged it,” Eloise replied with due gravity. “She observed that youthful minds, if indulged to sloth and idleness, cannot find their potential. As a member of the board, your mother is quite influential.”
Seraphina ground her teeth with indignation. “That dreadful witch!”
“You must not say so of the Lady Anaselena,” Eloise protested; and then, with a conspiratorial sparkle, added, “Though your witch of a mother has likewise suggested an extra day of schooling.”
“You are aware,” Seraphina said in a mock-solemn whisper, “that her Sight bestirs itself at the mention of her name?”
Eloise’s mouth rounded into a perfect O, and her eyes, like well-placed teacups, threatened to overset.
“Oh, do not look so alarmed,” Seraphina laughed. “She is undoubtedly occupied… probably with my father,” the girl muttered. “I would not worry about it overly much.”
“But, Lady Seraphina—”
“I am decided upon a bath to wash thoughts of extra and unnecessary schooling,” Seraphina said, a portion of her smile restored upon teasing Eloise. “My true mistake was throwing myself upon the bed. One ought first to remove the journey from one’s person.”
***
Unfortunately for Seraphina, even at that hour, several girls were already in the baths. She felt their glances—some coolly appraising, some edged with envy, others turned away as if from too bright a light.
“I shall have to arrange a private bath constructed for us,” she murmured to Eloise.
“I’m not sure that would be well received, Lady Seraphina,” Eloise replied. “Bathing is considered a social activity.” The doll-like girl offered a polite greeting to a mousy girl nearby, who only nodded and went on scrubbing in silence.
Eloise guided Seraphina to a low stool and set out a basin, a ladle, and a bar of floral soap. This was a familiar routine for both of them. Seraphina sat forward without prompting, hands resting on her knees, and let her shoulders loosen. Eloise worked the soap into a light lather and scrubbed her back in steady, circular strokes. The exfoliating cloth lifted the grit of the road; the warmth eased the stiffness in her neck. Seraphina closed her eyes and breathed in the soft scent while steam gathered around them.
They moved on to hair. Eloise massaged the lather gently into Seraphina’s scalp, slow and thorough, then combed through the gold strands with practiced care. The touch was comfortable and unhurried; Seraphina felt the last of the road fall away with each pass of Eloise’s fingers. A careful rinse followed, water slipping warm and clean down her back.
When they were done at the stools, they stepped into the main pool. Hot water poured from a bronze pipe shaped like a fish head, the stream steady and clear. Seraphina sank to her shoulders, let her head rest against the smooth stone, and exhaled.
A few girls drew closer, conversation starting with simple questions.
“Long trip back?” asked the mousy girl from earlier, still rinsing soap from her arms. Seraphina was far too tired to try and dredge up her name.
“Long enough,” Seraphina said. “It’s good to stop moving.”
Another girl, freckled and direct, said, “They say we’re getting two more periods a day. Is that true?”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Seraphina answered. “We’ll manage. We will have to.”
“Was that crate outside for you?”
“It was,” Seraphina said. “Milly’s taking care of it—tea, I believe, from the Orange Hills of the Empire.”
Soft oohs and ahhs followed, and Seraphina invited them to share some when it was brewed.
The talk stayed easy: teachers rumored to be strict or kind, letters from home, and which boy had the nicest smile—a question that sparked a small debate. Seraphina listened, added a word where it fit, and let the heat do its work.
Eloise leaned closer. “Not so bad, is it?”
“No,” Seraphina replied, looking at one of the high windows. “You’re right. Bathing like this is not so reprehensible… actually, it’s pleasant, I suppose.”
The young girl’s mind turned to the lifestyles of the extremely wealthy. She had almost made one of their common mistakes: the quest for even more privacy. They built up walls, so many walls between them and the rest of the world. Exclusive areas, private this and private that, and then ultimately complained that they were lonely.
She would not make that mistake here.
Comments
Mesa
overworked, but not underpaid!
Saber Saurus
Poor Miriam. She should eat a bunch of orphans then split herself in two or four to keep up with all this extra work. I'm decently sure slugs can do that.
